My smile spread when I saw the heart-shaped spot on her flank that set her apart from the rest of the herd.
The summer before I’d moved away, I’d helped birth Alice, which proved a harrowing affair. Her mother nearly died, and we thought Alice might go with her. But by some miracle, they both lived, and after my constant attention and the attachment that came along with it, Alice and I became best friends. She found me when I visited her herd, followed me around while I marked heifers for the vet. She’d nestle and nudge me with her snout until I paid her attention. When she started following me to the gate, I brought her up to the house with me to give her a good old-fashioned brushing. And when she wouldn’t go back to the pastures, nudging me back to the old barn instead, I asked Pop if she could stay near the house. He indulged me as he so often did, and forever after, that was where she preferred to be—in the old barn with the horses and hay.
She always pastured with the rest of the cattle, but then she’d come to the gate and moo her request for passage, which was always granted, sometimes simply because she’d stand there bleating until someone let her in.
I approached her with the fondness of an old friend. Her rear was to me, but she caught sight of me almost instantly, her three-hundred-degree periphery serving her well. She stopped chewing. Chuffed. Turned to me with her ears flicking in my direction, her big, sweet eyes full of recognition.
I could have cried at the sight of her.
“Heya, Alice,” I said with a trembling voice, reaching out to scratch the wide space between her eyes.
Those eyes closed, and she leaned into my hand.
“I missed you too. Are you mad at me for staying away so long?”
She mooed, and I laughed, glancing around to get a good look at her udders.
“Did you have another baby?” I petted her shoulder. “Lucky for both of us. I’ve got somebody to prove wrong.”
“And who might that be?”
I jumped about a yard at the sound of Jake’s voice, whirling around like I was being held up. “Jesus,” I breathed, pressing a hand to my thundering heart. “What are you doing in here?”
And shirtless.
Indecent was what it was. His body was chiseled and solid as stone and absolutely indecent. His broad chest was streaked with dirt and flecks of hay, the same tiny flecks that caught in the valleys between his abdominal muscles and that V his hips made.
I’d never actually seen one of those Vs in person, and something in me squeezed at the sight of it.
He caught me looking and smirked just a little, just enough to flame my cheeks and snap my gaze to his.
“Nice boots,” he said, snagging his shirt off Ginger’s stall wall.
God, even watching him put it on was hot. The graceful stretch and tug, the mussing of his dark hair, the fanning and flexing of biceps and fluttering muscles of his forearms as he pulled the hem into place.
I turned to Alice, not wanting to look at him anymore. Well, I wanted to look at him—I’d have liked to spend a good long while drawing a map of those muscles with the interest of an anatomy student. Because truly, I couldn’t understand where they’d all come from. I hadn’t even known most of them existed.
“Don’t make fun of my boots,” I snapped, petting Alice, who broke from me to head to the wall where the bucket was nailed.
She mooed and nudged it off the nail with her nose, unfazed when it hit the ground with a clang.
I chuckled. “That bad, huh? I’m here to help.”
“Lucky, since you have something ‘to prove.’ ”
I scowled at the bucket, pulling the stool into the room. The second I sat, Alice parked herself right in front of me.
“All right, girl,” I said so only she could hear. “You ready to dismantle some misogyny?”
With another chuff and a stomp of her foot, I figured she agreed.
For a moment, I assessed the terrain. Surely, this was like riding a bike. I’d milked a million cows but not for at least five years, and as I looked at her udders—and as Jake watched me with a critical gaze—I second-guessed myself. Opposite nipples, I knew that. I needed to strip them first.
With the objective remembered, I moved the bucket out of the way and clutched a nipple in each hand, taking a breath before the moment of truth.
I squeezed, dragging down in the motion that felt both familiar and foreign. Something was off, my grip maybe—I could tell by the feel of the motion, confirmed when nothing came out.
Undeterred, I tried again. Again, it was wrong, and Alice mooed her discontent.
“Grip it up higher, closer to the bag,” he said from my side where he leaned against a post with his arms folded.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Fine, but when Alice kicks you off that stool and knocks the wind out of you, don’t come crying to me.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I said, hating myself for doing what he’d said. Another stroke told me I was still wrong.
I let out a noisy breath through my nose and tried again, adjusting the pressure and pinch, but I got nothing out of her.
With a huff, I let her go, digging through my brain for an answer as Jake watched from his perch, smug as all hell. When I thought I might have some direction, I grabbed her teats again only to get smacked in the face by her tail.
I spat out the coarse tail hair and wiped my lips with the back of my hand while Jake laughed. It wasn’t a small laugh, but a big, happy sound I hadn’t suspected lived in him. I was too annoyed to appreciate it.
“Bump the bag like a calf would,” he said when he caught his breath. “It’ll let her milk down.”
“I know how to do it,” I bit out.
“Coulda fooled me.”
Ignoring him, I nudged her udder with my hand.
“Good. Now grab her up high, fill your hand with her teat, and—”
“I know how to do it!”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Then let’s see it.”
But once again, I did what he’d said, and as I pulled, I knew it was right—I was rewarded with the first stream of milk.
I crowed, stripping each udder a few times to clear them out. Cheerfully, and perhaps with too much confidence, I clutched the bucket between my legs like I used to do and milked the damn cow like a champion milkmaid.
“Told you I could milk a cow,” I said over the tinny sound of milk hitting the metal bucket.
“Sure. You’re a regular pro. How long you think you woulda sat here before Alice got impatient and tossed you?”
“I would have figured it out,” I defended.
“Guess we’ll never know.”
“If you hadn’t interfered, we would.”
“I was just trying to help,” he said.
“Were not. You were making fun of me.”
“I didn’t think you’d wear those boots if you didn’t want people to make fun of you.”
“I don’t really give a damn what you think of them.”
“They look brand new. Have you ever even worn them?”
“What does it matter?” I hedged, my eyes on Alice’s udders, imagining my fists were around his neck instead of a cow’s nipples.
“Only in that you look about as green as you are.”
“You forget I grew up here.”