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I’d never actually seen one of those Vs in person, and something in me squeezed at the sight of it.
He caught me looking and smirked just a little, just enough to flame my cheeks and snap my gaze to his.
“Nice boots,” he said, snagging his shirt off Ginger’s stall wall.
God, even watching him put it on was hot. The graceful stretch and tug, the mussing of his dark hair, the fanning and flexing of biceps and fluttering muscles of his forearms as he pulled the hem into place.
I turned to Alice, not wanting to look at him anymore. Well, I wanted to look at him—I’d have liked to spend a good long while drawing a map of those muscles with the interest of an anatomy student. Because truly, I couldn’t understand where they’d all come from. I hadn’t even known most of them existed.
“Don’t make fun of my boots,” I snapped, petting Alice, who broke from me to head to the wall where the bucket was nailed.
She mooed and nudged it off the nail with her nose, unfazed when it hit the ground with a clang.
I chuckled. “That bad, huh? I’m here to help.”
“Lucky, since you have something ‘to prove.’ ”
I scowled at the bucket, pulling the stool into the room. The second I sat, Alice parked herself right in front of me.
“All right, girl,” I said so only she could hear. “You ready to dismantle some misogyny?”
With another chuff and a stomp of her foot, I figured she agreed.
For a moment, I assessed the terrain. Surely, this was like riding a bike. I’d milked a million cows but not for at least five years, and as I looked at her udders—and as Jake watched me with a critical gaze—I second-guessed myself. Opposite nipples, I knew that. I needed to strip them first.
With the objective remembered, I moved the bucket out of the way and clutched a nipple in each hand, taking a breath before the moment of truth.
I squeezed, dragging down in the motion that felt both familiar and foreign. Something was off, my grip maybe—I could tell by the feel of the motion, confirmed when nothing came out.
Undeterred, I tried again. Again, it was wrong, and Alice mooed her discontent.
“Grip it up higher, closer to the bag,” he said from my side where he leaned against a post with his arms folded.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Fine, but when Alice kicks you off that stool and knocks the wind out of you, don’t come crying to me.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I said, hating myself for doing what he’d said. Another stroke told me I was still wrong.
I let out a noisy breath through my nose and tried again, adjusting the pressure and pinch, but I got nothing out of her.
With a huff, I let her go, digging through my brain for an answer as Jake watched from his perch, smug as all hell. When I thought I might have some direction, I grabbed her teats again only to get smacked in the face by her tail.
I spat out the coarse tail hair and wiped my lips with the back of my hand while Jake laughed. It wasn’t a small laugh, but a big, happy sound I hadn’t suspected lived in him. I was too annoyed to appreciate it.
“Bump the bag like a calf would,” he said when he caught his breath. “It’ll let her milk down.”
“I know how to do it,” I bit out.
“Coulda fooled me.”
Ignoring him, I nudged her udder with my hand.
“Good. Now grab her up high, fill your hand with her teat, and—”
“I know how to do it!”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Then let’s see it.”
But once again, I did what he’d said, and as I pulled, I knew it was right—I was rewarded with the first stream of milk.
I crowed, stripping each udder a few times to clear them out. Cheerfully, and perhaps with too much confidence, I clutched the bucket between my legs like I used to do and milked the damn cow like a champion milkmaid.
“Told you I could milk a cow,” I said over the tinny sound of milk hitting the metal bucket.
“Sure. You’re a regular pro. How long you think you woulda sat here before Alice got impatient and tossed you?”
“I would have figured it out,” I defended.
“Guess we’ll never know.”
“If you hadn’t interfered, we would.”
“I was just trying to help,” he said.
“Were not. You were making fun of me.”
“I didn’t think you’d wear those boots if you didn’t want people to make fun of you.”
“I don’t really give a damn what you think of them.”
“They look brand new. Have you ever even worn them?”
“What does it matter?” I hedged, my eyes on Alice’s udders, imagining my fists were around his neck instead of a cow’s nipples.
“Only in that you look about as green as you are.”
