Page 8 of Till The Cows Come Home

Chapter Seven

Miles

S age left and I immediately lowered the mask I’d donned, revealing the simmering mortification underneath.

I hadn’t expected her to be such a beacon of compassion, and the light she’d emitted pulled me in, clouding my vision.

Kindness was momentarily mistaken for connection, and for a second I forgot we were supposed to be enemies…

well that I was her enemy, anyway. I didn’t intend to complicate the already awkward association we had, but everything about tonight had my mind swirling, from her calming voice to the way the softness of her hips felt beneath my hands.

Enough.

Sage Baker was off limits.

Unless she wasn’t…

I turned my attention to Blossom in an attempt to distract myself from the bad ideas that were already formulating.

She was an absolute fluff ball now that her hair had dried, and couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.

She’d stood from where she’d been nestled and approached me on wobbly legs, cocking her head with curiosity as I clicked my tongue at her.

Little did she know, now that she was stable and dry, it was time to tag her ear, and although it allowed me to tell her apart from all the other cows, I hated doing it.

Her birth was branded as a permanent memory in my brain, but to the outside world, she was just another calf, and losing her wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.

If I waited for the perfect moment, I’d procrastinate for an eternity, so I grabbed the applicator, coaxing the unknowing calf towards me.

After checking that the tag was properly loaded, I hovered over her, and in between soothing strokes I pulled the trigger, punching the metal between the ribs of Blossom’s ear.

I’d attempted to catch her off guard in order to alleviate any unneeded stress, and she surely was surprised.

She stepped back from my affection, attempting to locate the betrayal, her expression adorably confused.

“I know, I’m sorry sweetheart. Let me check to make sure it's in there okay and then you can go back to bed.”

After confirming the tag was firmly attached, I let her return to the spot she’d made in the shavings, seemingly unscathed by my intervention.

In the farming industry, we compared the discomfort to an ear piercing, but I was always relieved at how quickly they became unbothered after the process was complete.

Reparational chin scratches were always paid in times like these, and once my dues were settled, I left the farm’s newest member, bidding the ladies goodnight as I walked through the barn back to the house.

Part of me considered staying outside, knowing as soon as I walked through my door I’d be obligated to tackle the paperwork that followed an addition to the herd, but I knew better.

A disarray of documents had been taking over my dining room since I bought the place, so I had to fish through papers in an attempt to file Blossom’s birth somewhere amongst the mess.

When I found a nearly blank sheet muddled within the chaos, I celebrated the small win.

I may be disorganized and a tad slow when it came to record keeping, but registering each cow was still a priority to me.

In my opinion, it was vital to have their lineage and information recorded someplace other than my pocket notepad, but with the amount of calves I had, it was easier, and more importantly cheaper, to send the registration paperwork in groups.

The downside to this process was that in the meantime, I had to keep all the information straight, which was clearly not my strong suit.

As much as I’d like to pretend I had my shit together, more times than I’d like to admit I found myself staring at a calf asking myself, “Who’s your mother?

” They’d look blankly back at me while I silently cursed, vowing to do it the right way next time, but when next time rolled around I just tossed the responsibility into the pot I kept continuously simmering on the back burner.

This time, though, I scribbled Blossom’s name and date, along with the bare minimum information that would guarantee I’d have everything I needed when I eventually got around to filling out the entire form.

Dam: Buttercup

Sire: Cowabunga

It may seem like nothing, but if I knew who Blossom’s parents were, I could figure out the rest. I would still hate myself later for not taking the time to look up their actual registration numbers, but the adrenaline from the eventful birth and impulsive embrace had leached every ounce of energy from my body.

As I leaned over to remove my boots, I pictured Sage milking and planting crops, images cycling with each pull of my laces as my brain attempted to piece together what she was like when she was the one running the place.

I imagine she was sorting out her own emotions after plunging head first into her past, because as she left the turmoil on her face was tangible.

Instinct urged me to close the distance, welcoming her back into this life, but reason told me to stay put and mind my business.

The first time I surfaced into society after spending years improving the farm, she was there, a humbling martyr reminding me perfection had not yet been achieved.

The wealth of knowledge Sage possessed was indispensable and whatever bits she was willing to pass on I’d graciously accept, but at this point I wasn’t even sure of her willingness to share or where we stood.

My hope was that everything would just fall into place because, in reality, no other option existed, and my looming exhaustion urged me to be momentarily content with that unknown.

So instead of dwelling, I wandered through my home, shedding clothes throughout the trek, and as I crawled into bed, groans of relief escaped me as the mattress took the weight of the day, absorbing the thoughts racing through my head as I drifted to sleep.

I jolted upright from the sudden wails of my alarm, and as I looked around, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the panic slowly subsided.

I’d overslept, but luckily not by much.

I’d always been an early riser, scoffing at anyone who depended on their phone to start their day, but one night and a few too many drinks made me change my tune.

Waking up late to the moans of cows overdue for milking was enough for me to implement a backup, and my alarm had been set everyday since.

Hearing it blare meant that I’d slept way later than intended, and within seconds my feet were on the ground.

My hands searched through the dark to find one of the many discarded T-shirts, and after a quick smell test, I pulled on the winner, along with my jeans, foregoing my beloved caffeine as I slid on my flannel.

Boots. Where were my boots?

After scanning the kitchen twice, I saw the deflated leather peeking from under the dining room table, begging for a break, and I made a mental note to start saving for replacements, while willing my current pair to last me through the day.

New calves were usually hearty, but given Blossom’s harsh entrance into the world, I’d intended to check in on her as soon as possible this morning.

Now already an hour behind, I shoved the laces into the sides of my boots, not wasting the time to tie them, and within minutes of waking I was walking out the door.

As I rounded the corner to Blossom’s stall I was stopped dead in my tracks, disoriented as my brain processed a voice other than my own.

I swore I heard the familiar cooing from last night that had showered Blossom in affection, and the longer I listened, the more confident I became that I was going absolutely nuts.

I slapped my cheeks, rousing myself from whatever daydream I’d been caught in, before peeking around the corner.

My brain tried to make sense of what it was seeing, hesitantly confirming that Sage had in fact snuck into the barn.

I rubbed the pain from my cheeks, not realizing the grin I wore as I listened to her chit chat with the calf as if they were the best of friends.

Sage was going on about her weekend as she mixed up a bottle, while Blossom followed her around, waiting somewhat patiently for her breakfast. Even as Sage offered the bottle, the words didn’t stop, her voice a constant hum as she worked.

I hesitated to interrupt, but I had to walk past to get to the parlor, so I cleared my throat, making my presence known as I stepped into sight.

Sage jumped about a foot in the air, her face cycling from fear to relief that it was me, back to panic before immediately rambling .

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry. I know this is technically trespassing.”

“Not technically, it is, in all circumstances, definitely trespassing.”

“I mean…”

“How about instead of arguing over semantics this early in the morning, you just explain.”

“You’re spicier now that you don’t need my help,” she huffed.

“I woke up early this morning and I couldn’t stop thinking about Blossom.

I used to take care of the calves, and when we had bottle babies I would dream of the sweet smell of milk replacer.

I couldn’t sleep, so I came here. I was going to leave a note so you knew she was taken care of, but I obviously didn’t think you’d be out here this early. ”

My grin spread into a full on toothy smile as I took in the sight in front of me.

Sage was staring at me out of breath, mortified, yet slightly ticked, while Blossom stood next to her, milk dripping from her chin, nudging her side for more.

Sage looked down at Blossom and back at me, as if she was torn between running or just continuing on.

“Please, continue,” I said, waving my hands between the two of them, and Sage guided the bottle back to the eager calf without taking her eyes off me.

“You’re not going to murder me, are you?”

I chuckled. “You’re just thinking of that now?”

“I was thinking I couldn’t sleep and the cutest baby cow would erase my worries. I kinda threw the rest to the wayside.”

“Well, just for your scheduling purposes, this morning was late for me. If you want to avoid me, you’ll have to break in earlier,” I said, pivoting to walk towards the parlor, leaving her staring at my back with her beautiful blue eyes wide open.

About thirty minutes after I’d left her, Sage sauntered to the parlor where I’d begun milking, taking a seat on the edge of what I like to call the milking trench. The design allowed me to be eye level with cows’ udders, saving my back, but it also meant that I was now eye level with her.

“I’m gonna head out. Thanks for not calling the cops on me.”

“No worries.” I chuckled.

She put her hands on the concrete, readying to push herself up, but then hovered for a moment.

“Would it be okay if I used your bathroom? I went to use the one in the barn, but it looks like you’re renovating.”

“Sure, I only have two more in this set and then I can let you in?”

“Take your time,” she said, relaxing back onto the edge, and as I finished the last of the group, she sat watching, nervously tapping her feet against the concrete edge as if she was somehow intruding.

“All done,” I said, wiping my iodine stained hands on my pants. “Ready?”

She nodded, jumping up to her feet, following me as I led the way to a place she knew better than I ever would.

I panicked slightly as we approached the house, remembering the tornado of paperwork I’d let take over the dining room, but it was too late to turn back now.

When I opened the door, she scuffled straight to the bathroom and I let out a sigh of relief when she didn’t stop to look around.

A few moments later I heard the sink shut off and when she swung the door open, I cursed at my short-lived luck, watching as paperwork went flying.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” she muttered under her breath, pausing as she scanned the documents she retrieved. “Are these old registrations?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as I snatched the papers from her hands .

“They’re not that old, but yes, I’ve been waiting to send a bunch together. It’s cheaper.”

She turned, taking in the entire mountain of parchment I’d collected. “There have to be hundreds of documents here, Miles. Please tell me they’re not all registrations.”

“No, of course not. Some are registrations I’ve gotten back, some stud documentation, milk counts, feed bills. You must be familiar with all of this,” I said, defending myself against her scrutiny.

“Yeah, I’m just usually familiar with it being in a filing cabinet.”

“Well, obviously, whatever you were familiar with wasn’t working.”

Regret penetrated my bones as I saw the flush travel across her cheeks in response to my harsh words, embarrassment and shame creeping across her features as if she was the one who single-handedly drove her farm into the ground.

“I'm sorry Sage, I didn’t mean that,” I muttered, but before I could continue she stood from where she was crouched and walked straight out the door, leaving me to watch her walk away for the second time this week.