He led me past the two round pens he used for training to the open-sided hay barn. I’d made countless trips out there yesterday for fresh bedding, and it looked like today’s duties would make round two. I’d say my legs were getting as good a workout as my arms, but mostly, it just compounded my misery.
Ty stood in the hay side of the storage shed, cutting the twine on a bale with a pocket knife.
“The bales come apart easy enough,” he said, tipping a chunk from the end like slicing off a pat of butter. “Each section’s called a flake, and each horse’s stall gets a flake in each hay feeder on either side of the stall door.”
It sounded easy, but I’d already learned that word had an all-new definition on Ty’s ranch. He stepped aside while I pulled the bale apart and tossed the ‘flakes’ into the heavy-duty cart. It didn’t take much to fill the feed cart to the top.
“One in each hay feeder,” I confirmed over my shoulder while turning the cart in a wide circle.
“Spread the hay apart some as you fill the feeders. Makes it easier on them.”
Easier on them?They were already getting room service courtesy of my aching muscles. But I trudged the cart back to the barn and did as he said, spreading the hay in each corner feeder, and doing my best to ignore the steadily growing sweat-stains on my T-shirt. I returned the empty cart to him in the hay barn, wondering what kind of industrial-strength anti-perspirant it would take to make a dent in my sweat out here.
I went through the process again, piling half the bale of flakes into the cart and trotting it over to the barn to spread in each feeder. On my second return to the hay barn, Ty watched me with raised eyebrows. I had decidedly less pep in my step.
“Isn’t there an easier way to do this?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Yes. Usually, I stack two whole bales in the cart and just make the one trip.”
“Now you tell me. Let’s do that.” I tugged at a bale but didn’t lift it an inch.
“Bales weigh fifty pounds.”
I shot him a glare and went back to piling flakes into the work cart. This time, I filled it past the top, since the hay seemed unwilling to topple. Double-checking my count down to the last feeder, I finally turned the fully-loaded cart back toward the barn. Ty walked beside me, apparently satisfied I had enough hay.
“You’re enjoying this,” I grumbled at him.
The trace of a smirk ghosted his features. “It has its moments.”
I distributed the rest of the hay in the stalls, thankful my trips to the hay barn had ended for the day. Probably.
“Now on to the grain,” he said after I’d put the feed cart back in its spot. “Bin’s over here.” He knocked on the lid of a large green metal storage container in one corner of the barn. “See the whiteboard outside each stall? It’s got their grain amounts listed beneath their names. You just measure it out.”
Doling out the horses’ grain proved the easiest task he had given me so far, despite the tediousness of trotting back and forth, and I finished pretty quickly. “Now we bring the horses in?”
“If it were just my horses, and a few hours later in the day, I’d say yes, but I don’t trust these young colts with you. Aaron’s going to come out for an hour or so this evening to stable them.”
Even if it wasn’t quite the attitude I’d hoped for, his concern for my safety was sweet. And considering what I saw Bullet do to him, entirely sensible. “So what next?”
His lips quirked to one side. “You’re going to love it. Mucking.”
Everything inside me wilted. “But the stalls are all clean.”
“The pens aren’t.” He hooked a thumb toward the line of rubber boots behind him. “Best put on a pair.”
I sighed but squared my shoulders and tugged on a pair of rubber boots. When I straightened up, I followed him out to the circular pen where I’d first encountered him and Bullet. That day echoed in my mind, not just the sound of his ribs cracking when he got kicked, but the way he’d looked at me right before it happened. In a flash so quick I couldn’t be sure it had really been there, he’d looked at me like I was a present he had never expected to receive.
That small spark of pleasure had awakened an awareness of Ty I couldn’t shake, but wasn’t entirely sure I should encourage.
“This round pen and that one behind it need to have the manure picked.”
He raised one arm to point at the far pen but winced and dropped it again. He tried to make it all look natural, as if he’d totally meant to swing his arm at nothing, but I saw how much he had to adjust to the limitations of his new normal.
“Wheelbarrow and pitchfork are where you left them yesterday.”
His mouth pressed into a bleak line, his eyes dark in the shade of his Stetson, his breathing shallow. Rather than take it easy even for a few minutes, he kept soldiering on, fighting upstream against the pain.
“You really should go lie down. You don’t look good.”
