Page 64 of The Runaway and the Rugged
“Uh, I don’t believe so. Should I have?” It didn’t ring a bell despite how hard I tried to make sense of it.
He shot another glance in my direction.
“Maybe, but it’s no shock you haven’t.” He shrugged. “I’ll let you figure out what it means on your own.” His mouth curled slightly at the side before he shifted his focus back to driving.
The rest of the ride was quiet and somewhat peaceful as I peered out the window, taking in the new surroundings. I definitely wasn’t in New York anymore.
Not even close.
And despite the twisted, contorted knot in my stomach, I knew this was the beginning of a new chapter in my life.
Never setting foot inside of a horse stable, I had no idea what to expect. The smell? Certainly not the greatest. Yet, what truly blew me away was the sight of at least five horses poking their heads out in curiosity. They must have been alerted by the sound of our boots as each one of them shifted their attention to us.
“Which one is Ella?” I asked, searching for a dark brown mane and white splotches down her muzzle.
“I moved her out already.” Garth walked over to what appeared to be an empty stall and swung open the door. “This is where you’ll be startin’ today, in Ella’s stall.”
With hesitant steps, I took the spot beside Garth and peered inside the spacious little area, immediately being hit with a strong smell of ammonia. Instinctively, the back of my flannel sleeve connected with my nose in hopes of neutralizing the smell any way that I could. And Garth, of course, stood beside me without a flinch of his nose, as if it were just another day in the office for him.
“You’re in luck, it don’t look too bad in there today.”
My wide, shocked eyes flew to his and for a second, my hand faltered over my nose, causing a tiny burst of the putrid smell to infiltrate my nostrils. I nearly keeled over.
“I’m—I’m in luck!?” I coughed, trying my hardest to keep myself from gagging. “Nothing about that smell tells me I’m in luck.”
I took a much-needed step away from the stall, if only to try breathe in some fresh oxygen.
“Trust me, we deal with a hell of a lot worse here, this ain’t nothin,” he grunted, moving somewhere behind the stall and reappearing with a shovel, pitchfork, and wheelbarrow.
“Yeah, this ain’t nothin’ for you, but what about me?” I used his slang against him, not caring how bratty I was coming off. “Do I look like I know how to use one of those?”
“A shovel?” He stared at me like I was certifiably insane. “You ain’t ever used a shovel?”
My throat went dry from the amount of humiliation that bombarded me.
“I mean, not… not recently have I used one.” I stumbled through my words, finding it even more impossible to maintain eye contact with him.
“Recently? Like when, a year ago? Two?” he questioned.
A long, winded exhale fell past my mouth.
“No…” I admitted, my cheeks flaming at the thought of disclosing the truth. “Does it really even matter? You want me to use the stupid shovel? I’ll figure it out. But that… pointy one.” I used my hand and gestured to the pitchfork. “You can use that one.”
He must be rendered speechless or seconds away from bursting out into laughter, having stayed quiet for far too long. Moments later, he finally responded.
“You’ll figure it out?” He chuckled in disbelief, shifting his gaze elsewhere before quickly bringing them back to me. “It’s a fuckin’ shovel, Outlaw. Not rocket science. If you’re really that worried about not knowin’ how to use one, then I’ll be happy to give you a pair of gloves and you can use those hands to clean.”
My mouth fell open. If he wasn’t technically my boss or the reason I had a place to call “home” right now, I’d give him a piece of my mind. But I didn’t do that, as much as I wanted to. I took a deep breath, cleared my head, and mustered up my courage before storming toward him and snagging the shovel and pitchfork from his hands.
It’s just cleaning horse pee and manure, right? If twelve-year-old Grace can do it, why can’t I? I’ve cleaned… mud from the floor? That’s essentially the same, right?
I marched off in the direction of the stall, not bothering with covering my nose or paying any mind to the low grumbles coming from Garth.
“I’ll be even happier to let you use the gloves yourself, cowboy,” I tossed the words over my shoulder, mentally giving myself a pat on the back as I crossed the doorway.
“Jesus, watch where you’re steppin’,” he grumbled when moments later, I set my foot down and a mushy, gross feeling spread beneath it, making me wince. I didn’t want to look, I couldn’t, but I knew I’d just stepped in horse shit.
Ella’s horse shit.
