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"Need a name for this one, guys!" I call out.
Wilby and Muir look at each other, then at me. "I'm serious."
"I thought you'd only do it for Daisy because she's the first cow," Wilby shoots back. "We still have at least another twenty to go."
"Where did you find this guy?" Muir asks with a grin.
"I was just minding my own business, walking the streets of Sydney, when this loudmouthed Yank starts yelling at me for no good reason."
"I'll give you no good reason."
Wilby barks out a laugh. It's so loud it startles the farmhand, but the cow is unmoved. "Why don't you come over here and say it to my face…and to Betty's butt."
He knows I'm standing as close as I can bear, which is about twenty feet away. I want to be close to the action without actually seeing all of the action.
I fold my arms. "I am not moving an inch…but good call on the name. She looks like a Betty."
Muir and Wilby exchange another look before Wilby gets back to business. As they make their way through cow after cow, eventually swapping roles so that Muir is the, uh, inspector and Wilby is the notetaker, I think back to last night.
The sex was unlike anything I've ever had before, and I'm still riding high now. Hopefully, Muir can't tell by looking at me, but I feel like I've bonded with Wilby. I've had sex before—once with men and with several women and casual girlfriends-slash-friends with benefits I've had in the past—but I've never been so clingy afterward. I could have happily stayed holed up in that room all day.
But Wilby's got a job and responsibilities that I never expected him to abandon for me. I just wanted to be with him, so I'll happily tag along wherever he takes me. And, if I can put the grossness of what he's doing aside, seeing him in serious vetmode is seriously sexy. It's clear he's good at what he does, that he loves animals, and that he's a good coworker, communicating clearly and making sure he and Muir are on the same page with everything.
Wilby can be wild and adventurous, but I'm seeing he can also be responsible. And I like that. I like glimpsing this side of him.
"Where to next?" I ask from the back of the pickup once the guys are done with their bovine pregnancy testing.
I'm in a good mood. I've just survived my first real Aussie farm vet adventure. Surely it can't get more gross than what I just witnessed?
Muir turns over his shoulder. "We're going to Mrs. Stapelton's farm."
"Okay. Cool."
Wilby glances at me in the rearview mirror. Wrinkles form around the edge of his eyes. "We're castrating her bull."
I almost heave. "No fucking way."
"Way," the guys reply in unison, laughing their heads off.
I stay in the ute when we pull up at Mrs. Stapleton's farm, because, yeah, I do not have the stomach for that.
I look around. It's dry, brown, and flat for as far as the eye can see. This drought is a real bitch. But despite Scuttlebutt being tiny—Wilby wasn't kidding, aside from the main street, there's pretty much nothing else to see—there's a certain beauty and calmness to the place. The isolation is actually peaceful.
It's the polar opposite of New York, which for some reason, I haven't been thinking about a lot during this trip. Normally, even after only a few days away on a work trip, I'm dying to get back to my own apartment, to my own bed. But not this time.
With the air conditioning blasting cool air into the cabin, I stare out at the huge expanse and just…breathe.
The guys get in when they're done, and thankfully spare me all the gory details as we set off to the next appointment. The rest of the morning passes by with visits to three more farms. It's after two when we drive back into Scuttlebutt and pop into the bakery for averylate lunch.
My vision has started to go wonky, and I can't feel the tips of my fingers or toes. I haven't eaten since breakfast, which was…I don't even want to think how long ago.
"Ah, Wilby! How the fuck are ya?" the middle-aged, ginger-haired woman behind the counter cries out when we walk in.
"Better now that I'm seeing the hottest baking goddess in the outback."
She cackles, and it gives Wilby a run for his money in the decibel department.
"That's Mrs. Mangle," Muir whispers to me. "She makes the best meat pies in the state."
