Stonegate Stables - 2. Chapter 2

“Sean, that new mare’s got thrush, the skinny grey one that came in yesterday.”

“What?” I scowled at Tommy as he passed me in the barn aisle with a huge wheel barrow full of dirty bedding. We have 2-wheel carts that are a hell of a lot easier to keep upright when piled high with horse shit, but Tommy likes the old single-wheeled ones for the workout it gives his arms and shoulders. “That wasn’t in the vet check.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got it. Right rear.” As he headed out the door and across the lot, I walked down a few stalls, and went in with the new horse. She was well built, mostly Warmblood with a little Thoroughbred in there somewhere which partly accounted for her current ribby appearance. She had her right rear hoof cocked, and picked it up quickly when I ran my hand down her leg. As I pressed a thumb into her frog, the black ooze combined with the tell-tale odor made the diagnosis simple.

“God damn,” I muttered as I headed for Sam's office, but stopped as a thought occurred to me. Danny (think Keanu Reeves with a few more muscles, but, unfortunately, straight as the proverbial arrow), our farrier, was coming tomorrow; he could trim her and see how bad it was. I went back, and picked the mare’s foot as deeply as I could, made sure her shavings were dry, then blanketed her for the night. One less for Tommy and Alejandro to do.

I’m Sean Flanagan, head trainer and general manager of a stable for a variety of horsey sports – hunter/jumper, dressage, eventing, the odd pleasure horse, with a couple reining cowhorse types thrown in to keep it interesting. At any given time we have 25-35 horses, each with its owner, rider, groom, etc. I train many of the horses, and keep track of the big picture. We have stabling for 54 horses in a total of 4 barns, but have never been at capacity since I’ve been running the place. That many animals require more support staff than I’m currently interested in keeping track of.

During the off season it’s pretty mellow, but once the shows start up, it can be a madhouse - horses shipping out and arriving, riders throwing hissy fits, grooms braiding manes and tails for the jumping arena when the horse is headed for the dressage ring. But the fringe benefits are great. If you want to see some hot male bodies, hie thee to a horse show. Damn near the entire body is used in riding a horse, and a rider at the level we consort with has had a lifetime of training, hours a day in the saddle (not that saddle), more hours at the gym, and it shows in lean, hard, beautifully muscled bodies. There aren’t a lot of men that into horses, but the ones who are – God, are they built.

Over the years, we’ve garnered a reputation as a top notch, alternative lifestyle friendly barn, and had more than our share of wealthy homos whose horses called Stonegate Stables home. Tommy and Alejandro met here seven years ago when I took over, bringing my groom and occasional bed warmer Tommy with me, and they’d been partners since. The minute we set foot on the place, Alejandro stalked Tommy up one barn aisle and down the other, finally cornering him in the hay shed, and staking his claim, so to speak, over a bale of alfalfa. Tommy runs the fleet of stableboys required to keep a place the size of Stonegate going every day. Do you have any idea how much manure 35 horses produce? He also monitors our inventory of alfalfa, grass hay, grain, supplements, stall shavings, etc, and tells Teresa when we're getting low. Alejandro is the head groundskeeper, responsible for maintaining the buildings, fences, equipment, etc, that keeps Stonegate functioning. They live in the roomy apartment directly above my head, and are responsible for the daily welfare of the ridiculously expensive, overly pampered equine athletes lounging, eating, and shitting in the rows of stalls in our barns.

Teresa, our CPA, keeps the books, invoicing and paying the bills. Tall and willowy, her brown hair cut into short spikes, she is devoted to her other half, Sam (don’t fucking call me Samantha). Sam is our vet. She worked for a large animal clinic outside Boston after she graduated, which is where she met Teresa. Sam got tired of treating torn cow udders and impacted pig rectums, so they looked for someplace as different from Boston as it could be and wound up here, in East Texas. I’d been at Stonegate for about a year at that point, and had been toying with the idea of hiring our own vet. With so many horses on the payroll, one of them was always needing shots, getting kicked, or developing colic, and I was tired of begging the local vets to fit us into their schedule yet again. When I saw Sam’s ad in Equine Daily, the local horse paper, I called her. She wanted more than we could afford, but the offer of living rent-free in the cute little stone cottage by the creek at the back of the property clinched the deal, and they moved in the following week.

They also handle all the transport stuff – health certificates, truck and trailer booking, etc - required to get a horse from point A to point B, and frequently on to points C, D, E and F, all on time, and in good health. Sam looks like a cheerleader - all tits, teeth and blond hair - but she takes care of Teresa and our horses with a fierce competence that made her invaluable to Stonegate, and has me just slightly afraid of her.

William Shepard, a very successful architect with a penchant for Gran Prix riders, owns Stonegate, but rarely makes an appearance, preferring instead to travel with his rider du jour, at least until they tire of each other, at which time he’ll hang out at the stable for a week or two, issuing half-assed orders no one follows, until another comely face sweeps him off to Devon or Wellington or Aachen. He keeps a home out at the west edge of the property, a large modern ranch, complete with pool, hot tub, tennis court, etc. It’s a lovely place, but empty for the most part as he gallivants across the country in his little jet ferrying his current boyfriend to the next stop on the circuit.

So yours truly ran the place like it was my own, kept the horses in show condition, and soothed the little tantrums that occurred between owner, trainer, rider, and groom. I’d had an outstanding junior career, winning rider of the year when I was 19, and at 22, appeared to be headed for an equally illustrious domination of the pro circuit until an over-trained, under-talented 11 year old gelding refused a jump, a wide oxer, pile-driving my left shoulder into the upright. Almost a year of my life and three operations later, it worked okay, but couldn’t handle the stress of competition, riding 8 hours a day, 7 days a week. So, at 23, I was unemployed.

I was William's flavor of the month at the time of the accident. William came home with me, and stayed close by until I was safely through the first surgery, then eased his way out the door to romance my successor, a blond twit named Royce, of all things. But he was good to me when we were together, and I appreciated his friendship, and the freedom he gave me in running Stonegate. I'd met Vincent only a few months before the accident. He and my cousin Dylan kept me alive through the depression, worked out with me through the physical therapy, and gave me the emotional support I needed to get back to living after my life changed so abruptly.

I’d been riding a Stonegate horse when I was hurt, one of several owned by Amanda Colson, (yes, those Colsons), and when I was fit to work, she presented me to William who was ecstatic to find someone he knew and trusted to help him out of a distasteful situation. His barn manager had just been caught in flagrante delicto in the tack room with the barely 18 year old daughter of one of his major owners, and he’d been instructed to 'do something' about it immediately. He fired the guy at 7am, hired me at 8, and I’ve been here since, finding the job challenging, satisfying, and, thanks to William's lingering affection for me, well paying. I ride several hours every day, training and exercising the more important of our residents when their usual riders are out of town.

So here I am at 30, your basic gay white boy – 5’10”, 155, brown/brown, cut dick, decent body in good shape from a fast metabolism and all those hours in the saddle. I have frequent, satisfying sex with a small, close circle of friends, men I’ve known for years, and an occasional temporary player who passes through, as in the case of the hunky Swedish vet student from a couple years ago. I’m fairly content with my life, though lately I’m feeling the urge for something more. Another horse? A new car? A man of my own? Something…

My parents live in a rambling old house at the edge of a neighboring town, and we see each other frequently. I came out to them when I was 16 and heading off for my first full season of competition. They took the news with aplomb, finding it no odder than the fact that I could make a living dressing up in tight white breeches, and riding horses that cost more than their house. My mother welcomed my friends into her home with the same warmth and affection that she showed the endless succession of stray animals that my sister Bridget dragged home. She fed and loved them, one and all, and sent them on their way when they were well and able. My father financed her soft heartedness by working hard, and paying attention during the dot com boom.

Stonegate started life out in the boonies, but civilization crept out to meet us, and now the 340 acres we occupy is surrounded on three sides by country estates, 5 acres minimum, and by a huge open air mall across the road. The folks who live in the nearest estates have to put up with the scent of horses and their byproducts when the wind is right, but Stonegate is a beautiful stable with its stately rows of pines, imposing stone buildings, and sleek, pricey horses dotting the pastures, and lends an air of country gentrification to the neighborhood.

I own one of the larger estates, twelve acres, purchased when they were practically giving them away cause no one wanted to live a whole thirty minutes from the nearest Starbucks. Now there’s one across the road in the mall, and my place is worth fifty times what I paid for it. It’s about four miles from my little barn to Stonegate, and I usually ride a horse back and forth. I own a Quarter horse mare named Zena, and the ride through the gathering dusk along the bridle paths that wander around the estates is my favorite time of day. I have a modest house by neighborhood standards - fifteen rooms, two pools and a hot tub - and I cavort about in it with various friends almost every night. It really is a lovely place to live.

“Sean.” I heard the Oklahoma drawl of my favorite cowboy and turned to smile into his brown eyes, shadowed by the brim of his Stetson. “How they hangin’, bubba?” he inquired, giving my butt a friendly squeeze on his way past. At twenty-six, Cody is a good looking guy with a rangy build suitable to lounging in the saddle all day. And he’s the real deal, cowboy-wise, son of a three time all around world champion cowboy, and a champion reiner in his own right. We ride together frequently, and my cow work is coming along nicely. Zena’s got the build and breeding for it, and Cody is a patient teacher. He grew up near Lawton on his daddy’s huge ranch, I forget how many acres, riding and roping his way through the daily life of a working cattle ranch as soon as he could stay on a horse. He’s an excellent trainer, having that extra bit of horse savvy that separates the good from the great. He rodeoed when he was young, taking the Youth title 2 years in a row, but quit to concentrate on reining and cow work.

He lives with Wade, my money guy, in one of the estates on the far side of the development from me. Wade bought it the same time his dad advised me to buy my place. After I was injured, I realized I needed to get smarter about money since I'd be earning less of it. Wade's father took my winnings, rider contract fees, product endorsements, and insurance settlement, and turned them into a mid seven figure portfolio by the time I was 28. He passed me along to Wade after Wade joined the firm.

Wade played college ball in Minnesota, quarterback, and still looks the part at 31, his 6’2” frame wide through the shoulders with muscular arms and powerful legs. His short blond hair and green eyes make him damn near irresistible and for a while I thought I wanted him for my own, but although we had a great time in bed, the sparks weren't there, and we became good friends. I introduced him to Cody after luring Cody away from a stable on the other side of the county four years ago. When Cody got out of his truck that first day and realized we were a jumper and dressage barn, he almost drove away. I convinced him to take a look around, introduced him to Tommy and Alejandro, and showed him the south barn, which already housed Zena and Teresa's two Quarter horse geldings. When I told him we’d be happy to keep a few steers around the place, Sam sent our van for his horses the next day. He met Wade a week later when Wade stopped by the barn to have me sign some papers. They dated for a month, Cody moved in, and, as different as they are, they are one of the strongest couples I know.

The dressage riders were rude to Cody, and made stupid cowboy jokes until he told one of them if they thought it was so fuckin' easy, they oughta try it. He dared one of them to ride his old cutting horse, a Doc O’Lena grandson, on a cow. Word got around, we started a pool – rider vs horse - and the event drew a good crowd. The horse did his thing, and when the silver medal winning dressage rider dismounted pale and shaking 5 minutes later, the pot went to the horse. The dressage rider soon added his own Quarter horse to the south barn, and rides with us regularly.

“Hey. Shoer's coming tomorrow morning so don’t come out till after lunch. I'll have him do Queenie first.” Who but a gay cowboy would name his horse Queenie? The fact that she is a world caliber cutting horse, and had won the national finals in February only makes it funnier.

“Yeah? Well, Ah may show up jista git a gander at Danny’s ass,” he said with a wink and sauntered off across the yard to the south barn. A minute later I heard Queenie’s nicker as she greeted him. Horses know who loves ‘em. I watched Cody work Queenie for a while, appreciating the endless training it took to achieve those sliding stops and perfect roll backs. When Cody rode off to work the steers, I stopped by the office to check in with Teresa, and make sure money matters were under control. She was running her fingers through her hair in frustration, and crossed her eyes at me while she argued with the hay guy about the moldy bales.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what it looked like when it got delivered to you – it’s moldy now and I won’t feed it. Get a truck out here by noon Wednesday or I’m going to take out an ad in Equine Daily and you’ll be paying me to replace it!” She banged the phone down. “Fuck! That guy is such a jerk. Is there no where else we can buy alfalfa?”

“Probably. Call around and see what you can find. I've got no problem changing suppliers if you can get the same deal.”

“OK, cool. Thanks.” She glanced at a note on her desk, then back up at me. “Danny called and said he’s sending a new guy tomorrow, PJ something. I couldn’t understand him. He was out at Baker’s place, and his cell was breaking up.”

I looked at her in horror. “Jesus, he can’t do that. This is the last shoeing for Amanda’s horses shipping to Westview. It needs to be right.”

“I know, I told him that, and he swears this guy is good. He was insulted that I thought he’d send someone who didn’t know what they were doing.”

“I don’t give a shit if he’s insulted or not.” I thought for a moment. “I’ll let him do Queenie first. If he’s ok with her, he can do the others.”

I walked back out to the barn shaking my head. It was always something. And what the hell kind of name was PJ for a horse shoer?