Page 73 of Brett and Rowdy
The guys backed off, and he took the bag of treats from Madison, watching those silky ears swiveling. Someone liked horse cookies.
“Okay, Big Boy,” Brett murmured. “You eat this, and I’ll unclip one lead so you can move with me, see what I’m doing, huh?” He eased one lead off the ring of Big Boy’s halter. “I get that he wanted to make sure you couldn’t bite, but that gave you more room to kick, right?”
He looked around, making sure he had everything he was going to need, his bag or no. It was obvious that there’d beenan emergency—things were haphazard and scattered, the hands obviously not wanting to aggravate Big Boy.
He grabbed some nippers and picks up off the sand and set them on the bench, then righted the great big stand, which had been kicked over. He was tickled shitless to find it painted a bright pink. He glanced at Madison. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pink farrier stand before.”
“Daddy got it for him as a joke. We’ve got a whole setup here—anvil, tools, forge, everything you could need.”
He nodded. Just letting Big Boy get used to his presence. “So tell me, Miss Madison, what do you know about shoeing in this environment as opposed to back home?”
“Well, here we don’t have to worry about white line or hoof rot near as much, but we’ve got to be careful and flat shoe as much as possible because we’ve got goatheads and sand and rocks that can get under there and just irritate the hell out of everything.” She smiled at him, but he could tell she was used to being in school, because she answered him like a student, not a boss. “Also, while we don’t have to worry about rotting, we do have to worry about everything drying out, and I know that a dry hoof is hard to cut. You’re gonna have to use those nippers, especially with this guy. The hooves here are going to be hard, dried out, and it’s a challenge.”
He nodded. “Good job. You know your stuff.”
She shrugged. “I mean, I’m not a farrier by any means; I don’t want you to think that I think I am or anything. I just… I know what I need to know, I guess.”
“Hey, this is part of the job. You have to know everything.” He tested Big Boy’s willingness to give him a foot and to his surprise, the horse was, maybe not happy, but going to let him get to work. “So you said you have a forge situation set up?”
“Well, we’ve got the old forge, but I don’t know. I mean, that’s been around since the beginning of time. It’s like, it’s not fancy,you know. You have to put fuel in it, and there are old bellows and stuff.”
A spark of excitement hit him, smack dab in the center of his chest. “Oh, wow, we’ll have to see that. I’m curious.”
“Sure.” She grinned at him. “There’s a nice farrier shed attached to it too.”
“You have somebody full time?” There didn’t seem to be that many horses.
“No, although that’s one that’s on my list. I think we need someone more often. Someone who can be here, if not full time, then at least be available and not be eighty-five years old.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Daddy’s gonna say that there’s no need for a full-time farrier, and we don’t want folks to get bored, but I hate the idea of needing somebody and having to wait. I guess that’s stupid, huh?”
“Why?” He set to work, checking each hoof, putting his head down and really getting in there cleaning things up. By the time he was done with one hoof, he was sweating like a whore in church, and it felt so damn good.
He felt like he was doing one of the things he had been put on earth to do.
Madison had wandered off to grab his bag while he shaped and shoed, and the cowboys had all gone back to work.
Him? He was just sitting there working away, jabbering to Big Boy, as happy as a pig in shit.
By the time he was done, he and Big Boy were going to be friends, and they shared a bit of a currycombing before the huge dude was let out to rest.
Brett was experiencing something he hadn’t in way too long, and that was hope and a bone-deep peace.
“Is there anybody else that needs shoeing?” he asked some random cowboy. “Is there someone else that the farrier was supposed to see to today?”
“No, sir.” This young kid with a missing front tooth and a vicious scar on his lip grinned at him. “Thank you for doing this. Would you like to see the farrier shed and forge? I’ll help you put the stuff away.” One hand was held out to him. “Jack Martinez.”
“Brett Kilpatrick.” They shook, and he started gathering up his tools. “Point me and shoot me.”
And off he went, buzzing with anticipation, listening to Jack talk to him with half an ear.
The forge building was enough to steal his breath. It was a long, low stone building with thick wooden beams at the roof, which also held up the covered porch. There was a double forge with an outside and inside hearth, a tuyere… The quenching tub was in need of mending, but the anvil was obviously still being used.
The setup they had here was glorious, and his mouth was literally watering as he waved Jack off and went to explore all the nooks and crannies, the jumble of tools from modern to hundreds of years old.
It was a forge. Like an old-timey amazing artist forge.
He stood there for a second, his brain spinning.
Because he would obviously need all of his equipment from home.
