I rubbed Ahwan’s shoulder. “Yup. Anyway, the oldest girl gave the kid a hard time for choosing an ugly name. Kid threw a hissy fit. Said his brother and sister got to keep their picks, andif she wasn’t called Dirt, she shouldn’t have any name. So she doesn’t.”
“But?”
Taking the halter from him, I turned the noseband to show him the name written on it. “Ahwan. A horse without a name.”
“Ohhh! Got it. Whose idea was that?”
“Well, mine. Those kids were a handful, and it stopped the bickering.”
“Good thinking.” Austin smiled at me, and I liked the curve of his full lips a bit too much for my comfort. It’d been a long time since I’d looked at a man and cared how his mouth was shaped. Eight years, give or take, since I’d done more than a fast hookup with whoever was willing. The little simmer of heat inside me was an unwelcome surprise, but the kid would be back off down the road soon, and I’d go back to normal.
“Untack her,” I told him, handing him the reins. “Pick her feet, give her a good curry, and put her in her stall. Third down on the right.”
“Yessir,” Austin replied, like he was used to taking orders, which wasn’t as common as you could want among guys his age.
I kept a close eye as he swapped Ahwan’s headstall for her halter, hooked her up to the cross ties, then undid the cinches and eased the saddle and blanket off her back. He moved like he knew what he was doing, though not with the speed of some of the old cowboys with forty years of practice behind them.
“You want me to put this somewhere special for cleaning, or back on her rack?” he asked, balancing her saddle easily up under his arm.
“Just stick ’em away for now. The racks and hooks have names on them.”
“Got it.” He strode off.
I watched him go, glad his parka hung down below his ass, and murmured to Ahwan, “Good thing he’s not staying. I don’t need that kind of trouble.”
Austin was gone a minute, but came back saying, “I sponged off the bit and shook out the blanket. Grooming next?”
“Sure.” I waved at my mare. “Go for it.”
Part of me was hoping he’d be bad at the job, cold or rough or clumsy. He wasn’t though. Austin talked to Ahwan as he worked, asking her to pick up her feet with hands and voice, telling her what a pretty girl she was as he picked some burrs out of her tail. She leaned into the rubber curry comb and stood still under the brush. From the relaxed flop of her ears, I could tell the kid was doing a good job.
Our orange barn cat wandered down the aisle and stopped to strop his shoulders against Austin’s ankles. Austin paused his grooming, squatted, and stroked the cat, murmuring sweet nothings with a little smile that looked good on his pretty-boy face. Garfield took the petting for a moment, then trotted off looking for mice.
Austin straightened and went back to wielding the body brush over Ahwan’s rump with brisk, firm strokes. Sunlight through a dusty window lit the perfect angle of Austin’s jaw and the horse’s lazy hoof-cocked stance, while her loose hair floated like glitter in the sunbeam. I’d pay money for a painting like that.
“Good enough,” I told Austin after a while, though I wasn’t tired of watching him. With how thick Ahwan’s winter coat got, you could groom till your arms fell off and never run out of hair. “You can put her in her stall and stow the kit away.” I leaned against the stall door behind me and crossed my arms, showing I wasn’t going to do a lick of work.
Austin flicked me a little grin, like this was a game we were playing. He loaded Ahwan into her box stall with a pat to herrump, and didn’t forget to check her water bucket. Then he hustled the kit back to the tack room.
He was longer coming back this time, but I’d heard water run. “I washed my hands,” he said as he reached me. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to be wearing half of Ahwan on my fingers, in case I have to shake hands with your boss.”
I didn’t joke that he had a pretty limited idea of what half that horse’s hair looked like. No jokes. No more smiles. “Mr. Bowen is a pretty hands-on owner, but sure. Come on.”
This time of day, I figured we’d find Kendrick in his study. He used the mornings for paperwork and some accounting work he did for local businesses. He had a degree and all, said he liked nice clean numbers first thing in the morning. The extra income didn’t hurt, either. If cattle ranching had ever been easy money, those days were long gone.
Austin shouldered his pack and followed me across the yard into the main house. He hesitated inside the door, asking, “Boots?”
“Scrub on the mat. Mr. Bowen’s not fussy that way, unless they’re bad.” Lori, his wife, had been more particular, but she was gone seven years now.
I led Austin down the hall and knocked on the study door. Kendrick had a strict knock-and-wait policy, since he worked with other people’s money. Austin took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, looking worried, his eyes wide.
“Just a moment,” came through the door. Then after a dozen heartbeats, “Okay. Come.” Kendrick sat behind the desk, and he looked us over as I led the way in. “Seth. What’s up?”
“Uh, this is Austin. He’s looking for work.”
Kendrick’s raised eyebrows said he didn’t know why I hadn’t just sent the kid on his way and not bothered my boss. Honestly,neither did I. So I just added, “Mr. Bowen owns the Star & Bar. He’s the one who’d know if there’s any jobs.”
“I’ve worked with beefs and horses before, and odd jobs too,” Austin said, before Kendrick could open his mouth. “I’ll work real hard. Any jobs you want, any hours. Cleaning out the chicken coop. Scrubbing floors. I’ll work for room and board, if that’s okay. You don’t have to pay me a cent till I prove myself.”
