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“Oh my God, no, I wouldn’t want—”
But he held out a hand. “Look, I don’t know your circumstances and I don’t need to. But no way you’re sleeping out in the cold or trying to find anywhere else when there’s a perfectly good bed right upstairs. And I want you to feel comfortable, so I’ll stay out in the bunkhouse. It’s perfectly good for the hands and up until recently, that’s what I been. I don’t need to go getting fancy all of a sudden. Please. It’d mean a lot to me.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Then I put my hands on my hips. “How did you just twist those words to make it sound like I’m doing you a favor by sleeping in your comfy bed and sending you out to the bunkhouse?”
It was not normal logic and half of me was amused while the other half was trying to search out the trick in it.
He cracked a grin. “Cause I’m just that good?”
I shook my head. “Fine, but I’m coming to help with the calf.”
He started to wave his hand, but I butted in. “Surely you aren’t going to rob me of the chance to see it through with this little baby calf. Plus earn a little bit of my room and board by helping out any way I can to salvage my dignity?”
His left eyebrow popped up. “Did you just twist those words to make it sound like trying to let you off the hook and knock off early would be insulting?”
I started down the porch stairs. “I guess I’m just that good?”
His laugh followed me.
5
My eyes were crusty with sleep when I finally blinked them open against the bright morning sun.
And then I shot up in bed, panic spiking through me.
Bed.
I was in a soft bed.
But when I looked around, it wasn’t pristine eggshell-white walls and the muted light from the morning San Francisco fog coming in the windows. Nope. It was all yellowing mid-century wallpaper and a window with bright sun shining through instead.
I collapsed back dramatically into the soft mattress and soft pillow.
Jesus Christ. I just hadn’t slept anywhere soft since I’d left San Francisco.
Was this what it would be like for the rest of my life? Always terrified that my life now was a dream?
Duh. I was there for almost a decade. Did I think I my past was just gone because I’d physically left?
I groaned and covered my face with the pillow. Because um, yeah, part of me had hoped so.
I guess I’d just assumed the leaving was the end of the story. It was certainly as far as I got in most of my fantasies. Afterwards was always just this vague happily-ever-after that I tried not to think too much about because that felt like torment.
But as I dragged the pillow away from my face and looked around, it dawned on me… holy crap.
The leaving was just the beginning.
Now started the rest of my life. What the hell was I supposed to do with that? The conundrum that struck me briefly on the bus hit me all over again. Who even was I if I wasn’t her? The carefully crafted HER that was acceptable to him.
But who was I?
I swung my legs out of bed and landed heavily when I stood up, stiff and a little sore after last night.
I smiled, remembering going back out to tend to the little calf whose mother wouldn’t attend to her.
We’d gotten towels from the barn and cleaned and dried her off. I’d never been that close to a baby cow. It was so… sweet was the only word that came to mind. Or maybe that was just my experience of the situation.
But the little cow, once we got her dried off, was so unsteady on her little coltish legs she couldn’t even stand, she’d just keep collapsing when Reece tried to help her stand.
He decided to give her some colostrum to help her get the nourishment she needed. He had to use an esophageal feeding tube, but he stayed calm and was so kind and gentle to the animal the entire time.
I was overcome by emotion just watching this big man with the animal in his lap, coaxing the first life-saving liquid into her. The calf seemed to feel it, too, because she kept bumping her head into his chest, almost nuzzling into him.
I was probably anthropomorphizing. She was likely just searching him for more milk, but Reece had explained that cows are herd animals and touch and community and interaction is actually really important to them.
I was so moved, embarrassingly so, but Reece either didn’t notice or was thoughtful enough not to make a big deal out of it. Maybe he was just good with creatures of all kinds like that.
There wasn’t much left to do after that. We made sure the calf was snuggled up in some hay and Reece said he’d check on her in another few hours, but that we should get some rest. His brother and Ruth weren’t back yet from their cow-wrangling, so he lent me some of his clothes to sleep in and said he’d throw mine in the overnight wash with his and have them ready for me in the morning.
