Chapter 9 Winnie #2
“Thanks.” I take the treats and call out to Rosie again, this time with my hand in front of me. After a few tries, she comes over and lips at my palm, hoovering up the food. Just like Candice showed me the other day, I loop the rope over her neck to gain control, and swiftly buckle her halter on.
“Thank you for cooperating this time,” I say to her. I give her a scratch on her neck and she nickers in response, which seems like progress to me.
Together, Jonah, Rosie and I walk towards the barn, where we tether her to one of the walls near the open back door. Outside, I see Jonah’s truck parked close by.
“Now, I’m not sure how she is about having her hooves looked at, so you need to try and keep her calm,” he explains. “Most horses are fine with it, but she’s generally pretty skittish, isn’t she?”
“Definitely skittish. And anxious. I don’t think she trusts us, or this place very much yet. And it must be tough being quarantined and all alone.”
“I’m sure you miss company, don’t you?” Jonah says, giving Rosie a pat. “But you’ll be meeting the others soon enough.”
While Jonah sets out his tools, I run into the feed room and grab a bucket of grain. If Rosie needs to be distracted while Jonah works with her, this will do the trick. When I come back, I find that he’s put on a pair of sturdy leather chaps that look made to withstand hard labor.
He runs his hand along one of Rosie’s front legs, trying to get her to pick her hoof up.
Immediately, I can tell she hates it. Her eyes roll around and she jerks her head up.
She even tries to kick him, but Jonah must know what he’s doing because he grabs her leg and places it between his thighs, immobilizing her.
I try not to stare at his ass or his muscular legs as he examines Rosie’s hoof, but the chaps make it difficult, highlighting every perfect line of his body.
Rosie is clearly stressed out by the sound of Jonah scraping her hooves clean, and when I offer her a handful of grain she just looks at it suspiciously.
Jonah offers her words of encouragement every so often, and gives her pats and scratches throughout. I try my best to get her to calm down as well, and eventually she sniffs at the food in my hand and takes some.
When Jonah starts to remove her old shoes, she freaks out again, bringing her head up high and letting out a high pitched sound of distress.
“It’s okay, girl, I promise,” I tell her.
And then, for lack of a better idea, I start talking to her in a soft voice, which is something I’ve seen Candice do before.
“I know what it’s like, okay? I know that being forced to be silent and still while getting poked and prodded is scary, and I know that you barely know us, let alone trust us.
I know that for your entire life, you’ve been expected to do whatever you’re told, and that no one has ever asked you what you want to do.
” I let out a breath. “Did you want to be a race horse? Did you like running every day to the point of exhaustion? Did you enjoy the competition you were forced into? I’m sure you were never even given the chance to think about those questions.
I know this feels like more of the same.
But I promise it’s not. I promise that when it’s over you’ll get to do whatever you want. ”
I feel my face redden as I come to the end of my impassioned speech, but thankfully Jonah is busy on Rosie’s back hoof and doesn’t seem to notice what I’ve said. Rosie, at least, seems a tiny bit calmer, and she starts to nose around in the feed bucket at my feet.
After a few more minutes, Jonah says, “I’m going to shape her some new shoes out by my truck.”
“Can I watch?” I ask.
He raises a brow at me and says, “Really?”
“I’m interested in the process, and Rosie clearly wants to keep eating in peace. She’ll be fine without me.”
Jonah nods, and I follow him out to his truck. He fiddles around with some things in the back, and when he steps away I see a small box with a flame going inside of it.
“What’s that?” I ask, peering at it.
“A forge,” he says simply.
“A forge? Like a blacksmith would have? Don’t tell me you’re going to get an anvil out next.”
In answer, he lifts an anvil out of the back of the truck like it weighs nothing and places it on a stand.
“Blacksmith confirmed,” I mutter, watching carefully as he lays out his tools and then takes a horseshoe out.
He strips his coat and flannel shirt off, revealing a plain black t-shirt underneath, arms covered in a myriad of black tattoos.
He heats the shoe up in the forge for a few minutes, and when he pulls it out, it’s glowing bright orange.
Jonah starts pounding the shoe into shape, his arm muscles flexing as he does.
With every pound of the hammer, I’m made aware of how much power and focus is contained in his frame.
What would it be like to have all of that power and focus directed at me?
What would it be like to feel those muscles flexing on top of me, to have that strong body pounding into mine?
I never thought I’d feel jealous of a horse shoe, but here I am, gazing longingly at the hot metal Jonah is beating into shape. I rub the back of my hand against my lips, just to make sure I’m not drooling.
It’s over pretty quickly, which is good because I’m not sure how much more of it I can stand—I don’t want to end up staring at him and panting like a dog.
I follow Jonah back over to where Rosie is standing.
He catches her hoof easily this time, as she’s too busy eating to care any longer, and smoke billows out dramatically as he fits the shoe to her.
“So,” he says standing up and dropping Rosie’s hoof once he’s done. “You want to explain to me why you left in the middle of my set last night? And didn’t come back until the next act came on?”