“¡Buenos días, Eliza!” Martinez calls, climbing out of his truck with his usual easy grin. I wonder if he knows he’s about to save my ass without compensation. He’s wearing those faded jeans that fit him just right and a flannel shirt that brings out his dark eyes.
“About time,” I say, but I’m smiling despite my mood. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about my wee beasties.”
“Never,” he says, pulling equipment from his truck. “Just been swamped with emergency calls. You know how it is.” He doesn’t say he’s been prioritizing clients who pay, and this classy attitude is another thing I love about him.
Martinez has been our hoof guy since I started, and he’s one of the few people who treats my herd like a real business instead of some kind of hobby farm. He’s never once made me feel stupid for asking questions, even when I didn’t know the difference between hoof rot and laminitis.
I think he’s just a few years older than me, and I have no idea what inspires someone to work as an animal foot tender in a major urban area, but he appears to have plenty of work, so who am I to ask questions?
“What’s the verdict?” I ask as he approaches the goat pen. “Are my girls going to pass inspection?”
“Let’s see.” Martinez vaults over the fence with athletic ease, immediately surrounded by curious goats. “Hey there, ladies. Who wants to go first?”
For the next hour, I watch him work his way through my animals with professional efficiency and genuine affection. He checks hooves, files them down, and rubs ointment on some sores. The goats seem to enjoy the attention, which is more than I can say for my own infrequent checkups.
“These animals are in excellent condition,” he says, scratching Ursula behind the ears while she tries to eat his stylus. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”
“Thanks.” The relief is immediate and overwhelming. No inspection issues means I can keep the Bramblewood contract, pay Martinez, and maybe even put away a little money for winter. “Nothing terrible about Maleficent’s left front hoof?”
“Minor chip, but it’s healing well. Nothing to worry about.” Martinez moves to the fence, making a final note. “You’ve got good instincts with these animals, Eliza. A lot of people treat goats like they’re lawn mowers with legs, but you understand them.”
His hand lands on my shoulder as he says it, warm and friendly, and I realize I’m laughing for the first time since last night’s disaster. “Tell that to the city permit office.”
“The permit office can kiss my?—”
“Eliza?”
We both turn toward the voice. Reed stands at the edge of my driveway, holding a paper bag and wearing an expression I’ve never seen before. Uncertain. Almost… jealous?
“Reed,” I say, suddenly aware that Martinez’s hand is on my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought something for the goats.” He holds up the bag awkwardly. “Organic carrots. As a thank you… for everything.”
Martinez glances between us with obvious curiosity. “I’ll just finish up my notes,” he says diplomatically, moving toward his truck but not quite far enough to be out of earshot.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I tell Reed, accepting the bag of carrots.
“Yes, I did.” Reed’s gaze keeps drifting to Martinez, who’s pretending to be absorbed in his tablet. “About last night?—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off before he starts apologizing. “Just don’t.”
“I should have said something. When my father called you my assistant?—”
“Reed, stop.” I can feel Martinez listening. “It’s fine.”
It’s not fine, but I’m not going to hash this out in front of the farrier.
Reed runs that familiar hand through his hair. “Is that your veterinarian?”
“He’s finishing up a hoof inspection.” I glance at Martinez, who’s definitely eavesdropping. “Martinez, come meet Reed. Reed Saint Nicholas, Alberto Martinez.”
“Not my real middle name,” Reed insists.
The two men size each other up with the kind of polite wariness men seem to specialize in. Martinez extends a hand first.
“The tree guy,” he says with interest. “Eliza mentioned your arrangement. Fascinating.”
“Thank you.” Reed shakes his hand, but I can see tension in his shoulders. “How long have you been working with Eliza’s animals?”
