Chapter Eight #3
“These nails are special. They’re shaped to go through the outer wall of the hoof, not into the sensitive part inside.”
The boy’s nose wrinkles. “But nails hurt.”
“They would if we put them in the wrong place,” Rory says honestly. “That’s why only trained people should ever do this. The hoof wall is like your fingernail. If you clip the white part of your nail, it doesn’t hurt, right?”
The boy looks down at his hands. “No.”
“But if you clip too far down where it’s pink?”
“That hurts.”
“Exactly,” Rory says. “A horse’s hoof is similar. We only work on the part that doesn’t have feeling. If we ever got too close to the sensitive area, it would hurt, and we would stop immediately.”
Thor snorts.
Amelia chuckles softly. “And Thor would tell us very quickly if we got it wrong.”
The little boy studies the massive horse. “How?”
“He’d move away,” Amelia says. “Pin his ears. Toss his head. Shift his weight. Maybe try to pull his foot back. Horses talk with their bodies, so our job is to pay attention.”
Olivia steps forward with her clipboard hugged to her chest.
“And if you don’t pay attention,” she adds seriously, “you fail.”
Several adults laugh quietly.
I glance at Amelia and watch her press her lips together like she’s trying not to smile.
Rory points at Olivia. “She’s not wrong.”
The little boy nods like this answer satisfies him, then looks at me.
“Do you know how to do it?”
“No,” I admit. “Which is why I will be listening very carefully.”
Olivia makes a note on her clipboard.
“Good answer,” she says.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Amelia shakes her head, but her eyes are warm when they meet mine.
And for reasons I can’t explain, earning approval from a ten-year-old girl with a clipboard feels far more important than it should.
***
This…is…insane.
“Why can’t we keep his heavy-as-hell leg on that little stand you’ve had it on this entire time?” I ask as Rory shows me how to use the tool to clean the inner part of Thor’s hoof.
I have Thor’s back leg bent and tucked between my knees. In order to keep it there, I have to bend forward, brace my stance, and squeeze with everything I have just to keep his hoof in place.
“Because this is easier, believe it or not,” Rory says with a chuckle. “The stand gives us better leverage when we trim and shape the hoof, but when we’re cleaning around the frog and checking the center, this angle works better.”
“Easier,” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“You and I define that word very differently.”
Rory grins. “Luckily, he isn’t fighting you. If he was, you’d be in for the fight of your life cleaning that thing.”
Thor may not be fighting me. I’ll give him that.
He’s keeping his leg between mine and allowing me to work, which I understand is a great show of trust.
But he’s also not helping me hold it up.
At all.
The massive beast has apparently decided I need to prove my core strength in front of the two ladies watching me with rapt attention.
Amelia stands a few feet away with her arms crossed, trying very hard not to smile.
Olivia is beside her, clipboard in hand, looking entirely too serious for someone who is clearly enjoying my suffering.
“Bend your knees more,” she calls.
I glance up at her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. That’s part of your grade.”
“Of course it is.”
Thor shifts the slightest bit, and every muscle in my body locks.
Rory places a steady hand against the horse’s hip. “Easy, big guy.”
Amelia steps closer, her voice softening instantly. “You’re okay, Thor. No one’s hurting you.”
The horse settles at the sound of her.
So do I, though I choose not to examine that too closely.
“Now,” Rory says, pointing toward the hoof pick in my hand, “run it along that groove there. Firm, but careful. You’re clearing out dirt and checking for stones or anything that could cause pressure.”
I do as instructed.
The smell of hay, dust, and horse fills my lungs. Sweat gathers beneath the collar of my shirt, and my back is already beginning to protest.
“This is what you do every day?” I ask.
“Not shoes every day,” Rory says. “But hoof checks? Cleaning? Grooming? Feeding? Medical care? Yeah. There’s always something.”
My gaze flicks toward Amelia.
Her hands are tucked beneath her opposite arms again, like she’s trying to warm her fingers without drawing attention to them.
Thor’s leg grows heavier against my thighs, and I force my focus back where it belongs.
I finish cleaning his hoof without incident, which feels like an accomplishment worthy of applause.
Olivia gives me none.
She only makes another note on her clipboard.
Ruthless child.
Rory brings over the next shoe, heated and glowing faintly from the heat.
“Put his leg back up on the stand,” he says. Then he looks toward the small group gathered near the barn entrance. “Remember, everyone, this isn’t going to hurt him.”
This is leg three, so I’ve already seen it done twice.
After a few seconds, Rory pulls the shoe away, makes a small adjustment, then places it again before nodding.
“Perfect.”
He cools the shoe, lines it up properly, and begins nailing it into place with the kind of practiced precision that makes the work look easier than it is.
When the shoe is secure, Rory clips off the pointed ends of the nails, smooths everything down, then releases Thor’s leg.
The massive horse sets his hoof on the ground and shifts his weight.
Olivia scribbles something on her clipboard as I straighten, my back protesting in several languages.
“Well?” I ask her.
She studies me with the seriousness of a judge deciding a man’s fate.
“You listened well,” she says. “You didn’t move too fast. You didn’t panic when Thor leaned on you. And you didn’t complain too much.”
“Too much?”
“You asked about the hoof stand.”
“That was a valid question.”
She considers that, then nods. “Fine. Valid complaint.”
Amelia presses her lips together, but her eyes are laughing.
“And my grade?” I ask.
Olivia looks down at her clipboard, then back up at me.
“A-minus.”
Rory lets out a low whistle. “High praise.”
“What kept it from being an A?” I ask.
Olivia points her pen at my shoes. “You wore fancy shoes to a barn. That was just silly.”
I look down at my ruined dress shoes…then at Amelia.
She laughs, soft and bright, and the sound hits me deep.
Images of Adriana surface before I can stop them.
Her smile.
Her laugh.
The way she used to look at me before the world took her from me.
For a moment, grief presses against my chest with familiar hands.
I gently shove the memories aside.
Not because I want to forget her.
But because if I allow myself to sink too deeply into the past, I’ll walk away from Amelia before either of us has the chance to see what this could become.
And I do want that chance.