Chapter Eight #2
“Yes.” She taps her pen against her clipboard. “Based on listening, effort, and whether or not Thor likes you after.”
“That seems fair.”
“It is. I made the scale myself.”
“I look forward to earning your approval.”
She studies me for a moment, then nods.
“You should,” she says seriously. “I’m very hard to impress.”
Then she turns and marches out of the barn, already calling for her mother.
Rory chuckles beside me.
“She really is the warden,” I say.
“The strictest one we’ve got,” he agrees. “Come on, Mr. Moretti. Let’s see if Thor approves of you.”
Thor huffs from his stall.
I adjust the cuffs of my shirt and meet the horse’s stare.
“Apparently,” I murmur, “I’m being tested by everyone today.”
“Thor’s a Clydesdale,” Rory explains as we make our way to his stall. “His last owners bought him without realizing how much work a horse like him takes.”
He gestures to the photo attached to Thor’s stall door.
The horse in the picture looks nothing like the one standing before me now.
In the photo, Thor is painfully thin, his ribs showing beneath a dull, patchy coat. His mane and tail are tangled so badly they look more like ropes than hair, and the long feathering around his legs is matted with mud and filth.
But the horse watching us from the stall now is magnificent.
Massive.
Powerful.
His coat has a deep shine to it, and his mane falls in thick waves along his neck. The white markings on his face and legs are clean and bright, and though there’s still a wary intelligence in his eyes, he no longer looks defeated.
“People see a big, beautiful horse and think it’ll be fun,” Rory says quietly. “They don’t think about the feed bill. The grooming. The hoof care. The space. The time. A horse this size takes work every single day.”
I look from the photo to Thor.
I’ve seen men neglect responsibilities before. Businesses. Debts. Families. Lives.
But there is a special kind of cruelty in letting something that depends on you slowly break because caring for it became inconvenient.
Thor shifts in his stall, and the wooden boards creak beneath the weight of him.
“Ms. Moore took him in six months ago,” Rory says. “Took a while before he trusted anybody near his feet. Can’t blame him. His hooves were in rough shape when he came in.”
I study the great animal in front of me.
Thor lowers his head slightly, watching me with dark, intelligent eyes.
“He’s not rideable,” Rory continues. “At least, not yet. He hasn’t found someone he trusts on his back. Not even me, and I’m with him for hours every day.”
“And you think it wise to allow a complete stranger near his massively powerful legs?” I ask.
Rory chuckles.
“If the big guy thought you were bad news, he wouldn’t have let you stand as close as you are.” He pats the stall door lightly. “Animals are quick and accurate judges of character.”
Thor huffs, warm breath brushing against the front of my jacket.
I look at the horse.
The horse looks at me.
“I’m not entirely certain he approves,” I say.
“Oh, he approves,” Rory says. “If he didn’t, his ears would be pinned back, his weight would shift, and he’d be warning you off. Right now, he’s curious.”
Thor stretches his nose closer, sniffing my sleeve with great seriousness.
Then he nudges my arm hard enough that I have to adjust my stance.
Rory laughs. “See? Curious.”
From the barn entrance, Olivia’s voice carries toward us.
“Mama, hurry! Mr. Maverick is about to help with Thor’s shoes, and I have to grade him!”
I hear Amelia answer, but I can’t make out the words.
A moment later, Rory opens the stall door.
Thor shifts, and every muscle in my body pays attention.
I’m not afraid of the horse.
But I’m also not an idiot.
A creature this large doesn’t need malice to cause damage. Only fear. Only surprise. Only one wrong movement from a man who has no idea what he’s doing.
Rory seems to understand that because his amusement fades into focus.
“We’ll go slow,” he says. “You listen to me. You listen to him. And if I tell you to step back, you step back.”
I nod once.
“That, I can do.”
Thor watches me as if he’s deciding whether I’m worth the trouble.
Fair enough.
I’m wondering the same thing about him.
“Um, Mr. Moretti, you don’t have to help Rory,” Amelia says as she steps into the barn. “I can do it.”
I turn at the sound of her voice.
She’s looking at me, but her attention keeps flicking toward Thor. Not in fear. Not exactly. More like she’s already calculating every possible way this could go wrong and deciding how best to prevent all of them.
“Thor’s not mean,” she continues. “Most of the time. But he is wary. One wrong move, and he’ll kick. And trust me, Mr. Moretti, you do not want to be kicked by a horse. Especially a male Clydesdale.”
“Maverick,” I correct gently.
She blinks. “What?”
“My name. Call me Maverick.”
Her cheeks darken slightly, and I find myself far too pleased by it.
“Maverick,” she repeats, softer this time.
A simple name.
My name.
Yet hearing it from her mouth does something unexpected in my chest.
“I appreciate your concern, bella,” I say. “But Rory has already explained the risks.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” she mutters.
“Mama, he said he’d listen.”
Amelia looks down at her daughter. “Did he?”
“Yes. And I’m grading him.”
“Of course you are.”
“I have a system.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Thor shifts in his stall, and Amelia’s attention snaps back to him immediately. Her whole body changes. The flustered woman vanishes, replaced by someone focused, steady, and entirely in control.
“Rory,” she says, “make sure he stays where Thor can see him. No sudden movement. Keep his hand flat if he touches him, and if Thor pins his ears, everyone steps back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rory says.
“And if he gets kicked, I’m blaming you.”
Rory grins. “Fair.”
I lift a brow. “Not me?”
Amelia looks at me then, and for the first time since she walked in, a small smile pulls at her mouth.
“Oh, you’ll be in too much pain to care.”
“Good to know.”
She steps closer to Thor’s stall, her voice lowering as she speaks to the massive horse.
“Hey, big guy. I know. Lots of people. Lots of noise. But you’re okay.”
Thor’s ears flick toward her voice.
The change in him is immediate. Subtle, but there. His head lowers a fraction, the tension in his neck easing.
Amelia reaches through the stall bars and strokes the white blaze down his face.
“There you go,” she murmurs. “No one’s going to rush you.”
I watch them together, unable to look away.
This is her gift, I realize.
Not just saving animals.
Seeing them.
Their fear. Their limits. Their wounds. The things they can’t say but somehow still tell her.
And I wonder, not for the first time today, who sees her with that same care.
Amelia glances over her shoulder at me.
“If you’re going to help, listen to Rory and pay attention to Thor. He’ll tell you when he’s uncomfortable before he reacts.”
“I’ll listen.”
“To Rory or the horse?”
“Both.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, like she’s deciding whether to believe me.
Then she nods.
“Good.”
Olivia scribbles something on her clipboard.
“What are you writing?” Amelia asks.
“Possible bonus points,” she says.
“For what?”
“For listening to Mama the first time.”
Amelia sighs.
And I, foolishly perhaps, find myself wanting to earn every point that little girl is willing to give.
Amelia looks at the small crowd gathered near the barn entrance and nods.
“Alright,” she says with a smile. “Rory and Mr. Moretti are going to demonstrate how to clean and change a horse’s shoes.”
A few people murmur excitedly, and Thor’s ears flick toward the sound.
Amelia lifts one hand gently.
“Please keep your voices low. Thor doesn’t like people much, and while he’s been doing great today, we still need to respect his space. Everyone stays near the door. No one else enters the barn unless I say so.”
She glances toward Thor, watching the way his head shifts and his weight settles.
“After the first shoe is finished, I’ll ask this group to exit so another group of five can come in and watch the next one.
Thor is somewhat desensitized to sound as long as he can see where it’s coming from, but you have to remember this isn’t a horse who has had a good life.
He’s not going to react like a horse who has always felt safe, so we don’t treat him like one. ”
The crowd quiets immediately.
“Rory?” she says. “Anything to add?”
“Yes,” Rory says, stepping forward. “What we’re about to do might look rough if you’ve never seen it before. It may look like we’re hurting him because it takes a lot of strength and pressure to do this job. But we’re not hurting him.”
He gestures toward Thor’s front leg.
“A horse’s hoof is a lot like a very thick fingernail or toenail. When we trim, file, nail, or fit a shoe properly, it doesn’t cause pain. He may feel pressure. He may shift. He may blow out air, stomp, or get impatient, but that doesn’t mean he’s being hurt.”
Thor huffs as if he agrees with this explanation but would still like everyone to know he has complaints.
A few people chuckle quietly.
Rory smiles but keeps his eyes on the horse.
“At the end, you may see us heat the shoe before placing it briefly against the hoof to check the fit. That can smell strange and look alarming, but it doesn’t burn him when done correctly. It helps us see where the shoe needs adjusting so it fits his hoof as safely as possible.”
Amelia nods beside him.
“Rory can read Thor better than anyone here,” she says. “If Thor shows signs of discomfort or distress, we stop immediately. No demonstration is more important than this horse feeling safe.”
Rory pats Thor’s neck gently.
“Exactly. We go slow. We listen to him. We do it right.” He looks back at the small group.
“Any questions before we begin?”
“Why do you have nails?”
The question comes from a little boy standing near the front of the group, his eyes wide as he points toward the small tray of tools near Rory’s feet.
Rory smiles. “Good question.”
He picks up one of the nails and holds it where the group can see.