Page 21 of Revelry
Tate grabbed some tools from his bag and then came back to Chester, standing in front of him and pulling a hoof between his legs, his thighs clenching around it holding it in place. Tate murmured to Chester and then began scraping out his hoof with an aggressiveness that shocked me. I’d never watched a farrier change shoes before and it looked brutal as hell.
“Does that hurt him?” I called.
“No,” came Tate’s clipped response.
Oookay. Something about Tate’s short reply made me want more.
I rocked my knees. “What ya doing?”
“Cleaning the hoof.”
“Why?”
Tate sighed. “Can you be quiet? I’m trying to concentrate.”
I rolled my lips inwards, not that Tate could see me. Chester dipped his head, waffling in Tate’s hair and nibbling his t-shirt and I stifled a giggle. Tate continued to dig out the hoof, chunks of dirt and grass flying out and I waited for Chester to whinny or pull away but he didn’t.
I stood up, bored of sitting still and came over to the soft leather tool bag sitting on a stool. I picked up an instrument, examining it. “What’s this one do?”
Tate glanced up, letting Chester’s hoof drop and huffed. “Put that back.”
“But what’s it do?” I could practically see the steam coming out of Tate’s ears, but I was enjoying his company far too much.
“It’s a nail cutter,” Tate said, making a grab for it.
I pulled it out of reach. “Okay but what does itdo?”
“The job description is in the name,” he said through clenched teeth, reaching again and just as he had it, I dropped it back into the bag.
“It doesn’t go there,” he grumbled, tidying it away back in the slot I’d taken it from.
“What about this one?” I asked, picking up another tool.
“Gertrude,” he sighed.
“Gertie,” I corrected.
“Please stop touching my things.”
“Do you not like it when someone touches yourthings?” I know, I’m a dick but I’m having fun seeing what will make his wooden façade crack and I hadn’t had fun in what felt like forever.
“No.” He tidied the bag then went back to Chester with some plier-looking things.
“What are those?”
“Hoof nipper,” he grunted, not looking my way. “And before you ask—”
“Let me guess, nips hooves?” I replied, raising a sassy brow and he tilted his head back, glaring at the roof of the stables. I left him to calm down, just watching as he scraped at the hooves, then filed them down and round.
“So if it doesn’t hurt, what does it feel like?”
“Sweet Jesus,” he grumbled, the ginormous nail file he was holding clattering to the ground.
“You dropped your nail file.”
He spun to me. “It’s not a nail fi— you know what, can I help you with something? Because I think this teaching moment is over.”
I furrowed my brow and tapped my lip. “Was I meant to be learning?”
