Page 28 of Brim Over Boot
Noah is set up in the center aisle, dust-covered chaps over his dark jeans, the white hat on his head blocking my view of his face but not the tattoos visible on his forearms. Or what looks like an inked horseshoe peeking out near his collarbone.
I heave an internal sigh and walk his way.
He must hear me approaching because his head lifts, his movements stilling for all of a second before he goes back to his work.
Good. We’re ignoring each other. That I can do. And happily.
I trudge past toward stall five on the right. Peanut, the horse I need to check, is inside as expected. I greet him, voice low, and open the stall door. Peanut doesn’t seem overly bothered as I urge him to lift his hoof, used to that sort of thing from me. It takes me a good minute to spot the problem, but, finally, I see a small object embedded into his sole right along the edge of his shoe.
“Well, dang,” I say, letting his hoof down. “Let’s get that outta there, huh?”
Peanut doesn’t argue.
I step back into the hall, rummaging through my bag for the thin-tipped pliers I know are there. Noah is still hard at work, his ass aimed my way. I flip him off while he can’t see it.
Back in Peanut’s stall, I hunker low, letting the horse’s front leg rest on my thigh as I take a better look at the underside of his hoof. I use the end of the pliers to scrape away the excess dirt, avoiding the object itself. Looks like metal.
From outside the stall, I can hear Noah talking to his charge. “Nah, nah, none of that,” he says. The horse is probably nibbling on him, as they like to do. “There you go. Yep. That’s a good boy.”
My head whips up so fast I nail it on the metal hay feeder attached to the wall. I grunt, closing my eyes tight against the sting.
“All right over there?” Noah asks.
“Yep,” I manage. “Fine.”
Fuck, that smarts.
I rub gingerly over my head as Noah goes back to soothing his horse with gently spoken words. I forcibly tune it out, setting to work on getting the object free from Peanut’s hoof. It doesn’t take long to realize I need to remove the shoe to avoid hurting him. Whatever it is—a fence nail, maybe?—is embedded at such an angle I can’t get a good grip.
I go through the process of removing his shoe and try again. But the moment I get a good grip on the metal, Peanut tugs his leg away.
I mutter a quiet apology to the horse and try again. Andagain, Peanut isn’t having it.
“Need help?”
“Christ,” I growl, nearly bashing my head for a second time as I look up at Noah in the doorway. “Warn a guy, would ya?”
Noah pointedly clears his throat before saying, once more, “Need help?”
“No,” I spit out, immediately amending it to, “Maybe.”
He steps into the stall, making the space feel much too cramped. Heavy boots pass by as Noah situates himself on the other side of me, one hand on the horse’s halter, the other rubbing over his neck. I pick up Peanut’s hoof again, and when he tries to look back at me, Noah clicks in a soothing manner and talks to the horse.
The distraction is enough to give me a chance to get ahold of the object with the pliers and give an experimental tug. Peanut tries to pull free, but I hold on, anticipating the move, and Noah distracts him again. The embedded nail moves enough that, this time, I don’t hesitate to give it a swift and decisive pull. It comes clean out, and I let Peanut drop his hoof back to the ground.
“Gonna need to clean that out,” Noah says, referring to the horse’s hoof.
“Oh, really?” I ask, looking up at him. “I had noclueI might want to clean a flesh wound to, y’know, prevent infection or an abscess. ThankGodyou were here to tell me.”
Noah huffs, giving Peanut another pat before stepping over my still-bent leg. “You’re a dick,” he says plainly.
“Takes one to know one,” I shoot back.
“God, do you have to be contrary every damn time we speak?” Noah asks, stopping in the doorway and turning back around, his irritation evident in every line of his body and the set of his jaw.
“Do you have to assume I’m bad at my job? I know how to take care of a hoof, Noah.”
“So glad to hear it, little Colt,” he says dryly. “I can rest easy at night knowing you’re aware of what an abscess is.”
