Chapter 2
JONAH
Working with the horses at Star Mountain Horse Rescue is probably my favorite part of my job as a farrier.
Don’t get me wrong, I love shoeing the stock horses at the local ranches, and I have a definite soft spot for the barrel racers and bucking horses I care for.
But there’s just something about the rescues that makes my day a bit brighter—a bit more hopeful—every time I see them.
Maybe it’s the fact that in order to smoothly trim and treat their hooves, and then shoe them, I have to get them to trust me.
And earning the trust of an animal that has been abused or injured is no small thing.
It takes consistent work. You have to keep trying, keep showing up, until they finally realize that you’re safe.
I pat the horse I’m currently working with, Brown Sugar, on the neck and then run my hand along the back of her leg.
She’s a retired barrel racer with a playful personality, and more than a bit of anxiety.
But she’s gotten to know me pretty well over the last few weeks, so she obediently picks her foot up for me.
“That’s a good girl,” I murmur, examining her hoof. “Things are looking pretty good. I’ll give you a nice trim and polish, some new shoes, and that will be the end of it. Easy as pie.”
I get to work on her, taking off the old shoes first, then cleaning and trimming each hoof.
Then, using the forge set up by my truck nearby, I heat up a steel horseshoe, bring it over to the anvil, and pound it into shape, using tongs and a hammer.
The repetitive pounding of the metal helps me feel centered and calm, something I’m in short supply of lately.
Maybe it’s time I made some more horse shoes from scratch—it takes a lot more work to do than this does, and it comes with more time at the anvil and more concentration.
It’s the type of work I could get lost in.
I give the shoe a few more taps, and when I’m satisfied that it’s the right size for Brown Sugar, I bring it over and fit it to her hoof, all the while talking to her to help her stay calm.
The smoke that billows up as the hot metal touches her hoof looks more dramatic than it actually is.
Hot shoeing doesn’t hurt horses at all, but it does allow me to give them a better fit.
I do the rest of her hooves one by one, and by the time I’m done, all lingering anxiety has drained from her. She happily accepts the treat I offer her, and the scratch I give her on her withers.
After I finish up at the rescue, I head to my parents’ for dinner. They live in a small ranch house not far from mine, and I’m there more evenings than not. Every moment with my mom feels precious, and like I almost can’t believe it’s happening.
It wasn’t so long ago that I thought we might be counting our last moments together—that I was thinking about what her last words to me might be.
So while other twenty-eight year olds might want to spend Friday night out at one of Star Mountain’s few bars, I’m more than happy to spend it with my parents playing scrabble.
My mom is in the kitchen cooking, and I take off my worn boots and trusty wool work coat before heading over to help her. I lean in and give her a quick hug as she stirs the sauce on the stove.
“What can I do?” I ask, rolling up my sleeves.
“Chop things for the salad. And then make a dressing so that your father will actually enjoy it.”
The cancer has my mom on a health kick, so they’ve been eating salads every day with lunch and dinner, much to my dad’s distaste. He’s a steak and potatoes guy all the way, but he’ll never actually complain out loud, especially not if it’s my mom who’s cooking.
I get started on the salad, and my mom and I cook in companionable silence, the radio on faintly in the background.
Like my mother, I’m not a huge talker, and I know we enjoy being around one another for that reason.
It’s a relief to know you can just exist around another person comfortably, without them demanding anything from you.
My dad is the big personality in the family, always full of laughter and jokes.
It hit him really hard when my mom got sick.
There wasn’t anything he could say or do to make her better.
He tried, though, and I know that he did his best to keep her laughing throughout her treatment, no matter how awful she felt.
He even managed to make her smile when her hair fell out.
He told her he’d never seen a more beautiful woman, and he actually meant it.
As if she can hear the direction of my thoughts, my mom says, “We got another bill today. From the hospital.”
Damn it. I try to intercept those whenever I can, so that my parents don’t have to be reminded of how badly the debt has mounted up, but I must have missed this one. I need to check their mailbox more regularly.
“I made a payment last week,” I say, pressing down on the salad spinner.
“Jonah, you know you don’t have to do that.”
“I do have to,” I say. “It’s simple. We’re family, and I don’t want my money going anywhere else.”
“It’s not your responsibility, though,” she says, leveling a steely look at me. I ignore it and continue spinning the lettuce. “The salad is dry by now, Jonah,” my mom continues.
“Fine.” I turn to face her. “I get that you don’t want me to have to contribute to your medical bills because I’m your child, but dad is retired and you can’t work that much yet.
” My mom is in remission, but the cancer took a toll on her, sapping her energy.
Before she can say anything else or protest, my dad’s booming voice fills the kitchen.
“Smells good, Liz! I worked up an appetite tinkering with the car in the garage.”
My mom gives me a sharp look that says we’re not done with this conversation, but I just shrug.
I won’t be swayed. Sure, my finances take a hit every time I make a payment to the hospital, but I manage just fine.
I own my house, and the mortgage payments are fairly low.
And there’s always more work to be had for a farrier in Star Mountain and the surrounding towns.
My dad claps me on the back and together we set the table, chatting about the various projects he’s doing around the house and my day at Holden’s ranch.
My dad was a cowboy there, back when Holden’s dad was still in charge.
And I practically grew up there, side by side with Holden on horseback.
It’s where I fell in love with horses, and where I decided I wanted to be a farrier.
I apprenticed with the old farrier Holden’s dad hired.
My mom finishes up the pasta she’s been making and then we eat. Dinner with my parents passes like it always does: relaxed and full of lame yet funny jokes from my dad and peals of laughter from my mom. Delicious food and easy conversation. Simple, quiet happiness.
If I squint hard enough, it’s almost like the last year and a half never happened. Like we didn’t almost lose her completely. Like we haven’t been buried under a mountain of debt just for keeping her alive.