I finish cleaning his hoof without incident, which feels like an accomplishment worthy of applause.
Olivia gives me none.
She only makes another note on her clipboard.
Ruthless child.
Rory brings over the next shoe, heated and glowing faintly from the heat.
“Put his leg back up on the stand,” he says. Then he looks toward the small group gathered near the barn entrance. “Remember, everyone, this isn’t going to hurt him.”
This is leg three, so I’ve already seen it done twice.
After a few seconds, Rory pulls the shoe away, makes a small adjustment, then places it again before nodding.
“Perfect.”
He cools the shoe, lines it up properly, and begins nailing it into place with the kind of practiced precision that makes the work look easier than it is.
When the shoe is secure, Rory clips off the pointed ends of the nails, smooths everything down, then releases Thor’s leg.
The massive horse sets his hoof on the ground and shifts his weight.
Olivia scribbles something on her clipboard as I straighten, my back protesting in several languages.
“Well?” I ask her.
She studies me with the seriousness of a judge deciding a man’s fate.
“You listened well,” she says. “You didn’t move too fast. You didn’t panic when Thor leaned on you. And you didn’t complain too much.”
“Too much?”
“You asked about the hoof stand.”
“That was a valid question.”
She considers that, then nods. “Fine. Valid complaint.”
Amelia presses her lips together, but her eyes are laughing.
“And my grade?” I ask.
Olivia looks down at her clipboard, then back up at me.
“A-minus.”
Rory lets out a low whistle. “High praise.”
“What kept it from being an A?” I ask.
Olivia points her pen at my shoes. “You wore fancy shoes to a barn. That was just silly.”
I look down at my ruined dress shoes…then at Amelia.
She laughs, soft and bright, and the sound hits me deep.
Images of Adriana surface before I can stop them.
