by Natalie Dean
12
Bart
Usually, when Bart’s eyes flicked open, it wasn’t a great event. Although night terrors often plagued him, when he was able to just sleep, the break from consciousness was more than welcome.
Little snippets of death, they freed him from everything that weighed him down and depressed him so much in real life. During his dreamless sleep, he was no one. Not a soldier. Not a Miller son. Not even a human. That nothingness was a relief.
And yet, as the sun washed over his face from the window, he found himself fully rested and ready to work.
…that was strange.
He sat up, expecting the feeling to fly away with the bliss of his unconsciousness, but it persisted, urging him to his feet and into clothes for the day.
Huh, was this what it used to be like? Before everything changed and there was no solid ground anymore? He didn’t know, but he wasn’t complaining.
He headed down the stairs, intending to catch the family at breakfast for once. It wasn’t much of a crowd considering Ben wasn’t due in quite yet, and Benji wouldn’t be back until the later afternoon, but it was still nice to see Ma and Pa and a couple of cousins.
“Oh, Bartie,” she said, looking at him with warm eyes. “You’re up early.”
He was always up early. But he didn’t tell her that. Usually, he laid in bed, utterly exhausted from the things that haunted his sleep until he eventually caught of few hours of dreamless z’s. Just enough to be functional, never the full cup o’ rest that he was feeling now.
“What’s for breakfast?” he asked, quickly changing the topic from himself. He felt like he had to talk about himself too often, and after his bizarre night with the even more bizarre woman, it’d be nice not to have to think about himself for a while.
“Pancakes, sausage, over easy eggs, and toast. Eat up!”
He did, sitting down at the table with his family just in time for Ma to load up his plate with way too much food. And yet he worked through it, listening to everyone talk, letting himself enjoy the moment. When was the last time he had done something like this? It felt like ages.
Eventually, the meal ended, and his stomach settled from the unhealthy amount of carbs he had ingested.
“I think I’m gonna go help Bradley,” he said, standing up and taking his plate to the kitchen. Normally Ben was the leader on the ranch, with Benji being second in command behind him. But since both were out, it meant Bradley, the second-youngest was in charge.
Maybe one would think it’d go to Bart, the second oldest, but he was in no shape to be running their entire daily enterprise. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t aid his brother for the day. If he was feeling like a normal human, he might as well do something productive.
“Oh, are you sure dear?”
There it was, that tenuous sound of pity and worry creeping in on the edge of her tone. He hated that tone. Almost as much as he hated the anxiety that curled in his middle when anything happened that took him by surprise.
“Yeah. I’m feeling good today.”
“All right then. I’m sure Bradley will be happy to have you around. Goodness knows he prefers the behind-the-scenes more than the hands-on parts.”
“Yeah, it’d be a shame to waste his math genius on a bunch of manual work.”
Her smile was small. “You know, that’s exactly what he says.”
Bart managed a small laugh at that. “Yeah, it sounds like something he’d go on about.”
While Bradley was very hard-working, the second-youngest of the Miller’s sons had a near uncanny knack for mathematics. He could figure things out in his head in a snap and had a talent for anything involving budgeting or an organization chart. Maybe people would think that wasn’t an important skill on a ranch, but it was invaluable to their family. In the years since he’d been helping Pa, and then eventually taking over, he’d trimmed a whole lot of fat and helped the entire family make better investments.
“I’ll see you later,” Bart said with a nod before heading out.
The sunlight felt good on his face, the morning breeze deceptive considering how warm it was going to get by the time mid-afternoon hit. He usually wasn’t up and at ’em until eleven a.m. or later, so it was refreshing to be out so early.
Bart walked across to where he knew Bradley would be starting his morning. All of the workers generally knew what they had to do day-to-day, whether it was feeding the animals, or letting them out, or tending to the machinery. But, as with any operation involving multiple people and livestock, every morning involved a thorough walkthrough to check if anything surprising popped up. Any last-minute breaks or damages that needed to be tended to.
And that was where Bradley would be. He’d start on the edge of the ranch and work his way inward, checking in with the team managers of each group.
Bart was so focused on getting to his brother before he hit the more complicated groups, that he didn’t notice exactly where his path was taking him. It was only when he heard some grunts and several begging meows that he realized he was passing the barn.
His eyes flicked to the open doors despite his best efforts to stop himself, and sure enough, he saw Missy there, taking a long drink from her canteen as she leaned against her pitchfork.
Crap.
Even from where he was standing, he could see the flush to her face and the increased rise and fall of her chest with her strained breathing, but his eyes quickly went to the dark blue and white bandana around her throat.
Guilt rose up in him again, making bile rise in the back of his throat. Before he could skulk off, she caught his gaze and gave him a bit of a shy wave.
She wasn’t angry? Last night he figured that she might have been in a bit of shock and that’s why her response had been so strange. But it was the next day, and she was still acting as if nothing was amiss.
Dear Lord on High, he had almost killed her. She should be way more upset.
“Oh hey, Bart.”
Bart nearly jumped out of his reverie and turned to see Bradley looking at him curiously. “What are you doing here?”
They were nowhere near the edge of the ranch, and there was equally little chance that he had gotten that far in his walk around. So why was he there?
“Oh, I decided to shake things up a bit. Start from the center and work my way out. What’re you doing here. You usually don’t leave the house until around noon.”
Bart shrugged. “Just had a good night’s sleep.”
“Fair enough. You know her?”
He could feel his back tense and fought hard to keep it from his face. “Know who?”
“That pretty blond who was waving at you.”
He hated lying to family more than he already had to, but he didn’t see a way out. He didn’t want her to get in trouble for being on their property when technically she shouldn’t have been, and he didn’t want his family to know that he was the one that had bruised her neck. They already walked a little bit on eggshells around him, and he didn’t need any more of that.
“She’s one of our workers, but I figure it would be rude not to wave back to a lady.”
“Uh-huh.”
To his credit, although Bradley was a whiz with numbers, he didn’t always seem the best at reading people. Even his own brothers. Still, Bart was grateful when he appeared to have bought it.
“But why is she waving at you.”
Or maybe he didn’t buy it.
Bart shrugged, remembering the time they shared last night. “We’re the boss’ sons. She probably just wants to be polite.”
“Fair enough. Anyway, I should get back to my walkaround.”
“Yeah,” Bart said halfheartedly before remembering the whole reason why he was even outside. “Do you want some company? Figured I could come with ya, help with some things.”
“Really? Yeah, that’d be great. You know, I’ve done this before, but I still can’t help but always feel like I’m going to ruin something.”
Hah,
was Bart certainly familiar with that feeling. “Don’t worry, you won’t ruin anything. That’s my job.”
Bradley laughed, and for a moment Bart felt like it was old times again, back when he always had a quip on the tip of his tongue and could make any of his brothers dissolve into a barrel of mirth.
He wasn’t that guy anymore, but maybe—every once in a while—he could pretend to be.
“Come on, Lola, hold still, would ya?”
Bart struggled to hold the calf’s head still without hurting her. But Lola was at that stage between bandy-legged youngling and being a real tank, so she had quite a bit of power to her.
“She’s fiery, isn’t she,” one of the workers said.
Rob, was it? Bob? Steve? Bart didn’t know. It was hard enough that he and his brothers all had names starting with the letter B. Keeping track of all their cousins, step-cousins, and third cousin’s fiancé was nearly an impossible task.
“Yeah,” Bart grunted before he was finally able to slip the nose-tag into place on the young cow’s nostril. It wasn’t a painful thing, but it certainly wasn’t going to be comfortable for a while. “But it’ll be better for everyone if she’s tagged. You guys got yours?”
“Almost,” another grunted.
Chris maybe? Yeah, he looked like a Chris.
“We still have four more to do. You wanna grab another?”
“Sure.”
Bart headed over to the table where they had several more tags ready and waiting.
While incredibly annoying to put on, the little bits of thick plastic were vital to the health and happiness of their cows.
Seeing as they didn’t separate calves from mothers, sometimes there was an issue where the young calves would aggressively chew at and hurt their mother’s udders and each other’s ears. It wasn’t purposeful, but it was well-known that young cows sometimes never got over the mouthiness of their nursing stage and would try to suck milk out of anything they could get into their mouths, even when their teeth were grown in. Unfortunately, if not stopped, this habit could result in momma cows losing their udders or other calves losing their ears.
Strangely enough, all it took was a bit of a nose tag, a small bit of plastic that hung down from their nostrils, to stop that entire habit. It was a cruelty-free way of stopping a terrible phenomenon, and he knew that several of the young girls on the farm loved to come and decorate the tags with non-toxic paints to distinguish the calves from each other.
He probably would have been a lot more nervous being so close to the barn, but he could only see the side of the building from the field they were in, so he didn’t really have to worry about running into Missy.
But he also kind of wanted to run into Missy.
It was the dumbest conundrum going on in his head. Part of him wanted to stay away from the woman and her eyes that saw right through him and bore the marks of his weakness. But another part of him wanted to look at her again, taking in every feature and detail until she was burned into even the deepest corners of his mind.
He was being stupid. He really was.
And it wasn’t like he had agreed to help with the nose-tagging process because it gave him the chance to be close enough to her to maybe see her—but far enough so he wouldn’t have to interact with her. No, that certainly hadn’t been his intention at all.
It was just that during his walk around with Bradley, this handful of workers seemed to need the most help and Bradley had never tagged a calf in his life. Yeah, that was it exactly. Calves were bouncy little tornadoes of grass-eating destruction, and the five workers could certainly use another pair of hands.
“Hey, it’s almost time for lunch, right?” a worker asked, brushing off his hands.
“Actually, I think we’re right on the money,” the one Bart decided was Steve said, wiping his forehead. “You joining us?”
It took Bart a moment to realize that the man was talking to him, but he couldn’t gather his attention enough to answer him. The muckrakers were all filing out of the barn toward the worker house, and his eyes were trying to pick Missy’s form out of the mass.
She came out last, several barn cats winding around her feet while she bent down to pet each of them. He could practically hear her cooing at them from where he was and had the faint urge to find out what her nails would feel like gently scratching against his own scalp.
Steve interrupted his thoughts. “Hey, Miller’s son, what are you—Ahh. I got ya. Eyeing the new girl, huh?”
Something in his tone pulled Bart from his wandering thoughts, a shiver of cold sliding down the back of his neck. Turning, he looked to the man, raising his eyebrow with an unspoken question.
But then he remembered words were a vital part of communication and cleared his throat. “What do you—” he started to say, but before he could get the rest of the words out, Steve came up alongside them.
“Do you see that kerchief around her neck?” he questioned, his tone also taking a turn that Bart knew he definitely did not like. “One of the barn workers told me when we were both getting water that she's got a real rough ring around her neck. Like a pair of man’s hands. Her eyes are all bloodshot too. Looks like someone had a real go at her.”
Bart went completely cold. They knew. Everyone knew. Word would get around, and then she would confess. And he would have to admit that she was telling the truth, even if it meant that he was going to lose everything that he’d worked so hard to build. The part of him that had been longing to be locked away, for a simpler life, for an existence away from the worry and anxiety…was pleased about the thought. But the part of him that wanted to be better, to get well, to be who he was before everything ruined him, didn’t like the thought at all.
He took a breath, ready to tell the young men that they were assuming the worst about a situation, but then the conversation went in a completely different direction.
“Oh,” another worker mused, coming over to join the growing lineup of young, twenty-something men and Bart. “She's one of those kinds of girls. Guess I shouldn't be surprised, given what I heard about her and that coke-bottle body of hers.”
“Yeah,” another commented. “She looks like the type to chew a man up and spit him out. Wonder if that’s why she worked her way here. Already tore up most of the town and hungry for her next meal."
Bart could hear the leer in his voice. The cold in him snapped, and he felt himself quickly growing warmer and warmer with every word out of the young men’s mouths.
“I know I wouldn't mind getting to know what she’s all about,” one of the workers said.
The heat grew, burning higher, making it hard to breathe. But Bart held himself still, fighting against the fury his body was urging him to slip into. He could feel himself teetering on the precipice like he hadn’t since his first attack on his family all those months ago. He didn’t want to lose himself to the beast, but clamping down on that took all of his energy, leaving him unable to speak up in the mystery woman’s honor.
“Well you better have some rope on you, looks like she’s into that,” Chris said.
Steve shook his head. “Nah, the guy said those are totally hand marks. She’s probably one of those internet girls with Daddy issues who just wants some big, strong man to throttle her.”
“Hey, you wouldn't have to ask me twice.” Chris laughed.
Why was he laughing? None of this was funny. It was cruel, and it made Bart want to lash out. How dare they. They didn’t even know this woman! How she put herself at risk for others in a way that made no sense.
Chris spoke up again. “Marking up a woman like that, well every man ought to at least once in his life.”
Another joined in. “And with her type, you don’t even stick around in the morning. Not unless you want seconds, of course. Women like that are so eager to please—”
“Stop,” Bart hissed, his own words surprising even him. He stood to the side, his temper quickly ramping up to a point where he wouldn’t be able to control it. Su
re, he had noticed Missy’s generous curves and her angelic face completed with sinful lips. And maybe he’d had some attraction spring up in him that he hadn’t felt since before he left for boot camp. But never would he talk about her the way these young men were. Like she was a piece of meat. Some well-worn couch that they were all daydreaming about taking into their homes then discarding when they were done.
He didn't like the way they were talking about Missy, and he didn't like the assumptions they were making. This wasn't the type of talk that most workers were supposed to say on the farm. Why were these men being so crass? They reminded him far too much of his army buddies but not in a good way. When the desperation and loneliness got so intense that men said things they normally wouldn’t in polite company.
“Aw, come off it boss,” Chris said with a laugh. “We’re just having fun. Besides, practically everyone under thirty knows who that girl is. She’s got a bit of a reputation.”
“That woman is a lady, and you will refer to her as such,” Bart growled, the world going white-hot at the edges.
But Chris just snorted. “Yeah right. She’s the daughter of the town drunk, and she’s practically been running around on her own since tenth grade. Body like that, naturally she’s had plenty of time to get into things.” He smirked like he thought he was the funniest man on the Earth and Bart felt his fingers curl into fists.
Bart was storming forward, arm lifting from his side before the worker even finished his sentence. But before he could land the blow that would shut the man’s disgusting mouth, a sharp call broke through the stormy haze within him.
“Bart!”
Bradley’s shout was enough to bring him back to reality, and the second oldest of the Miller boys slowed to a stop, blinking. The workers seemed to understand that something had shifted and scuttled off, much quieter than they had been just minutes before.
Oh.
This wasn’t good.