Not sure why I think I can convince her, seeing as I’ve never been able to convince myself.
She holds her hand up in defense. “I’m only teasing because obviously that would be so awkward. Plus, he’smine,” she adds with a wink, clearly not letting this go.
“You can have him,” I snap. Except I want to know what she thinks is going to be awkward even though something’s telling me not to ask. But I can’t help myself. “Why?”
“Because he’s chair of the committee this year. So you’ll be spending a lot of time together over the next month.”
I knew I’d regret asking.
Hendricks Burlington, chair of the Valentine Festival committee? Of course he fucking is.
I glance out of the window, catching the remnants of my plan to move on with my life floating away on the breeze. Spending a lot of time with Hendricks was not part of that.
Fuck Monday. Fuck my life.
CHAPTER 9
Hendricks
“Easy, boy. You’re okay. You’ll feel better soon.”
Chester’s big hooves paw at the concrete yard floor, and he snorts his disapproval.
Stroking down the white blaze on his face and along his soft, whiskery muzzle, I lift it gently so I can check his gums. He cracked a back tooth a couple of weeks ago, and we decided to remove it, which seems simple enough. But when you’re dealing with half a ton of animal, things become slightly more complicated, and it requires said horse to be fully tranquilized.
As a result, he’s been on stable rest and a limited diet since, something he’s been increasingly irritable about. Even the five-star service Miles gives all his ponies—including daily equine massage—doesn’t seem to have helped his temperament.
“You’re such a brave boy,” Miles coos, stroking down his neck. “Uncle Hendricks will be done soon.”
Chester’s ears move from almost flat to perked upright.
I feel along his jawline for swelling or any abscesses that may have developed during his recovery, but don’tfind anything of note.
“Okay, we can sign you off,” I say, pulling off my rubber gloves and patting him down. “He can go back to exercise, but you need to watch around the bit. It might take a little time for him to adjust?—”
“Hear that, sweetheart? We can be a pair again.” Miles smacks a kiss to Chester’s muzzle.
“And stop giving him lemon sherbets.”
The pout Miles gives me is identical to the one Max pulled this morning before school when I told him he needed to brush his teeth. “But he loves them. They’re his treat at the end of the day.”
“Milo, c’mon, nolemon sherbets. He needs to learn to like apples. Or better yet, carrots.” I point at the huge bucket of carrots by the main doors to the stables. It’s topped up every day and is there for all the horses to be given one whenever they want. “See. Not to mention he’s supposed to be an athlete.”
Miles gently fits a halter around Chester’s muzzle. “Uncle Hendricks sure is grumpy today.”
I refuse to take the bait. It’s exactly what Miles wants. I bide my time instead and pack up my surgery bag.
“He can stay on the anti-inflammatories for another few days, but I’ll lower the dose. Let me know if he has any issues. Just gentle exercise for the next week, a bit of stick and balling, nothing strenuous around his mouth.”
“Got it.” Miles salutes me and kisses Chester again. “Hear that, Chessy? We can do some exercise.”
Chester nudges him in response, and whickers loudly while he drags his hoof along the concrete floor of the stable block, telling us both that he’s raring to go. Four large heads poke out of the end stables nearer the far doors, all nosy enough to see what the commotionis, and they stay there because if someone is walking down the central path, then it’s likely they’ll be given a carrot or three.
Grabbing a handful from the bucket, I snap a couple in half and hand them out as we pass.
“So are you going to tell me what happened with Story the other day?”
Wiping a saliva-covered hand on my jeans, I hand over another carrot. This time to Clover, one of Miles’s newer ponies. She’s incredibly speedy, not to mention fearless. And Miles has never failed to score while riding her.
