Chapter 3
Kacey
My phone rings, I see it’s Jack.
“Hello!”
“Hey, Kacey, I wanted to let you know I have a friend coming up from Oklahoma to cover for me for a few weeks. He’ll be here Tuesday and should be able to fit you in Wednesday afternoon.”
“That’s perfect. The jackpot is on Saturday. Thank you, Jack.”
“Good deal. I’ll have him call or text you when he knows a rough time.”
“Sounds good.”
“Bye, Kacey. Have a good one.”
A sigh of relief rushes out of me, and I head for Dad’s house. This works—I can continue to ride Hooch in the arena until he gets the shoe back on. Just no riding on rocks so he doesn’t bruise his foot.
“Hey,” I say to Dad when I spot him in the living room, “Jack has some guy coming to put Hooch’s shoe back on this Wednesday.”
“Good. If he has time, see if he’ll trim those broodmares.”
Ha, yeah right. No one wants to trim broodmares. Broodmares—female horses, specifically used for breeding—are known for being moody and a royal pain when it comes to trimming their feet.
“I’ll ask, but I doubt he does.”
“Either he will, or he won’t. No big deal.” Dad never gets too worked up about things. He takes a sip of his whiskey and continues to watch TV. “Any new foals today?”
“Nope. There are only a few mares left; we should be done in the next couple of weeks.”
Broodmares, foals, and colts starting are my areas of expertise on the Diamond Hart. I could talk for hours about which colts show promise, which don’t, and how we can improve our breeding program.
“Good. Have you picked your favorite yet?”
Dad gives me a knowing look.
I scoff. “I do not pick favorites . . . this early.” I’m lying and he knows it. “There is a really nice red roan stud colt, though.”
The truth is, these horses saved me. When I was drowning in grief, they were there. Forcing me to get up and get going. They have been the constant in my life I needed after my mom passed.
Dad chuckles under his breath. “Show me tomorrow.”
I stand and exit the stall. One of my mares decided this morning’s unseasonable warmth was the perfect weather to go into labor. I stayed back, monitoring her while the cowboys went to move more yearlings to the feedyard. Now, it’s only 10 a.m., and we have a new, perfectly healthy foal.
Ding!
Unknown
Hi Kacey, this is Knox. Jack said you need a shoe put back on. I can be there around noon.
Kacey
Great, thanks. I’ll have him out and ready for you.
Two hours later, I’m leaning on the fence watching the new foal stumble around on shaky legs when a third generation black Dodge pulls into the drive.
I push off the fence and head toward the barn as he backs up to the open doorway.
I almost trip on my own feet when a man several inches taller than me, with a very fit build steps out of the truck.
Light brown curly hair peeks from underneath a flat-billed ball cap, and what looks like week-old scruff accents a face fit for a movie star.
His Carhartt sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up his forearms and cinch jeans are definitely working for him.
I caught myself thinking I could request to completely reset the shoes on Hooch, just for the view. Sure. I might not be interested in dating, but a girl can window shop.
When he shuts the truck door and says, “Hi, I’m Knox,” in a deep, smooth voice, I almost swallow my tongue.
I clear my throat. “Hey, I’m Kacey. Thanks for coming all the way out here. I really appreciate it.”
His eyes scan me quickly. He’s checking me out, but not in a creepy way, more of an appraisal, like I wasn’t what he was expecting.
Then, Knox removes his hat and shakes my hand.
Oh gosh, I hope he can’t feel my sweaty palm. Get it together, Kacey, you’ve met attractive men before. Granted, those men don’t look like I designed my dream man on a computer, but still.
Shit. I held onto that handshake way too long.
Focus, Kacey.
“Uh, Hooch is up here in the crossties. Need help carrying anything?”
“Yeah, could you grab my hoof stand?”
I reach for the hoof stand on the tailgate. From the corner of my eye, I watch as he pulls off his sweatshirt, which accidentally pulls up his t-shirt in the process.
Damn, his abs look like they were carved from marble—this man is absolutely shredded. And did I see a tattoo on his ribs?
I blink twice, realizing my mouth is wide open. Oops.
Knox doesn’t seem to notice. He throws his sweatshirt on the tailgate and reaches for his shoeing box.
“You must work out more than any farrier I’ve met.”
What the fuck? Why did I just say that? Shut up, shut up, shut up.
He laughs. “I shoe horses but it’s not my full-time gig.”
His laugh makes me blush. Why am I acting like I’m fourteen, and this is the first boy I’ve had a crush on?
I have got to start getting off the ranch more.
“What is your normal gig?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away, like he’s trying to think of what his actual job is, or he doesn’t want to answer. That’s when I see the sun reflect off something on the front of his jeans. It’s a buckle, but not just a buckle—it’s a bull riding buckle.
Oh great, I’m standing here drooling over a bull rider. You’ve lost your mind, Kacey.
“So, you’re a bull rider?” I point down at the buckle; he looks down at his buckle then back up at me.
“You checking me out or sizing me up?” He grins.
Is he flirting with me? “Oh, uh, no. It’s just hard not to notice the buckle,” I say awkwardly.
“I’m messing with you. Yes, riding bulls is how I pay my bills.” He turns slightly, looking over my head and nods. “New foal?”
“Yeah, born two hours ago. She’s a strong one, on her feet in less than an hour,” I say as I grab the hoof stand, he grabs his anvil and holds it under one arm, then picks up his shoeing box.
Whoa, those things are not light, and he’s acting like it weighs nothing.
“Isn’t that heavy?” I ask.
“It’s only seventy pounds,” he replies.
So apparently, he’s truly a gym rat.
We walk down the alley to the crossties where Hooch waits. His box and anvil scrape on the concrete as he sets them down before walking up to Hooch and rubbing his forehead. “Hey, red, you ready to get that shoe back on?”
Knox moves over to the front right leg. Picking it up and putting it between his legs, he sets to work cleaning up the foot. When he’s finished, he sets it down gently.
“Well, he’s got good feet. No cracks, solid hoof wall, and no thrush.”
“That’s good. I clean his feet every chance I get. So, where did you learn to shoe horses?” I don’t think Jack would have someone fill in for him who isn’t good, but I’d rather not risk Hooch coming up lame because some bull rider doesn’t know what he’s doing.
He smirks at me like he knows exactly what I’m asking. “Family business. My grandpa and my dad both did it for a living. I was shoeing horses shortly after I broke my first colt.”
“Oh, so you’re not one of those bull riders who can’t actually cowboy?”
He chuckles. “I’ve worked cows plenty, and I can rope, but I consider myself more of a horseman. I like to see a horse develop as I train it every day. If I wasn’t here helping Jack, I’d be breaking colts back in Oklahoma all spring.”
Okay, so if I wasn’t crushing earlier, I’m definitely crushing now.
This guy seems perfect; except the fact he’s a bull rider.
It’s widely known that bull riders—or rodeo cowboys in general—do not have a good reputation when it comes to women.
A lot of them are self-proclaimed womanizers and most of the time, they aren’t wrong.
They have no issues picking up women and then leaving them on read when they head to the next rodeo.
“I understand that. I’ve worked with Hooch since the day he was born. He’s a heck of a heeling horse.” I stroke his neck, feeling his shiny coat under my fingers.
“I bet. He’s the perfect size and build,” Knox replies as he looks Hooch over.
“He gets the job done,” I say modestly. Hooch and I have won a lot of money in the last couple of years, but I don’t like to brag.
Bending over, he grabs a shoe from his box and begins shaping it on the anvil. I’m not sure if there is anything sexier than a man sweating as they’re swinging a hammer, the sound of metal on metal ringing in the air.
Things around here just got a little more interesting.