“Are you Andy Friessen?”
Andy didn’t bother to glance up from where he was bent over the hoof, picking mud and gravel from his three-year-old buckskin, Ladystar. Andy dug out the last dried chunk of mud, wanting to snap at whoever was bothering him. “Damn kid I hired didn’t clean out her hoof after riding her,” he muttered. He put her hoof down, and she stomped and pranced as Andy pressed his hand to her hind quarter. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and picked up her front hoof, starting to dig around the frog, picking out all the dried mud. Bent over as he was, Andy could see a pair of blue jeans on some man who was standing behind his horse. “I wouldn’t stand there if I were you,” he said, setting down the mare’s hoof and standing up. “It’s a good way to get yourself kicked.”
A sh
