Black Angus by Newton Thornburg Read Free Book Online Page A

spouses.”
    Little was shaking his head in wonderment, as though Shea had been speaking in tongues. But Blanchard thought he had detected something in the verbiage, most likely the beginnings of a put-on. He drained his glass and filled it again.
    â€œWhatever you come up with,” he said, “count me out. I’ve already got an enterprise.”
    â€œYeah—raising forty-cent beef at a cost of fifty cents. That’s not my idea of an enterprise.”
    â€œIt’s what I’ve got.”
    â€œExactly. And that’s why I want to sit here and ponder the problem. Now let’s see—how can a man, a rancher, along with his old friend, his tried-and-true buddy through thick and thin—how can they make money out of cattle?”
    Shea had barely begun to work on the problem when Ronda came over to their table, with a pitcher of beer and a bowl of popcorn. Immediately he went on to other matters.
    â€œRonda honey, it’s time you made your choice. Here we are, sitting side by side. Do you want this poor, skinny, aging has-been next to me, this miserable poker of cows and shoveler of dung, this family man, this irredeemable pissant? Or—” And here he inhaled so mightily Blanchard almost wound up on the floor. “Or do you want a man of size and substance, a man who would gladly kiss you any place on your body, anytime, anywhere?”
    Ronda was taking their money and making change, for Reagan did not believe in letting his customers run a tab.
    â€œWell, neither one of you are exactly Robert Redford,” she said.
    Shea looked shocked. “Surely you jest.”
    Ronda had taken Blanchard’s drink and was sipping at it, standing next to him, leaning lightly against his shoulder.
    â€œWhy don’t you sit down?” he said. “Place doesn’t look so busy.”
    She looked at the empty seat next to her brother and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Just another hour to go.”
    â€œThere’s always my lap,” Shea suggested. “Or my face if you prefer.”
    Ronda forced a laugh. “Don’t you ever quit?”
    â€œSome things, he does,” Blanchard said.
    â€œThat is a fact,” Shea admitted.
    Ronda took one more sip of the vodka. Setting it down, she told Blanchard she would see him later.
    When she was gone, Shea wagged his head admiringly. “That’s some sister you got there, Little. Must’ve been fun when you were kids, taking baths together and all that.”
    Little forced a grin. And Blanchard had not missed it that the whole time Ronda was at the table her brother had looked at her only once, and then uneasily, as if he could not meet something in her gaze. Whatever it was, Blanchard was glad it was there. He would not have liked it if she had accepted her brother the way Shea seemed to, as if the man were only a local eccentric, home from some amusing and exotic adventure rather than a stretch in the state pen.
    Blanchard was finishing his second drink when Little suddenly developed an interest in his ranch. It was the old Ralston place he’d bought, wasn’t it? Well, that was sure one beautiful spread. Yessir, Little had bucked hay there more than one summer, and he never would forget the view up there, that old white house sitting on the hill and that wide front porch you could see ten miles from if you could see an inch. And it had good grass too, as Little recalled, real good grass. Yessir, he’d have thought a body could make money on a spread like that if it could be done anywhere. But then that was just the problem these days, wasn’t it? There just wasn’t no way to make money on cattle anymore, or at least that was the way Little kept hearing it from everybody this past week, ever since he got back.
    Blanchard would not even give him that. “Oh, I don’t know. Prices have been heading up this year. We’ll make out.”
    â€œYou doing okay,