15
"Count that," Jake said to Stanley. Stanley emptied the hat and the others watched him separate the bills and coins into separate piles.
Smoke pushed back his chair and stood up and Jake asked, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“I thought I’d leave you fellows to go about your business,” Smoke said. Nothing gained, nothing lost, as far as he was concerned. The fact that things were getting legal, with the sheriff and all, made him uncomfortable.
“Nothing personal, Uncle. Just doing my job,” Stanley said, glancing up from his counting to see Wendell’s glare. Wendell pursed his lips as if to spit, and he might have muttered a fuck you. Stanley had to start counting the pile over.
“No need to drag Smoke into this. He wasn’t even around when that asshole drove into the barn and spooked the horse . . . Why does he have to pay?” Wendell nodded to Jake, and then he pointed toward Stanley. “That asshole is the one that should be paying.”
“That asshole wasn’t trying to trim his feet, something you had no business doing. You’re no farrier!”
“Hell if I’m not. I trimmed the feet of every horse in the county when you were still running around in diapers.”
“I have a real farrier,” Jake turned to the sheriff. "This man is a drunk and had no business going near that stallion. You know how much that horse was worth? Thousands of dollars! He had bloodlines back to Virgil, sire of Firenze, one of the greatest running fillies in history. Do you know what I could have made in stud fees!”