Breeding Ground by Sally Wright Read Free Book Online Page A

way she had her mother.
    The nurse came in then, and told Jo she ought to go soon, while she checked Jack’s oxygen and changed the I.V.
    When she left, Jack drank more water and stared for a minute at the foot of his bed. “I can’t talk about my parents.” He was coughing hard while he spoke, looking gray and clammy, lying exhausted on his pillows.
    â€œWould you tell me why you said the other night that you didn’t want me harmed?”
    â€œHarmed? Did I? I wonder what I meant.” He coughed again and sipped his water.
    But Jo didn’t altogether believe that he didn’t know, or remember. “I’m going to go and let you rest. Do you want me to talk to Tom’s friend?”
    â€œYes. Thank you. But don’t make him feel obligated. Only if he wishes to. Then I’d be pleased to speak with him.”
    â€œGood. I’ll give him a call tonight. Is English your first language?”
    â€œNo. How clever of you to notice.”
    â€œYou don’t have an accent, but—”
    â€œI do thank you, Josie. For what you’ve done. And though I know I’ve asked too much of you already, I wonder if you’d be willing to do me one more favor?”
    â€œProbably. What?”
    Jack was smiling, looking just as gaunt and ill, but lighter somehow and less tense. “Smuggle me in a pack of Camels.”
    Jo laughed and said, “Yeah, that’s a great idea, it’ll help your cough no end! You’d blow yourself up with the oxygen.”
    â€œThere is that risk, yes. Even so, I thought it was worth a try.” He smiled again and closed his eyes.
    â€œYou could bum a cigarette from one of the doctors. They all smoke at the nurses’ station.”
    Jack didn’t say anything.
    And Jo gathered her things together and slipped out of the room.

Chapter Three
    Excerpt From Jo Grant’s Journal:
    â€¦So here I am without Mom and Tommy feeling like the floor tilted and I’m trying not to trip.
    It’s not like I thought I was safe growing up. Horses teach you you can’t be. You hit the ground and get back up, and stop gripping with your knees. (Which probably applies to more than riding.)
    Dad died. Tom went to war. The mortgage sat at the dinner table and haunted the dark of the night. The whole world bled and died from ’39 to ’45, and the future felt like it was blowing away, and all we could do was pray.
    Once Tom was back, I thought I could tie it all down, for some reason. Then Nate treated me the way he would, and I put myself on the sidelines. I can look back and see him for what he was. But I couldn’t then, and it scares me.
    I had Jed to ride and play with, though. And Mom to help keep me steady and talk to about books. I had Tom teasing me and guarding my back, and work too, spread out ahead as far as I could see.
    That’s what’s left. Work. If I can figure out how to do it so it’s worth doing…
    Tuesday, April 17, 1962
    T he next morning, Toss Watkins filled the last water bucket while he watched Buddy Jones clean the next-to-the-last stall in the yearling barn.
    The manure spreader was in the aisle-way and Buddy was forking wet straw and manure into it with an old heavy-duty pitchfork, working fast and well.
    When he’d finished that stall, he moved to the one next to it, but Toss said, “Let’s go take us a break.”
    Toss walked out of the dark brown creosoted barn around a curve in the driveway toward what was left of the Grant’s first log cabin, and sat down on a log bench that backed up to a four board fence. He pulled out a Lucky and lit it with a kitchen match, while Buddy lit his own, hunkering down on his heels.
    â€œSee that stallion there?” Toss pointed at the opposite paddock to a sixteen-hand, big-muscled bay with one white rear foot. “Tuffian. Picked him up this week. Belonged to a friend who died of a heart attack. The wife couldn’t