pivoted them and saw what appeared to be a prepared quiz. He read: What is the most common cause of barrenness in mares and what is its treatment?
Beneath it she had filled in the answer: An acid secretion of the genital organs or a retention of the afterbirth. The most common treatment is with yeast as follows: Mix 2 heaping tsp. Of yeast into a pint of boiled water, keep warm for 5 or 6 hours. Flush affected parts first with warm water, then inject with yeast. Animal should be mated from 2-6 hours after treatment.
His eyebrows rose. So the little smart-mouth knew her stuff!
A hand reached around and snatched the papers from under his nose. "This is a private office!"
He neither flinched nor blustered but turned loosely to watch her bury the papers beneath a ledger on the littered desk. She was dressed once again in britches and the wool cap, but this time the leather apron was absent and he saw that he'd been mistaken; she did have breasts after all, plum sized and minimized by a perfectly atrocious open-collared boy's shirt the color of horse dung. He made sure his survey of her breasts was completed before she whipped around to confront him with her fists akimbo.
"You're a nosy, rude man, Mr. Jeffcoat!"
"And your parents could have taught you a few manners. Miss Walcott."
"I don't appreciate people sticking their noses into my personal business, and you've done it twice now! I'll thank you not to do it again!"
For a moment he considered making some comment on her mode of dress, compliment her on how the hue of the shirt did wonders for her complexion, just to nettle her. Actually, she looked quite fetching with her feet spraddled, her fists bunched, and her blue eyes bright and angry. It was a curiosity to find a woman so feisty and outspoken in an age when the ideal female was purported to be one of dulcet voice and retiring comportment. She possessed neither, and it fascinated him. But in the end Jeffcoat decided he might need the use of her veterinary medicine book sometime, so he decided to soothe the waters.
"I'm sorry, Miss Walcott."
"If you want your horses, follow me. I don't see any reason why I should get them both out while you dally in here reading other people's mail." She strode for the door, calling back, "What do you want them hitched to, your own wagon?"
"Are all the women in this town as friendly as you?" he called, following.
"I said what do you want them hitched to?"
"Nothing. Just harness 'em and I'll drive 'em out."
She returned, hands on hips, to advise him with an air of long-suffering, "I don't just harness them, you help me."
"So what am I paying you for?"
"You want your horses or not, Jeffcoat?"
Taking a lead rope, she tossed him another, pushed aside a pole barrier to a stall, and nodded toward an adjacent one. "Liza's in there. Get her."
Bossy young thing, he thought, grabbing the rope on the fly. But before he could say so she disappeared and he dropped the pole from Liza's stall and stepped inside. "Hiya, girl." He gave Liza a critical look-over, rubbing her withers and shoulders. She'd been brushed down as ordered; her hide was smooth and flat. Miss Britches might have the tongue of an adder but she knew how to put away a horse.
"Liza looks good," he offered, backing the horse into the corridor where Emily was already waiting with Rex. "I can tell you spent plenty of time brushing her."
For his efforts he received a scowl that said clearly, only an idiot abuses good horseflesh. With the snap lines secured, she turned away haughtily, leading the way to the rear of the barn where carriages and wagons were stored. Inside a separate tack room the equipage hung on wooden pegs. They took his gear down together—she sullen, he amused—and carried it to the main aisle where they began in silence to harness Rex and Liza. When the job was done, she headed for the office, offering not a word of farewell.
"I'll have
Beneath it she had filled in the answer: An acid secretion of the genital organs or a retention of the afterbirth. The most common treatment is with yeast as follows: Mix 2 heaping tsp. Of yeast into a pint of boiled water, keep warm for 5 or 6 hours. Flush affected parts first with warm water, then inject with yeast. Animal should be mated from 2-6 hours after treatment.
His eyebrows rose. So the little smart-mouth knew her stuff!
A hand reached around and snatched the papers from under his nose. "This is a private office!"
He neither flinched nor blustered but turned loosely to watch her bury the papers beneath a ledger on the littered desk. She was dressed once again in britches and the wool cap, but this time the leather apron was absent and he saw that he'd been mistaken; she did have breasts after all, plum sized and minimized by a perfectly atrocious open-collared boy's shirt the color of horse dung. He made sure his survey of her breasts was completed before she whipped around to confront him with her fists akimbo.
"You're a nosy, rude man, Mr. Jeffcoat!"
"And your parents could have taught you a few manners. Miss Walcott."
"I don't appreciate people sticking their noses into my personal business, and you've done it twice now! I'll thank you not to do it again!"
For a moment he considered making some comment on her mode of dress, compliment her on how the hue of the shirt did wonders for her complexion, just to nettle her. Actually, she looked quite fetching with her feet spraddled, her fists bunched, and her blue eyes bright and angry. It was a curiosity to find a woman so feisty and outspoken in an age when the ideal female was purported to be one of dulcet voice and retiring comportment. She possessed neither, and it fascinated him. But in the end Jeffcoat decided he might need the use of her veterinary medicine book sometime, so he decided to soothe the waters.
"I'm sorry, Miss Walcott."
"If you want your horses, follow me. I don't see any reason why I should get them both out while you dally in here reading other people's mail." She strode for the door, calling back, "What do you want them hitched to, your own wagon?"
"Are all the women in this town as friendly as you?" he called, following.
"I said what do you want them hitched to?"
"Nothing. Just harness 'em and I'll drive 'em out."
She returned, hands on hips, to advise him with an air of long-suffering, "I don't just harness them, you help me."
"So what am I paying you for?"
"You want your horses or not, Jeffcoat?"
Taking a lead rope, she tossed him another, pushed aside a pole barrier to a stall, and nodded toward an adjacent one. "Liza's in there. Get her."
Bossy young thing, he thought, grabbing the rope on the fly. But before he could say so she disappeared and he dropped the pole from Liza's stall and stepped inside. "Hiya, girl." He gave Liza a critical look-over, rubbing her withers and shoulders. She'd been brushed down as ordered; her hide was smooth and flat. Miss Britches might have the tongue of an adder but she knew how to put away a horse.
"Liza looks good," he offered, backing the horse into the corridor where Emily was already waiting with Rex. "I can tell you spent plenty of time brushing her."
For his efforts he received a scowl that said clearly, only an idiot abuses good horseflesh. With the snap lines secured, she turned away haughtily, leading the way to the rear of the barn where carriages and wagons were stored. Inside a separate tack room the equipage hung on wooden pegs. They took his gear down together—she sullen, he amused—and carried it to the main aisle where they began in silence to harness Rex and Liza. When the job was done, she headed for the office, offering not a word of farewell.
"I'll have
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