Read Online Gone to Ground by Cheryl Taylor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cheryl Taylor
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awfully sore footed for awhile. Think about when you were a kid and it finally warmed up in the spring so that you could go without shoes. How did it feel?”
Maggie winced at the memory. “Does that mean they can’t be ridden?” she questioned.
“They can be ridden, but at the beginning they won’t be able to be ridden much.” At Maggie’s worried look O’Reilly went on to assure her, “It’s okay, their feet will toughen up just like yours did, but it will take awhile; months or more, before they’re really rock footed.” O’Reilly nodded to emphasize what he was saying. “Also, we’ll be able to save the shoes we do have, so that if there’s an emergency and we have to take them out for longer, I can slap a set of shoes on for the trip, then pull them off again when we’re done. We’ll get more use out of them that way.”
“Okay,” agreed Maggie, still not sure. “But what about your horses?”
“I caught these horses up off a ranch near Laughlin after I left the APZ. They’d been running out on the range and weren’t shod already. Their feet will be fine as long as I keep knocking off any long bits. They’re used to making it in the rocks out here. Not like your horses. They’re city horses and have never had to make a living in a spot where the feed isn’t brought to them.” He looked out of the corner of his eye at Maggie, “Sort of like some people I know.”
“Alright, enough of the city slicker comments,” she growled. “Show me what needs to be done.”
For the remainder of the morning O’Reilly worked on the horses’ feet, carefully trimming away the excess growth and returning the hooves to the proper balance using tools found stashed in the barn. Fortunately, he said, it appeared that the horses had been trimmed not too long before the disease struck and their owners died. Their feet were long, but they weren’t nearly as bad as they could have been.
Maggie was nervous about having her primary means of transportation, and more importantly escape, put in an ‘out of commission’ status. However, she realized that if the horses weren’t cared for properly, they wouldn’t be available if and when the proverbial cow poop hit the fan. She watched carefully all the moves O’Reilly made, asking questions the entire time. Her journalistic background made her a voracious seeker of information, and in this case the information could be vitally important to her survival. By the fourth horse, she demanded to try it for herself.
“You’re sure?” O’Reilly asked dubiously, sweat beaded his arms and matted his dark red hair to his head. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his t-shirt. “It’s not an easy job for a city sli... uh, I mean, novice.” He grinned. The smile looked more natural than those that came before, and less like someone with a face full of botox or the victim of abnormal muscle contractions.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Maggie stated with a determined set to her face, and a stubborn tone to her voice. “You were right when you said Mark and I didn’t have the skills we needed to live out here for an extended period. Hopefully it won’t be that long,” O’Reilly gave her a puzzled look, “but we need to be prepared for anything.”
Two long hours later Maggie had finally completed her horse’s front feet to O’Reilly’s demanding standards and was dripping with enough sweat to rise the ocean’s level at least two inches. O’Reilly was taking it easy on a nearby boulder in the shade, enjoying the view, she thought sarcastically. She slowly straightened to a standing position, flexing her blistered hands and rolling her shoulders. Breathing heavily, she wiped her sweaty face with the back of one dirty forearm, then massaged her sore back. Her hair, darkened with sweat, felt as though it was glued to her head.
“People actually do this for a living?” she asked in incredulous tones. “What are they, masochists?”
“Don’t worry,” O’Reilly
Maggie winced at the memory. “Does that mean they can’t be ridden?” she questioned.
“They can be ridden, but at the beginning they won’t be able to be ridden much.” At Maggie’s worried look O’Reilly went on to assure her, “It’s okay, their feet will toughen up just like yours did, but it will take awhile; months or more, before they’re really rock footed.” O’Reilly nodded to emphasize what he was saying. “Also, we’ll be able to save the shoes we do have, so that if there’s an emergency and we have to take them out for longer, I can slap a set of shoes on for the trip, then pull them off again when we’re done. We’ll get more use out of them that way.”
“Okay,” agreed Maggie, still not sure. “But what about your horses?”
“I caught these horses up off a ranch near Laughlin after I left the APZ. They’d been running out on the range and weren’t shod already. Their feet will be fine as long as I keep knocking off any long bits. They’re used to making it in the rocks out here. Not like your horses. They’re city horses and have never had to make a living in a spot where the feed isn’t brought to them.” He looked out of the corner of his eye at Maggie, “Sort of like some people I know.”
“Alright, enough of the city slicker comments,” she growled. “Show me what needs to be done.”
For the remainder of the morning O’Reilly worked on the horses’ feet, carefully trimming away the excess growth and returning the hooves to the proper balance using tools found stashed in the barn. Fortunately, he said, it appeared that the horses had been trimmed not too long before the disease struck and their owners died. Their feet were long, but they weren’t nearly as bad as they could have been.
Maggie was nervous about having her primary means of transportation, and more importantly escape, put in an ‘out of commission’ status. However, she realized that if the horses weren’t cared for properly, they wouldn’t be available if and when the proverbial cow poop hit the fan. She watched carefully all the moves O’Reilly made, asking questions the entire time. Her journalistic background made her a voracious seeker of information, and in this case the information could be vitally important to her survival. By the fourth horse, she demanded to try it for herself.
“You’re sure?” O’Reilly asked dubiously, sweat beaded his arms and matted his dark red hair to his head. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his t-shirt. “It’s not an easy job for a city sli... uh, I mean, novice.” He grinned. The smile looked more natural than those that came before, and less like someone with a face full of botox or the victim of abnormal muscle contractions.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Maggie stated with a determined set to her face, and a stubborn tone to her voice. “You were right when you said Mark and I didn’t have the skills we needed to live out here for an extended period. Hopefully it won’t be that long,” O’Reilly gave her a puzzled look, “but we need to be prepared for anything.”
Two long hours later Maggie had finally completed her horse’s front feet to O’Reilly’s demanding standards and was dripping with enough sweat to rise the ocean’s level at least two inches. O’Reilly was taking it easy on a nearby boulder in the shade, enjoying the view, she thought sarcastically. She slowly straightened to a standing position, flexing her blistered hands and rolling her shoulders. Breathing heavily, she wiped her sweaty face with the back of one dirty forearm, then massaged her sore back. Her hair, darkened with sweat, felt as though it was glued to her head.
“People actually do this for a living?” she asked in incredulous tones. “What are they, masochists?”
“Don’t worry,” O’Reilly
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