Page 28 of Brett and Rowdy (Gomillion High Reunion #5)

Chapter Sixteen

B rett felt pretty damn lazy by day four.

He loved the ebb and flow of the ranch, loved how the big house worked, with people coming to see Rowdy. Madison was a hoot, and he’d met her horses and her bull and all the staff that was close and not in the upper pastures.

And it was wild and wooly and wonderful. But he was used to hammering and creating and working. So he was feeling kind of… teetering on the edge of decadence.

Rowdy was on a conference call, too, so he was teetering on the edge of decadence, so to speak.

Maybe he’d ask to borrow a vehicle and run into town. Tonight was Rose’s night off, he’d heard. He could make spaghetti and meatballs, which was his specialty…

“Brett!” Madison came flying in, flushed and panting. “Do you have a minute?”

He nodded, standing up immediately to follow her. “Sure, kiddo. What’s up?”

“The farrier, Luis, was shoeing Big Boy, and he got kicked right in the chest. He’s on his way to urgent care for an X-ray, but Big Boy only has one shoe on!”

Big Boy he’d met yesterday. The monster gelding was a Clydesdale that Rowdy had rescued from a bad rodeo show situation. He was big and sweet and gentle, but Madison had told him his hooves had been in awful shape when they’d gotten him, and he was picky about who touched them.

“Well, I—what tools I brought are still in your truck, but—” They weren’t enough to do a full job.

“Luis left everything you need. And I’ll go grab your bag.” She gave him a pleading look. “Please.”

“Sure. Take me to him.” Like they weren’t already walking.

“Thanks! I have the golf cart outside.”

He nodded, texting Rowdy that he would be out in the horse barn. Then he followed Madison outside, grabbing his gimme cap from beside the door. Thankfully, he’d stomped into his boots earlier.

Sure enough, when he got to the barn, Big Boy was mostly shoeless and cross-tied, stamping and fussing about it too.

Shit.

“Do I have treats to give him?” Brett asked.

“Sure. I’ll get them.”

There were two hands just sort of standing around, watching Big Boy, and he waved them off. “You’re just making him nervous, guys. Let’s give him some space and let him breathe.”

The guys backed off, and he took the bag of treats from Madison, watching those silky ears swiveling. Someone liked horse cookies.

“Okay, Big Boy,” Brett murmured. “You eat this, and I’ll unclip one lead so you can move with me, see what I’m doing, huh?” He eased one lead off the ring of Big Boy’s halter. “I get that he wanted to make sure you couldn’t bite, but that gave you more room to kick, right?”

He looked around, making sure he had everything he was going to need, his bag or no. It was obvious that there’d been an emergency—things were haphazard and scattered, the hands obviously not wanting to aggravate Big Boy.

He grabbed some nippers and picks up off the sand and set them on the bench, then righted the great big stand, which had been kicked over. He was tickled shitless to find it painted a bright pink. He glanced at Madison. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pink farrier stand before.”

“Daddy got it for him as a joke. We’ve got a whole setup here—anvil, tools, forge, everything you could need.”

He nodded. Just letting Big Boy get used to his presence. “So tell me, Miss Madison, what do you know about shoeing in this environment as opposed to back home?”

“Well, here we don’t have to worry about white line or hoof rot near as much, but we’ve got to be careful and flat shoe as much as possible because we’ve got goatheads and sand and rocks that can get under there and just irritate the hell out of everything.

” She smiled at him, but he could tell she was used to being in school, because she answered him like a student, not a boss.

“Also, while we don’t have to worry about rotting, we do have to worry about everything drying out, and I know that a dry hoof is hard to cut.

You’re gonna have to use those nippers, especially with this guy.

The hooves here are going to be hard, dried out, and it’s a challenge. ”

He nodded. “Good job. You know your stuff.”

She shrugged. “I mean, I’m not a farrier by any means; I don’t want you to think that I think I am or anything. I just… I know what I need to know, I guess.”

“Hey, this is part of the job. You have to know everything.” He tested Big Boy’s willingness to give him a foot and to his surprise, the horse was, maybe not happy, but going to let him get to work. “So you said you have a forge situation set up?”

“Well, we’ve got the old forge, but I don’t know. I mean, that’s been around since the beginning of time. It’s like, it’s not fancy, you know. You have to put fuel in it, and there are old bellows and stuff.”

A spark of excitement hit him, smack dab in the center of his chest. “Oh, wow, we’ll have to see that. I’m curious.”

“Sure.” She grinned at him. “There’s a nice farrier shed attached to it too.”

“You have somebody full time?” There didn’t seem to be that many horses.

“No, although that’s one that’s on my list. I think we need someone more often.

Someone who can be here, if not full time, then at least be available and not be eighty-five years old.

” She chuckled and shook her head. “Daddy’s gonna say that there’s no need for a full-time farrier, and we don’t want folks to get bored, but I hate the idea of needing somebody and having to wait. I guess that’s stupid, huh?”

“Why?” He set to work, checking each hoof, putting his head down and really getting in there cleaning things up. By the time he was done with one hoof, he was sweating like a whore in church, and it felt so damn good.

He felt like he was doing one of the things he had been put on earth to do.

Madison had wandered off to grab his bag while he shaped and shoed, and the cowboys had all gone back to work.

Him? He was just sitting there working away, jabbering to Big Boy, as happy as a pig in shit.

By the time he was done, he and Big Boy were going to be friends, and they shared a bit of a currycombing before the huge dude was let out to rest.

Brett was experiencing something he hadn’t in way too long, and that was hope and a bone-deep peace.

“Is there anybody else that needs shoeing?” he asked some random cowboy. “Is there someone else that the farrier was supposed to see to today?”

“No, sir.” This young kid with a missing front tooth and a vicious scar on his lip grinned at him. “Thank you for doing this. Would you like to see the farrier shed and forge? I’ll help you put the stuff away.” One hand was held out to him. “Jack Martinez.”

“Brett Kilpatrick.” They shook, and he started gathering up his tools. “Point me and shoot me.”

And off he went, buzzing with anticipation, listening to Jack talk to him with half an ear.

The forge building was enough to steal his breath.

It was a long, low stone building with thick wooden beams at the roof, which also held up the covered porch.

There was a double forge with an outside and inside hearth, a tuyere…

The quenching tub was in need of mending, but the anvil was obviously still being used.

The setup they had here was glorious, and his mouth was literally watering as he waved Jack off and went to explore all the nooks and crannies, the jumble of tools from modern to hundreds of years old.

It was a forge. Like an old-timey amazing artist forge.

He stood there for a second, his brain spinning.

Because he would obviously need all of his equipment from home.

Of course he would.

That was how he did his fine work and that was how he did his furniture and art, but… How cool would it be if he could use this for part of it? What kind of validity would that give his work?

How could Rowdy be giving him everything he wanted on a silver platter without even trying? How was this real?

Brett wasn’t used to… well, he’d be honest, he wasn’t used to ups and downs. There had been a few in his life, sure, but rarely huge things—good or bad.

Rowdy’s life and the life of everyone caught in his orbit was in a state of a constant big bang.

As if thinking about Rowdy had called to him, his phone beeped, and he glanced down, Rowdy asking,

Where you at?

He just called Rowdy back, rather than text. His hands were trembling too hard to make letters into words. “Hey, I’m at the forge. I didn’t know y’all had a forge. This place is amazing.”

“Oh, yeah? God, I haven’t been down there in forever, but you have fun. Madison told me you took over for Luis. I really appreciate the help.”

“No problem. How is he?”

Rowdy sighed softly. “Old. Frail. Broken sternum. It’s not great.”

“Shit. That sounds a lot like retirement.” Holy crap. That was what happened with horses, though. One moment of inattention, one misjudgment of a horse or mule, and you were down for the count.

And farrier wasn’t usually a job with good health insurance.

“Yeah. I’m talking with his daughter, and then I’ll put the word around with the local ranchers and outfitters. See what we can do about his bills and a little bit of a cushion for him.”

“That’s too cool, honey.”

“No problems with Big Boy for you?”

“No.” He chewed his lower lip. “He wasn’t thrilled, but he stood well for me. I think Luis was worried about how much strength it was going to take to do the job and he made a mistake cross-tying him.”

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah.” Brett cleared his throat, because that was that. “The forge, though.”

“Use anything you want, darlin’.”

“Thanks. I’ll probably see what all I need and then head into town. I’ll fire it up tomorrow, assuming I can clean it up and get it all running safely.”

“I’d love to run into town with you. We can go to my favorite Mexican place.”

Brett chuckled. “Yeah, I was going to get the stuff to make spaghetti and meatballs, but I got distracted.”

“Shit, darlin’, we’ll get the stuff and you can cook for us tomorrow. Rose would be tickled as a pig in shit to have someone cook for her, too.”