Page 29 of Brim Over Boot
“Jesus fuck, what is your problem?” I spit, standing up.
“You,” he says, sounding at a loss. “The answer to that is always you.”
“Well, don’t I feel special.”
Silence stretches following my words, and my heart pounds. Noah’s jaw is tense, his eyes boring into me, and I hate it. I want him todosomething. To go already or…
Noah turns with a shake of his head, and I pull in a breath, the force of the inhale surprising me.
“Fine,” I find myself calling. Noah stops. “I accept your terms.”
“My terms,” he says, looking back at me.
“The…ink.”
His eyebrow pops up, and he turns fully, crossing his arms and regarding me. “Really? But you’re a virgin.”
I huff. “I amnot—”
“Your skin,” he says, seemingamused. “Unless you have a tattoo I’m unaware of?”
“No. And I won’t be getting one. Because I’ll win the Shoein’.”
He scoffs, taking a step closer. “I’mreallygoing to enjoy seeing my name tattooed across your ass.”
“Why thefuckwould you be seeing it?” I ask, alarmed.
He comes up short, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t thought of that, but a voice from down the hall has both of our heads whipping to the side.
“Well? What’s the verdict?” Marie asks, looking from me to Noah and back again.
Noah leaves us to it, heading to his makeshift station, and I give Marie the news.
“Peanut had a small nail in his sole. It didn’t appear to have caused much of an issue and came out just fine. I’ll soak his hoof, clean the wound, and wrap him up. But you’ll want to check with your vet to make sure his tetanus is up to date.”
“Jesus,” Marie says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “A nail? Who the hell is leaving nails out in my yard?”
It’s a rhetorical question I don’t bother answering, knowing Marie isn’t actually accusing anyone of planting it.
“I’ll pay you for your time and supplies,” she says, sounding tired. “Thanks, Colton.”
“Not a problem,” I assure her.
Marie heads off, going out the front door instead of back the way she came. Probably to check on the other half of her business: her chickens.
I glance at where Noah is leading a new horse out into the aisle. The ink on his left forearm snakes around him like a vine, disappearing up under his shirt. The design is distinctly floral, except it’s not actually vines at the center, I realize. It’s rope.
I’m not sure what the flowers are.
Noah catches me looking, and I quickly turn around, focusing on Peanut instead of my archenemy. The one who, apparently, has colorful flowers tattooed on his skin.
I find a bucket in the tack room to soak Peanut’s hoof, and the next forty minutes is spent tending to his minor wound. Once he’s wrapped up and reshod, I add a fabric boot to help keep the bandages clean. Marie can take it off as she sees fit.
Closing the door to Peanut’s stall, I hesitate.
Maybe noticing the sudden stillness in the air, Noah turns his head, his hat set aside now and his hair falling messily over his forehead. His eyes narrow as I step his way.
“Don’t, Colton,” he says stiffly, refocusing on the hoof held between his knees. “I’m just trying to do my work.”
