“You’ve been a farrier for that long?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I worked at one of the local ranches as a cowboy for years, and that’s where I got interested in being a farrier. I apprenticed with an older local farrier when I was twenty-one.”
“I see. Makes sense.”
“What about you?” he asks. “How’d you start doing pageants?”
“Oh,” I say quietly. “I, uh, I was a kid and I wanted to be on stage. I loved performing, and enjoyed the attention. Plus the clothes and hair and makeup were really exciting when I was ten.” It’s only half of the story, and the good part of it at that. It’s what people expect to hear, too. What a silly, foolish girl, starting pageants because she liked theclothes. It keeps them from asking further questions.
Jonah lets out a whistle. “Ten? Your parents let you do that when you were that young?”
Strangely, he doesn’t sound like he’s judging me, but like he’s wary of my parents instead. It’s not the reaction I usually get, and it warms my heart enough that I say, “Yeah, they didn’t really pay that much attention to what I did, and it was my idea. I begged them, and they eventually relented.”
“Is it healthy for a little kid to be performing like that? I mean all dressed up, in makeup and stuff?” he asks, concern growing in his voice.
“No, probably not,” I say honestly. “But I turned out no worse for the wear.”
I’ve probably never told a bigger lie, but that’s part of the job of a pageant queen: smile and lie through your teeth. And never, under any circumstances, admit how much beautyhurts.
“You still look like a pageant queen, you know. Even standing there covered in snow and dirt.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“It’s a compliment. You always look elegant. It’s obvious you’ve spent a lot of time on stage,” Jonah responds, giving me a small smile.
Such kind words from such a grumpy man make my heart beat a little faster, and my cheeks warm despite the cold. Jonah thinks I’m elegant. I didn’t know he had it in him to compliment me or to do it so well. Most guys tell me I’m pretty or hot—no one has ever said that I’m elegant before.
“Thanks, sugar,” I say.
The moment hangs between us, quiet and soft, like freshly fallen snow. Jonah finally breaks the tension by saying, “Here,” and sticking out his hand over the fence. “Treats will get Rosie to come to you. I always have some in my pocket.”
“Thanks.” I take the treats and call out to Rosie again, this time with my hand in front of me. After a few tries, she comes over and lips at my palm, hoovering up the food. Just like Candice showed me the other day, I loop the rope over her neck to gain control, and swiftly buckle her halter on.
“Thank you for cooperating this time,” I say to her. I give her a scratch on her neck and she nickers in response, which seems like progress to me.
Together, Jonah, Rosie and I walk towards the barn, where we tether her to one of the walls near the open back door. Outside, I see Jonah’s truck parked close by.
“Now, I’m not sure how she is about having her hooves looked at, so you need to try and keep her calm,” he explains. “Most horses are fine with it, but she’s generally pretty skittish, isn’t she?”
“Definitely skittish. And anxious. I don’t think she trusts us, or this place very much yet. And it must be tough being quarantined and all alone.”
“I’m sure you miss company, don’t you?” Jonah says, giving Rosie a pat. “But you’ll be meeting the others soon enough.”
While Jonah sets out his tools, I run into the feed room and grab a bucket of grain. If Rosie needs to be distracted while Jonah works with her, this will do the trick. When I come back, I find that he’s put on a pair of sturdy leather chaps that look made to withstand hard labor.
He runs his hand along one of Rosie’s front legs, trying to get her to pick her hoof up. Immediately, I can tell she hates it. Her eyes roll around and she jerks her head up. She even tries to kick him, but Jonah must know what he’s doing because he grabs her leg and places it between his thighs, immobilizing her.
I try not to stare at his ass or his muscular legs as he examines Rosie’s hoof, but the chaps make it difficult, highlighting every perfect line of his body. Rosie is clearly stressed out by the sound of Jonah scraping her hooves clean, and when I offer her a handful of grain she just looks at it suspiciously.
Jonah offers her words of encouragement every so often, and gives her pats and scratches throughout. I try my best to get her to calm down as well, and eventually she sniffs at the food in my hand and takes some.
When Jonah starts to remove her old shoes, she freaks out again, bringing her head up high and letting out a high pitched sound of distress.
“It’s okay, girl, I promise,” I tell her. And then, for lack of a better idea, I start talking to her in a soft voice, which is something I’ve seen Candice do before. “I know what it’s like, okay? I know that being forced to be silent and still while getting poked and prodded is scary, and I know that you barely know us, let alone trust us. I know that for your entire life, you’ve been expected to do whatever you’re told, and that no one has ever asked you whatyouwant to do.” I let out a breath. “Did you want to be a race horse? Did you like running every day to the point of exhaustion? Did you enjoy the competition you were forced into? I’m sure you were never even given the chance to think about those questions. I know this feels like more of the same. But I promise it’s not. I promise that when it’s over you’ll get to do whatever you want.”
I feel my face redden as I come to the end of my impassioned speech, but thankfully Jonah is busy on Rosie’s back hoof and doesn’t seem to notice what I’ve said. Rosie, at least, seems a tiny bit calmer, and she starts to nose around in the feed bucket at my feet.
After a few more minutes, Jonah says, “I’m going to shape her some new shoes out by my truck.”
