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Sheriff Walt Longmire and his soon-to-be married daughter, Cady, hit the race track in an original story from New York Times bestselling author Craig Johnson
Walt Longmire, the longtime sheriff of Absaroka County, Wyoming, has little time to relax. Still recovering from his manhunt chasing down escaped convict and sociopath Reynaud Shade in the Bighorn Mountains, Walt just can’t find the opportunity to sit back and kick off his cowboy boots. His daughter, Cady, is getting married in a few months to the brother of his under-sheriff Victoria Moretti and is in town, helping her dad ‘recuperate’ and to talk about love, life, and weddings.
Meanwhile, the American Indian Days Parade and Pow Wow are attracting tourists and trouble. The pride and joy of Tommy Jefferson’s stables—and the catalyst for his marital problems—the notorious divorce horse, has gone missing, and Jefferson, renowned Indian Relay Racer and one-time meth head, wants him back. With the help of his best friend Henry Standing Bear and his daughter, The Greatest Legal Mind Of Our Time, Walt sets off to the races. This delightful Penguin Group eSpecial includes the twenty-seven page long original story, Divorce Horse, as well as the first chapter from As the Crow Flies.
truck was a holy relic of his life and that replacing parts would alter its spirit. I retorted that it seemed to me that the junk pile’s spirit was in need of a little repair, but he’d ignored me like he always did. I’d also pointed out that the thing didn’t have its original gas, tires, or oil, but that hadn’t gotten me anywhere, either. * * * I rolled the chief up the incline to his picture-perfect home. Lonnie had had some wilder days when he was younger and had played baseball and
side of the chain-link fence that separated her yard from the sidewalk. “Well, he’d like you to call him.” Lisa put the can down. “No thanks. I jumped that crazy horse, Sheriff—and I have no intentions of getting back on.” She applied more suntan lotion to her arms. “Anyway, I yanked the cord out of the wall.” Then she’d served papers, and that’s when things really got weird. Tommy began calling me and Verne Selby, who had been appointed judge in the case, and the county clerk
corner and actually appeared to be gaining on the Coleville rider, the rest of the field a far third. Through the back straight, I could see the warbonnet of the Spokane Indian traveling across the ground as if by magic, levitated above the infield and the far railing at close to forty miles an hour. But there was a vengeance that followed him, a Crow centaur who rounded the far corner and blew into the straight like an arrow. You could see Tommy’s head tucked into the horse’s mane, allowing
the apex. Tommy, taking full advantage, veered his pony to the inside, and the two were neck and neck. From our ground-level viewpoint, it looked as if they were headed straight toward us, and as they drew to the corner it appeared as if the Colville rider had the advantage. When they rounded the curve nearest us, though, Tommy made up the distance on the inside, and they were once again running as if the two horses were in traces. They crossed the finish line, no one able to tell
weight on his leg, and glanced at me, possibly unhappy that I was hearing all of it; then he hitched his thumbs in his loincloth. “I keep thinking that I’ll just call, but I made myself a promise that I wouldn’t bother her anymore after all that happened.” We stood there for a moment, listening to the drumming and chanting echoing off the grandstand from the Fancy Dance competition, no one looking at Tommy, Tommy looking up at the first evening star. I straightened my hat. “So, what’s