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Clint put the nippers back and pulled out a rasp. 'Well, for starters, bread is wheat, which is the worst culprit. And you'd better find out what the "and stuff" consists of, because nine out of ten times founder is all in the diet. If you don't address that then you can do all the rehab in the world, but it won't make any difference.'

'Would you come and see him?' Shelby asked.

'I'd be happy to, if Lydia's parents ask me,' he answered as he rolled forward and picked up the mare's back hoof. She kicked out. 'Steady, girl.' He let her put her foot down. The mare shifted on her feet and then lifted it up again. Clint looked up at Shelby. 'I can't just go around rehabilitating hooves without the owner's permission.'

'I don't think she will ask, though,' Shelby mumbled. 'What do I do?'

'You don't do anything.'

Shelby pouted.

'How many horse owners do you see managing their animals differently than you would?' he asked. 'Who would you trust to care for Blue the way you do? Even around here, and this is a very enlightened place. You should see some of the things I see. You can't tell other people how to look after their animals – not unless they ask, and even then half the time they don't listen.' Clint rasped for a moment, frowning. 'Everybody knows how to lose weight and make money.'

'What do you mean?' Shelby asked.

'To lose weight or make money you work really hard for a long time. But people don't want to hear that, they want to know how to lose weight or make money overnight. They want the quick fix.'

Shelby thought about all the horse owners she knew and how they looked after their horses.

'I would trust you with Blue,' she told him.

Clint had finished with the mare's back hoof. He crab-walked his feet around to the other side. 'Good. I'll buy him from you then.'

Shelby passed him the toolbox. 'You want to buy Blue? For real?' She smiled, sure he was joking.

'I'd buy Blue in a flash,' he replied. 'Sturdy little pony like that. Great feet. He'd be just the thing for my daughter.'

'Isn't she two, or something?'

'She's nearly four now. Blue would be perfect. How much do you want?'

Shelby laughed. 'You're not serious.'

'I'm deadly serious! Once in a blue moon a solid pony like that comes around,' he answered. 'Name your price.'

'Ten thousand dollars,' she said.

Clint rasped the front of the mare's hoof, making a mustang roll. Then he brushed off the shavings with his gloved hand. 'I don't think he's worth ten. But I'd give you three and a half.'

'Four,' Shelby blurted.

'Done,' he answered.

She laughed again. 'I'm not going to sell Blue,' she said, as much to convince herself as the farrier.

'You just did,' Clint said. His face was solemn.

Shelby felt a fluttery, panicky feeling in her stomach. 'But I . . .' She trailed off.

'You should know better. Don't name a price unless you're willing to follow through. A deal is a deal.' Clint seemed irritated with her and Shelby was taken aback, because he wasn't normally stern with her, even when she had done something stupid.

'Sorry,' she whispered.

Clint nodded. 'Well, if you do decide to sell him, you know where to find me.'

12 The Date

The café had long timber benches with newspapers and magazines scattered about, and armchairs huddled in groups. Couples lounged around reading. Some were feeding babies in high chairs. There was a cluster of tall, spiky pot plants in the corner and big mirrors in gilt frames hanging on the walls, making the space look twice as big. They were playing a Ben Harper CD.

Chad had selected a spot at the end overlooking the Gully. The first thing Shelby noticed was that he was wearing clothes that she hadn't seen before. His hair was meticulously ruffled. Chad always looked neat and clean, but today he looked groomed.

Shelby looked down at her dirty jods and grubby tee-shirt and wondered if she was underdressed. Her face was flushed from riding her bike. Then another thought crossed her mind.

'Are you going on a date?' she asked,