Nine

“Have I told you lately how glad I am you’re not my real sister?” I ask Dakota.

“Feeling’s mutual,” Dakota assures me.

This is our fourth trip to the barn. We’ve carried out enough salt and water to start our own ocean.

“Go ahead and dump that small bag of salts into the trough. Then mix it up really well,” she orders. “I’ll go get Blackfire. Better keep your distance when I bring him out.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. That wild animal looks like he wants to stomp me.”

“He’s a very intelligent horse,” Dakota comments. She jogs off to Blackfire’s stall.

I can’t believe Hank’s not around to help. I shove the black rubber feed bucket, filled with warm water, closer to the pole. I’m pretty sure that’s where Dakota will tie her horse. The trough is about a foot and a half deep. I dump in the salt and slosh it around with a stick until I hear Blackfire and Dakota coming.

Dakota leads Blackfire to the round pen. He’s limping worse than yesterday. “Is everything ready, Wes?” she calls.

“I guess.” I hustle out of the pen, leaving the gate open for her.

When she leads Blackfire in, the horse lays back his ears. Even I know that’s not a great sign. I know what angry looks like.

I station myself a safe distance outside the pen. I wish I had Rex with me, but Dakota made me leave him in the house. She was afraid Rex would pick up on my anger and bark, scaring Blackfire.

First, Dakota brushes her horse, smoothing his coat after each stroke. She starts with the head and works her way back. Then she moves around to the other side and does the whole routine all over again.

I think she’s dragging this out just to drive me crazy. It’s working. “C’mon, Dakota. Blackfire looks clean to me.”

“He is clean.” She drags the brush down each foreleg and up again. “I’m not brushing Blackfire because he’s dirty. Touching him is part of the bonding process.”

“No kidding? That’s what I do with dogs.”

When I found Rex by the side of the road and carried him back to the farm, he was so weak that he couldn’t raise his head. But I could feel him tremble with fear. For the first 48 hours, all I did was pet him. Something about touching him made me feel a part of Rex, and it worked the same way for him. I didn’t even know you called it “bonding” until Hank told me.

Dakota keeps brushing her horse. “Winnie says the more I stroke Blackfire before soaking his hoof, the calmer he’ll be. . . . I almost forgot. Turn on the music.”

She’s already got the iPod and docking station plugged in and ready to go. All I have to do is punch the button. I’m expecting elevator music or something you’d hear at the dentist’s office, but what comes out of the speakers is jazz. Not bad.

“You should e-mail Barker on the Pet Helpline, Wes. Winnie says Eddy Barker knows as much about dogs as she knows about horses or Catman knows about cats. I’ll bet Barker could give you some tips about training dogs for Nice Manor.”

“Rex taught me everything I need to know about dogs.” I wish she’d get off my back. I don’t need help from Barker or anybody.

Dakota sets down the brush. “Okay. Your turn.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Get in here, Wes!” she snaps.

I stay where I’m at. “What? Did you forget your own list? ‘Keep Wes away from Blackfire’?”

“I don’t have time for this, Wes.” Dakota keeps her voice soft, no doubt so she doesn’t scare her horse. But her words are forced through bared teeth. “Look, if you brush him, maybe he’ll let you help me. Get . . . in . . . here.”

I shake my head. “I’m not touching that horse.”

“Fine.” She glares at me. “Don’t touch him. But get close enough so he can get used to you, at least.”

I enter the pen and get close enough to see the whites of his eyes.

“Closer,” Dakota whisper-shouts.

I move closer.

Dakota holds out the brush to me.

“I told you I’m not touching that horse.”

“You don’t have to touch him, you coward. Just brush him.”

I should walk out right now. Nobody calls me a coward. But I need her to help with the dogs. “Give me the stupid brush,” I mutter.

“Take it.” She shoves the brush at me.

I take it. Then I hold out the brush and move in until the bristles touch Blackfire’s neck.

His neck quivers, like a fly landed on it. The horse flinches.

I drop the brush and run for the gate.

“Wes, get back here!” Dakota shouts.

I stop running and turn around. Blackfire paws the dirt. He’s not rearing or anything. He’s tied up. “Okay. But keep him still, will you?”

Dakota sighs.

I try again. This time he lets the brush touch his neck, and he doesn’t freak out on me. Still, I stand as far from the horse as possible.

“Brush him!” Dakota whispers.

I move the brush down his neck and shoulder. He lets it happen. After a few strokes, I feel the tension seep out of him. I breathe again. On the iPod, jazz shifts into blues. At least Dakota didn’t do too bad with the tunes.

“Keep doing what you’re doing,” Dakota instructs. “I need to pick his hoof before I soak it.” She pulls a hoof pick out of her back pocket, eases in next to the gelding’s shoulder, and picks up the bad hoof. “Easy, boy,” she coos.

I move behind her and keep brushing while Dakota picks dirt and straw from the hoof.

“It still hasn’t drained,” she complains.

I stop brushing and stand where I can see better. When the hoof pick reaches the sore spot, Blackfire jerks his hoof away. It hits the ground an inch from Dakota’s foot.

I’m halfway to the gate before Dakota yells, “Wes! Get back here!”

I go back, but I keep my distance this time. She has to start all over with the hoof pick. When she’s done, she hands the pick to me without letting go of the hoof.

Slowly, she lets the horse’s foreleg uncurl. She moves to the side and aims the hoof over the bucket. Blackfire flattens his ears. I jump out of the way.

In a flash, the horse jerks back. He pulls his hoof out of Dakota’s hands and steps down into sawdust.

“Blackfire,” Dakota scolds. But she doesn’t raise her voice. She leans into his shoulder and lifts the hoof again. “Easy, boy,” she says, while she digs out the sawdust. Then she tries again.

This time Blackfire lowers his hoof above the bucket. He paws the water once, then steps into it. His hoof misses the center of the bucket. Dakota struggles to get the hoof in better, but his weight squishes the side of the rubber bucket. Water seeps out, spilling onto sawdust, making a brown paste on the floor of the arena.

“This isn’t working,” Dakota complains. She wrestles with the foreleg until she gets the hoof up again. But by now, most of the water has drained out.

“Maybe we should wait for Hank,” I suggest.

Dakota’s head snaps up. “No. And why are you just standing there? Go get more hot water. And salt, too.”

I hate having her boss me around, but I’m glad to get away from her horse. I take my time dragging out more salt and bringing another jug of water.

“Well, fill the bucket,” Dakota says, her voice edgy. “I can’t do everything.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, sarcasm overflowing. I refill the bucket with salt and water, then step out of the way.

“No you don’t,” she says. “I need you here.”

“And I need a house in the suburbs.”

“I’m not kidding around.” She’s spraying words through clenched teeth again.

I move a little closer.

“Get over here!”

I move in so close I can smell horse sweat.

“When I give you the signal,” she instructs, “push the bucket in. Got it?”

“Dakota—,” I start.

“Do it, Wes,” she commands. She lifts up the hoof and brushes the sawdust out. “Now.”

I shove the bucket under the raised hoof and step back as fast as I can.

“Closer!” she commands.

“Man,” I mutter. But I shove the bucket in closer.

Dakota eases the hoof into the bucket.

Blackfire starts to pull out his hoof, but Dakota is right there to guide it back to the bucket. “Come on, Blackfire,” she urges, swaying under the weight of his hoof.

Blackfire paws at the water, then plunges his hoof squarely into the bucket.

“Good boy,” Dakota coos, stroking the horse’s neck. “That’s it. This will help that soreness get out of you, baby.”

Blackfire seems to settle into the water. His eyelids droop. His neck twitches, but he keeps his hoof in the salty water.

“Don’t move,” Dakota whispers to me. “Do you have a watch?”

I shake my head. Neither of us has a watch on, so we can’t time the 20 minutes we’re supposed to leave the hoof in the water. But Blackfire keeps his hoof in there so long, it’s got to be at least that.

Finally, Dakota looks up at me. “Wes, we did it.”

In that instant, Blackfire lifts his hoof, then drops it back into the bucket.

Water flies up and then streams down like some giant fountain. Before I can move, before I can back out of the way, the water rains down on me, splashing me, soaking me with a warm, salty, gross, horse-hoof bath.