A Highlander in a Pickup

by Laura Trentham

  Chapter Seven

  Anna parked behind Dr. Jameson at the Piersons’ farm. Her church clothes—knee-length skirt, white eyelet blouse, and sandals—were fine for handling most festival business, but Holt’s farm had landmines in the form of cow patties scattered about.

  She was here for two reasons. One was to pick up a sponsor check from Holt’s daddy to purchase ribbons for the farm animal judging. The second was because according to Dr. Jameson, Iain was at the farm. She told herself she needed to keep tabs on his activities as they related to the festival, but in reality, she just wanted an excuse to see him. Which she would refuse to admit to anyone, even if tortured.

  She and Dr. Jameson made small talk on the stroll to a big red barn that could have starred in a children’s book. Farther down the lane sat a modern brick building which housed the milking machines, or so Dr. Jameson informed her. A trio of gray storage tanks stood like turrets on one side.

  Various outbuildings dotted the surrounding fields. On top of the hill overlooking the operation stood a craftsman-style farmhouse where Anna assumed Holt still lived with his parents. Not that she was one to throw stones, considering she’d still be at home if her mom hadn’t sold the house from under her.

  Anna took a deep breath. Cut grass mingled with the earthy scents of animals under the hot sun. Not a single cloud marred the sapphire blue of the sky. The lowing of cows in the fields serenaded them. It was oddly peaceful and loosened the anxious knot in her stomach.

  They stepped into the shadowy barn, and Anna pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and blinked to get her bearings. She hadn’t had cause to visit the Piersons since high school. She remembered a party Holt had thrown in the barn one Saturday night when his parents had been gone. She’d picked hay out of her hair all the next day.

  Holt and Iain stood at the door to a stall. Iain was in jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. He turned his head to watch her approach, his expression not reflecting welcome or resentment. She had no idea how he felt about her showing up in his domain. Or for that matter, how he felt about her at all.

  Holt shifted to lean back against the stall door, tipping the brim of his ball cap up, propping his elbows behind him, and hooking the heel of his mud-caked boot on the lower metal rail. His blondish hair was sweaty and curled around the bottom edge of the cap. He was nice, hardworking, and good looking in an all-American way that had never interested Anna.

  “Well, looky here. I wasn’t expecting Jane Goodall to make an appearance.” He winked. The tease in Holt’s voice was good natured and spoke of their decades’ long connection.

  Anna stuck out her tongue at Holt. “For your information, I’ve formed an attachment to the sheep and cow out at Stonehaven, Ozzie and Harriet. See, we’re even on a first-name basis.”

  Holt slapped Iain’s shoulder with the back of his hand, then pointed to Anna. “I remember a girl who screamed and stampeded for the door when a piglet got loose in the gym during the 4-H demo in high school. Who was that again?”

  A flush heated her face, and she fought the urge to shut Holt up with a jab to his crotch. “That is a total exaggeration. It was barely a holler, and a swift jog doesn’t qualify as a stampede. Anyway, that pig was possessed and ran straight toward me. I swear, it wanted to rip my throat out.”

  Holt shot Iain an amused look. “It was the cutest piglet you’ve ever seen. A total Wilbur.”

  Anna had read Charlotte’s Web in the third grade and cried her eyes out, hating the way it had made her feel. Not sad as much as jealous. Anna suspected her mother wouldn’t have sacrificed half as much as Charlotte had for Wilbur.

  Normally, she could give as good as she got, but with Iain standing there beside Holt, she couldn’t come up with a single snappy comeback.

  “I don’t know. I’ve seen some wee piglets with scary teeth that might make me run in the other direction too,” Iain said. Even though she knew he was lying—he would never run from danger—she appreciated his effort at dousing her humiliation.

  Dr. Jameson cleared his throat. “You want to get one of your boys in here to help me, Holt?”

  An open black case with syringes lined up like a science experiment gone bad lay on a hay bale. Anna stood on her tiptoes and peeked into the small pen. A cow and two babies milled about.

  “You’ve got me for help today. I’m short a couple of men.” Holt worked on the latch to the gate and tossed a smile over his shoulder. “I’m having to get my hands dirtier than usual.”

  “Are those immunizations?” Anna stared at the long needles and shuddered.

  “Yep, plus the doc needs to check out our mama—it was a difficult birthing—and one of the calves needs to be hand-fed a bottle.”

  “Why?” Anna asked. One of the calves was bleating.

  “The mama refuses to let the smallest calf feed,” Holt said.

  “So it will get a baby bottle?”

  “Yep. A big-ass baby bottle.” Holt stepped into the pen.

  Iain followed. “I can cull the rejected babe out.”

  The cow shied away from the men, and the two calves followed. One latched onto a teat and nursed, but when the smaller of the two calves approached, the mother nipped at the calf to drive her away.

  A well of empathy floated a lump into her throat. “Why won’t the mother let both nurse? Is there not enough milk?”

  “Twins aren’t terribly common for a reason. They’re hard on a mother. Nature bends toward survival, and it’s easier for the mother to survive with one calf versus two.” Dr. Jameson stood next to her.

  “She’ll let her calf starve and die?” Anna asked.

  “In order for the calf she perceives as being stronger to live.” Dr. Jameson’s matter-of fact voice transmitted an acceptance, even an admiration, of nature’s methods.

  Anna, on the other hand, felt sick to her stomach.

  “The bleating is starting to grate on my nerves,” Holt said. “Let’s get it set up in a different stall.”

  Iain put a loose halter on the calf and pulled it out of the stall. Its cries grew more strident and desperate the farther away it got from its mother. Dr. Jameson gave the calf its injections, and Iain scooped the calf up under the belly with both arms. It squirmed as if aware it was to become an outcast. Anna followed Iain into a smaller stall with a pile of hay in one corner.

  Iain set the calf down, its hooves scrambling on the dirt floor. He spoke in a low soothing voice, the nonsense words calming the calf. Anna stepped closer, realizing he wasn’t speaking nonsense, but in Gaelic. He’d done the same with Ozzie.

  “Stay with it while I get a bottle, lass.” Iain motioned her over, and she found herself following his orders without balking. He held out the halter and she took it, even though her last experience minding animals had turned into a pansy massacre.

  Iain returned in less than a minute with a comically large bottle of milk. “Would you like to do the honors?”

  The calf batted its big brown cow eyes at her. Its lashes were feathery and long. “I can try. You won’t leave me, will you?”

  Iain crouched next to her and rubbed the calf behind the ears. Meeting Anna’s gaze, he said, “Of course not.”

  She dangled the bottle over the calf’s mouth. After three failed attempts, the calf latched onto the nipple and sucked as if it were starving, which she guessed it was. Anna’s back started to ache, and she eased to her knees on the dirt-and-hay-covered floor.

  “I came from church, or I would have dressed more appropriately. Not that I imagined I would be feeding a baby cow today.” She let out a little laugh.

  Regular attendance at church had been a simple step to take when she decided to run for mayor of Highland. Old rumors lived on like they were on life support, whereas good deeds died like mayflies. Surprisingly, though, she’d come to enjoy Preacher Hopkins’s sermons. They were less fire and brimstone and more peace and wisdom, which were two things she scrambled for on a regular basis.

  The calf swung around a
nd leaned her rump against Anna, the warm, furry body comforting in way she’d never experienced. As the calf gulped milk, Anna petted its flank, at first tentatively, then with more confidence.

  The bottle emptied, and Anna set it aside. The calf wobbled as if drunk and leaned farther into Anna. She sat on the ground and tucked her legs to the side. The calf flopped down, laid its head in Anna’s lap, and rolled its eyes to look up at her as if she were its savior and not some random woman with a bottle. Anna smiled down at it.

  “Is it a boy or a girl?” Anna asked.

  “Female. She’s a bonny little thing, isn’t she?” Iain asked, basically reading Anna’s thoughts.

  “I can’t believe her mama abandoned her,” Anna said softly. “Animals can be cruel.”

  “Humans can be just as bad.”

  Anna looked up at him, but he was focused on the calf, stroking her foreleg, his fingers gazing Anna’s shin. Had his touch been an accident or on purpose? A zing raced up her body, but it was more than physical. “You’re thinking about your own mother, aren’t you?”

  His eyes met hers in a brief flare of acknowledgment of their odd connection. “Aye.”

  “Have you ever tried to find her?”

  He gave a slight shake of his head.

  “Weren’t you curious?”

  “Of course, I was, but Da shied away from my questions, and I could tell talking about her hurt him. When I was a child, I dreamed of her coming home, but I had no desire to go out into the world and find her. I couldn’t imagine ever leaving Cairndow, then.”

  Anna stroked the calf, her fur soft and springy. “My dad left when I was young too, but not so young I don’t remember him.”

  “Did you try to find him?”

  “Yes, I found him.” Her lips didn’t move with her whisper. She hadn’t told anyone, not even Izzy about her search.

  “Were you satisfied or disappointed?”

  That was a question she still couldn’t answer. “He was living in New York City in a dump of an apartment. He’d left us to become an actor. By the time I showed up, his dream was not merely dead but decomposed.”

  “Was he happy to see you?”

  “Maybe? But he wasn’t so happy when he figured out I had no money.”

  “Did you come home, then?”

  “I should have, but my dream was still alive and kicking. I was young and invincible.” She barked a sarcastic laugh. “I thought I was special.”

  “You are special.”

  Anna’s harrumph was as dry as the desert. “Not by Broadway standards. It took me a while, but I finally gave up.”

  “Did you pack regrets to bring home with you?”

  “Bitterness maybe, but no regrets.” Anna shrugged. “Mom was upset I left in the first place and infuriated I made contact with Dad. A decade later and she still hasn’t forgiven me. She thinks I rejected her and Highland.”

  “But she gave her studio to you, so she must have gotten over it.”

  “Gave? No. She made me pay for it.” Anna paid good money for the studio, but she also paid with a thousand tiny cuts over her childhood.

  Iain’s hand bumped hers, but when she tried to pull away, he covered her hand with his and squeezed. Caught between the solid warmth of his hand and the soft fur of the calf, Anna could feel the physical lessening of the tension across her shoulders. Maybe she should get a furry animal for stress relief. Or a big strong Highlander. She had a feeling which would be more trouble.

  The door to the stall rattled open, and Anna snatched her hand from between Iain and the calf as if caught in the cookie jar. Holt shuffled inside, wiping his hands on a work towel. “How’d the little tyke take to the bottle?”

  “Gobbled up the milk. What happens now?” Anna was loath to disturb the sleepy calf even though her legs were joining it in sleep.

  “I’ll have one of the boys hand-feed her until she weans. A pain in the ass, to be honest, but at least they were both female.”

  “What happens when they aren’t?”

  “If it’s a set of male-female twins, the female is sterile, which means no milk. And we’re in the business of milk, so…” Holt made a leading gesture.

  Anna instinctively clutched the calf closer, her voice dropping to a whisper as if the calf might understand. “You’d kill her?”

  Holt pretended to clutch his pearls. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I miss your crusade into vegetarianism?”

  Anna gave him a scathing look, which left Holt unfazed. She couldn’t even offer an argument. She loved a good burger.

  Holt smiled and sent a wink in her direction. “Don’t worry, your calf is in safe hands with me. Come on, Jane Goodall, let’s check out the animals Mom has offered for the festival.”

  She didn’t particularly want to leave the little calf, but she’d never hear the end of it from Holt if she balked. Easing from underneath the calf’s head, she took the hand Iain offered, and he hauled her to her feet. She shook her half-asleep, tingly legs out, keeping ahold of his hand until feeling returned and she was sure she wouldn’t face-plant.

  “Maybe I could drop by and feed her again?” Anna kept her voice as casual as possible, falling back into an old habit to mask how deep her feelings could cut, but even as she asked, she knew she had no time to spare for the calf.

  “Whatever,” Holt said indifferently.

  Stealing a last glance at the calf, Anna brushed the dirt and hay from her skirt as Holt led them out into the beating sun toward a smaller enclosure with a roof but no walls. Iain and Holt entered into a conversation about feed and other challenges dealing with animals.

  Anna wandered over to the chicken coop that took up one corner and watched a gloriously plumed white chicken peck the ground. Giving a sow and her piglets a wide berth, Anna instead went to where three small goats cavorted. They bumped heads and one fell over like they were performing a Three Stooges comedy routine.

  Even as Iain participated in the discussion, Anna sensed his regard like the blip of a radar signal verifying her position, and stole a glance over her shoulder to catch him in the act. When their gazes met, he gave her a nearly imperceptible nod.

  “What do you think of Mom’s goats?” Holt called out.

  “They’re funny,” Anna said. “I like them.”

  “Mom’s got a wild hair to start goat yoga. Don’t tell her I said so, but they are pretty cute, and that’s not a word I use often.” Holt shook his head even as he smiled. Raising cattle was a business, and Holt had never been one to ooh and aah over animals. “She’d be willing to lend them as part of the demo.”

  “I sure the kiddies would enjoy watching them,” Iain said. “I’ll have the holding pens ready by the end of the next week.”

  “Sounds good. I’d be happy to load them up and drop them off when you give me the green light.” Holt checked his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve chores to tackle.”

  Iain and Holt exchanged a brisk handshake, and with a feeling like she’d been demoted, she inserted her hand between them. Holt hesitated, but shook her hand with a bemused smile. Understandable, considering Holt had been prone to snap her bra strap in sixth grade. Of course, she’d grabbed the back of his underwear and yanked more than a time or two.

  He pointed at Anna. “By the way, Dad’s got your check up at the house if you want to stop by before you head out. He also got the UGA extension agent to agree to judge the youth husbandry competition.”

  “That’s great news all around. Thanks, Holt.”

  Holt waved two fingers over his head as he struck out toward the milking barn.

  Anna was loath to break the camaraderie she and Iain had established. The goats continued to romp and play. “Are you going to be able to construct enough pens for the animals? And what about all the kids who are bringing their bunnies and chickens and—Lord help me—piglets for the husbandry competition? The barn simply isn’t big enough, and we can’t put them under the sun.”

  “This blasted heat. Isabel tried
to warn me.” Iain rubbed his nape, exposing a tan line where his T-shirt lay.

  Anna lifted the edge of his shirtsleeve to see a similar demarcation. “You’re going to be a genuine redneck by the time the festival rolls around.”

  “Is having a red neck good or bad?”

  Generally, the term was bestowed derisively with connotations of ignorance, but many wore it with pride along with a strong work ethic. The latter seemed to apply to Iain. “In your case, it would be a good thing.”

  A smile took over his face, banishing shadows that crept closer when he thought no one was looking. “Was that a compliment?”

  “Maybe, but don’t get a big head to go with your red neck. Now, what about the pens?”

  “The only viable option is to outfit the barn for the large animals, and to construct shaded pens for bunnies and the like in the pines. The festivalgoers will funnel through the middle of the barn leading to the pens on either side until they exit to the field.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue, and as if it were a universal language, all three goats trotted toward his outstretched hand for a scratch.

  “That plan will bring people close to the main house, which is off-limits.”

  “Stonehaven proper will remain off-limits, although we may have to post extra security in the area to keep the rabble from looking for air-con or a washroom.”

  “You’re sure you can get the work done in time?” It seemed daunting. The look he shot her was so disdainful of her doubt, she couldn’t help a chuckle. “Sorry I asked. I guess you have plenty of time since you don’t veg out in front of a TV.”

  “We didn’t have a telly growing up.” Iain’s shrug didn’t give the impression he felt at all deprived while Anna couldn’t imagine life without Friends reruns.

  “Not even up at the castle?”

  “Gareth had one in his study, but it was rarely on. Da keeps the radio on after supper in the cottage.”

  “What kind of music does he like?” She gathered each new factoid like crumbs to a starving woman.