Nobody's Angel Read Online Free PDF Page B

hear the joke about the escaped circus lion down in Texas? He nearly starved to death. Every time he growled at one of those Texans, it scared the shit out of him. And when he jumped on him, it knocked all the hot air out. So there was nothing left to eat.”
    She said, “I’m from Oklahoma. My God, is that a joke?”
    “Let’s go inside. I could interpret the wall hangings. They’re Northern Cheyenne.”
    “Thanks,” she smiled, “but we done had Comanche down at home.” She dropped her chin and examined him.
    He thought he could see perhaps the tiniest acquiescence, though not quite anything he could hold her to. He found her engaging and probably as strong as he was, that is to say, not particularly strong or, rather, strong in the wrong ways.
    “We’re more fun than the luncheon guests,” said Claire bravely as she went into the hard glare over the lawn, gone in her bounding step toward the people at the tank. It could be said that Patrick’s mild stalling, giving Claire a lead, came from a very slight sly motive in him, one that he recognized and resolved to give a bit of thought to. The stalling left him among the mops in the front hall, hooks holding worn-out hats, irrigating boots, a pair of old dropshank spurs and a twelve-gauge: a basic tool kit.
    Then when Patrick stepped onto the lawn, Tio was walking resolutely toward him, long-strided in his tall calfskin boots. What’s this? Well, for one thing, thoughtPatrick, it’s the first time I’ve seen eighteen-karat-gold oil-derrick blazer buttons.
    “Patrick.”
    “Tio.”
    “They say you’re a horseman.”
    “Something of one,” said Patrick, thinking, Your wife was too friendly. He was a little ahead of himself.
    “Do you like good cow ponies?”
    “Yes.” Were there people who didn’t?
    Tio plunged his hands in his pockets, then leaned the full weight on his straightened arms, tilted slightly forward from the waist, weight in the pockets. Tell you what I’m gonna do. One knee moving rapidly inside its pant leg. “Claire say I got a stud?”
    “Yes, she did.”
    “Tell you much about the old pony?”
    “No—”
    “Say he was good?”
    “She thought I ought to breed this cutting mare of mine to him.”
    “Well, you should, old buddy. This pony’ll cut a cow, now. I mean the whole bottom drops out and he’s lookin
up
at them cattle. He traps his cattle and just showers on them.”
    “Well, I’m gonna ride this mare another couple years yet. She’s my number-one deal.”
    “
Plus
, this pony comes right from the front of the book. Peppy San out of an own daughter of Gunsmoke. It idn’t any way he can get out of traffic fast enough to keep hisself from being a champion.”
    Patrick wasn’t much interested. He said, “Well, when I get something to breed, I’ll take a hard look at him.”
    “I want you to breed that old Leafy mare. This stud ofmine is young and he needs mares like that to put them good kind of babies on that ground. You know how long Secretariat’s cannon bone is?”
    “Sure don’t.”
    “Nine inches. So’s this colt’s. That’s what makes an athlete. That’n a good mind. This colt’s got one of them, too. His name is American Express, but I call him Cunt because that’s all he has on his mind. He’s a stud horse, old Cunt is. But I’m like that. You were always lookin for a smoke, I’d call you Smoke.”
    “What d’you call Claire?”
    “Claire sixty percent of the time, and Shit when she don’t get it correct, which is right at forty.”
    Patrick thought, I wonder if they’ll ever teach him English. Maybe he doesn’t want to learn. Maybe you can’t be an old buddy and speak English. Patrick would rather hear a cat climbing a blackboard. And he didn’t like what Tio called his wife forty percent of the time. In fact, he just didn’t like Southwesterners. It wasn’t even cow country to Patrick. It was yearling country. There were no cowboys down there significantly. There were yearling