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“I do this every night,” I said as I leaned against the fence, watching the cattle move like shadows across the darkened pasture. It was full night, the stars the only light as Day climbed up the fence and clutched the metal railing.
He was dressed in his pajamas, his feet bare and eyes wide as he pointed to a small shadow moving closer to us.
“Why is he alone?” he asked, looking at me through the darkness.
“He… hasn’t figured out how to make friends yet,” I answered, watching the yearling bull make his way over to the fence. “I come out here to check on him at night.”
“Because he’s alone?”
“Yep.”
“Where’s his mama?”
“She’s around,” I replied, squinting into the cloudless night.
“What about his dad?”
I pressed my lips together, unsure of how to answer his question in a way an eight-year-old could understand. The bull, which George had named Otis, was one of our artificial insemination bulls from last year.
“His dad,” I began, “is from another state. He lives pretty far away.”
“Hmm…” Day breathed and reached out his hand for the bull to sniff. “I don’t know my dad either. He left when I was a baby.”
I bit my lip and ran my hand over my face, peeking through my fingers to monitor the situation between Day and Otis. Otis walked right up to the kid and was now leaning his huge head against the railing so Day could scratch him behind the ears.
Moira was already going to have my head for keeping Day up past his bedtime. The last thing I wanted was for Day to tell her we talked about his dad.
“Some people…and bulls, don’t have dads, and that’s okay.”
“Mama is scared of him.”
I exhaled through my teeth, thankful for the darkness that was hiding the heated expression that was playing out over my face. I really shouldn’t be talking to this kid about it, but he brought it up, so…
“Why?”
“He was mean to her. Like when I got pushed down at the park and needed to get stitches,” he said, the words dripping with childlike innocence.
But his meaning was clear, even if he didn’t realize it. Moira had been hurt by this guy, badly. Hurt bad enough that she had panic attacks and nightmares about him finding the two of them.
At that moment, I didn’t give a fuck that I was her boss.
No one got to touch Moira like that and get away with it.
Otis sauntered off again before I could say anything further, which was probably a good thing. Day’s hand was still outstretched as he sighed, his fingers curling into a fist.
I didn’t know how to talk to kids. I especially didn’t know how to talk to eight-year-old kids raised by a single mom with some serious, infuriating baggage like Moira’s.
“You miss your mom?”
“Yeah, I do,” he said in a whisper as he lowered himself from the railing. “She’s not that bad, you know. I think she likes you.”
“Likes me?”
“She thinks your hat is stupid, but she likes you.”
I reached up to touch my hat, furrowing my brow.
“What’s wrong with my hat?” I laughed as I led the boy back towards the house. Jenny, who’d followed us out and had been busy sniffing around in the grass, fell in step with Day as we neared the light spilling over the yard through the kitchen window.
