Apocalipstick (Hell in a Handbag Book 1) by Lisa Acerbo (the best e book reader txt) 📗

bottom of his leg above the hoof and slide your hand.” He angled her hand over the lower part of the horse’s leg.

With a squeeze, the horse lifted its hoof. She checked for stones lodged in the frog, the soft portion of the bottom. “Their feet aren’t horrible for being alone all this time.”

“Could use a trim.”

“I’ll leave trimming to you.” Her body heated with the close contact. “We better find a way to fatten them up soon.”

“Isn’t there a fenced in pasture behind the barn full of grass gone wild. I bet these two will mow it down in no time.”

“Grab a pony. We’ll bring them there. I’ll figure out how to bale hay for the winter, but I’ll need your help. Lots of help.” He stepped back. “Let’s get moving. I need to fix something for Jackie. Don’t want her mad at me.”

“I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” Jenna said. “She doesn’t like to be ignored.”

The horses clomped up the hill.

“No worries, but what’s the plan for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Are they sound enough to ride?”

“Absolutely.” He held her hand when they returned to the inn. “How about in the morning?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

His parting smile made the rest of her day warm and fuzzy even if she spent the last part of it cleaning toilets.

13

Jenna woke later than usual. The room was specter quiet except for the drum of footsteps below her and the muted call of birds outside her window.

Grabbing clothes off the ground, the first items touched, a flannel shirt, black T-shirt, and jeans, created her ensemble.

What is this? Happiness? Excitement?

She couldn’t wait to see how the horses fared their first night in the barn after being free for such a long time. If they did well with a rider on their back, training them for work shouldn’t be a problem.

Skipping breakfast, the sun was warm butter on her skin.

“Hey!” Her voice failed to carry across the meadow where Quentin was on his return from the barn.

“I woke early and let the horses out.” He pointed in the direction of the field. “I had some other projects to finish so I stayed out here. I was heading in to see what was keeping you.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t sure when we should meet.” A rash of red colored her neck.

“This is as good a time as any. Ready to ride?”

“Can’t wait.”

The large drafts grazed, content with their current conditions. They hiked to the old barn, gathered the tack, and then brought the horses inside. Getting bridles into the horses’ mouth, turned out to be more challenging than expected.

“I thought I’d remember, but how does this work?” She struggled with the random assortment of leather straps and clasps. “Why is this so complicated.”

“Like this.” He grabbed the horse’s mane, drawing the draft’s head lower. “We have to get their head low, and then have them accept the bit in their mouth.”

She tugged on the halter so the horse would behave. The Clydesdale bonked Jenna in the face when it shook its mane from side to side. She rubbed her chin. “Horse’s heads hurt more than I believed they would.”

He wrestled with the other horse.

“Just you wait,” she warned. The large brown gelding lowered its head. The metal bit clanked against the horse’s teeth, and the animal stretched its neck away. Its mane whipped at her. She tried again. And again.

“He’s smarter than you.” He guided the other draft forward by the reins. The oiled leather saddle glowed.

“Can you do it? Go ahead.” The two switched places, Jenna holding the reins of one horse while he wrestled with the other to accept the bit. Minutes ticked by but the gelding turned stubborn. It pranced and stamped.

“Hold on,” Jenna interrupted his latest attempt to coax the horse into submission. “I remember something useful. If you put your finger behind their teeth, it causes the horse to open its mouth. Give me the bridle.”

Jenna soothed the horse before using an index finger behind its front teeth. The bit slipped into his mouth and she drew the bridle over the draft’s head, angling the brow band and tugging the rest of the bridle behind tufted ears. “Success.”

The horse pranced in anticipation. They walked into the sunlight and stood by the fenced in pasture.

“Can you get on from the ground?” Quentin asked.

“I don’t know. It’s been a while.”

“I couldn’t find a mounting block.”

“They look bigger today.”

“Leg up?” Quentin cupped his hands.

The first try landed her on her belly in the saddle. But getting a leg over, turned out to be impossible. She jumped to the ground. “This time you have to push harder.”

“That’s what she said.”

“What came out of your mouth?”

“I’m not taking it back.” He heaved, sending her over the side of the gelding, landing in the grass. The horse stood unfazed.

“You okay?” An unapologetic eyebrow rose once he realized no injuries were involved.

“Thanks for the help.” The words snapped against the air. She stood and tried again. When in the saddle, the horse pranced and turned in circles.

Leading the draft to a rock wall, Quentin jumped to the top of the stone surface and mounted without incident.

“Not fair.” The reins seesawed like waves when the giant pranced.

They walked by the lake where the sun began its rise over the water before steering the horses into the woods. Quentin was a natural equestrian, fitting comfortably in the saddle, well-worn jeans punctuating lean, muscled legs. His broad shoulders were erect when he guided the horse on a trail, a Mets baseball cap hid his normally unruly hair.

“What should we name the horses?” he asked. “We are not having a repeat of Cat, are we? Horse One and Two, doesn’t really do it for me.”

“I never realized I’d turned into a running joke. I’ll never live it down.”

“The horses deserve special names for surviving on their own for so long.”

“This guy could be called Devil, and it would fit.”

“You’re so negative. I doubt he’d appreciate you naming him that.”

“What about Star and Moon?”

“I