Chapter 23 Bastian
BASTIAN
“How are you doing, girl?” The sunlight streams into the barn from the top windows as I check Martha’s water bucket for the third time in an hour.
Her heavy breathing fills the space, each exhale carrying the weight of the impending birth.
I’ve seen hundreds of calvings, but anticipation still runs through my veins as I watch her shift restlessly in the fresh straw.
I move around her stall, noting each sign that suggests her labor’s approaching. Her tail raises periodically, and her muscles ripple beneath the black-and-white hide as early contractions build.
“Easy girl,” I murmur, running my hands along her swollen sides. The calf shifts beneath my touch, a strong movement that suggests a healthy life waiting to begin. Martha turns her head to watch me with those liquid brown eyes. “You’re doing great, Momma. Just a little bit longer now.”
The barn door’s hinges announce an arrival, so both Martha and I turn our heads to the door.
“Bastian?” Taylen calls out, his expression changing when he takes in the scene. His eyes move from me to Martha, understanding dawning as she shifts again with clear discomfort.
“She’s close,” I explain, gesturing to the visible signs of impending birth. “Started showing real progress about an hour ago. Did you need something?”
He moves closer. “I was looking for you to give you this. One of my regulars makes these cranberry and walnut loaves that taste amazing.” The way he bites his lip as he tries to conceal his smile makes me want to kiss him so bad. “Thought you might enjoy it.”
The simple gesture feels like a tiny break in the wall between us. Because he’s showing that he cares. To anyone else, it’s a loaf, but to me, it means so much more than a food offering.
“Join me?” I ask, nodding toward the hay bale I’ve claimed as my observation post. “She’ll probably be a while yet, but I could use the company.” I wash my hands in the sink before joining Taylen by Martha’s stall.
He settles beside me, handing me the still-warm loaf. The bread’s aroma fills my senses as I unwrap it and then pull out a piece, handing some to Taylen.
The bread melts in my mouth. The balance of cranberries and walnuts is perfect.
“I get at least one of these every holiday season,” he explains as I pull out two more pieces. “But usually I don’t have anyone to share it with.”
Another little crack in the wall.
We eat in comfortable silence broken only by Martha’s occasional movements.
“Tell me about her,” Taylen says finally, gesturing toward our patient.
“Martha’s one of our steadiest producers,” I explain. “Fourth pregnancy, all healthy deliveries. She’s got a sweet temperament, and passes it to her calves too.”
When Martha shifts again, he leans forward automatically, probably as anxious as I am to see the big moment.
“Maybe not Cupcake though. Cupcake has a temper and likes to escape, so she’s definitely not like her mom. Did you know I had to fit her with an AirTag to stop Dad from wandering around the land looking for a cow who loves to play hide and seek?”
Our shoulders brush as he laughs, but he doesn’t pull away.
“I missed this,” he admits quietly, his words barely louder than Martha’s breathing. “Hanging out with you.” His hands twist slightly in his lap. “The last time this happened, I must have been a teenager.” He laughs then. “Totally crushing on the local rock star.”
I resist the urge to reach for him. Instead, I offer a truth that’s been building since my return. “I missed this too. Staying in Vermont isn’t just about the farm or facilitating my dad’s retirement for me. I missed this…when the world outside stops because a new life is on its way.”
“It’s pretty magical, isn’t it?” he asks, and I nod, glancing at Martha.
“I don’t really mind if you have a crush on your local rockstar though,” I tease.
“Who? Stone?”
I poke his side, and his laugh carries a genuine warmth that makes my heart stumble.
Martha’s sudden movement draws our attention back to the main event. Her tail rises as a contraction ripples visibly across her side, a sign that her labor is steadily progressing toward its inevitable conclusion. Taylen’s breath catches slightly.
“How long?” he asks, showing the same mix of excitement and concern I had the first time I witnessed the birth of a calf.
“Could be hours yet,” I admit, shifting slightly on the hay bale that’s growing less comfortable the longer we sit. “The first stage can take a while. But she’s doing everything right so far.”
Silence settles between us again, comfortable now rather than the charged energy we’ve experienced since I came back. The bread disappears slowly as we continue our vigil. Outside, the afternoon turns into evening.
When Martha shifts again, more forcefully this time, Taylen’s hand finds my knee. The touch burns through denim, and I have to force myself to remember I’m here for Martha, not to think about the beautiful tattoos under Taylen’s clothes or the sounds he makes when he comes.
“Thank you,” he says suddenly, fingers still resting against my leg like he’s forgotten they’re there. “For sharing this with me.”
I cover his hand with mine, giving it a squeeze that says all the things he’s not ready to hear yet. Because this moment feels too precious for words that might break the spell.
Martha’s persistent movement keeps us focused even as something shifts between us. The barn lights cast a gentle glow over this ordinary and extraordinary scene—two people waiting for a new life to happen.
As midnight approaches, Martha’s contractions grow stronger, each wave drawing soft sounds from her throat that echo in the barn. Taylen leans forward every time she moves as though he can speed up the process with the power of his mind.
“The contractions are getting closer together,” I explain, watching Martha’s sides heave with increasing frequency.
Taylen nods, completely focused on the process unfolding before us.
His hand still rests on my knee, a touch so natural now that moving feels impossible.
When Martha shifts again, more forcefully this time, his fingers tighten slightly.
“Is that normal?” he asks as she paws at her bedding with increasing agitation.
“She’s perfect,” I assure him. “She’s trying to make a nest to get everything just right before the main event.”
“I didn’t have watching a calf being born on my Bingo card for today,” he jokes.
“There,” I say quietly as clear fluid appears, signaling the transition to active labor. Taylen’s sharp intake of breath matches Martha’s as another contraction ripples across her body. “Water’s broken. Things will move faster now.”
We move closer to observe while maintaining a safe distance from the increasingly restless mother.
“The calf is moving into position.”
When the first hoof appears, Taylen covers his mouth with his hands. The second leg follows, the tiny hooves still wrapped in the translucent membrane. Martha keeps on pushing, her animal instincts guiding her.
“Should we help?” Taylen asks as a nose appears
“Not unless she shows signs of distress,” I assure him. “She’s doing all the work. We’re just here to witness and help if needed. I gave Hunter the heads-up in case I need to call him after hours, but it looks like our girl is going to do it all on her own.”
Martha pushes again. A powerful contraction brings the calf’s head fully into view.
“Almost there,” I encourage as Martha gives a mighty heave that delivers the calf’s shoulders.
The rest of the birth happens in a rush of fluid and movement, nature’s perfect timing bringing a new life onto the fresh straw.
I move forward immediately, taking over as I clear mucus from the small nose and mouth.
The calf’s first breath puts my mind at ease, the tiny chest expanding as the lungs fill properly. I check quickly for the gender while Martha begins cleaning her baby with her rough tongue to stimulate circulation.
“We have a girl,” I announce, unable to keep a smile from my voice. “A healthy heifer.” Pride fills my chest as I watch Martha encourage her daughter toward her first tentative movements. Behind me, Taylen makes a sound that could be a laugh or a sob.
I turn toward him, seeing the wonder on his face. His eyes shine with emotion too pure for words, making him look younger and somehow more real than I’ve ever seen him.
Kissing him is inevitable. We’re tired and overwhelmed. The adrenaline of the moment takes over. I wrap my arms around him while his fingers clutch at my shoulders.
“Come home with me,” I beg.
His eyes search mine for what feels like an eternity. Then a simple, “Yes,” falls from his lips.
Behind us, the heifer has found her feet properly now, all gangly limbs and cuteness overload. I will check on mother and daughter in the morning, but for now, I need something else.
The path from the barn to my cabin feels like it’s a mile long, each step stretching impossibly as anticipation coils tighter in my chest. My heart pounds against my ribs with enough force that I’m sure Taylen must hear it in the quiet night air between us.
The cabin’s dark shape grows larger ahead, but never seems close enough.
I want to break into a run, to close the distance that suddenly feels unbearable, but I force myself to match Taylen’s measured pace even as every single one of my nerve endings screams for the promise waiting just beyond that door.
Inside, I lead him directly to the bathroom without bothering with the main lights.
The moonlight through the windows provides enough illumination to navigate the familiar space, creating an intimate atmosphere.
The shower starts with a familiar hiss, steam filling the small space as the water heats.
We turn toward each other. I lower the zipper of his jacket slowly, feeling the rise and fall of his chest under my touch. He mirrors my action, quietly revealing layers of clothing until I see the beautiful tribute to his brother.
“I will never get tired of looking at these.” My fingers trace the lines I can see through the moonlight.
Steam fills the space between us as our remaining clothes fall away. Water hits my back as I draw him under the spray. Every touch feels urgent but careful, like handling something precious yet unbreakable.
My mouth finds his neck, tasting water and salt and the essence that’s uniquely him.
His hands tangle in my hair, his grip tightening when I find a particularly sensitive spot below his ear.
Each reaction feeds the growing need between us, but tonight feels different from the desperate encounters we’ve shared before.
“I need to taste you,” I whisper against his ear.
“Please, Bastian,” he moans.
I sink to my knees on the shower floor, looking up to find his eyes dark with want. I take him in my mouth, loving the weight of his cock on my tongue, the unique taste of his essence. Every sound he makes goes straight to my cock, and it takes everything in me to not touch myself.
This is all for him. My pleasure will come, but I want to take my time with Taylen. I want to burn into my memory every moan, every orgasm I draw out of him.
He screams his release with my name on his lips and his cock between mine. I swallow every drop until his body shudders under my hands. I hold him steady through aftershocks, feeling the tremors run through his legs as water continues its steady fall around us.
When I stand, he wraps his arms around me, holding me close as our lips meet and we share the taste of his cum.
“I’m not done with you yet, baby,” I whisper against his temple.
“Good, because I believe I owe you at least two orgasms. Not that I’m keeping count, but—”
I kiss him until his cock rallies for another round, pressing hard and eager against mine.
“Bedroom,” I growl.