Geode
"Move it, slackers!" Jean yelled. "Get those horses in shape, dammit!"
"Slavedriver," Mike murmured, grinning. "I guess military does rub off."
"Quiet you, I'm concentrating."
"On what?"
"I think Teabiscuit has a limp in her near hind. What do you say?"
Mike squinted. "By golly, I think you're right."
Jean winced when Mike bellowed for Teabiscuit to go back to the stable. The young man sounded a little too much like a Drill Sergeant.
"Who all is racing tomorrow?" he asked, watching a steel-grey, four-year-old stallion bounce across the field.
"Butterbur under Tirrold's colors, Padfoot under Goethe, Snowdancer under Fritz, and Fullmetal under stable colors."
"Emily, keep Fullmetal's head straight, otherwise he'll hurt himself!"
Mike sighed. "Are you even listening?"
" 'Course I am," he said with a disarming smile. "Butterbur, Padfoot, Snowdancer, and Fullmetal. Are they all running in the same race?"
"Padfoot and Fullmetal are. The other two are running before and after."
"So we'll be done before five."
"Oh, yeah. We'll be finished by three."
"Good."
"What, you're coming too?"
"Hell, yeah. There are a few people in Central that I'd like to meet up with. I'll probably be staying a few days over, if you don't mind."
"Huh. It's not like I have any say in all of this."
"Jean! Jean!" One of the stablehands came charging over the down behind the house. "Phone for you!"
"Who is it?"
"One General Mustang, Army Chief of Staff. Should I tell him to stuff it?"
Mike couldn't help but notice the small grin on his boss' face.
"Hold it, Mike. I may be staying more than just a few days over. I do have to congratulate my former superior."
