Christmas with her Boss

by Marion Lennox

‘I have no idea how to do that.’

  ‘Simple,’ she snapped. ‘Cows have two forelegs. To calf they both need to be forward with the head between. So you pull a leg forward.’

  ‘How do I know what everything is?’

  She wasn’t listening to his panic. She was intent only on instructions. ‘It’s not brain surgery. A hoof’s easy to feel. Think about it. Think what you’re looking for and then find it. Gentle as you can-do no damage-but you have to move fast. Before the next contraction. Go.’

  So he lay full length on the grass and he did the unthinkable. To his astonishment, he could feel… What? He could feel the head. He could feel one small hoof on the left.

  He needed the matching one.

  Another contraction rippled through and he discovered why Meg had moaned. He almost moaned himself.

  ‘Don’t try and do anything during the contraction. Just hold it,’ she snapped from above him and he held with all the strength he had and he knew that if he hadn’t been holding the head would be emerging.

  With one hoof and not the other.

  So he held and finally, blessedly, the contraction eased.

  ‘Now push,’ Meg said urgently. ‘All the force you can. You need to get it back.’

  He didn’t need to be told. He pushed, gently at first and then, as his grip tightened, as he became more sure of what he was holding, he pushed with more force. Then he pushed with all his strength.

  The head moved…and then more…

  ‘Now.’ Meg would have seen by his arm that the head had shifted. ‘Before the next contraction. Find the leg.’

  He had to loosen his grip on the head, slide his fingers to the side… It was so tight…

  But there it was, a bony joint, surely the leg. He felt along it, conscious of the need for speed…

  He had it, hooked by two fingers, and he was tugging it forward.

  ‘Careful not to rip anything,’ Meg said urgently. ‘Take care.’

  Another contraction. He felt it coming, released the leg, held the head. Just held.

  Then, as the contraction eased, he moved again, only this time he knew what he was looking for.

  He had it. He pulled, hard, hoping he wasn’t doing more harm than good, but the limb was slithering round, shifting, and there seemed to be room…

  He had it!

  ‘It’s round,’ he muttered and Meg’s hand was on his shoulder, pressing him in a move of exultation. She was lying against him, full length on the dirt. ‘Aligned?’

  He knew what she meant and he could feel it. He had two neat hooves with the head between.

  ‘Yes. Here’s another…’

  ‘Let it come,’ she said. ‘It’ll come now.’

  And it did, the next contraction shoving everything forward. Two hooves were out, and Meg was fastening them before the head appeared, tying them carefully with some sort of soft rope.

  ‘What…’

  ‘Just in case we need to help her,’ she said. ‘She’s been straining for too long already and this calf is big. I’ll loop this above and below the fetlock so we can pull without doing damage.’

  ‘Where did you learn to do this?’ he demanded, dazed, and he felt her smile rather than saw it.

  ‘You mean why wasn’t it on my CV? I can’t think why I didn’t include it. Here we go.’

  Another contraction. Meg let it pass but the head didn’t emerge.

  ‘Okay, let’s give her a hand,’ she said. ‘Can you take the rope? Tug with the contraction, not too hard, not enough to hurt the calf, I’m happy with an inch or two at a time.’

  He nodded. Meg’s hands were lubricated again. She was feeling…

  ‘Now,’ she said and he tugged.

  A little further.

  ‘Man, this head’s big,’ Meg said. ‘With the size of this brain, you must be having the smartest baby on the planet, Millicent. He’ll take a lot of knitting for a baby bonnet.’

  Her voice was low and even and, with a sense of shock, William realised that, even though most of Meg’s attention was on the calf, there was solid affection and worry for the cow as well.

  She’d given her heart to a cow? How nuts was that? Where was his clinically efficient, unemotional PA now?

  Gone. And the sense of loss was gut-wrenching.

  ‘Now,’ she said again, and then moaned because her hand was cupping the head, shoehorning it, and William was tugging on the hooves and there was only so much room…

  ‘Keep going,’ she managed as the contraction lengthened and he tugged some more, slowly, insistently and suddenly the head was there, the rope was no longer needed, the calf was half out.

  Millicent gave a long bovine moan and Meg cleared membrane from the tiny nose and then laid her hand on Millicent’s flank.

  ‘Nearly there, girl. One more push. You can do it.’

  One more contraction and the thing was done. The calf slithered out into the lantern light, a long wet bundle of spindly legs and black nose and rag-like tail. Meg cried out in delight and checked its nose was still clear and then lifted it around a little so Millicent could reach her baby with ease.

  And she did. She turned and nosed her baby and she started to lick it clean. And William looked at Meg and saw her eyes were filled with tears and a man would have to be inhuman not to be moved. Not to take her into his arms…

  Millicent had taken over, licking her calf with solid maternal ownership. Meg shifted away and her body collided with William’s-and she didn’t move any further.

  He’d slipped the loop from the calf’s hooves. He’d done all he could. Meg had done all she could. Their calf was alive and well-and Meg was hard against him.

  He’d helped birth a calf. He and Meg. The feeling was awesome.

  They were still half lying on the ground, and Meg was warm and beautiful, stained, filthy, her face tracked with tears…

  She was trembling, her body reacting to the combined terrors of this day. How could he bear her trembling? How could he bear not to put his arms round her and tug her closer? So he did and, as he felt her yield, he tugged her closer still. Her hair brushed his face and he kissed the top of her head, just lightly, no pressure, nothing.

  The awe from the birth was all around them-the stars, the warmth of the night, the feeling that a miracle had happened. New life… Did she feel this every time she delivered a calf? he wondered, but then he forgot to think more because she was turning in his arms and she was looking straight at him, her eyes huge and shadowed, vaguely troubled, but nevertheless…sure.

  Sure that he’d kiss her. Sure that she wanted him to kiss her. He knew it and it was one more thing to add to the glory of this night-or maybe the whole night had been building to this kiss.

  Maybe his whole life had been building to this kiss.

  That was a crazy thing to think-but how could he think it was crazy when his hands were cupping her face and he was drawing her in to meet him? How could he think he was crazy when his mouth was lowering to hers and she was so sweet, so beautiful, so right?

  She melted in to him, her mouth seeking his, her hands taking his shoulders so she could centre herself, be centred. Her need was as great as his. He could feel it in the urgency of her hold, in the fire he felt the moment he found her mouth.

  She wanted him. He felt her need and his whole body responded. Their kiss was suddenly urgent, hard, demanding. It was as if a magnetic field had been created, locking them to each other, two force fields meeting as they must, with fire at the centre.

  He wanted her. He wanted her fiercely, with a passion that rocked him. He felt…out of control.

  Maybe he was out of control. It was Christmas Eve. He was in the centre of a paddock somewhere in Australia-he didn’t truly know where-with a woman he’d thought he knew but he now realised he hadn’t known at all.

  His Meg.

  No. Just Meg. Her own beautiful self.

  He deepened the kiss and she responded with heat and need, her lips opening, her tongue searchin
g. Oh, but he wanted her… His hands were on her breasts, but she was wearing overalls. How did you get through overalls?

  She was buttoned to the throat. No. Not buttons. Studs. They unfastened with satisfactory pops. Underneath the overalls was a lacy bra, and underneath the bra… His breath drew in, with awe and wonder.

  His hands were cupping her, and he’d never felt such beauty. He’d never wanted a woman so much as he wanted Meg right now.

  No woman before had been Meg.

  He rolled back with her and she came, smiling down into his eyes. They were lying full length, wanting each other with a desperate heat they could read in each other’s eyes.

  She was above him, smiling in the moonlight. Meg, his beauty. Her skin was pale and luminous, she almost seemed to shine.

  They were on a horse rug or somesuch, something she’d spread in the middle of a cow paddock. No pillowed bed could feel better. No bed could feel more right.

  ‘You’re not taking your overalls off,’ she whispered and he realised with a shock that she was laughing. ‘Not fair.’

  His overalls were all in one. He’d pulled them on in a rush. Underneath… Well, there wouldn’t be a lot of finesse in his undressing.

  ‘You’re wearing a bra,’ he managed. ‘I don’t believe I’m wearing anything.’

  Her chuckle was so sexy it took his breath away. ‘I think that’s good.’

  ‘You don’t want me out of my overalls,’ he said but he couldn’t say it with any degree of certainty. This night…anything was possible this night.

  ‘And if I do?’

  There was a statement to take his breath away. But a man had to have sense, even if finding it almost tore him in two. ‘I’m not…’ Hell, it was so hard to get his voice to work. ‘I’m not carrying condoms.’

  She paused at that. She stilled. He kissed her again, a gentle, wondrous exploration that left him wanting more. Much more.

  Why hadn’t he thought of condoms? Of all the stupid…He didn’t even have them in his bag back at the house.

  He’d hardly packed thinking he was about to seduce his PA.

  And Meg was tugging away, propping herself up on her arms, considering him in the dim light. ‘How big’s your head?’ she asked and he blinked.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Millicent operated with no condoms,’ she said, her voice husky and shaken. ‘Look what happened to her.’

  He laughed, but it was a shaken laugh. He pulled away a little, sense returning. A little.

  ‘We can’t,’ he managed. ‘Unless Santa arrives right now.’

  ‘I didn’t put condoms on my Santa list,’ she whispered, her voice laced with a thousand regrets.

  ‘That’s not efficient of you.’

  ‘I’m not feeling efficient.’

  ‘You don’t look efficient,’ he said and he tugged her to him again and held. He just held. ‘My obstetrician extraordinaire.’

  ‘Hey, you turned the leg. Maybe you’ve found your new calling.’

  ‘I’m not ready for a new career. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick to the old one,’ he said. But, the moment he said it, he knew it was a mistake.

  Or maybe it wasn’t a mistake. Maybe it was simply the truth, which had to be put out there.

  It had killed the moment. Meg moved back, squatted back on her heels and looked at him for a long moment, as if searching his face. And, whatever she was looking for, she didn’t find it. She smiled again, a wry little smile with all the regret in the world, and she tugged her overalls up to decency.

  ‘Well, that was fun,’ she said and suddenly he had Miss Jardine back-clinical, cool, ready to move on. ‘Birth does crazy things to your head. Imagine how I’d feel if ever I was around a human birth. Lucky I’m not. But enough. It’s three hours till milking. I need some sleep.’

  ‘Meg…’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’ She met his gaze, calm and cool in the moonlight, and if there was bleakness behind it there wasn’t anything he could do about it. ‘This was moon madness. We both know it, and it bears out my decision that I need to quit. What if there’d been a condom round tonight? We’d have been lost.’

  Lost. The word hung between them, loaded with too many meanings.

  ‘Will you help me pack up?’ she said. ‘Millicent will be fine for what’s left of the night. It’s lovely and warm. She has a fine heifer calf to clean and she’ll do it better without us.’

  ‘Heifer?’

  ‘A little girl. I think we’ll call her Milly. Millicent, mother of Milly. It has a fine ring to it, don’t you think?’

  She was talking for the sake of talking, he realised. She was putting emotion aside.

  ‘I don’t want to leave you,’ he said simply and she looked at him for a long moment, considering, and then she shook her head.

  ‘You can’t take me with you. I don’t fit. I did when my role was PA. No more. Somehow we’ve messed this and all there is now is for us to get on with our lives. You’ve got Ned and Pip and Elinor waiting for you back in New York, and you have your life there. I have a grandma and a little brother, and dairy cows and dogs and one brand new calf. That’s enough to keep any girl happy.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ’Yes,’ she said, rising and dumping ropes into buckets. ‘Yes, it is. Yes, it must be.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  WILLIAM woke to an operatic soprano belting out Silent Night right underneath his attic. Letty was singing along, almost louder than the soprano. A couple of dogs were joining right in.

  Five-thirty. He’d been in bed for what-two and a half hours-and he’d lain awake for at least one of them.

  He groaned and put his pillow over his head and then Scotty started singing too, and more dogs joined in, full howl.

  Christmas. Hooray.

  Feeling more like Scrooge every minute, he hauled his jeans on and staggered downstairs. The kitchen table was groaning with food in various states of preparation. Letty was wearing a truly astonishing crimson robe and a Santa hat. Scotty was sitting in his pyjamas, shelling peas. The difference between now and yesterday was astonishing.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ Letty said, beaming. ‘Great pecs.’ Then, as he tried to figure whether to blush, she motioned to the sound system in the corner where, mercifully, Silent Night had just come to an end. ‘My favourite carol. You want us to play it again?’

  ‘She’ll make you sing,’ Scotty warned and William looked at the pair of them and saw exactly why Meg loved them to bits. A blushing adolescent and an old lady with her arm bandaged to her elbow, a lady who had almost died yesterday, who was now stirring something vaguely alcoholic, or possibly more than vaguely.

  ‘Eggnog,’ Letty said, following his gaze. ‘Just on finished. You want first glass?’

  ‘At five-thirty in the morning?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s late,’ Letty said. ‘Meg’s already milking, without her eggnog. You want to take some over to her?’

  ‘No,’ he said, revolted.

  ‘What’s wrong with my eggnog?’

  ‘If I’m going to help her milk, I need to be able to count teats.’

  ‘He has trouble getting to four, Grandma,’ Scotty said kindly. ‘We’d better let him off eggnog till the girls are milked.’ He hesitated. ‘You will help milk, won’t you? Meg said you helped so much last night that she wouldn’t wake you, but she’ll be ages alone.’

  ‘I could help,’ Letty said darkly. ‘Only she won’t let me.’

  ‘With your arm? You’re as dodgy as I am,’ Scott retorted and once again William was hit with the sensation that he was on the outside, looking in. Family?

  ‘Okay, toast and coffee and no eggnog until afterwards, but there’s home-made raspberry jam,’ Letty told him, moving right on. ‘And real butter. None of that cholesterol-reducing muck this morning.’

  ‘Grandma…’ Scott said and Letty grimaced and held up her hands in surrender.

  ‘I know.
Back to being good tomorrow. You needn’t worry, young man; I intend to be around to boss you for a long time to come.’

  ‘So no more Santa rescues.’

  ‘I’ll be good,’ she said and William saw a flash of remembered terror from yesterday and he thought she wasn’t as tough as she was making out. She was brave, though. And he saw Scott worrying about her and he thought that courage came in all guises.

  They were all brave. And Meg… What she’d been trying to do for all of them since her parents’ death…

  ‘So you know about Millicent’s calf,’ he ventured, feeling really off centre, and they both grinned, happiness returning.

  ‘Of course we do,’ Scott said. ‘She’s gorgeous. And Meg said you got a backward hoof out. I wish she’d called me. I could’ve have helped.’

  ‘There’ll be lots of calves for you to help in the future,’ Letty said roundly. ‘We’ll get your leg right first. We’re just lucky William was able to help. We’re very pleased to have you here,’ she said to William. ‘Now, Meg checked the news before she milked and she says the planes are running again. She and Scott checked flights and there are some available. She said to tell you when you woke up. But you don’t want to leave yet, do you?’

  ‘I…’

  Did he want to leave? They were looking at him expectantly. Over in the dairy, Meg was milking, alone.

  His world was twisting, as if it was trying to turn him in a direction he hadn’t a clue about.

  ‘I do need to go,’ he said at last and it was as if the words were dragged out of him. ‘If I help with the milking now, Scott, would you mind making me a list of flights and times?’

  ‘Today?’ ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘You really want to leave?’ Scott demanded incredulously, and William thought about last night, thought about holding Meg. Thought about holding Meg again.

  If he got any closer…

  If Letty had fallen yesterday… If Scotty had been killed in that accident…

  If anything happened to Meg…

  Do not get close. Do not open yourself to that sort of pain.

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ he said, striving not to let his voice sound heavy. ‘How could I want to leave Letty’s eggnog? But I do need to get back to Manhattan as soon as possible. So please let me know which flight might be available.’