Rowe.
“Yeah,you’re a pretty girl under all that crud, aren’t you?”
I keep the hose nozzle pointed away from the mare’s head and watch as all of the loose mud and grime that I’ve brushed out slips down her back to the floor. The weather’s perfect for an outdoor wash today, but with how spooked this horse is, I didn’t want to risk overwhelming her. She may appear calm to an outsider, but she’s pulsing with anxiety. We’ve had a quiet afternoon inside.
It took me half an hour just to be able to bring the water any higher than her legs, and even longer than that to give her a good, deep brushing. I’ve got to soap her down next, and there’s a wiggle of nerves in my stomach at the thought that she might try and take my hand off when I touch her again.
Technically, I wasn’t supposed to go near the horses we brought home with us two days ago. Rowe’s been so busy with the black one out in the pen that he hasn’t had a chance to figure out just how bad the three new ones are. Waiting any longer wasn’t going to work for me, though.
The mare was the easiest for me to approach. Between the gelding and the stud, she was the one I figured I’d try first. She isn’t outright aggressive and instead suffers from bone-deep terror. Every move I make spooks her, but despite every opportunity I give her to back away, she doesn’t. She trusts me enough not to attack and run off, at least. That’s something.
There’s a deep, aching pain moving through my abdomen today, but the same way I have all morning, I ignore it and focus on work. I carefully hang the hose back up and drop an arm intothe soapy bucket of water to grab the sponge I’ve had soaking in it. My elbow-length rubber gloves are slick inside with the sweat from my fingers as I hold the sponge in front of her, letting her sniff and examine it.
She blows out a breath as if accepting it, and I start running it down her body. The missing patches of her coat make my heart drop every time I pass them. The stink from manure and other things too gross to mention still lingers in the air, reminding me just how filthy I’m about to get. Her mane is a beautiful light blonde a shade brighter than her body. I begin working the soap into it, trying to detangle the knots. She tenses slightly, unsure about my grip on her hair, before relaxing.
I take my time with her, not missing so much as an inch of her body or strand of hair. By the time I’ve finished soaping and scrubbing, I’ve had to empty and refill the bucket three times with clean water. My neck is wet and sticky, along with my back and behind my knees. The breath sawing in and out of me is almost embarrassing from how much effort it’s taken to get her clean.
My painkillers have worn off too. Period cramps are fucking hell on earth for me, but I can usually weather them better than this. Between the stabbing pain and the decline of my emotional state due to the hormonal changes, I’m a mess today.
Nothing was going to stop me from taking care of at least one of these horses, though. Not even if I want to cry in pain while sitting alone in a hot shower for hours.
“I’m going to spray you down again, sweet girl. Try not to crack my rib cage with your hoof, alright?” I murmur, slowly tugging the hose over.
She’s not as nervous this time, but her hooves still shuffle when I turn it on and spray them. Inch by inch, I wash the soap off her legs and then move to her mane, working through the strands with more care than I’ve ever used on my own hair.I move front to back, making sure she’s completely soap-free before focusing on her tail and the thick soap I’ve left on her hindside.
The mess on the floor is nearly enough to turn my stomach again, but I swallow my gag and focus on working through the blonde tail. If I wasn’t already tempted to go back to Walt’s ranch and shove a shovel down his throat, I would be by the time the water runs clear. I give the floor a quick spray and hang the hose again.
“Look at you. You’re like a brand-new horse.” I stroke my palm down her clean back and give her a pat. “Time to dry off and get a good, long detangling.”
I think having her mane and tail combed is her favourite part of a grooming. She doesn’t so much as move a muscle when I spray them heavily with the detangler and start brushing. If horses could moan, I think she probably would. It’s the same reaction I have when someone plays with my hair.
And if I spend a few extra minutes brushing her, so what?
Once she starts moving again, I take that as a sign and step back. My comb goes onto the growing pile of dirty tools, and then I’m using a damp cloth to wipe at her face. She likes this part less but doesn’t try to bite my head off.
“Alright. You’re all done for now. I’m going to have the farrier come to fix your hooves tomorrow, though. And you’re going to be nice.”
I put her lead back on and guide her out of the stall and toward hers. We pass the boys who always seem to be in here before I pause.
“Hey, you,” I call.
The one who I think is Brock whips around from the stall beside Diesel’s and looks at me, eyes wide. “Yeah?”
“Spray down the floor in the grooming stall for me.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. I can do that,” he rambles, nodding quickly.
“Are you sure about that? You look like you’re going to piss yourself.”
He flushes, turning a deep shade of red. “I’ve just never been in there. I don’t want to do anything wrong.”
“You’re washing the floor, Brock. You can’t really mess that up.”
“Will you be here still? In case?”
I spend a moment longer than usual to find a reply, not wanting to hurt the kid’s feelings. Fuck, it would be so easy to lash out right now. Maybe that would distract me from the teeth gnawing at my womb.
“I’m going to give you some friendly advice.”
