CORY STOOD IN the stall looking at her hands. Red welts were already forming at the base of each finger and she had a huge blister filled with some disgusting fluid in the crook of her thumb. She kept meaning to get some gloves, like Jack told her to do after the first day on the job, but it had already been a week and they hadn’t paid her yet. How stupid it was to agree to a job without first negotiating the terms.
She plunged the pitchfork into the dirty bedding, drove it in deeper with a jab from her foot, and lofted another forkful of wet shavings and manure into the wheelbarrow. A band of muscles along her back tightened. Days had passed of doing not much else but stalls and cleaning tack. She had hoped she would be working more with the horses, like grooming and turnout. And the money thing. She had to say something.
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