Page 137 of Men in Shorts

“Head up,” he chirped to Gretchen, raising the lunge line. “Up! That’s my good girl.” He returned to a normal tone. “I want to help you, too, Elizabeth. With anything.”

“George has sorted most of my practical matters.” Another gust of wind came up, forcing Elizabeth to move closer so Andrew could hear her. “Perhaps you could visit Tyler and Gwyneth more often when they’re home. You’re their favorite uncle, after all. They moaned about missing you every day we were in Greece. It wasn’t Christmas without Uncle Drew, they said.”

“Really?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t believe me. Your ego knows it’s true.”

He merely grunted, feeling a bit shaken by her kindness. Now that they were a foot apart, Andrew was reminded he was taller than Elizabeth. In his mind’s eye, his sister would always loom over him.

“Is she nearly finished?” Elizabeth frowned at the pony whizzing about them. “I’m getting vertigo.”

Andrew held out his free hand, then lowered it as he asked Gretchen to walk. “I’m glad you suggested this,” he told Elizabeth without looking at her. He knew Colin would be happy to hear how well this meeting had gone—and no doubt amused at their sibling awkwardness.

“Me too.” Elizabeth took a tissue from her coat pocket and dabbed her nose. “We should do this again.”

“Only if by ‘this’ you mean horse stuff, not talking about our feelings.”

“Obviously.” She beamed at him, making his heart twist at the wish she’d do it more often.

Before he could stop himself, Andrew reached out and touched his sister’s shoulder. Her stiff posture seemed to melt, and she moved toward him, opening her arms for an embrace. Andrew bent over and?—

A squeal erupted from his left, and he felt the lunge line go suddenly slack. He pulled back to see Gretchen trotting toward them, ears back, teeth bared, the whites of her eyes showing as she advanced on Elizabeth.

“Whooooa.” Andrew jumped forward and picked up the slithering line, which Gretchen yanked as she stopped, barely a yard from her prey. “Ow.”

“You hateful beast,” Elizabeth hissed, then looked up at Andrew. “I’m talking to her, not you.”

He smirked as he rolled the twinge of soreness from his shoulder. The fact his sister had bothered to clarify her insult showed things had changed between them.

“I could tie her to the fence,” he said, “if you still want to hug.”

“No. The moment’s passed.” Elizabeth gave a dismissive flick of her hand, then turned and marched toward the stable.

Andrew watched his sister go, tempted to let Gretchen loose upon her, perhaps even shoot a “When Ponies Attack” video to share online—or at least with Colin.

But he didn’t.

* * *

Colin wasn’t normallya fan of artificial turf. Its unyielding surface left him and his teammates aching for days after a match. He’d seen news reports saying the wee bits of rubber embedded in the fake grass could cause cancer. Also, it smelled funny.

But today he wanted to kneel down and kiss the pitiless plastic fibers. The week’s snow and rain had turned Glasgow’s natural-grass pitches into unplayable swamps. Today’s game at the Warriors’ home park, Firhill Complex, was one of only a handful of amateur matches not postponed.

In other words, Colin was just happy to be here, at the center of this jade-green monstrosity, playing for the team he loved.

Well into the second half of the 1-1 match—in which he’d started for the first time this season—his legs still felt strong as he dribbled down the line into the Warriors’ attacking third, trying to outpace the defender at his shoulder. Unable to get past the speedy fullback to put in a cross, Colin kicked the ball into the defender’s shins, making it ricochet far out of play for a Warriors throw-in.

As the ball was retrieved, Colin bent over, hands on his thighs, to catch his breath. Sprints were still leaving him winded, but thanks to Evan’s “deadmill” training sessions, these spells were far briefer and milder than those at the cup battle two weeks ago.

“Beware MacDuff! Beware the Thane of Fife!”

Colin straightened up, swiped his sweaty hair off his forehead, and grinned at the Rainbow Regiment cramming the home stand. Andrew had concocted a few new chants he considered much cleverer, but none had caught on like theMacbethquote.

He stood now beside John at the edge of the seating area, wisely removing himself from the center of the Regiment. Colin had suggested he stay home to avoid the crowd, but Andrew would have none of it.

“I need to be out amongst friends,” he’d said,“not cowering beneath my bed like an injured mouse.”

“Suit yourself,”Colin had replied,“but just gie’s the signal and I’ll get myself red-carded so we can leave.”

---