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I knew June was going to give me an earful once the kid was back in the cabin. And she did, but in the nicest way possible.

“It’s the season of giving,” she said. “Just think of it like accumulating good karma, and we can never have enough good karma. I doubt he’d be much trouble.” Her words, uttered right in front of the small mound of small. It could’ve been much worse if he’d done that on a heavy snowfall day.

“He left his shoes,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m not going to make a big ol’ song and dance about it. He’s here as a favor for a friend, and I’ve been helped out a bind a time or two myself, so it’s not like I’m going to refuse him anything he might need. Let’s just hope he doesn’t need much.”

“I do have that spare room going at my place,” she said.

“Thanks, but I’ve got a ranch to run,” I said.

“Not for you dingus, for Tommy,” she said.

“Tommy,” I repeated. His word didn’t stick to my mouth like a name should. I’d keep referring to him as the kid since he was probably in his twenties and the way he got around the ranch, maybe with very little life experience. “Although I’m not opposed to you coming up and checking on him, when the snow isn’t heavy.”

She nodded. “You don’t need to ask twice about that. I find myself with too much free time anyway.”

June was there to socialize a couple times a week, she worked here and there, but I think her bigger job was to check in on me. We’d all heard stories of cowboys going crazy from too much time in solitude, and she probably assumed I’d one day end up just like a tragic ending to one of so many stories that all ended the same.

After handing over a carton of eggs and some of the fresh bread, she went on her way, and I was one again ready to sit and relax with my cup of tea and a book. And I did, or at least, I tried to sit inside with a view out of the side window which faced near directly toward the cabin the kid was staying in. He brought about new worries, like what if he burned the entire place down, or what if he goes himself snowed in by whacking a wall, or stomping around. I didn’t know much about city folk and their feet, but they were always under concrete, they must’ve been thumping their feet in all directions as they walked.

“Calm yourself,” I uttered, putting my feet up on a wooden stool. “He’s an adult. He’s not your problem.” I poured tea from my flask into a mug. It was still nice and hot. Pip looked at me as if I was talking to him. “Not your problem either. We’ll see how he gets through the evening, then I could always ship him off into town.” I didn’t want to burden June with it. I’d told my friend I would take care of him, and I wasn’t going to go back on my word. December was supposed to be my month, limited human interaction, and a form of self-care.

Pip yapped at me some more. He was still excited after meeting someone new. In a way, I held some of that excitement too. The suitcase had been covered in stickers of cartoon bears, a TV show I’d never watched myself, but recalled seeing in the background once or twice many years back.

There was no way I was getting any reading done while my thoughts were elsewhere.

After a little toast and some scrambled egg whites, the sky had darkened significantly. I had to milk the goats again and make sure all the doors were secured in the barn. While we hadn’t had bear sightings in a while, I still worried some form of wild life would get in amongst the chickens.

In a heavier fleece jacket to keep warm, I took my shovel as a precaution, and the kid’s pair of shoes. I didn’t want to disturb him, but I didn’t want his shoes sitting on my porch all night. Through the window of his cabin, I saw him laid on the rug in front of the fireplace, reading a comic.

He noticed me, snapping the comic shut. He raced to the door.

“Your shoes,” I said.

“Thank you, I was going to come over, but flying in and then the cold, I just didn’t want to go out again,” he said, hugging himself as the cold breeze pushed in. He looked around me, by my feet.

“I’m going to milk the goats, if you want to come, I could show you how to do it,” I said, feeling June’s words spill through me. “I think it would be beneficial for you. But if you don’t want to endure the cold, I won’t blame you.”

He scoffed. “I can endure the cold. Let me just—”

“Then I’ll wait in here while you get ready.” I walked right inside. “Don’t worry. The dogs are home. They get in the way when I’m with the goats, so I prefer they don’t come during the evening.”

“Thank you for bringing my shoes, again,” he said, grabbing the large jacket from the hook by the door. “What time do you usually wake up to do the animals?”

“Six-ish, sometimes seven,” I said. “It really doesn’t matter too much.”

The kid blinked wildly at me, his jaw and mouth slack. “That’s—early.” He gulped hard.

“Not if you’re in bed at a reasonable hour,” I said. “And this place won’t sustain itself. But I don’t think about it as work. It’s being part of something.”

He nodded. “Maybe this is what I needed,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching as he smiled.

I wasn’t completely against him helping, it meant I’d get more time to enjoy downtime which is what I’d been hoping to get a lot of during the month.

Once he was ready, we headed to the barn. He had a lot of questions about the goats and why they needed frequent milking, they were only small and producing milk at a rate they would need to sustain their young. These goats in particular didn’t need to have given birth before they could be milked, they were a Swiss breed, maiden milkers they were referred to as.

Inside the barn, all the chickens were in their coops and the cats were now underfoot the moment we walked in, rubbing themselves against our legs.

The kid almost shrieked at Midnight, the black cat. He ran off to Snowflake standing majestically on the fenced walkway into the barn.

“Relax,” I told him.

Daisy and Marigold ran to the gate, budging each other to reach me first. I grabbed the small step stool and the bucket from the hooks on the inside wall.

“So, how do I milk the goats?” he asked, rubbing his gloves hands together.

“Firstly, you’ll have to take those gloves off, they don’t like the feel of it, and they’d run away,” I told him. “We’re gonna have to go inside as well.”

His face grew red as he blew air up. “How is it so hot in here?”

“Insulation, ventilation, a lot of hay, and those heaters up there,” I said, nodding to them. “They only run during the evening on a portable generator. It’s on a timer, so it usually shuts off before I come down in the morning.”

Looking around, he hummed to himself.

“Go on then,” I said, nodding to the gated area of the fencing where the two cats were resting and glaring at him.”They don’t bite,” I told him.

“Are you coming in with me?”

I shrugged. “I might want to see how you do on your own first.”

“But I’ve never—”

“Relax, I’m coming in.”

The cats were unphased by the two of us, almost blessing us as they allowed us to enter without being pawed or clawed. The goats were a different story, rushing us and bleating. The occasional chicken cluck was heard in the distance, almost like we were being told off for being too loud.

“Stool goes on the ground, Marigold goes first, but Daisy will try and go first but Marigold annoys her if that happens,” I explained. The only other comparison I could make to it was being pee shy and not being able to go in front of someone else. “They will put their front hoofs on the stood to elevate themselves, and then the bucket goes under.” Carrying it out, Marigold and Daisy fought for a second until I hooked the loose collar around Marigold’s neck and pulled her over.

On a knee in front of the goat, the kid tugged his gloves off, a world of fear behind his eyes. I wasn’t asking him to do anything too difficult. It was always entertaining to see someone’s first time. Marigold grew impatient, bleating at us to get it over with.

His first attempt was poor, going in and squeezing her teat only made her grow impatient. I dipped to my knees with him, on the opposite side, I took his cool hand between both of mine and warmed it up with a little rub. “They’re just testing you,” I said. I could’ve been part of the they I was talking about. It wasn’t his fault he was here. “How long have you known Mick?” I asked, repositioning his hand on the teat and then pinching gently and tugging. The first squirt of milk went right into the bucket.

“Oh my god, I did it,” he went again, and again in succession. “He’s my agent for my book stuff, so I met him when I was sending out queries.”

“Why do you think he sent you here?”

He scoffed. “I have writer’s block, and he told me a vacation would help, but also told me it wouldn’t be free, I’d have to work. I kinda assumed he meant work on my stuff, not on a farm.”

“A farm,” I chuckled. “It’s a ranch. There’s a difference.”

“Maybe he also sent me to learn the difference,” he snort-laughed.

Milking goats were easy, and he’d gotten the hang of it quickly. “I’m still surprised you made it all the way out here without a winter coat or anything.”

Lulling his head, he avoided eye contact. “Don’t remind me. I don’t travel much and my geography is even worse. I thought it was next to California and would be sunnier.”

“Oh boy, you got thrown into the deep end then.”

“Not the first time, and probably not the last,” he said. “But I always swim around and find shore. Although, I actually can’t swim.”

“What?!”

He wasn’t at all like I’d imagined when Mick asked me to give one of his clients a cabin for a couple weeks. There was the lack of geography and being ill-prepared for the season, but he was willing to help and work. I felt kinda bad. He was going through some stuff, in my mind built, a creative block for a creative person would send them into a depression. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

We finished milking both goats before going around with a small broom and sweeping some of the mess the animals had made. Midnight attacked the broom at every opportunity, while Snowflake kept her distance and hissed.

“Tell me about your books,” I said after several moments of quiet.

“They’re comics, actually,” he said. “It’s a series called Teddy Wars , and basically, teddy bears are sentient, they come alive, and they battle each other. You know, like different teddy bear brands and such. Obviously, all fictional, but I’ve released a lot of volumes, and this last couple of months, I—” He looked to his feet, kicking at a piece of straw on the ground.

“And you love what you do?” I asked.

“I feel blessed to be able to do what I do, but sometimes, the entire world just crumbles on you, slowly, and then you can’t do anything,” he said, half-mumbling his words. “Then there’s fans, right. They’re like, take your time, but then there are the ones who tell me they need new instalments, and those are the ones that really get to me. I know what they need and want, but it’s kinda too much pressure.”

It felt like he’d been stewing on those thoughts for a while. “I guess that explains what you were doing on the floor in front of the fire place then, just thinking.”

He laughed. “I think they call it burn out, and honestly, the warmth on that fire was nice.”

I was about to do something I never thought I would. “I’ve got some soup ready back at my cabin, if you want to come back for a bowl and a roll.”

“A bowl and a roll,” he giggled. “Sure.”

“It’s a one-time deal, give you time to settle in and get acquainted with how your cabin works.” I didn’t want him to grow reliant on me. “It’s a regular tomato soup, partly from tin, but I add a lot of my own stuff to it as well.”

He smiled at me. “Don’t worry, I won’t let the people in town know you’re actually not scary.”

I tried to keep a straight face as if playing on the joke, but I genuinely couldn’t. There was something behind him, infectious, but not enough for me to call the CDC. I’d have to keep a running tally of the symptoms first; smiling and an almost affection of pity.

“Oh, also, don’t let me forget, I’ll get you some eggs and cheese I made from the goat milk,” I said. “Remind me at the main house.”

He nodded. “Will do!” He saluted.

I couldn’t decide if it was adorable, or patronizing.