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She yanked the long muck-covered gloves off her arms and threw them at his feet before grabbing the equipment she’d used and going in search of the spigot he’d mentioned.
She finally found it after walking around almost the whole barn. Because of course Hunter couldn’t have been more specific, the bastard. She turned the spigot on and sprayed water at the chains before turning it toward her own boots.
She’d been so caught up in the moment with the calving, she hadn’t really been paying attention to just how gross she’d been getting. But now that she had a chance to look down at herself, she almost gagged. She was covered in—
She jerked her head away. Nope. Better not to think about what she was covered in. She just turned the hose on herself.
“God!” she yipped, dancing away from the freezing spray for a second before closing her eyes, bracing, and aiming it back at her chest.
She didn’t care if she had to ride home drenched, she didn’t think she could stand herself smelling like the insides of a cow.
She dared a glance down at herself after spraying for several minutes. Ugh, the water was barely making a dent in all the shit covering her. Because she had no doubt there was plenty of actual manure mixed in there. The water was just turning it all into a brown slurry coating her previously light blue work shirt.
She gagged and threw the hose down, then ripped the shirt off over her head. Nope. Nope. Nope. She was not wearing the poop shirt for another second.
She stripped out of her boots and pants just as quickly. Her boots were dirty even on the inside. When she’d tripped and been dragged by the cow that one time, the mud and manure had caked up inside the top and run down her calves.
Ugh, God, could this get more disgusting? She put her thumb in the tip of the hose to make it spray high power at her disgusting clothes. Her poor boots. The supple leather would never be the same after this.
“Here, you can change into—”
She shrieked and covered her chest as Hunter came around the side of the barn. He paused, just staring at her while she stood there in nothing but her bra and panties, both of which were soaked through.
“It’s not a wet T-shirt contest,” she yelled at him. “Stop ogling me!”
His eyes jerked up to her, a lazy smile crossing his face. “If you say so, sweetheart.” He tossed her a dark bundle of clothes. “You can change into this. But those boots go in the back of the truck.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Now hurry it up, I wanna make it home before the first inning’s over.”
It would be justifiable homicide in this case. Surely any jury would agree.
“Get out of here,” she cried when he continued just standing there looking at her.
He finally turned and moseyed back the way he came, moving so slowly she could have screamed. The instant he disappeared around the corner she unrolled the blue fabric and saw it was a pair of coveralls. She eagerly stepped into them. They were huge on her but still better than putting on the poop clothes. She pulled up the front zipper. The crotch sagged and she had to roll up the legs so they didn’t drag on the ground, but that was fine. She grabbed all the equipment and her boots. Her boots were clean enough to hold underneath her arm, but she held her dirty, wet clothes between her thumb and forefinger as she headed back toward the truck.
She stepped carefully across the field back toward the driveway. It was muddy from recent rains and she had the disconcerting feeling that anything that looked like mud could just as well be more manure. A comforting thought, when she was walking barefoot.
That was it, tomorrow she’d ask Melanie if she’d mind using her Amazon account to order some work boots.
Isobel finally made it back to the truck and threw everything in the back. They’d disinfect the chains and cow puller when they got back to the clinic. In the meantime, she needed to dip her entire body in Purell.
When she rounded the truck, she heard voices.
“A live calf? That’s great to hear.”
“Yep. A little heifer. She was getting milk and feeding well when I left her.”
“You always do a great job, Hunter.”
“Not a problem. You have a good night now.”
Isobel’s hands clenched into fists. Did he actually just take credit when she’d—
Hunter was still smiling when he came around the truck and saw her standing there. If he noticed how furious she was, he didn’t let it show.
He just looked down at her bare, dirty feet. “Clean those up before you get in the truck.” He opened the driver’s side door. Oh,” he paused right before climbing up. “And next time,” his smirk was fully back in place, “you might want to tie the cow to the gate with the harness so she stays in one place. Though I gotta say, I did enjoy the show.”
Chapter Eleven
ISOBEL
