Swallowing, Orla nodded. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but she instinctively knew that was probably as close as she was likely to get with Jethro today. Clearing her throat, she made herself step away from the wall and toward the cow again. “So, this is Tulip?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Jethro agreed, dropping the three-legged stool at the cow’s side. “She’s getting a little antsy so we should probably get this done,” he said, placing the bucket underneath the animal and crouching to sit on the stool. “You just watch this time for a bit, then I’ll give you a turn with her. Then, I’ll let you do Buttercup by yourself and be there in case there’s a problem. Though, there shouldn’t be. Buttercup is right docile compared to Tulip,” he said as the big cow shifted on her feet again when he reached underneath her.
“Wait….” Orla called, touching Jethro’s shoulder. “Aren’t you gonna speak to her at all before you grab her… her….”
“Udders. I’m grabbin’ onto her udders, Orla,” Jethro informed her, clearly striving for patience. “They’re sorta like her teats. It’s where her milk will come out. And as for talking to her – what do you expect me to say to her? You think I should whisper sweet nothings into her ear to get her in the mood? She’s a farm animal. Milk is her job.”
Orla’s hands clenched at her side at his snide tone. “Well, the least you could do is introduce her and me! I can hardly just grope this poor animal’s private parts if we don’t even know each other.”
Jethro shook his head and closed his eyes, his lips moving silently even as his hands began to move underneath the cow, long sprays of milk falling into the metal bucket with a metallic ping.
Watching him, Orla strived to hold her own temper. “You’re praying for strength, aren’t you?”
“Close. Patience. How’d you know?” Jethro asked, cracking one eye open to look at her as he continued milking the cow.
“Lucky guess,” she snapped sharply, frowning when the cow swung her head toward her and mooed. “I know I have a lot to learn, but this is like stepping through the looking glass into Wonderland. And if you ever read the book, Alice needed time to get her land legs under her, too.”
“Orla, darlin’, I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”
“It’s a storybook,” she replied snippily. You do read, don’t you? I mean, farming can’t be all you do.”
“Honey, I’ve not read a book besides the Bible since I graduated high school, but I promise you can tell me all about it. Later. For now, come over here, sit on my knee and get better acquainted with Tulip.”
Still peeved, Orla moved warily to his side. “She won’t bite me, will she?”
“Not as long as you don’t cram your fingers in her mouth,” Jethro returned reasonably, pausing in his milking to let Orla perch on his right leg. “Biggest thing to remember about Tulip and Buttercup is that a gentle touch and a soft tone is best. You come in here mad and crowing ‘bout anything and you’re likely to sour their milk,” he said as he winked.
“You mean like you were this morning?” she questioned prissily.
Jethro chuckled. “You got me there.” Shifting her slightly with one hand until her legs hung between his, Jethro directed, “Okay, what you need to do here is reach under there and gently grab her teats, Orla. Go ahead,” he said, nodding toward the underbelly of the cow. “Just get in there and grasp her udders real gentle-like and give ‘em a little tug.”
“It won’t hurt her, right?” she asked a tad worriedly. The last thing she wanted to do was mistreat this poor animal. The cow had enough indignities to bear without Orla hurting her as well.
“Doesn’t bother her a bit. In fact, it’s a relief. Her udders are filled with milk. Swollen. Sensitive. You’re doin’ her a public service by helping relieve her of that burden, Orla,” Jethro expressed wryly.
“Fine, then,” Orla huffed. Leaning forward, Orla did as he bade, wrapping her hands around the surprisingly soft teats and gently pulling. She barely bit back a surprised cry when she heard the first spray of milk hit the bucket beneath the cow. “Oh, sweet heavens! I’m doin’ it, Jethro! I’m milking a cow!” she proclaimed, pleased as punch with her newfound milking abilities.
Jethro chuckled against her ear, nipping her earlobe playfully. “I can see that, Tidbit. You’re doing real good now. Keep going, but squeeze her teats a little harder this time. The milk will flow easier and faster that way. It’ll make it better for both of you.”
Eagerly leaning forward to get a better grip on Tulip’s teats, Orla couldn’t miss the audible plop and sudden stomach-turning smell emanating from the back of the cow. Dropping her hands and jerking backward, Orla’s bumped Jethro’s hard chest. “Oh, holy heartbreak! Did that cow just do her personal business while I was down there?”
“Birds gotta fly, and cow’s gotta shit, Orla. On a farm, it’s as natural as breathing for these animals,” Jethro returned with an unconcerned shrug.
Staring at the cow in horror, Orla shuddered. “Well, that was just plain rude!” she declared, feeling mildly traumatized… possibly more from the smell than the actual act itself.
“I’ll register your complaint with the head heifer in charge. Until then, your delicate sensibilities will just have to take a backseat to the job at hand. Now, do you think you got this?” he asked, his warm breath washing against her temple.
Orla clenched her jaw and nodded. It wouldn’t ever be her favorite chore, that was for sure, but she could do it. And she could do it on her own. Especially since she could hear the wind howling and feel the temperature plummeting. She didn’t need to look outside to know the weather was taking a turn for the worse. And she didn’t want her future husband out driving in these conditions any longer than necessary. “I’ve got it, Jethro. You should go.”
“Go?” he grunted, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Yes. Go. I can do this. I’ll carry the milk back up to the house when I’m done. You and the hands need to go ahead and get your trip to market done. I don’t want you out in this any longer than necessary. I’ll be fine here. We’re finished with Tulip, right? And that only leaves Buttercup,” she added quickly before he could deny her. “I’ll just pop into her stall and milk her and be back to the big house in two shakes. You go on and meet your hands down at the tobacco barn. The sooner y’all get gone, the sooner you’ll be back. I’ll just look through one of Miss Lydia’s cookbooks and see if I can find something to fix for dinner tonight that won’t cause you to chip another tooth,” she offered with a genuine smile, hoping that she sounded as convincing as possible. How she was going to get all of that done, she wasn’t quite sure, but she was going to give it her best effort!
“You’re sure you’ll be alright in here alone?” Jethro asked, moving the bucket of milk from under Tulip.
“You said Buttercup was tame, didn’t you?” she asked easily.
Jethro nodded. “She is.”
“Then go,” Orla said, rising from his knee so that she could stand beside him. “You’ve shown me the basics. I can do this, Farmer Man. I promise.”
Dusting off his jeans, Jethro rose to stand, too. “Well, if you’re sure, that’d be a big help. I’ll get the eggs in from the henhouse when I come back. You don’t need to bother with that. I’ll teach you how to do it when the snow clears. Just finish up here and go back to the house. You think you can get the bucket up there in this weather? If not, just leave it outside the door and I’ll grab it when I get back.”
“Oh, no, I’ll carry it!” Orla replied with a bright smile.
“If you change your mind, don’t worry ‘bout it and just leave it.” Brushing the back of his fingers against her face, Jethro had the good graces to look a bit ashamed of himself. “You’re bein’ awfully understanding when I spent the last half hour acting like a…”
“Horse’s hind end?” Orla supplied helpfully.
“Yeah. That,” Jethro admitted ruefully.
“Well, just because you’re a horse’s butt do
esn’t mean I need to be. I understand you’re under pressure and with me showing up the way I did, it didn’t help. So, I’m tryin’ my best to act the way I imagine a good farmer’s wife would.”
Jethro grinned. “Appreciate that, Orla. Appreciate it a lot, darlin’. I’ll make this trip as quick as I can. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. Maybe then we could take some time together and build that snowman you want.”
Orla’s whole face brightened. “Really?” she squealed. “Thank you!” she said gratefully, throwing her arms around his neck.
Hugging her tightly, Jethro pressed a kiss against her forehead before taking a step back. “Okay, the boys should have the truck loaded and covered by now. So, I’m gonna get gone. Finish up with Buttercup and get back to the house before this snow gets any worse, Orla. I mean it. Stay in the house until I get back.”
“I will. Travel safe, Jethro. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Orla returned, with Jethro’s only response being a quick nod before he hurried out of the barn.
Picking up the pail and stool from the stall floor once the barn door slammed shut behind Jethro, Orla sighed. “You can do this, Orla,” she murmured out loud to herself as she carried her supplies to the next stall. “You’ve survived the death of your parents, living in an orphanage, and traveling hundreds of miles from all you know to marry a stranger. One cow’s ill-timed crap will not be what sends you over the edge,” she declared, carefully pushing open Buttercup’s stall door and silently praying that this mooing monster was more well-mannered than the last.
Stepping into the stall, Orla was immediately met with the serene stare of an immense bovine. “Well, hello there,” she greeted the cow with a tight smile. “I’m Orla, and I’ll be your milker today,” she said, moving into the smelly interior of the paddock.
A single low moo was her only reply from the cow and she was choosing to believe that clarified the cow’s consent.
Several minutes later, Orla waved a little goodbye to Buttercup- who, incidentally, was as sweet as pie with her soulful chocolate colored eyes and limited conversation. She’d done it! She’d milked her very first cow all by herself. And while it had been a little nerve-wracking at times – especially when Buttercup had needed to relieve herself mid-milking – she’d gotten the job done.
Stepping outside the barn door, Orla gasped as the cuttingly cold wind whipped over her. Squinting as she took a few steps toward the house, she bit her lip as she looked toward the henhouse. Barely visible with the way the snow was falling, she could just make out the outline.
She knew Jethro had used the last of the eggs inside for breakfast, and if she was going to attempt anything for supper, she’d need to replenish the supply. What harm could a small detour to the chicken house do? She’d be in and out in record time. Honestly, how long could it take to grab a few eggs out of a hen’s nest? She dropped the milk pail outside the barn door, planning to pick it up after she paid a visit to the chickens and their lovely little baby chicklets.
Later, she’d claim that the cold air had impaired her judgment and the cold had numbed her brain cells. The real truth, however, was that fact that she’d given in to the desire to prove herself to Jethro… to show him that she was no weak shrinking violet that couldn’t handle the elements.
Sadly, her determination was almost her downfall.
Chapter Ten
Jethro
Two hours later, steering his truck off the ice slickened county road and back onto the gravel lane that led to the McKinnon Farm, Jethro felt some of the tension slide from his body. He’d almost made it home to Orla. It had been a rocky ride, but he and the farmhands had gotten the tobacco unloaded and sold in record time. And while his employees – in spite of the nasty weather - had opted to take their wages and go let off some steam at the local watering hole in town, he’d chosen to get in his truck and head home to his future wife. He hated the thought of her being alone in his big house in the middle of a snowstorm.
Grinding his teeth as the truck hit a slick spot and swerved slightly, Jethro kept his cool, righting the vehicle and continuing up the lane at a slower pace. Visibility was shit, and had been for miles. Honestly, at this point he was pretty much guessing where the road was and praying that he didn’t accidentally drive off the embankment. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would make getting his truck back to the road a pain in the ass.
Blowing out a long, relieved breath as he saw the outline of his home in the distance, he knew he was almost to the finish line. In just a few minutes, he’d be inside his home, warm again, holding Orla in his arms. And he was surprised how very much he liked the thought of that.
It was nuts, but in less than twenty four hours that tiny terror had managed to completely wrap herself around his heart. She had that perfect blend of fearless feistiness and unspoiled innocence. She might have been young in years, but one look in her shining eyes proved she was an old soul. She’d already proven she had grit by going toe to toe with him without blinking more than once. Add that to the facts that she melted when he got her in his arms and she had the rare ability to make him hard with only a look in his direction, and he was pretty sure they might be a match made in heaven.
Sure, there were challenges. She couldn’t cook for shit, and her penchant for wanting to treat the animals like people might drive him nuts, but it didn’t matter. He wanted her. She wasn’t perfect; nobody was. But she was perfect enough for him.
Which was saying a lot since he’d have sworn yesterday morning that the last thing on Earth he’d ever want was a ball and chain around his neck.
Finally reaching the spot where he normally parked his truck, he frowned when he noticed the house was dark. Cursing at the indication that they might have lost power, he gave thanks that at least he and Orla wouldn’t freeze. They had a wood burning stove and plenty of cut firewood.
And if the wood ran out before the blizzard ended, he definitely wouldn’t mind at all using his body to keep her nice and toasty, he thought with a smile as he killed the engine and pushed open the door to his vehicle.
Quickly making his way up the back steps as the snow continued to fall thick and fast around him, he stomped off his boots at the back door before shoving it open and stepping inside the enclosed porch where the laundry machine sat idle. Toeing off his sodden boots at the door, he took time to hang his damp coat on a peg before he quickly made his way inside the house, frowning when he found the kitchen dark and empty.
Looking around, he strained to hear any sound of her. Flipping on the overhead light, his face further darkening when he realized they had power after all. “Orla?” he shouted, his stomach sinking as he was greeted with complete silence. Seeing their breakfast dishes still in the sink where they’d left them, his jaw clenched. Where the hell was she, he wondered as he hurried through the downstairs, checking the rooms and calling her name.
“Shit,” he swore as he quickly took the stairs two at a time when he found the downstairs abandoned. Please God, let her just be upstairs taking a nap or something, he prayed as his feet quickly climbed the stairs. Checking her bedroom first, he found the bed neatly made, but no Orla. Swiftly visiting every bedroom and the bathroom and finding each room equally empty, his worry rapidly began to turn to panic.
Running back downstairs, Jethro retraced his steps, rushing back onto the enclosed porch to snatch his jacket back off the peg. He’d left her in the cow barn, so that’s where he’d start looking for her, he decided with a look toward where he knew the structure stood. He couldn’t see it now with the way the snow seemed to be blowing horizontally, but he knew approximately how far it was. Wrapping a scarf around his neck and grabbing a dry pair of gloves off a shelf, he shoved his feet into his boots and took off running as fast as the snow would allow.
It couldn’t have taken three or four minutes to make his way to the first barn, and the first thing he spied was the pail of now frozen milk by the door. Deciding to check inside for her anyway, he ripped open the
door, barreling inside and shouting for her. Only the gentle lowing of the cows answered him.
“Fuck!” he shouted, running desperate hands through his hair. “Where are you, Orla?” he asked out loud, squeezing his eyes closed and willing himself to think past the fear clouding his mind. Fear wouldn’t help Orla now. Wherever she was, she needed him to be calm and clearheaded. She needed him to find her. Fast!
Going back to the barn door, he opened it and stared around the property at the various structures. Squinting, he took a few steps forward out into the elements as he spotted a wicker basket laying on the ground mere feet from the henhouse.
“Shit, Orla!” he cursed furiously, taking off toward the chicken coop as fast as his legs would carry him. He’d bet all the money in his bank that the foolish woman had gone to collect the eggs and then gotten disoriented by the snowstorm when she came back out.
Reaching the red door to the chicken house, he reached for the handle to the door, twisting it viciously. Peering inside the structure, he was disappointed to find it empty, too, except for the squawking poultry. Slamming it shut, he looked around again as the frigid air bit into his face. “Orla!” he shouted, though he knew she wouldn’t be able to hear him over the wind even if she was still outside.
Freezing where he stood when he heard something in the distance, Jethro strained to hear. Scanning his surroundings, his eyes narrowed when, in the distance, he spotted one of the old doors on the old gray horse barn flapping in the wind smacking against the side of the barn. “Please, Jesus, let her have found shelter in there. Let her be safe,” Jethro begged his creator as he trudged through the snow toward the outlying barn.
Wed by Wednesday (Passion in Paradise #4.5) Page 12