Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Payne
“Welcome to the Frisky Fox Moonlit Café and Bootblacking Extravaganza. Please, have a seat and get comfortable.”
“Wow,” Master Wylde murmured as he took a moment to look around at the touches I’d added to the space around the patio table.
The two lights above the back door, even coupled with the solar lights around the table, hadn’t quite provided sufficient light for the perfect bootblacking experience, but I’d brought two strands of bright silver fairy lights with me, along with a strand of silver bulb lights that I strung between them and wove around the support beams of the umbrella.
They created a halo of brilliant, glowing light that provided more than enough illumination.
My bootblacking supplies were set up on a sturdy wrought iron stand, in easy reach of the cushion I’d removed from one of the chairs in the cabin.
I’d spread a blanket out beneath it so it wouldn’t get dirty, and my trusty catch-all tray for used cleaning cloths and brushes sat waiting for me to fill it.
I’d roasted a turkey breast earlier, fried bacon, and thinly sliced tomatoes and cucumbers to create double-stacked turkey club sandwiches that I’d paired with lemon bars and a pitcher of sparkling mango lemonade for them to munch on while I worked.
I’d taken up bootblacking during my time with Sterling because he was very particular about the appearance of his clothing and accessories, and one of the things that man had loved was leather, which wasn’t the easiest to care for on the road.
Along the way, I’d discovered how good of a focal tool bootblacking was for me.
Tonight was the first time I’d had the opportunity to combine my bootblacking skills with my love of cosplay.
My outfit, complete with a bushy red fox tail, red ears, and furry red and black strips that crisscrossed my torso and forearms, was well out of the way of my hands; nothing impeded my work.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched my big, beautiful Doms get settled in the chairs.
Master Thorin wore his cowboy boots and leather vest, while Master Wylde was fully decked out from head to toe in that rather impressive, though seriously dusty, collection I’d been itching to get my hands on since he’d donned them the day I’d arrived at the cabin.
We’d played out several scenes since then, in between daily visits to the petting zoo and barn, though the horses were bigger than I’d expected and a bit scary at first. What had settled me down was them.
Not the animals, but my Doms. They never rushed me.
They never tried to convince me that my fears were ridiculous or unfounded; in fact, Master Thorin had commended me on having a healthy respect for their size and unpredictability.
Master Wylde had explained that horses were complex animals who acted differently around those they trusted and those they didn’t know.
They’d waited while I made up my mind if I wanted to pet one or not.
In the end, I’d stroked Starling’s neck and even fed him a cut-up carrot after Master Thorin had taught me how to hold my hand, fingers straight and flat, so Starling could eat them out of my palm without mistaking my fingers for carrot chunks.
His velvety soft nose had tickled, but I’d been too scared of giggling and spooking him, even with the fence between us.
The beautiful horse had just nickered softly and swished his tail, his two-tone body shimmering beneath the sun.
That wonderful moment would be embedded in my memories forever, along with meeting Alfie.
The moment the alpaca popped into my head, I was reminded of all the drawings I was looking forward to creating of him.
“And here, we have Alfie,” Master Wylde said, already passing me a handful of feed. “He’s an alpaca, though he believes he’s a horse. He loves to be petted too, so feel free to rub his neck and talk to him the same as you would the horses. You’ll make a friend for life.”
“Aww,” I cooed, stretching my hand out and giggling as he happily nibbled his treats. “His face is so expressive. Just look at those eyes and the fluff on the top of his head.”
Torn between the desire to pet him and the urge to draw, I gave myself permission to do both and started stroking his soft coat as soon as he’d finished eating.
“Ohh, wow, he’s so soft. I didn’t expect you to be this soft, boy,” I murmured to Alfie as he stretched out his neck to allow me to reach spots he seemed to truly enjoy having scratched and stroked.
He was so sweet, it was easy to linger and lavish attention on him before pulling my sketchbook back out and giving the floof on the top of his head a tousled, windblown look, so it covered one eye.
The playful skater vibe that emerged on the page was the beginning of a brand new character, aloof and oblivious, but totally down to have a bit of fun.
While I wasn’t sure who to pair him with on the page, he’d already developed into a character I looked forward to sketching more.
“Your mind works fast when you’re creating,” Master Thorin declared when I finally finished a trio of rough designs depicting Alfie in several skater poses, and a wide board that he could fit three legs on while pushing with one.
I couldn’t wait to craft ones showing him mid-trick, but I’d need my tablet for photo references before I could draw them.
Plus, I was still torn on who his audience would be and if there would be one in the crowd looking on with concern instead of appreciation, because that would be a cool character to add to the comic strips.
Oh yeah, he definitely needed a worrywart friend standing by, with a first-aid kit and 9-1-1 on speed dial.
“It does, but it can be exhausting sometimes too,” I admitted. “That’s why I need to have things to do with my hands that I can lose myself in. It’s the only way I can ever get my thoughts to slow down enough to let me step away from my sketchbook, so I don’t wind up burning myself out.”
“I’m glad you shared that with me,” he said as I stepped closer to him.
He closed the distance and enveloped me in the hug I needed to help me shift gears, something he seemed to recognize I needed without me ever having to ask.
“Can you tell me about your boots?” I asked Master Thorin as I knelt in front of him, slowly shaking off the memories so I could focus on the here and now
Calf-high and embroidered with flames, they were a deep tan beneath the dust and both well-worn and well-maintained.
“Not to come off sounding completely superstitious or even a little hinky, but they are the only boots I wore during my bull riding career. I absolutely refused to get on the back of a bull without them.”
“I can attest to that,” Master Wylde said. “You should have seen the panic the one time he couldn’t find them when he had to head to the shoots. The array of curse words coupled with the damage left in the wake of his search was downright legendary.”
“Really?” I murmured as I carefully began wiping the dust off with a soft cloth.
As a new bootblack, I’d made the mistake of spraying water first, until a veteran had taken the time to explain that water before wiping just created a potentially muddy, murky situation that made it more difficult to get them clean.
“My grandfather gave them to me when I started riding professionally,” Master Thorin explained.
“Presented them to me right before my first event. Talk about nerves. It didn’t matter that I’d been riding in junior rodeo events since I was old enough to enter; making the jump to the pros, having qualified to do that, had sent me into a tailspin of what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. ”
Not only was it helpful to know the history of the boots but hearing him talk about them gave me more insight into one of the men who was rapidly tattooing himself on my heart.
“How dangerous is bull riding?” I asked.
“I have to be honest, I know very little about it outside of a wagon train event I attended with Sterling. The food was mouthwateringly amazing, even the baked beans, which I’d never been particularly fond of until then.
Not only did I clean my plate, but I also went back for seconds. ”
“Must have been some impressive beans,” Master Wylde said. “And to answer your question, it’s about as dangerous as a sport can get.”
“The average bull is roughly 1,700 pounds of solid muscle and raw fury. Its only goal is to unseat the rider in the quickest and most brutal way possible,” Master Thorin explained.
“The majority of rider injuries come from hitting the arena floor, but bulls have been known to try to stomp or gore riders after they’ve fallen, which is where the rodeo clowns come in.
They are lifesavers in every sense of the word, putting their bodies between us and the bull, distracting it while we get to safety, or helping us there if we can’t make it under our own steam. ”
“Every ride is this crazy, terrifying, electrifying burst of adrenaline-fueled chaos, where you’ve got to be one with the animal while still holding this image in the back of your head of how you’re going to get the hell off when that eight seconds is over, because that part is just as dangerous as getting on,” Master Wylde added as I finished cleaning the dust from the boots and gently misted them so I could move on to phase two of the cleaning process.
“Riders have gotten their hands caught up in the rope. That’s the part that goes around the bull and gives the rider something to hang on to while on its back. ”
“Not only do we have to cling with our knees, but we can only hang on to the rope with one hand; the other remains in the air, helping us balance and shift our weight in the direction the bull is spinning,” Master Thorin continued.