Page 6 of Stables Spurs Suits
I start with my pants; they’re the easiest part. Though they’re thick denim, I buy a size bigger to give me a little more breathing room for the boys. Sure, it can mean having to adjust more than once when I’m in the saddle, but it makes wearing pants at all more tolerable. I pull on my socks and boots and then pause, holding my shirt from the collar in one hand, willing myself to pull it on.
It’s like when you see someone lift their nails to a chalkboard, your body tenses in anticipation for the noise that will come when they scrape their nails down it. My skin is crawling at the thought of the fabric sliding up my arms and over my back.
I tell myself I’ll put it on when I get closer to the ranch as I slip on my favorite belt with the stallion rearing up on the buckle, grab my hat, and head out. I make my way across the paddock, enjoying the feeling of the sun warming my skin, but I only get about halfway when I spot Matthew leaning against the rail beside the old smaller stables.
Well fuck. I guess that means this is close enough.
I drop my hat and suck in a breath before shoving my arms through the sleeves as fast as I can, the fabric skimming over the scars that wrap around my left bicep, up my shoulder, and over a third of my back. I move fast, hoping to minimize the shudder that rolls through me, but it doesn’t work. My stomach turns, and I gag a little, breathing deep through my nose to try to regain some control. Doc said it’s normal for the nerves to be super sensitive after what they went through. He reckons it’ll just take time. But it’s been almost twenty years, and they haven’t settled yet. Being naked is the only time I don’t feel like there’s something under the scars trying to break free, crawling along the underside of my skin, looking for a way out. Maybe it’sbecause I spend so much time naked that they still prefer it that way. I’m not willing to stay fully clothed for long enough to find out.
“Do you have something for me?” Matthew asks, and I climb over the rail, boots sinking into the soft mud underfoot.
“Was I supposed to?” I ask.
“To do, I mean,” he adds, a soft blush rising to his cheeks. “Connor said you could use a hand with the horses, so here I am. My hands are yours. I mean, like, for work.”
Fuck, I forgot about that.
Chapter four
MATTHEW
WHERE THERE’S A WILL, THERE’S A WAY
I follow Atlas around to the front of the old stables. The pungent scent of manure and straw stings the back of my nose.
“I don’t know a huge amount about horses,” I say as we round the corner. “But I read a few books when Connor said I’d be working with you. There’s nothing that can’t be learned in a book, I always say.”
Atlas doesn’t reply, and I wring my hands together.
“Did you know that horses can move their ears independently? How cool would it be to be able to do that? I mean, you probably already knew that. You are a horse guy after all. Not that you can’t do other things. You know what I mean. So… umm, do you have a job for me to do, or do you want me to just keep spewing horse facts at you?” I ask, my voice going all high and pitchy at the end.
Atlas turns on his heel just inside the doorway.
“Did any of those fancy books of yours tell you how to muck out a stall?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“That’s like cleaning them out, right?” I ask and he nods. “I’m sure it can’t be that hard. Which one needs mucking?”
“All of them.”
“All of them? That’s like twenty stalls; it’ll take me all day. What do I even do with all of it?”
“You’ll need to pile it all up just outside the stables on the right. We’ve got a farmer coming in later today to pick it all up.”
“That’s smart, selling it off.”
“Who said anything about selling it?”
“You just give it away?”
“Sure do. Why, do you have a problem with that?”
“It’s just… from what I’ve read, this stuff is like super strong fertilizer. Seems like a wasted opportunity to make some decent money.”
“Some things are more important than money,” he replies, grabbing a rope from the hooks on the wall and heading for the rear doors that lead out into the horse paddock.
“Wait, you haven’t shown me how to do it.”
