Page 3 of A Cowboy Holiday
“We’ve always run a clean and conscientious operation,” Dennis blustered. “I don’t know how milk fever slipped in, but this has been the only?—”
“I’d keep an eye on Hazel too,” Axel intercepted, unbothered by Dennis stewing apoplectically beside him.
“Hazel’s fine,” Dennis seethed.
“She’s stable, but a lack of appetite isn’t normal for a pregnant cow. And she’s…depressed.”
“Cows don’t get depressed, and Hazel is fit as a fiddle.” Dennis shot an irritated glance at Axel.
“Actually, depression isn’t unique to humans,” I piped in. “How far along is she?”
“Six and a half months. She should deliver around Christmas. If you’re taking her too, she’ll need care. I’ll add that to my report.” Axel patted Mitsy’s flank, then removed his gloves and unfastened the apron at his waist and walked away.
No good-bye, just the slightest nod.
“Told you he was a prickly bastard,” Dennis huffed, motioning for me to follow him down the path leading to the front of the barn. “I tell you, there’s nothing wrong with this herd. You’re getting a terrific deal and…”
I tuned him out, more interested in the cowboy-slash-vet ambling to the truck parked nearby. Axel opened the door and grabbed a water tumbler from an inside compartment. He flipped the lid and took a drink, tipping his head. His Adam’s apple bobbed and no, that wasn’t sexy, but…it sort of turned me on.
Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but unbridled masculine energy with a side of assholery was my kryptonite. Everything about this guy was big, bold, and larger than life.
Down, boy. There was no harm in looking, but it was never wise to get caught ogling a straight man. Especially not a crabby cowboy.
“Thanks, Dennis.” I adjusted my sunglasses and offered my hand. “If we can get the health charts tomorrow, I’m confident we can wrap up the sale by next week.”
Dennis shook my hand enthusiastically. “That’s great news. Glad to hear it. I’ll give Axel your contact information, and he’ll forward anything you need. And listen, take that nonsense about ketosis and milk fever with a grain of salt. All animals get sick once in a while.”
“True, and you were fortunate to find someone who cares.”
“I can’t fault Axel that,” Dennis conceded. “If you find yourself in need of some help with this new group, I recommend him. Just beware of thorns.”
He snickered merrily and trotted off with an extra bounce in his step—no doubt pleased with the promise of a pending sale. That made two of us. Oak Ridge needed this herd and yes, we’d need to hire a few qualified ranchers as well.
And…maybe a vet.
CHAPTER 2
AXEL
“Read the one about the funny dog who wears a tutu, Daddy!”
“This one?” I held up the wrong book, feigning shock at Phoebe’s giggles.
“No, that’s the frog book.” Phoebe hopped to her knees, pushing a strand of long blond hair from her eyes. “I can help you find it.”
“Snuggle up, love bug. It’s bedtime, remember?” I squeezed her toes through the pink gingham duvet and reached for a well-loved book with a dancing poodle wearing a pink tutu and ballet shoes. “I think this might be it.”
Phoebe punched her tiny fist in the air and clapped. “Yes!”
I chuckled, positioning my chair next to her mattress. I didn’t trust Phoebe’s glorified toddler bed to hold me and unfortunately, replacing it with a twin-sized one wasn’t in the budget this month. She was small for her age, so for now, it would have to do.
“Once upon a time, there was a precocious poodle who loved to dance,” I read. “Princess Penelope was her name. Penny, as she was called, loved to twirl and spin and?—”
“Me too. I like to twirl,” Phoebe interrupted.
“You’re a very good twirler.”
“It’s ballet, Daddy. I want to do ballet. Can I? Sydney told me you need the special pink shoes or it doesn’t count.”