“Hey,” she gasps softly to Duke. “He’s giving you a pedicure. It’s only polite that you say thank you.”
“I don’t recall you talkin’ this much when I’m fixing fences,” I mutter, switching to the file to smooth and level the hoof.
“That’s because fences don’t look at me with big brown eyes. Do they Duke?No they sure don’t.”
Duke nudges her shoulder.
“See?” she asks triumphantly.
I test the new shoe against the trimmed hoof, adjusting it slightly with the hammer against my anvil block until it sits flush. “You’re spoilin’ him,” I tell her.
“He deserves it,” she replies, slipping him another treat. “Don’t you, sweet boy? You’re just having an off day.”
“He nearly knocked me into a wall ten minutes ago.”
“Allegedly.”
I shake my head, mumbling under my breath about him beingmyhorse as I position the shoe carefully and drive the nails in at the correct angle so they come out through the hoof wall cleanly.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Each strike controlled. Secure, but not too deep.
Methodical.
I bend and clinch the nail ends, filing them smooth so nothing catches.
All the while, Abigail coos over my horse.
“So after this,” she tells Duke, “I’m gonna give you fresh bedding. The fluffy kind. Not the cheap stuff your daddy tries to get away with.”
“Hey. I do—”
“And then”—she continues on, clearly ignoring me—“if you’re a good boy, I’ll give you a good brush down. How’s that sound?”
Duke chews contentedly, completely sold on whatever it is she has to say.
By the time I finish clinching and run the file one last time along the edge, Duke is practically asleep as Abigail hums while stroking his neck.
I lower his hoof gently to the ground. “There. Was that so hard?”
Duke shifts his weight, testing it, then stands square like he hasn’t been a shithead all damn morning.
I straighten slowly, my back protesting the hours I’ve already put in today. I stretch, hands braced at my hips, arching until my spine pops.
That’s when I catch her staring.
She’s leaned against the stall door now, arms folded loosely, eyes dragging over me in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with horseshoes. Sunlight spills across her, catching in her red hair and turning the strawberry-blonde strands into molten gold. Dust hangs in the air around her, clinging to the soft waves at her shoulders, making her look almost unreal. Her freckles shine in the light against her pale skin, painted in the most perfect pattern. And her hazel eyes are warm and bright and locked on me like I’m something worth admiring.
Christ.
I’d shoe every horse on this property twice if she looked at me like that every day.
I grin slow and cocky. “You like what you see?”
