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He begins stroking Storm’s mane before fetching a grooming brush and using it intermittently with his hand. That brush is gentler than the hoof pick will be, and it seems to soothe Storm. So Porter keeps going, trying to get him acclimated to his touch, along with the other tool.
“Okay, boy,” Porter says, placing the brush down and lifting the pick. “Now we’re gonna try and help you so you’re not in pain anymore.”
He reaches down to lift his hoof, and Storm lets him. But as soon as the stallion feels the instrument against his hoof, he rears his head back. I reach for the halter to hold him steady as Porter uses the same cooing-clicking sound he does with the gelding while grooming him in the evenings.
Storm relaxes a little as he resumes the task. He only gets one go-around with the pick before Storm is trying to pull away.
Porter relents and steps aside as I let go of the halter and loosen my hold on the rope. Storm backs away, but he has little room to move in his stall. The first thing we both notice is he’s able to keep his hoof down.
“I think I got it,” Porter says with something akin to pride in his expression.
I smile. “I think you’re right. Thank God.”
“You’ll feel better now,” Porter says, patting his mane one last time before exiting his stall.
That’s when the stable door opens, and a groom appears. I lift my hand to shush him as he approaches so he doesn’t spook Storm.
“What’s going on, boss?”
“Seems Storm got a stone lodged in his hoof. Porter thinks he got it out.”
He winces, either because he knows what a bear it likely was with a horse like Storm or because he knows how important the farrier’s visit will be for the new stock so they’re not vulnerable to injury.
“I haven’t been able to get close enough, so you two apparently make a good team.”
Porter looks away.
I thump Porter’s shoulder. “Nah, it was all him.”
“I’ll keep an eye out, to make sure a bruise doesn’t form.”
“Sounds good,” Porter replies.
He replaces the pick on the nail as we head out of the stable doors.
“Don’t even say it,” Porter tells me when we’re away from prying eyes.
“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” I tease, nudging him off-balance with my shoulder. “Oops.”
“Oh yeah?” Before I can get away, Porter has me in a headlock, and we’re laughing like we did when we roughhoused as kids.
When I finally get out of his grasp, I look up to see Wade and Randy standing outside the bunkhouse, having what looks like a serious conversation.
I straighten immediately, realizing my mistake. No way I want to show any favoritism toward Porter or make it seem like he has any sway over me.
“Just you never mind,” Wade says, shooing Randy toward his truck.
Randy gives us one more assessing glance before climbing inside and taking off.
“Well, shit,” I whisper under my breath. “We’re gonna need to cool it.”
“I’ll try my best, boss.” Porter smirks as he salutes me and heads toward the bunkhouse.
Chapter 18
Porter
We’ve spent the day with cow shit, and none of us smell the better for it. We need to prep the pastures, so Sully and Wade went out there and gave it a good mow with the rotary cutters, and now me, Bulldog, Big Jimmy, and Randy are dragging the pasture and spreading manure. It’s not my favorite job in the world, but it needs to be done. We need to recycle nutrients into the soil. When it gets cold, the nutrients will sink in, so we get healthier soil in the spring.
