Made That Way by Susan Ketchen Read Free Book Online

say.
    Kansas says, “I hardly think that was why—”
    Declan ignores her. “Well can you blame him? Not a bad little guy ?” He snorts with disgust. “Let me get my tools, we’ll check out that right front.”
    While he’s out of earshot digging around in the back of his truck, Kansas murmurs, “I’ve never heard him talk so much.”
    â€œYou don’t think he’s just being nice, do you?” I say, but Declan returns before Kansas can answer.
    He buckles on his leather farrier chaps, takes a short curved knife from his tool box and sets to trimming Brooklyn’s foot.
    I watch Kansas staring at Declan’s backside. She hasn’t stopped smiling since he got here. “I have another new boarder,” she tells him. “He came in with this one, from the prairies.”
    Declan grunts.
    â€œHe’s a beauty. Huge. 17.2 hands.”
    Declan shakes his head. “Horses weren’t meant to be that big. Good luck keeping him sound. Horses are supposed to be this size.” He gestures with an elbow towards Brooklyn’s ribcage.
    â€œOh not this small,” says Kansas.
    â€œI know you women like them bigger, but if you left everything up to Mother Nature you’d never see a horse over fifteen hands. This may hurt a bit, son,” he says to Brooklyn, “but if we can find the abscess and release it you’ll be glad when we’re done.” In quick succession he flicks off several bits of sole with his knife.
    â€œBut you know, the conformation on the other one is fantastic,” says Kansas. In my opinion it’s rude to be talking like this in front of Brooklyn, and maybe if Kansas wasn’t so set on impressing Declan she’d be thinking the same way. “He has a neck like a swan and the slope of his shoulder . . . .” Kansas stops momentarily when she hears Declan scoff, but then she starts up again. “He’s a very well-bred animal. He’s a branded Hanoverian. They’ve been breeding them selectively in Europe for decades.”
    Now she’s really showing off. This is so disappointing. One of the things I like about Kansas is that she isn’t a lecturing know-it-all, and here she is lecturing Declan of all people.
    Declan lowers Brooklyn’s hoof, slides the knife into the sheath stitched on his chaps. He stands and stretches his back, then strolls to Kansas’s side. He doesn’t look at her, but turns so they can both watch Brooklyn, then he leans against her shoulder. A red flush works its way up Kansas’s neck and her smile disappears.
    â€œAnd his feet?” says Declan. “What are they like? Can he go barefoot like this one or will we be looking at re-shoeing every five weeks to stop his walls from falling apart? And some nutritional supplements as well, I expect. A load of biotin in his feed. Of course the feet may not be bad now, coming from the prairies, but a wet winter on the coast will tell a different tale.”
    â€œYou haven’t even seen him,” says Kansas. Her cheeks are flaming red.
    â€œNow this pony of Sylvia’s is another matter,” he says ignoring her completely. I wonder if he’s really so dense that he doesn’t know what’s going on, and all he notices is the horses. “Once his feet are trimmed up properly, you’ll see. Strong walls. Good angles. Straight legs, my god look at him, he could be right out of a textbook. And not a mark on those legs, no splints, no wind-puffs—for a middle-aged fellow, he’s got the legs of a five-year-old.”
    â€œMiddle-aged?” I say. “I thought he was young, because he was still grey and hadn’t turned white yet. Kansas told me that’s what happens with greys.”
    I look at Kansas to confirm this, but she’s dabbling her boot in a puddle of water left on the floor and won’t meet my eye.
    â€œWell he’s not exactly young,” says