"Elizabeth Moon - Horse of Her Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

She was the kind of local color you almost never find. Not too young, not at
all old, shaped perfectly for the camera, and a true honey blonde. She moved well,
too, and she was heaving a big old parade saddle (black with silver trim) onto a
palomino horse as pretty as she wasтАФfor a horse, that is. White blaze and four
white stockings, and they sure looked like a pair, her in those tight jeans and tall
white boots and blue western shirt with a little white pinstripe.
ThereтАЩs a lot that happened later that I donтАЩt understand, but I canтАЩt believe
that it was KellyтАЩs fault. SheтАЩs just a normal, healthy, flat-out gorgeous hunk of
Texas womanhood, getting ready to lead a parade in three days and happening to
catch our eye. Which of course she did.
Turned out she was a junior (at the university, I figured) and wanted to be a
schoolteacher, and thought her mom and dad were wonderful, and wouldnтАЩt miss
aтАФwell, I canтАЩt tell you the name of the festival, or you could find the town, now,
couldnтАЩt you? But she wouldnтАЩt miss it, and if she married and had to move to (her
blue eyes rolled up as she thought about someplace outrageous) New York, even,
sheтАЩd come back every summer and lead the parade the way she had sinceтАж a short
pause, and I thought she was counting years, but she said, тАЬSince I got Sunny.тАЭ
Well, people do tend to name horses stupid things like Brownie and Black
Beauty and Sunny, and you donтАЩt have to have more sense than that to be married in
your senior year to someone headed for law school or medical school, which was
clearly her destiny.
She wasnтАЩt camera shy at allтАФknew all the tricks, and no wonder, having led
the parade all those years. She clucked, and Sunny put those ears forward like a pro.
Joe got her talking to the horse, and waving at her mom on the porch. Her mom
didnтАЩt look anything like her, but lightning doesnтАЩt strike twice in families, either. My
wifeтАЩs a show stopping redhead, but our daughter has my hair. And nose. Then he
asked her if sheтАЩd ride for us, and she beamed, and bounced up on that horse as
slick as butter, and pranced him back and forth. It was then I noticed the spurs.
 I donтАЩt pretend to be much of a cowboy, but one thing I do know is that
those big old roweled spurs you see pictures of arenтАЩt in use anymore. The humane
society had something to say about it, I think. But she had these blued-steel spurs
with rowels as long as my fingers, and needle-sharp, or looked like it. Wicked things,
that could have hurt if youтАЩd just bumped into them. And she was digging them into
that sleek golden horse like he had no nerves at all, with a pretty smile on her lovely
face. I looked at the bridle. Sure enough, hung on that fancy black and silver parade
bridle was a blued-steel bit that would have held a charging grizzly.
Funny thing is, that gold horse just pranced back and forth, never jumping
sideways when she jabbed the spurs in, never gaping its mouth when she gave a little
yank to the reins. And thatтАЩs not natural. A horse thatтАЩll prance like that is usually the
kind thatтАЩs pretty touchy about having its reins yanked and spurs stuck in its sides. I
wondered did she have it tranquilized, but the horseтАЩs eye was a clear shiningтАж
green.
ItтАЩs a wonder I didnтАЩt grab JoeтАЩs arm in the middle of a shot. Green! Horses
donтАЩt have green eyes, and if they did it wouldnтАЩt be that bright, clear emerald green,
wickedly alight with mischief. Horses are (forgive me, ladies) stupid. I mean, any
animal that could buck people off, but prefers to carry them around on its backтАж
any animal that runs back into a burning barn and sticks its dumb legs in fences and
then fights to get loose, tearing itself to shredsтАж thatтАЩs stupid. Black Beauty and all
those horse stories aside. Besides, my cousin DonтАЩs horse ran under a tree with me
and scraped me off when I was ten or so, and any animal with brains would have