“You guys ready?” Zach asked, looking from me to Stephen. Stephen shrugged. “I can’t guess what he’ll say.” “No one’s saying you can, bro.” Zach’s voice already held an edge of irritation. “All right, let’s go in,” I said, cutting them off. I swung open the screen door with more confidence than I felt. Rick and Jack were sitting on either side of a battered metal desk heaped with papers, stirrup leathers, bits, and hay samples. In the corners of the stuffy little office, feed buckets were stacked five high, and the walls were hung with old and out-of-service bridles. I half admired a silver mounted one as we crowded the doorway. Jack looked at us over his glasses. “What is it, folks?” We wedged ourselves into the cramped space. Rick pushed his chair back with a scrape. “You hands need to get to your work.” “We have a request for you first,”
