He finishes up and hands me the hoof pick, leading me over to her other side.
Butterflies form a swarm in my stomach, but I move in beside her, sliding one hand down her leg like he showed me. She obediently lifts her leg, but I’m so surprised I drop it the first time.
“Just get a good hold on it.”
He steps in closer, but I wave him off. “I got this.”
Second time’s the charm, and I try to copy what he did on the other side, digging the dirt out with the metal hook and staying away from the frog (what a stupid name for a part of a horse’s foot). Quint makes gentle corrections and offers pointers, and I’m feeling pretty good about the job I’ve done. Until it’s time to move to the back foot. That end definitely looks more dangerous to me. I take a breath and slide my hand down her leg, channeling Willow Sterling. Willow Sterling isn’t afraid of horse feet. She cleans horse feet all the time.
At first it goes okay. She lifts up like she did for the front one, but then her tail comes whipping around, lashing mein the face like a whip, and I squeal, releasing the leg and jumping away.
I look up to see Quint struggling not to laugh at me.
“What are you laughing at? That hurt.”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Try one more time, and then we’ll take her out for a graze before lunch.”
I blow my cheeks out, steeling myself to get back in there while my heart pounds. There’s no further incident on the second try, and I straighten up, stepping away from her. The relief I feel is almost as tangible as the sting on my skin from Flash’s tail.
“Good job,” he tells me, and it sounds like he means it. “I’m just gonna put this back in the tack room, and we can head outside. It’s a beautiful day to bask in the sunlight.”
I reach up to rub a hand down my cheek. My lotion has SPF 45 in it, so I’m covered.
He pulls a red cotton rope off the stall door, turns around and starts to laugh.
“What?” I ask with a frown.
He reaches a hand up, pulls it back and waves it at his own cheek. “You’ve a got a little dirt.”
Heat crawls up my neck, and I reach up to swipe at my cheek, but he shakes his head.
“I’ll grab something. Give me a sec.”
I turn to the horse. “Seriously?” But she just tosses her head and opens her mouth up to show me a wild set of yellow teeth. “Are you laughing at me too? Figures.”
“You talking to her now?” Quint steps beside me, brandishing a wet wipe.
“No.”
“It’s a good thing. I wasn’t criticizing.” He holds out the wipe.
I snag it, our fingers brushing in the transfer, and that little zip of electricity travels up my arm. And again, I curse my past self for choosing the hottest cowboy in Canada, possibly North America, to be my riding instructor.
While I’m wiping the dirt off my face, he snaps the lead rope under Flash’s chin before unsnapping the side ropes.Crossties, he called them. I’m going to have to research all the horse terms before the crew gets here. That is, if I can get the riding part solid enough to keep the role.
He explains how to lead a horse, one hand under her chin, one farther down the rope, but not looped around my hand. There are so many rules to follow. Good thing I’m used to that.
“What do I do now?” I ask once my hands are properly positioned on the rope.
“Just walk. Follow me, and she’ll come along.”
I twist my neck and side-eye Flash. It can’t be that easy.
“They’re just like giant dogs,” he says.
“Not reassuring. I’ve seen what some dogs do to their owners.”
“True. Some horses are like that too. Whether they’ve been poorly trained, they’re young, or they’ve been mistreated. That’s why you always have to be careful around unfamiliar horses. But Flash has been around the trail more than a few times. She’s a sweetheart. You’ve got nothing to worry about with her.”
