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    Little Horses
    Little Horses
    Little Horses
    Ebook29 pages28 minutes

    Little Horses

    By Janice Daugharty

    ()

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    About this ebook

    "Husband and wife, they looked blood-related; they looked perfect, like arm-linking dolls on the top tier of a wedding cake. Except when they were drunk..."
    Assistant Professor Randolph Sears--Randy to his only two friends--is about to learn why Anthony and Verandah drink so much when they are with him. And then he sees himself as he really is, not how he hopes he is.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJanice Daugharty
    Release dateJun 17, 2010
    ISBN9781452330068
    Little Horses
    Author

    Janice Daugharty

    Janice Daugharty is Artist-in-Residence at Abraham Baldwin Agricultural College, in Tifton, Georgia. She is the author of one story collection and five novels: Dark of the Moon, Necessary Lies, Pawpaw Patch, Earl in the Yellow Shirt, and Whistle.

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      Book preview

      Little Horses - Janice Daugharty

      Little Horses

      by Janice Daugharty

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2010 Janice Daugharty

      Even working in microcosm, Janice Daugharty is a writer who thinks big. New York Times Book Review—GOING THROUGH THE CHANGE, 1995

      Janice Daugharty is a born writer... Joyce Carol Oates

      ...Daugharty does a fine job of demonstrating how ordinary men and women are affected, in unpredictable ways, by race, poverty and geography and by the enduring legacy of important historical moments. Francine Prose, People

      Husband and wife, they looked blood-related; they looked perfect, like arm-linking dolls on the top tier of a wedding cake. Except when they were drunk.

      Drunk was how Associate Professor Randolph Sears—Randy to his only two friends—saw them that evening when he stopped under the arched entrance to the foyer of the Darton College President’s house on the campus where he taught. Standing so, with both arms straight down by his ribby sides, he was shocked with seeing the couple and himself too, an unlikely threesome that never should have happened. But he had been building up to that conclusion for a while. It was the why-continue that struck him with such force of futility, dullness, and the fool’s knowledge that he was being used. He was Anthony and Veranda’s ticket to literary events at the local college and that was all.

      Anthony was sitting close to the visiting playwright, forcing some tale of his old-family plantation near Albany, Georgia, which as best Randolph had been able to figure was about half-true. At any rate the story had been recycled so many times it had turned to dust. Not that Anthony ever pretended to have money, only that his family used to. His wife was a vet tech at an animal clinic, in Albany, and he was a lowly stockbroker playing at ranching on the side. Raised a few toy horses on twelve measly acres gone to thistle. His black calf western boots were squared before him, elbows on his knees and hands latched between them. He had on blue jeans and a cashmere-ish black sweater with a white tee showing at the neck. Which made him look like a country music star, especially compared with the stiff suited professors and the slatternly-dressed students.

      The ruddy, past-fifty

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