If I only knew myself. I’m no longer certain who I am, or what I want.
“Twenty minutes, sweetheart?” His eyes ask permission, just like he did earlier. Before he kissed me. Before he followed me inside this rental. Before we did anything. He asked if it was okay with me, and I just couldn’t say no. He could ask me anything, and I’d never turn him down.
“Twenty minutes,” I whisper. “And not a second longer.”
That wins me another tender smile and a quiet chuckle before his lips return to mine, kissing me like he’d never deny me anything.
How It Started
Bull
“No more women.” I stare into my beer, the thick head still visible as the waitress at The Gin Mill just served us.
“You aren’t serious?” My younger brother Canyon laughs at me. He’s shaking his head with a deep chuckle. “You’re a damn hopeless romantic. How’s that going to work for you?”
“I think you just mean hopeless period,” I retort. One week ago, I had my final date from that stupid app my brother and his best friend signed me up on. DatingDairy dot com is just what it implies—a spot for men of my profession to meet women willing to date, mate, and marry dairy farmers. However, I’ve already been down the aisle a few times, and I am no longer interested in the endgame. Marriage is obviously not for me. And that date was my last as it was a disaster.
Canyon is a fine one to talk about romantics. He’s always writing love songs in that old leather notebook of his. It might be strange to be best friends with my younger brother by three years but growing up on a farm makes tight-knit families or ferocious enemies. Working together day in and day out, we’ve had our share of fights, but at our core, friendship is more important than anything. And seeing as I might be living the rest of my life with only my brothers and father, I better get along with them.
“Well, if it isn’t the Perpetual Proposer? Mr. Bovine King himself.” My spine bristles at the sassy male tenor coming from behind me. Canyon looks over his shoulder, but I don’t need to look up to know Redd Bottom is the one to make his remarks.
“Evenin’, Redd. I’d ask how it’s hanging, but I’m assuming short,” Canyon states, holding up his thumb and forefinger only an inch apart. We might all be near forty, but when it comes to Redd and his sidekick Dillard Barnes, we are all still teens at heart. The thing about men who peaked in high school is they stay in that frame of mind for the rest of their lives, and Dillard and Redd remain eternal juveniles.
The Bottom family owns land adjacent to ours, and they’ve been wanting to do joint business with us, sharing fields between their sheep and our cows. My family isn’t interested. Every cattleman despises sheep farmers because sheep can really tear up a field. Redd is an ignorant ass.
I snort into my beer as Canyon keeps his eyes on Redd behind me. Canyon glares daggers at Redd, and I finally turn to face a man who loves to compete with me. Formerly in football. Bowling league. Ax throwing. You name it, and Redd loves to try to best me, but I’m not called Bull just because it’s my name. My skin has grown thick over the years.
“Redd,” I address him.
“Come out to the Mill to find new tail?” he teases. “Or are you counting how many you can run off instead?” He slaps my back as if his cruel joke is hilarious, but I turn away from him. Fighting ignorance isn’t worth it to me, and I want to just sit here and wallow in my beer this evening.
My youngest brother, Blade, is also at the table with us, and he shifts off his stool, standing to his full height beside me.
“Sit down,” I mutter to Blade. We don’t need any trouble tonight, and Blade likes to scrap. He’s one mistake away from asking Redd to step outside, but I give my brother an arched eyebrow. Redd isn’t worth it.
“Be seeing you around the barnyard,” Redd teases. “That’s unless you bring the cows home first.” He chuckles heartily as though he’s just said the funniest thing. I ignore the fact I know what his joke means. Again, just want to sit here and drink a beer and not remember my horrible history with women.
“I fucking hate that guy,” Blade admits once Redd walks away.
“His name is so appropriate,” Clayton Parker huffs. Clayton works on our farm and rounds out our foursome of friends. “Redd Bottom. He’s an ass.”
Canyon snorts in agreement, and I slowly smile, letting Redd’s remarks roll off me. My thick skin needs to be thicker some nights.
“He doesn’t know anything,” Clayton adds, meeting my eyes, offering me sympathy. But Redd knows a thing or two about me as do most people in this community. I have a bad habit of getting engaged but not married.
“Fuck him. You need to get laid,” Blade adds. “And I don’t mean fuck him to get laid. I mean, find a woman to fuck to get laid.”
“We know what you mean,” Canyon sasses to our little brother, treating him like a big dummy. However, Blade isn’t wrong. I’m in a dry spell despite the dates from DatingDairy, and before that, the MateMe app, both of which my brother and his friend made me accounts on. Then they proceeded to communicate with women, pretending to be me to get me back out there.
“You need a one-night stand,” Canyon reports, which surprises me coming from him. His past is riddled with them, leading him to all kinds of trouble. “You get in, get out, and move on. No commitments. No proposals. Just free and clear sex.” He swipes his hands together and then shakes them off to the side, emphasizing the throwaway term.
“One and done, like that old cow theory,” Blade suggests.
“Blade, have you been reading again?” I mock. “You know that’s dangerous.”
Ignoring me, he continues. “A bull only mates once with a cow. Twice, if she’s lucky.” He winks at me.
I huff. My days of one-night stands have long passed. That’s what my twenties were all about until I met Jennifer. She was my everything, or so I thought at twenty-two when we hastily married. We divorced almost as quickly.
“I’m too old for one-night stands,” I retort, lifting my lager and taking a hardy drink of the heavy beer. The Gin Mill houses all the Vermont specialty beers including Goldenpour and Shipley’s ciders. Alec Rossi owns this cool place located by the river in Colebury. The old gin mill factories have been slowly converted into a dining and entertainment center of sorts, complete with this establishment; the Busy Bean Café, a coffeehouse; and a new brewpub, called Speakeasy.
“Never too old to get back in the saddle,” Clayton prophetically states.
“I’m a cow man,” I remind him, poking fun at my own name.
Bull—Harland Bull Eaton the third actually.
“Then it’s time to let someone ride the bull again,” Blade suggests, snorting before taking a sip of his beer. His head turns as the bar door opens, and we all glance over to see Rita Kaplan entering with a woman I’ve never seen before. Rita’s roughly my age. I don’t often see her in a bar, knowing her background as a recovered alcoholic. I’m assuming she’s here for moral support of her friend.
And that friend is a looker with fiery red hair, falling in thick waves just below her chin. She slips off her jacket, revealing a sweater that slides off her shoulder, exposing creamy skin. When she looks up, she catches me staring, and deep dark eyes narrow in on me. A slow smile curls her purple-tinted lips, and then she looks away.