Extract
“I know women love shoes, but isn’t this taking it a little too far?”
Delta lowered a freshly shod horse’s hoof to the ground and straightened to acknowledge the lame wisecrack. She half expected to find a cocksure ranch hand looking to score. Instead, a rugged cowboy with deep maple-brown eyes and hair to match rested casually against the work truck she’d parked in the Silver Bells Ranch’s wide stable entrance.
“Garrett Slade.” He took a step toward her and extended his hand. “I’m the ranch’s new partner. My brother Dylan has told me you’re the best farrier in the state. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Delta Grace.” His muscular fingers encircled her palm, sending a tingle down to the tips of her toes. “Dylan’s much too kind, but I appreciate it just the same. And the pleasure is all mine,” she drawled. Delta inwardly cringed at the unfamiliar licentious tone she had never heard come out of her mouth. He was the most attractive man she’d laid eyes on since heaven knew when, and she found it most unsettling.
She stepped around Garrett and gave the draft horse’s bristly muzzle a rub. The animal inquisitively nudged the pocket of her pink-and-black plaid flannel shirt until she unbuttoned it and rewarded him with the baby carrots she had tucked away earlier. She returned to her truck and packed up her tools before removing her heavyweight apron chaps under the heat of Garrett’s gaze. “I’m finished here for the day, but I’ll need to return tomorrow for Lightning Bug, the quarter horse with navicular disease. I need to be here when Dr. Presley radiographs the hoof so we can discuss further shoeing modifications. He’s improved significantly since the early fall when Jax first noticed it.”
A flicker of sadness crossed his features at the mention of Garrett’s uncle, who had died six weeks earlier. They were almost halfway through January and the ranch’s future precariously balanced on the newly formed partnership between the two Slade brothers. They had managed to avoid foreclosure on the 730-acre guest ranch, but they still had major renovations to undertake for them to profitably compete with the more modern ranches cropping up around them.
“I am truly sorry for your loss. Jax was a great man.”
Garrett nodded wordlessly and led the Belgian horse to his stall. Delta secured the side compartment of her truck while trying to ignore the way his fawn-colored barn coat framed his broad shoulders. If the Silver Bells Ranch wasn’t her largest account, she would have asked him to join her for a drink in Jax’s memory. But she wasn’t willing to cross that line under any circumstances.
Delta firmly believed her professional and personal life should remain independent of each other. She’d successfully maintained that balance back in Missoula, but it proved more difficult since she had moved to Saddle Ridge in northwestern Montana. A town forty times smaller meant running into customers no matter where she went. Lucky for her, Missoula was a two-hour straight shot south and she visited her family and friends whenever she wanted.
She had a few single girlfriends in town, but Liv was pregnant with triplets and Maddie was so in love with the baby thing she spent all her free time helping Liv prepare for their arrival. Weeknights had become lonely and it didn’t help that Saddle Ridge had already gone head over boots for Valentine’s Day. She never understood the fervent commercialization of the blasted holiday. Back home she could escape it. Not in Saddle Ridge. Everywhere she turned, there was another cupid aiming an arrow at her heart. She’d like to shove that arrow somewh—
“I wanted to discuss a few things if you have the time to spare.” Garrett’s voice shattered her mental assault on the chubby cherub.
“Sure. Silver Bells was my last stop today.” Delta folded her arms tight across her chest as a bitter wind blew into the stables. “Just let me move my truck out of your entrance.” Minutes later, she was back inside as Garrett slid the tall wooden doors shut behind her. The cold lingered on her body, causing her to regret leaving her jacket on the front seat.
“Let’s talk in my office where it’s warmer.”
His office? Delta found it interesting that Dylan had handed over the responsibility of the horses to Garrett. They had been his greatest pride, but she understood the necessity to move into his uncle’s position of managing the ranch along with the lodge and staff.
Snorts and nickers coupled with the lone scrape of a shovel against a stall floor masked the awkward silence that grew between them as she followed him down the center corridor. The friendliness that had transpired between them only moments ago seemed to fade with each stride.
The office door creaked as Garrett opened it for her to enter. Fluorescent lights swathed the large room with the flick of a switch. She had been there before, but it had resembled more of a cozy den. Not anymore. A row of chest-high filing cabinets with shelves above them replaced the oversize leather couch along the rough wood wall opposite the desk. And the kitchenette now consisted of a coffeepot and nothing more. Dylan had faithfully stocked boxes of cookies, chips and other nibbles for his employees to snack on during the day. It appeared those were a thing of the past, too.
“Have a seat.” Garrett removed his hat and hung it on the freestanding rack behind his desk before shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the other side. He waited for her to sit in the chair across from him before doing the same. “I’m not sure how much you know about the changes the ranch is undergoing, but I’d like to discuss a few cost-saving ideas with you.”
“Okay.” Cost-saving automatically registered as less compensation in her brain.
“I’ve only been here a week, so I haven’t had the chance to review all the stables expenses, but I have seen a handful of your invoices.” Garrett fanned out five of her itemized bills across the worn black walnut surface. “Our farrier costs seem high.”
“You have almost a hundred horses. Thirty of which are Belgians. And you have to factor in all the therapeutic shoeing, too.” Delta hadn’t known what to expect from their conversation, but this wasn’t a good start. “I realize it’s none of my concern, but since we’re on the subject, I don’t understand why you’re maintaining this many horses when you don’t have the business to support them any longer.”
“Because Dylan doesn’t want to thin the stables. I’ve agreed to give the ranch six months before revisiting the idea.” Garrett removed a pad from the top drawer and scanned his neatly written notes. “In the meantime, I need to reduce the ranch’s overhead at once so we can balance their expense. Please don’t think you’re my only target. But since you’re here today, I’d like to tackle this expense first. Had Dylan or Jax discussed cold-shoeing with you? The cost is significantly lower.”
Target? Tackle? They weren’t playing a sport. She was a fourth-generation farrier and she took her job seriously.
“The quality is lower, as well.” Delta only cold-shod a horse when the animal had an intolerance to the hiss of firing up a forge or the smoke produced when a hot shoe met the hoof. “It’s much easier to hammer and shape a hot shoe than file a cold one and it provides a more exacting fit. In my opinion, cold-shoeing is done by less experienced farriers. Some do exceptional work, but they’re not equipped to handle the corrective or specialized work I do for your horses. As you’ve already said, your
