Page 70 of Brim Over Boot
“Whereabouts?” the girl asks.
“Would you know if I told you?” Noah replies.
She titters like that’s the funniest thing. “No, guess not. Been doing this job a long time? You look like you know your way around.”
“Over fifteen years,” he answers.
Would it be rude to tell this girl to kindly fuck off? Probably. But Christ. I don’t know how Noah hasn’t gotten fed up with her questioning by now.
I peek out of the stall again, appraising them both. The girl is dressed in typical riding apparel. Tight pants. High boots. A collared shirt because Marie likes her students to always look ready to show. She’s not wearing her sleek helmet, but it’s tucked at her side.
Noah, like usual, is in jeans, a t-shirt that’s seen better days, and chaps. His boots are dusty and worn in, and although he’s not wearing his white hat, it’s resting nearby. He hasn’t stopped working as he’s withstood the girl’s chattering, so he’s currently bent over a hoof. But even so, he’s far bigger than her. More rugged by leaps and bounds.
Clearly, she likes what she sees. Is it his size? The damn tattoos that make him look almost dangerous? The stupid hair that’s shaved at the sides?
Is Noah…handsome? Like, conventionally handsome?
I’ve never thought much about it. He’s not terrible to look at, I guess, even though his attitude could definitely use some work. He does have unique eyes, the way they almost shine like woodfire, the coppery color far lighter than his hair. And he’s proportional, I suppose. Folks like that, right?
He’s definitely fit. Arms for days. Muscles visible beneath his thin t-shirt. I mean, the man was able to hoist me right over his shoulder, for fuck’s sake. He’s clearly strong.
And his ass, now that I’m thinking about it, is—
Oh fuck.
Nope. No, no.
I dive back within the safety of my stall, focusing on Peanut. He allows me to lift his hoof without issue, and I check it over carefully. I can’t see any evidence of his prior injury, which is good. It means he can be trimmed without issue.
I lead him out of the stall, trying not to pay attention to the conversation happening nearby.
“How often are you here?” the girl asks.
Oh, fuck off already.
Noah hums. “Every four weeks or so. Unless something pops up.”
She makes a sad sound. “So I won’t see you for another month? We’ll have to fix that. I’m only here six weeks, after all.”
“Hey, Noah?” I say loudly.
He looks over at me, a brow raised. The girl looks my way, too.
“You got an extra pair of nippers?” I ask. “Can’t find mine.”
His lips twitch. “In my bag.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, making sure Peanut’s lead is secured before I head that way. I drop down, rummaging through the bag, not in any rush. “How’s, uh…”Shit, I need a name. “Daphne? Your girlfriend?”
Noah is outright smiling now, looking amused. What-fucking-ever. If he’s too polite to tell this girl to get lost, I can handle it. And yes, Daphne may be his motorcycle, but it’s the first name that popped into my head.
“Daphne,” he replies leisurely, “is doing just fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Mhm,” I mumble, finding the spare pair of nippers I don’t actually need and standing. I notice the girl’s frown as I walk away.
Hah. Take that.
“So, uh, have you seen Mrs. Doherty?” she asks.
