Page 44 of Cowboy

“Who could leave a man like that?” the feminine voice questions, a hint of both sarcasm and attraction in her voice. Closing my eyes, I don’t need to see the rest of the scandalous special segment, but my ears remain open, and it’s then that the familiarity of the voice registers to full recognition.

“Looks like this bovine bridegroom has taken to the fields. Perhaps he’s found love in other places, although that’s not legal in most states. Just what are they doing in Vermont?”

As my eyes slowly open, I watch as the cowboy in question is bent forward, rocking in a way that didn’t seem inappropriate in any manner until this shitshow aired and interpreted the motion as thrusting into a calf. Eventually, the cowboy is caught hitching up the poor thing, which was stuck in the mud, caused by days of rain and a flood of the backfield. In the video, the thickness of the muck sucks at his boots, and he falls over, tumbling with the baby cow. The medium-sized animal lands on top of the poor sucker. For a moment, the calf rocks, his own hooves stuck once again, and the position is nothing more than a mess. But this no-nothing show spins its own web.

“Poor cowboy can’t even get the cows to come home with him.”

That babe unsticks himself and stumbles out of the mud, leaving the cowboy in a heap, covered in muck. When he rolls over and presses upward, the backside angle is caught again.

“Looks like our dairy king is out of luck, or should we say muck, with even his own animals. Oh well, here’s hoping he catches the next one.”

There’s a chorus of chuckles before the video shrinks, and the screen shows a group of reporters—and I use the term very loosely—crammed together in an office cubicle.

“Updates?” The original male announcer stands with his arms over a mid-waist cubicle wall.

“Last check-in, the Bovine Bridegroom has sworn off women,” a male reporter states.

“But a quick search of Dating Dairy shows an image of someone strikingly similar to the cow king,” adds another person.

“The best way to confirm likeness might be a view from the backside.” The female lowers her eyeglasses, pulling them forward and back like a trombone. Despite the glasses and the longer length of hair, there’s no question who she is. She’s the woman who reported the whole damning scandal on the video. “Wowza.”

“Jojo, turn it off,” I demand. Her head turns as if she’d forgotten I was behind the couch. Then her eyes shift to my side, narrowing at who she sees.

“I knew you looked familiar,” my niece states. As if in slow motion, my neck cranes, and I gaze at Scarlett over my shoulder. Behind her stands my brother Blade.

“I can explain,” she offers weakly. The words crash into me like the ramming of a steer. I’ve heard that phrase before.

“Putting aside the personal humiliation for a second, did you know that story damn near cost us our farm? People didn’t want to do business with us.”

I stare at Scarlett, whose mouth opens but thankfully shuts just as quickly.

“MoosHaveRights2, an animal activist group, got that video and investigated. Somewhere, your reporting suggested that mud was shit our milkers were walking through, dragging their teats in the muck, making them unsanitary producers. We had to have multiple inspections and hormone tests, which the FDA is very strict about, proving we weren’t doing anything to alter our milk after collected. We also had additional health inspections of our cows, our barns, and that backfield, all at our expense.”

“I’m sorry,” she mutters.

“Sorry?” I snap, exasperated at the weakness of that word. “This is the kind of reporter you were?” As soon as I’ve asked, I raise a hand because I don’t want an answer. “Do you have any idea how mortifying that was? It looks like I fucked a cow.”

“Bull,” my brother warns, shifting his eyes to Joey still seated on the couch. Ignoring him, I continue.

“Your Insider team didn’t do their homework, or they’d know that mud was caused by heavy rains and a flooded field. Cows are not the sharpest of animals and slow to move in the mud. I was trying to move them along. That calf followed its mother but got stuck. Cows will leave their babes behind. I had to wade through that sh . . . muck to get him out of there. Ever pick up a calf when you’re ankle deep in sucking mud, Scarlett?”

I don’t bother to wait for an answer. “I’m strong, but calves are heavy, especially if they’re stuck as well. You have no footing or leverage, and when I lost my boot in that crap, we tumbled over, and he fell on top of me. My last resort before he trampled me into the mud was to push him over. Luckily, he found solid ground and scrambled off.”

I heave a deep breath before I continue.

“MoosHaveRights2 wanted to go after me for animal abuse as it looks like I tossed that calf off me after he humped me.” I cup both hands behind my neck. “Or was it I humped an animal? Despite your disgusting bestiality claims, I care about my animals. I would never hurt them, but you wouldn’t know that, would you? Only looking for a story, weren’t you? As if digging into my love life hadn’t been bad enough? Making a mockery of my misery wasn’t enough for you. Is that what you’re doing here?” My heart races at the sudden possibility. “Are you here to investigate me again? Are you looking for more on the Bovine Bridegroom?”

Everything in me tells me not to believe it could be true, but I’m so wound up by the images and her voice reporting that bullshit.

“Here’s your inside scoop from someone who knows him best.” I slap at my chest hard as I reference myself. “It was the man left at the altar angle you wanted first, right? Well, he’ll never be in that position again. He’ll never be a groom. He’ll never be anywhere near a wedding. Not ever. He will not be left behind. He’s no longer on those dating apps because he can’t trust anyone. And as for the cows on my land, you keep your nose out of a business you don’t understand. This isn’t Dirty Dairy, or whatever the fuck you think you’ll call us next. This is my property, my family, and you won’t find your follow-up story with us.”

My chest heaves as I watch tears stream down Scarlett’s face. With thick lashes, her makeup is a river of black down her cheeks. Her head lowers, and her hands clench together, making her look repentant, but I have no forgiveness in me. That fucking cockamamie story they cooked up when it was a slow day in the newsroom caused a scandal—a real scandal.

My heart races so fast I turn back to the couch, bending at the waist to place my hands on the back of the furniture to catch my breath. This cannot be happening. I could not be such a poor judge of character again. I brought a woman into my home who nearly decimated my family and me with preposterous reporting and lies.

Glancing up, I realize we’ve gathered more of an audience. Canyon stands near the entrance of the family room from the front hall, and my dad stands beside him.

“I’m so sorry,” Scarlett repeats behind me. The words tremble in her faltering voice, but I close my eyes. I can’t look at her right now. How could she report such a thing? How could this have been her career? How could she destroy the lives of people she didn’t even know?