Page 7 of Till The Cows Come Home

Chapter Six

Sage

A fter the market, I got home and promptly climbed into my bed, emerging only to address the odd tempo knocking coming from my entryway about an hour later.

I contemplated ignoring the noise, but as the pounds continued to deliver against the wood, I figured I had no choice but to address it.

My feet dragged across the carpet, a swirling cocktail of unresolved grief and newfound anxiety acting as weights around my ankles, and as I opened the door, Beth quickly came into my view, out of breath and red faced, balancing the bags I’d abandoned earlier.

Guilt coursed through me, and I cursed myself for dismissing the knocking as long as I did.

I immediately took my things from her and when her hands were freed, she leaned against my counter, letting out a frustrated sigh, before inhaling deeply, as if she needed as much air as possible for the scolding I was about to receive.

When she looked at me, though, her eyes immediately softened, and the harsh inhale she’d drawn in escaped her like a deflated balloon.

Her gaze was undoubtedly met with a ratty hoodie, bloodshot eyes, and unruly ponytail trying its damndest to hold back my curls.

I knew this because the same image reflected back to me moments ago, haunting me as I passed my mirror on the way to answer the door.

But I’d shrugged it off then, just as I shrugged it off now, unable to muster the care.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed before pulling me into a tight embrace. “Why didn’t you call? I would have been here. No woman deserves to be sad in solidarity.”

“I know you would have. That’s exactly why I didn’t call. I texted Ruby, but Asher isn’t feeling great, and I know you’re busy after the market. Turns out when you push everyone away, solidarity becomes less of an option and more of an involuntary reality.”

Uncomfortable with the attention, I thumbed through the bags, surprised to unearth many of my favorites hiding in their depths.

“Did he make you bring this stuff? I told him I didn’t want his pity groceries.”

“No one makes old Bethy do anything, but he asked me to drop it off, yes.”

I let out a dramatic groan, but Beth just chuckled at my frustration.

“It’s not funny! I don’t understand why a man I just met is giving me such a hard time.

The absolute fury I felt when I saw him parading in front my parents' spot at the market was unbearable but,” I paused, my voice softening alongside my demeanor, “he’s making it a little hard to hold on to all the anger when he reads the damn cow books and tries to get me fresh bread. ”

“I think the only one making this hard is you, Sage,” she responded, and when I opened my mouth to protest, she just gave me that motherly look that said, “Don’t even think about it.”

So, I didn’t.

“You’re right, though, I can’t stay. I have a ton of stuff in the truck to unload, so unfortunately I have to skedaddle. But I’ll call you in a few hours to check in, and you better be in much better condition than you are right now.”

“Okay.” I sighed, preparing myself for the incoming loneliness before she’d even had a chance to leave.

“And Sage,” she paused, looking at me over her shoulder, “I know it feels safe here away from everything that hurts, but the only reason you feel that pain is because you’ve allowed yourself to love something so fiercely.

Imagine the freedom you’d feel if you allowed yourself to love like that again. ”

I had no words.

The sudden loud ringing in my pocket broke the silence, and I squeezed Beth’s hand, mouthing “Thank you,” as I picked up the phone, waving as she left.

“Hello?” I answered.

The number was unknown, and I expected to be greeted by the usual automated response, warning me about an expiring warranty, but my heart dropped when instead I heard the deep voice I’d come to recognize grumble through the receiver.

“Sage, it’s Miles. Please don’t hang up. I need your help.”

The urgency in his voice told me to put whatever conflicting feelings I had aside, and my own anxiety spiked as my brain imagined every horrible scenario that would warrant this call.

“What happened?” I asked, my tone laced with a worry that I didn’t even bother trying to hide. My feelings regarding him didn’t cloud my unwavering loyalty to the animals he cared for, and as he began to explain, I involuntarily gravitated towards my door.

“Buttercup has been laboring for over an hour, and every time I try to grab the calf, she butts me away. I need an extra hand to keep her steady and calm her down so I can free the baby. I called everyone I know, but they’re not answering. ”

“I’m on my way,” I responded, allowing a temporary ceasefire in whatever feud we’d entangled ourselves in for the sake of the farm. “In the barn supply room, there should be stomach pumps. Grab one of those and a bucket full of warm water. I’m going to leave you on speaker while I drive.”

“Thank you, Sage.” He sighed, and the exhausted relief in his voice muddled my already confused feelings.

His emotions were raw, conveying the care he so clearly possessed for the herd, and I grew nervous at the thought that his dedication may rival my own.

I threw on jeans and grabbed my keys off the counter, making my way to my car.

The farm was only a ten minute drive down the road, but it felt like an eternity as I navigated the windy roads I’d purposefully avoided all this time.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you can do it. You’ve done it before. Show me what a good mom you are.”

Oh god. Listening to this man sweet talk a cow through birth may single-handedly be what it’d take to dissolve the hatred I had for him.

“Sage?” he asked.

“Pulling in.”

I slammed my car into park before taking off towards the barn, the faint beep of the door I left ajar echoing behind me.

The sound of distress guided me to Miles, who was elbow deep, trying again to grasp the feet of the calf.

When I turned the corner of the stall, he looked up, his panicked eyes locking with my own.

“I’m going to tie her closer to the post so she doesn’t thrash around,” I called to him as I approached the cow’s head, rubbing her gently so she knew I was there. Once she was secured, I moved to stand with Miles.

“Now, while you keep your hand steady, I’m going to take this hose and slide it along your arm to pump water around the calf. It should help dislodge it, or at the very least, allow it to slide around a little. While I’m doing that, you keep reaching to grab its legs.”

“Got it,” he said, and we began working in tandem as if we’d been farming together our entire lives. “I can almost reach it. Can you give me a few more quick pumps?”

I obeyed, and as more water surrounded the calf, it slid slightly forward, allowing Miles to grab hold.

“Alright, sweetheart, we're not out of the woods yet. Give me a couple of pushes.”

As if Buttercup could feel the relief of Miles’ steady pull, she heaved, pushing the calf free, and Miles was there, guiding it carefully to the ground.

I dropped to my knees to check for breathing, and Miles hovered anxiously above me as I used the bottom of my shirt to clear off the calf's nose. After a few eternally long seconds, it shook its head, taking a big breath, which was my signal to move out of the way, allowing momma to step in and do her job. But before I had a chance to stand, my feet suddenly left the ground, and I couldn’t help the involuntary squeal as I became airborne.

“You did it!” Miles cheered, spinning me around. His hands had interlocked around my body, creating a makeshift shelf under my ass as he swung me around and around the stall.

“Yes, we did it, now let me down you big brute.” I scowled, kicking my feet, and as if reality instantly seeped into his brain, his feet became concrete, stopping him in his tracks.

My body swayed in his arms, dispersing the energy from the sudden change in momentum, and only once I’d settled, did he allow my body to glide down his own.

I knew this was his way of gingerly releasing me, but I couldn’t help but notice every spot our bodies connected, my inner biology betraying my mind.

He immediately pulled back to take in my expression, shocked by his own actions, and as my feet touched the ground, I silently celebrated when my knees didn’t buckle. Had they failed me, it would have been a clear giveaway of the frustrating effect he had on me.

“Sorry,” he said, clasping the back of his neck with both hands.

“It’s fine,” was all I managed to respond, feigning indifference, but I could feel the heat in my face creeping from my cheeks to the tips of my ears.

He grabbed a clipboard from the messy workspace; I assumed to keep his nervous hands busy, and turned to the newest calf, who was now standing for the first time.

“Looks like she's a heifer, and it’s only fair you name her, seeing as how she wouldn’t be here without you. Her family is florals.”

I chuckled at the familiarity.

“I know Buttercup's family theme because I happened to be the one who created it.”

He shook his head.

“Eventually I’ll stop forgetting you’re the Queen Baker.”

All I could do was roll my eyes. A lot of farms had similar procedures when it came to nomenclature, each lineage adopting a theme.

It could be food, flowers, countries, the names of your worst enemies, but whatever was established lasted until the bloodline ended.

When we operated, I took pride in my chaotic names.

Something about screaming for a cow named Spam just made four in the morning easier for a teenager.

After a few moments of looking at her, I turned to Miles, who stood patiently waiting.

“Blossom.”

“Great choice.” Miles smiled.

He stepped towards me to deposit the clipboard on the counter, and I slid back, careful to remain out of reach. I tried not to think about the hurt that flickered across his face, knowing my mind had a million thoughts that needed to be sorted before I let him get that close again.

“I really should get going,” I mumbled.

“You could come check on the baby tomorrow if you want,” he said, and I could hear the underlying question that laced the invite.

Did our truce extend beyond the night?

“We’ll see, lumberjack.”

I knew better than to commit to anything while my emotions were knotted to high hell, but from what I saw, I was beginning to think Miles Carver might not be so bad.