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“Christ, am I going to have to teach you everything?”
Her dander rose. Smoke might ooze out her ears any minute now. “For a hundred bucks an hour you ought to teach me to fly to the moon.”
“Heck, I’d launch the rocket myself. Jesus. Come on.” He walked toward Belle’s stall.
She had no choice but to follow. Daddy had been adamant about her learning to ride. Why now? She had no idea. She’d been set to inherit her half of Bay Crossing, their ranch on the western slope, for over a decade. She’d found that out during her ill-fated engagement to Chad’s brother Zach years ago. Zach was now happily married with a four-year-old rug rat, while Angie’s biological clock whispered ticktock, ticktock.
She let out a breath. Not going there right now. She had horse feet to…what? Clean? Guess she’d find out.
She entered the stall and found Rafe running his left hand down Belle’s left foreleg. “Up,” he said, and Belle lifted her foot. In his other hand he held what looked like a toothbrush with a metal hook attached. “This is a hoof pick. Use it to pry out any rocks or dirt in the hoof.” He examined the foot. “I don’t see any rocks. There’s a little dirt.” He brushed the hoof and a few small clumps of dirt fell onto the floor. “Come closer and look.”
Angie knelt down next to Rafe.
“Her hoof looks good, but see here?” He pointed to the part not covered by the horseshoe. “The sole is more tender than the outside of the hoof. This darkish part is the frog. Belle’s is healthy. This is what it’s supposed to look like, so if the color changes or she has any lacerations, no matter how tiny, take note. A horse can’t do its job if its feet are sore.”
“Its job?”
“Carry you around while you learn to ride, of course.” He put the hoof down. “Your turn. Her right foreleg. Come on.”
Angie hedged a little. “What if she kicks me?”
“You plan to do anything to make her kick you? You just saw me do it. She’s used to having her feet cleaned. Run your left hand down her leg so you can brush out the foot with your right.”
“I’m left-handed.”
“Fine. Just do the opposite then. Here, I’ll show you.”
He took her right hand, and a tingle shot up her arm. She jolted. She hadn’t felt anything like that in a long time. But Rafe Grayhawk? He was a god to look at, but not her type at all.
Belle’s foreleg was sleek and soft. “Up,” she said, as Rafe had, and miracle of miracles, Belle lifted her hoof. Angie brushed away some dirt and examined the sole and frog carefully. They looked identical to the first.
“See anything?” Rafe asked.
“No. She looks fine.”
“Good job. Now the hind legs.”
Angie repeated the process twice more and pronounced Belle’s hooves healthy.
“Now get the currycomb,” Rafe said. “You do know which one is the currycomb, right?”
“Yes, I know what a currycomb is.” She wasn’t a complete imbecile. She grabbed the round instrument and started on Belle’s left side, circling the brush in small movements through the horse’s coat.
“Very nice. You do know a little something.”
Yes, she knew how to curry. Her 4-H days hadn’t been a complete waste. After she became rodeo queen at eighteen, though, she’d left animal care to the hands. Belle stood still, snorting every now and then. “You like that, girl?”
“Most horses enjoy grooming if it’s done properly,” Rafe said. “Take a look at her body while you’re doing it. See if she has any injuries we should be aware of. Be sure to lighten your touch in the bony areas around her shoulders so you don’t hurt her. Here, let me show you.”
He took the currycomb from her, and this time, despite the smell of barn, she caught a quick whiff of his scent. Leather, the outdoors, and something unique that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Was it coconut? Couldn’t be. A chill feathered up her spine, but disappeared as quickly as it came.
What amazing forearms this man had. The sinewy muscles contracted as he showed her how to brush Belle’s bonier areas.
“Gentle, see? She likes that.”
“Let me try.” Angie took the comb from him. Was she actually enjoying this process?
After currying came combing out the tangles in Belle’s mane. The poor thing did have some knots. She started at the bottom, disentangling the strands until she could move upward. She had a flashback of combing through her sister’s long hair when Catie was six and Angie was seventeen. Catie used to scream bloody murder. Belle took it a lot better as Angie detangled her tail.
