Chapter 32
Useless Damn Cow
Tripp
After last night, I want Quinn by my side constantly. But I’ve still got a job to do. She’s outside feeding Winston when I pull up to the ranch, and she looks up the moment I slam the truck door. A smile curves her mouth, lighting her face like she’s just as excited to see me as I am to see her.
It takes everything in me not to rush up to her and gather her in my arms while I shove my tongue down her throat.
It’s ridiculous—the absolute giddiness that hits me the second I see her. How I can’t stop thinking about her, wondering what she’s doing when I’m at my house and she’s here.
I wander over to the pen we built together, instead of heading straight to the stable to get the horses tacked up. Wes might throw a hissy fit, but I’ll deal with his grumpiness if I have to. It’ll be worth it to get to talk to Quinn this morning.
“Does he like the new digs?” I ask.
Winston is covered in mud and is happily finishing off some carrots that Quinn must have brought out as a treat for him.
“He seems happier, don’t you think?”
I watch him tromp around the enclosure now that the carrots are gone, tail wagging back and forth like a goofy-looking dog. The content snorts he makes as he roots around make me grin.
“Yeah, he does look happy out here. Let’s hope he doesn’t figure out a way to escape the pen, or that garden you’ve been working so hard on is bound to get ruined.”
She glances back toward the house, her brows knitting together in an adorable frown.
“We built this like Fort Knox. If he escapes from here, I think I’ll have to change his name to David Blaine or Criss Angel.”
I snort.
“So, last night was…” she trails off, not quite meeting my eyes, though the teasing lift of her brows tells me she’s trying to play it cool.
I give her a wide grin, my eyes tracking down her outfit this morning. Leggings cling to her like a second skin, and her cropped T-shirt shows a sliver of the smooth skin on her stomach that was covered in my cum a few hours ago.
“Yeah, it was,” I agree, readjusting my Stetson.
Last night was intense, and I wanted to make sure she got everything she needed. This was about her, after all. But even though I’m still woefully out of practice, I don’t think I can keep myself from being inside her next time.
The thought of sliding into her slick heat has me half-hard in my Wranglers, and I have to adjust myself to keep her from noticing.
She brushes her hair off her neck, sweat glinting at her collarbone, and it takes everything in me not to drag her around the back of the house and press her against the siding.
“So,” she says, a devious glint in her eye, “I think I want you to fuck me.”
God help me.
I cough, startled at her bluntness. “You think so, huh?” I raise my brows, amused at the flush tingeing her cheeks.
“Only if you want to,” she says. “I know you made that promise to your dad, and you haven’t—I mean, we haven’t fully crossed that line, and if you don’t want to—"
“Oh, I’m definitely going to bury myself in that pretty pussy of yours, honey.” I step closer, but the sound of tires crackling over gravel pulls my attention to the driveway.
Wes climbs out of the ancient pickup he insists on keeping for some reason and wanders toward us. Quinn steps away from me, and I push down the disappointment that twists in my gut.
“You gonna stand here all day and flirt with my sister or are you gonna do what I pay you for and work?”
He fixes me with a look—part glare, part warning—and I shove my hands in my pockets. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I was just sayin’ hi.”
It’s true enough.
I try not to let the guilt eat at me, try not to feel like I’m defiling his little sister right under his nose.
He turns to Quinn. “How’s Pops this morning?”
“Pissed off that I shoved fruit and Cheerios in front of him this morning and called it breakfast.”
Wes’ eyes roll.
“He threatened to drive to the café to get real food.”
He groans. “You want me to talk to him?”
Quinn shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I might take him on a field trip today. I think he’s feeling a little cooped up and misses his friends.”
“Alright. If he gets to be too much, just let me know.”
Now it’s Quinn’s turn to roll her eyes. “Wes, I’ve bathed a feral cat before. I think I can handle an old man with a surly attitude, a bad heart, and a craving for red meat.”
“Better you than me,” he mutters.
Quinn eyes me, a flicker of heat in her gaze. “See you guys later.”
“See ya, Quinnie.” I wink. I’ve gotta come up with a way to get her alone later. Our conversation about me fucking her is going to stick with me all damn day.
I tack up the horses while Wes gets the bottle calves fed. I’m sure he could have asked Quinn to do it, and she would have been happy to help, but he’s always worried she takes on too much.
We ride out to move the herd again. Most of them have calved now, so we can start moving some of the cows with older calves into the same pasture.
“New stable’s lookin' good,” I say, trying to brush off the guilt eating at me as we ride out to the pasture.
“Yeah. Should be ready for the horses in a month or so. We really need to figure out who’s gonna be doing the lessons so we can start pulling in some income from that.”
“You got any idea who?” I ask.
He drags a hand over his face. “No fucking clue. I’m starting to wonder if I shouldn’t have poured all this money into building it before I had someone in mind to hire, but Sawyer was sure it was a brilliant idea.”
“It is a good idea,” I reassure him. “You just haven’t been back in the horse community long enough to know people.”
“What about you? Anyone you can think of who’d want the position?”
I tilt my head to the side, thinking. “Maybe.”
Wes cocks a brow. “Who?”
“Brooks Wilder. He was my roping partner on the circuit.”
Wes nods. “How long’s he been out of the circuit?”
“He’s still on it.” Wes side-eyes me, but I keep talking. “But the last time I talked to him, he wanted to do less traveling, settle somewhere family-friendly.”
Wes scratches his beard. “If you think he’ll be interested, give him a call. He can come and check out the place, see if it’s somewhere he wants to land.”
I nod. “Alright.”
We ride farther into the pasture, the herd grazing peacefully with their newborn calves.
I spot a tiny speck of black near some brush, and we ride over to investigate.
A small calf lies alone, its mother nowhere in sight.
“Whose calf is that?” Wes growls.
I glance at the calf and rattle off a number from the top of my head.
“You can see the tag from there?”
I shake my head. “Nah, but that’s whose calf it is.”
“You’re sure?”
“Ninety percent sure, yeah. But you can check the tag.”
He climbs out of the saddle. The calf doesn't move, not a good sign. He should be getting up, trying to follow the herd. The lethargy could mean disease—or maybe dehydration, if he hasn’t nursed in a while.
“You’re right,” he calls from the ground where he can easily read the number on his tag.
I expel an annoyed breath. “That cow’s a terrible fucking mother. This is the third calf she’s left.”
“Guess we know not to breed her again then, don’t we?”
“Guess so,” I chuckle.
“Toss me some rope and let’s get him to Quinn. Hopefully, a heat lamp and a bottle will perk him up.”
I throw my rope to him so he can tie up the calf’s legs and then hop down to help him haul it onto June’s back.
Looks like I get to see Quinn at work again. And there’s nothing sexier than watching that woman in her element, doing what she does best.
She’s waiting for us at the barn when we bring in the calf.
“I’ve got the heat lamp on in there,“ she says, pointing toward the corner stall, which is slightly larger than the others.
She looks at home in this barn, and I feel a twinge of sadness. It’s too easy to imagine her here every single day. With me.
Mine. Not just Wes’.
Quinn shuffles into the stall behind me as I carry in the listless calf. Her hands are on him the second I set him on the hay under the heat lamp.
“Any idea how long he’s been down?” she asks, peeling back his lips to get a look at his gums.
“No,” Wes answers. “All the pairs were together in that pasture last night before we came in. His mom was nowhere near him. Useless damn cow.”
“We know she let him nurse for a few days this time, though. At least he got the colostrum,“ I say, trying to stay positive.
“That may be, but we need to get him fed now before he’s too weak to suckle,” she says, glancing up at me. “What’s the plan? You gonna bottle feed him or bring her in and try to get her to give a damn.”
“It’s her third rejected calf,” I say. “I doubt she’s gonna learn to give a damn. We tried with her last two. I’m a little surprised she lasted this long, to be honest.”
“Bottle feeding it is, then.”
“I’ll grab the supplies,” Wes mutters.
Quinn settles a hand on the calf’s side, her long fingers brushing over his dark hair. She pinches the skin and watches it slowly go back down, not nearly as quickly as it should. A sign he’s dehydrated.
Her stethoscope is in her ears, and she places the circle over his heart. Her brows knit together in the middle of her forehead while she listens, and I’m struck by how beautiful she looks with the glow from the heat lamp shining on her face.
Her attention is on the calf, and with Wes off making up the milk replacer in a bottle, I’m able to look my fill. Her eyes are soft and her voice gentle as she talks to the calf, who lets out a quiet bleat. She sticks her fingers close to his mouth, and he attempts to suck.
“Good boy,” she croons. “Keep that up. Your milk is coming.”
I try not to think too hard about what I feel when I hear her voice—soft and sweet like it is right now—and how it differs only slightly from how I feel when I hear her voice breathless and gasping when I touch her.
It’s the same gentle melody, and something about that sound makes my skin hum, my muscles tight and ready to pounce.
I need to get my mind off all that because her brother is going to be back any second with that bottle.
“How was your day with the old grump?” I ask, desperate for something to rein in the sudden desire surging in my veins.
“We went to the café,” she says. “He had a heyday trying to convince Mrs. Mackey he could have the biscuits and gravy—even though I was standing right there telling her no, he couldn’t have that stuff after bypass surgery.
” She huffs, amused. “Then he called me a spoilsport and shuffled off to sit in the corner with his friends.”
Her lips quirk. “I ate a chocolate chip cookie and did my best to dodge Mrs. Mackey’s questions about whether I was seeing anyone. Apparently, she heard I went to the bar with Kyle the other night.”
A sharp twist in my chest lets me know I’m still not above being jealous of a guy that never stood a chance of having anything serious with Quinn.
“And that you carried me out of there,” she adds. “I forget how fast stuff travels around here.”
“Like wildfire,” I agree.
Wes’ boots clomp down the row of stalls. He passes the bottle to Quinn. “Do you mind?” he asks, giving her a wistful grin. “I know you always loved feeding the bottle calves, and we really need to go out and finish moving the others into a new pasture.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” she says, eyes lighting up like it’s Christmas morning.
“Just call me if you need something, and I’ll send Tripp back to be the muscle.”
She rolls her lips together, trying to bite back a new smile as her gaze flicks to mine.
She nods, and then Wes’ hand lands on my shoulder and he steers me away from Quinn. And I know I’m gonna spend the rest of the day rushing to get back to her.