Page 9 of Brim Over Boot
“Late night?” my dad asks, his glasses perched down at the end of his nose.
I shrug. “Not really. Just needed the sleep.”
Someone down the table snickers, and I look around.
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
“Colton dear,” my mom says, her brown eyes twinkling in a way I know means trouble. “You’ve got a little something…”
She taps her cheek in demonstration, and I scoot my chair hastily back, heading in the direction of the hallway bathroom. As soon as I see my reflection in the mirror, my eyes shoot wide.
“It wasn’t like that!” I shout to a chorus of returned laughter, all good-natured enough I can’t be upset by it. I wet a washcloth and scrub furiously at my cheek. Specifically, at the bright red imprint of lips. “Itwasn’t.”
“No shame in the game,” my dad calls back.
Jesus Christ.
“It was Evelyn Jacobs,” I yell.
There’s more laughter at that, and someone wheezes.
“We didn’t…”
I let my voice peter out, giving up on an explanation and shaking my head. Evelyn Jacobs is in her eighties, a terrifying woman on Darling’s event planning committee. She caught me in town on my way home yesterday, verbally strong-arming me into attending this year’s Blossom Bash—Darling’s official springtime festival—with a demonstration on farriery. After procuring my resignedyes, she smacked a floral-scented kiss on my cheek and went on her way.
“It’s cute,” Remi says from the doorway, clearly battling his own laughter. “You two would make a fine couple.”
“Get over here,” I gripe, making a grab for him.
Remi deftly evades me, dancing away on lithe feet and disappearing up the stairs. I give up on trying to wipe away the red smudge and rejoin the lunch crowd. The food is good, even as my thoughts flit from Evelyn Jacobs—who I most certainly didnotget with—to Heather and even the women I was with before her.
Every relationship I’ve been in—casual or not—has been fine. They’ve all beenfine, but nothing much beyond that.
Is there a woman out there I’ll want to spend my hazy mornings with? Someone who’ll be more thanfine. Maybe even someone capable of creating those fireworks I’ve heard other folks talking about?
If there is, I wish I knew where to find her.
Chapter 4
Noah
“Seethehoofwallhere?” Colton says, holding up a plastic model for the small crowd—mostly kids—gathered in front of him. “Every four to six weeks or so, this needs to be trimmed down.”
“Doesn’t that hurt the horse?” one small child in a bright pink tutu asks. A fuzzy coat sits above the skirt, considering the cool weather today.
“Not in the least,” Colton says. “Does it hurt when you get your nails clipped?”
“No,” the child answers.
“Same thing,” Colton explains. “I trim their nails and clean up the soles of their hooves, same way folks exfoliate the dry skin off the bottom of their feet. I just do that part with a knife.”
A couple kids gasp, and Colton chuckles, the sound raspy.
“I’m very careful,” he says, holding up first a loop knife and then a slightly curved hoof knife with a pick at the end of the blade. It’s left-handed. I had no idea he’s left-handed. “These are the tools I use.”
As Colton explains the process of trimming a hoof, I walk away from the large tree I’d been using as cover to watch him. Not that he would have noticed me anyway in the crowd, but still. No need to invite a repeat of the incident at the store, whatever the hell that was.
I tug the collar of my jacket up around my neck and stroll past the activities at the Blossom Bash. There’s a rock painting station, a build-your-own paper sunflower craft, even a table where kids can plant flower seeds in small clay pots to bring home.
