Page 71 of Brim Over Boot
“Should be in the arena,” Noah answers.
“Right,” the girl says. “I’ll just go check then.”
Noah hums his agreement, and Marie’s new student walks off. I can feel him watching me, but I don’t look.
“Daphne?” he asks.
I shrug, starting to work on Peanut’s hooves. I clip the ends of the horseshoe nails off with a little more force than necessary.
Noah makes a thoughtful sound, and I glance over at him, wondering what the fuck he has to be thoughtful about. He’s focused on his own work, the arm that’s covered with rope and flowers flexing. I peek at the other, not having gotten a good look before. The rope continues on that side, but it ends above his elbow. It’s hard to make out the rest of his tattoo sleeve from here, but I think I see…antlers? We do have elk in Montana, so that could be it. A thorny crown, maybe. And…numbers. Dates?
I wonder again about the horseshoe that peeks out from the collar of his shirt. Does he have more tattoos covering his chest?
I force my gaze away, frustrated with myself for staring. I don’t need to concern myself with Noah King’s tattoos. Or hisanything, really.
“Why do you figure Marie keeps such a large flock of chickens?” I ask, looking for something to keep my mind occupied. “Seems like the horse business keeps her plenty busy.”
“The chickens were her husband’s before he passed,” Noah replies. “She never got rid of ’em.”
“Oh,” I say, my chest panging in sympathy. I knew Marie’s husband passed some years back, but it happened before I took her on as a client. I didn’t realize the farm was her husband’s, not her own.
The realization that Noahdidknow because he, once upon a time, was Marie’s primary farrier adds another layer to the ache in my chest. One I don’t want.
I fucked up losing Noah this job. And this—the fifteen horses he’s taking care of through the summer—isn’t enough. It’s not enough to make up for the fact that he should be the one here in my place.
Noah was right. It’s one thing for a client to switch to another farrier of their own volition. It’s entirely another to slander one’s name so badly the client drops them.
God fuckingdamnit.
“What?” Noah asks, apparently having sensed my tension from down the hall.
“Nothing, it’s just…” I heave out a sigh. “I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry for losing you this job.”
Noah is quiet for the longest time. “All right.”
“All right?” I ask, whipping my head his way. “Just…all right?”
“Yeah,” he says, rasping down his horse’s hoof with efficient movements, thesht, sht, shtrhythmic and familiar. “I appreciate the apology.”
What in the ever-loving fuck?
“That’s it?” I ask.
“I mean, you would’ve looked better saying it down on your knees,” he drawls. “But I’d be happy to accept a redo if you’d like.”
Oh, the fucker.
Noah smirks, enjoying the hell out of himself. I shake my head, not knowing what to make of his easy acceptance. It doesn’t fit what I know of the man.
But do I really know him all that well?
No, I don’t.
I don’t even know what the dates on his arm are. Only how his cock feels in my palm. And the taste of his lips on my tongue.
Ah, hell.
I put up a mental blockade to keep out all thingsNoah Kingas I refocus on my work. I get so lost in the repetitive process of shoeing, in fact, that I succeed in tuning out the man. It’s not until sometime after noon that I look over at his station to find him gone.
