Chapter 7
“At this rate, you won’t finish in time to start the evening milking,” Cal said as he came up behind Nikki.
She jumped, almost knocking over the milk bucket, and she’d worked hard for that cup of milk.
She stopped long enough to look over her shoulder and give Cal her freeze-you-in-your-tracks glare. He had the nerve to grin. A lesser man would’ve turned and run away as fast as he could. Now that she thought about it, that might explain why she hadn’t had sex in a while.
Then his words sank into her brain. “What do you mean, evening milking?” she asked. Surely, he was joking. She looked at the cow’s bag. No, it wasn’t possible that it would fill up again that fast.
“Bessie needs to be milked twice a day,” Cal said, confirming her worst fear.
Well, hell.
She glanced inside the bucket. “I thought I was doing pretty good,” she grumbled. She had enough for a tall latte, except now she thought she might start drinking her coffee minus the milk. It was a lot different when you actually saw where the milk was coming from.
He motioned for her to get up. “Let me show you how a pro does it.”
Gladly, and she didn’t even care that he was apparently better at it than her. Not that she thought he would get much more milk out of the cow.
She stood, flexing her fingers, and moved out of his way. She would think on the bright side. If she had to milk the cow twice a day, she would probably drop a ring size by the time she had her story and was out of here.
She eyed the three-legged wooden stool. On the other hand, her butt might get broader from all the sitting. Not a good trade-off. But when Cal pulled the stool under him, she noticed his butt looked pretty darn good from this angle. Not bad at all.
“Sah, Bessie,” Cal spoke softly when Bessie turned to look at the newcomer. The cow quickly settled down as Cal began to milk her.
Milk immediately pinged against the sides of the bucket. Okay, so he was better at milking than she’d been. She frowned. But that wasn’t all. Bessie seemed more content that Cal was the one doing the milking. It would seem he was good with animals, and women.
Well, except Cynthia. Which reminded her that she was here to get a story.
“You’re a lot faster,” she told him.
“Years of practice.”
“Are you partners with your brother?” she asked, keeping her words casual. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to answer or if he had even heard her. He seemed pretty intent on finishing the milking.
“No, I’m just visiting a few weeks,” he finally spoke.
Had the pinging of the milk against the side of the bucket gotten a little faster? Maybe he’d been asked so many questions in the past that he was leery of answering more. But then, she was good at making people feel at ease. It usually didn’t take long for them to open up to her.
“It’s good that you can visit him.” She casually leaned against the fence. “Do you live in Texas?”
“All my life.”
That told her absolutely zip. Again, something still didn’t feel quite right. It was as though he was evading her questions. She wondered again if he knew her real reason for being here.
“I play football,” he said.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Of course he didn’t know she was trying to get a story. She really had to stop being so paranoid. Being out of her element was really doing a number on her, and she was so out of her element here in the country.
“Football?” she asked.
“Professional. Do you watch the games?”
“No, sorry. Do you enjoy tossing a ball around?”
“It’s a living.”
Her ears perked up. “You don’t like it?”
“I still enjoy the thrill of competition, but the hard knocks I can do without.” He stood, bucket in hand. “That and the nosey reporters. They have a way of taking things out of context. They look at one part of my life and blow it out of proportion.”
Yeah, she felt much more confident about prying a story out of him. He needed to look at it from her angle. She was reporting what people needed to know: the dirty politicians, corporations skimming from their shareholders, corruption and fraud in the government.
Except that wasn’t exactly the case this time. Not even close, and guilt didn’t sit well with her.
“But then, I don’t have to worry about reporters out here,” he said, drawing her attention back to him.
She couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she glanced inside the bucket. Her eyes widened. Okay, now he’d impressed her. Frothy white milk came up to the rim of the bucket. “How did you fill it so fast?”
“It just takes practice. I was raised on this ranch and I grew up milking cows.”
This was much safer than talking about reporters and she could get a little background on him. “Your parents owned it?”
“No, they were killed in a car wreck when my brother, Brian, was just a baby.”
“I’m sorry.” And she meant it. She couldn’t imagine growing up without her parents. They were great, even though time with them had been at a premium, but the moments they’d shared together had been quality time.
Even now, they made a point of meeting once every two months on the second Saturday. They always went out to eat at her favorite restaurant and caught up with each other’s lives. It worked out well all around.
“It was a long time ago,” he continued. “Our grandparents more than made up for the fact we were orphaned. They kept the memory of our parents alive while giving us all the love we could ever need. They were very special.”
“They’re gone?”
He nodded. “But what they taught us lives on. They had a strong code of ethics.” He opened the gate, then waited for her to pass. “Like truth, being fair, causing no harm to others, and giving more than you get.”
Nikki had a feeling liars would rate low with him. Well, she wasn’t a reporter because she was trying to win a popularity contest. People wanted the news and she gave them what they asked for.
She chewed on her lower lip. Except she usually didn’t do fluff pieces. She would much rather go after crooked politicians.
They walked out of the barn and up to the house. The air was still cool and crisp as it caressed her skin.
“Did you like growing up here on the ranch?” she asked.
“There was a lot of stuff to do.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “Chores: milking, feeding the animals, fixing fence. We hauled a little hay. The usual things that people do on a ranch.”
“It sounds like hard work.”
“Some of it was.” He stopped at the porch and looked around. There was a faraway expression on his face. “But we had good times, too.”
She wondered what he saw that she didn’t. As she looked around, she thought it might have been nice knowing the young Cal as he galloped across the pasture with his brother.
Damn, now she was starting to sound maudlin. Was this what the country air did to a person? She needed a shot of the city to take her back to reality! Maybe she’d call Marge later and see what was happening. Nikki was already starting to feel disconnected.
Once inside the kitchen, Cal set the milk on the wooden counter; no fancy granite here.
“There was a strainer in one of the boxes,” he told her. “Do you remember where you put it?”
She went to one of the drawers she’d cleaned out and got it. She’d wondered why he’d brought it. Made her wonder about some of the other things she’d put away.
He slid a large glass jar closer and put the strainer on top. “Hold it in place and I’ll pour the milk.”
She did as he asked, her nose wrinkling when she caught the scent of warm, fresh milk.
“It doesn’t smell like store-bought. It’s a lot richer, too.” Cal set the empty bucket in the sink and covered the milk with a cloth.
“I noticed. Shouldn’t we put it in the icebox?”