11
523 Words
11“The horse is beautiful.” Becca touched the black metal that shone like leather.
“Walt's been working on that one a long time,” Gaby said, the pride obvious in her voice.
“It's almost done.” Walt placed a hand on the animal's cold neck.
Becca eyed the sculpture. “What's it made of?”
“Steel.” Walt peered closely at an imperfection only he could see.
“I thought steel was silver colored.” Becca tilted her head.
“It is before we pre-treat it,” Walt explained. “When you have a metal sculpture that's going to be outside in the elements, we pre-rust it, which allows a patina to form. Then we treat the metal with a mixture of things like linseed oil and turpentine. That's what makes it shine and look like leather.”
“Amazing!” Becca smiled at Walt.
Gaby grinned, since neither she nor Walt had seen the woman smile before.
Becca eyed a matching set of eight ornamental hooks, hand-forged, coal-colored pieces that twisted in an elongated S shape, each with a delicate decorative spiral on the end. She reached for one but held back and looked at Walt.
“Go ahead,” Walt said. “I made those for my favorite client.” He winked.
Becca grasp one of the strong, smooth hooks and ran a finger over the swirled shape.
“They're for me,” Gaby said. “But favorite customer or not, I had to stand in line. Now, I have to get him to hang them up.”
“All you have to do is ask…sweetly.” Walt kissed Gaby on the top of the head.
“Yes, dear.” Gabby batted her eyes.
“What are they for?” Becca replaced the hook on the table with the others.
“Did you see all those pots filled with geraniums in front of the cabins?”
Becca nodded.
“I want to put them in hanging baskets, and now I can.” Gaby patted Walt on the shoulder.
Becca inhaled the warm scent of the forge, a strange mixture of coal smoke, sweet beeswax, sawdust, coffee, and things she couldn't name. Then her eyes were drawn to a nearby wall where a dizzying array of hooks in myriad styles held a multitude of tools. “So many different kinds of hooks.”
Walt laughed. “That's because everyone starts out making hooks. I made my first hook when I was five.”
Becca stared at the hot coals and bright flames in the forge. “Your parents let you play with fire when you were five?”
“My father did. As I recall, we didn't tell my mom for a few years, though I'm guessing it wouldn't have surprised her, knowing my dad. He was a farrier, when he wasn't ranching cattle.”
Becca glanced at a horseshoe that was hammered in the U position above the double doors. “He took care of horses' feet?”
“He did. So, he was a bit of a blacksmith and a veterinarian, which made him pretty damn valuable on the ranch.”
Becca shifted her gaze to two impressive sculptures perched on a rough wooden tabletop. There was a group of horses running through a stream and a large bird with a fish in its talons, wings spread majestically. “Did your father teach you to do all of this?”
“No, Dad was more of a practical type. Though he was real good at hooks.” Walt laughed, light-blue eyes dancing.
A cellphone rang.
- Writer
