Petunia
Jordy
Ashton leaves to feed the animals soon after, letting Lottie stay with me at my insistence.
All I’m doing today is coordinating the deliveries coming in at the end of the week, and they can be scheduled from my laptop while she plays …
in her playpen, that is. My newly clean Vans are on my feet, and I’m not willing to sacrifice any of my other shoes to the porcelain god.
More than ever, I feel the limits of my time here. That kiss … I pause from my work to touch my lips, feeling breathless as I recall the way he tasted, how his soft, full lips felt against mine.
I don’t want to think about what happens when it’s time to go home.
I want to savor every moment, every experience before I leave Lahoma.
That means spending as much time with Ashton as possible.
I don’t want to get too deep into whatever this is between us …
but I know it’s too late for that. Kissing him made it way harder to think about leaving.
I have no regrets.
Ashton is gone for just over an hour. When he returns, he’s sweaty, his dusty t-shirt clinging to his bronze skin in ways that leave me breathless. Only, this time I don’t have to hide noticing. He catches my stare, flexing slightly with a chuckle. I groan.
“You’re killing me, Oregon.” Now that we’ve lowered our walls, I want more. I want all of him.
But Lottie wants her daddy, which she makes known with a loud whine, arms outstretched in her playpen.
“All right, princess,” he says with a laugh, winking at me before crossing the room to reach her.
She brushes her springy hair out of her face once she’s in his arms, and he leans back to get a good look at her.
“Let’s get that ’do under control, what do you say?
” He looks at me. “Could you wet her hair while I get the supplies?”
I nod, feeling a little apprehensive. Lottie’s hair is so thick and textured, it’s hard to know what to do. Even though I’d figured it out before, I worry I’ll do it wrong.
Amazingly, Lottie sits still while I work at her hair. I spray it, then work a comb through it carefully. Even when I yank, she doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’ll be at it for hours at that pace.
” Ashton grins, bumping my hip so I scoot to the side, then he takes over.
It’s like a dance. I watch his fingers move deftly as he uses oil to work her hair into little braids at the crown of her head, securing it so that the rest of her hair is natural.
When he’s done, she looks like a little queen, her red hair fanning out in back like a royal flush.
“I never learned how to braid,” I muse, running my hand over Lottie’s gorgeous hair.
“I think that’s so sad,” he says, laughing as he dodges the rubber band I fling at him. “How did you wear your hair when you were younger?”
I shrug. “Just long or in ponytails. In buns when I went to dance class. But my mom didn’t know how to braid, so I never learned.”
Ducking my head, I feel shy all of a sudden. But the question hovers at the surface until it finally bursts from my mouth.
“Would you teach me?”
Ashton grins, then motions for us to move to the living room. He places Lottie back in the playpen, then has me sit in front of the chair. He sits behind me, his legs on each side of my shoulders, and he tilts my head back.
“I’ll try to be gentle,” he says, and then he starts.
Holy hell, I’m not prepared. His fingers run through my hair, stroking my scalp as he combs out any tangles with his fingers. I moan slightly, and he stills.
“Jesus,” he breathes, then gives a low chuckle. “If this is how you sound when I touch your hair…” he trails off.
I look up and grin.
“What?” I ask, biting my lip.
His answer is a low growl and a slight tug of my hair that is both demanding and suggestive. The braid is the last thing on my mind as I think about how he could pull my hair in other ways.
“Damn, Ashton,” I exhale. He leans down, his breath hot against the shell of my ear.
“You like that, huh?” Then he tugs again, his mouth brushing against my skin before he goes back to finger combing my hair. “I think you and I might have the same appetite.”
I’m thinking the same thing. It’s been ages since I’ve been with anyone, and fuck if I’m not hungry—and not for anything soft or sensual. I want a good, hard fuck, and I have a feeling Ashton could take care of that for me.
But right now, we have to keep things fairly G-rated. Lottie is doing her own thing in the playpen, but the things I want to do to this man are not suitable for little eyes. It’s taking all my restraint not to turn around and straddle him so I can see what else he could manipulate with his hands.
I hold it together. While he parts my hair into three strands, I do my best not to melt under his touch.
When he gives me a mirror and shows me how to grab more strands to weave into the braid, I hold my breath to keep from moaning.
As he keeps tugging at my hair, mostly unintentional, I manage to keep my hands to myself.
But my god, I’m coming apart at the seams as he ties off my hair with a rubber band and gives it one last tug.
“I swear to god,” I say, turning to face him. “If that’s the only hair pulling I get today, I’m going to explode.”
He licks his lips as I stand, looking me up and down.
“I bet Lottie would love a sleepover at Mimi and Papa’s house tonight. What do you think?”
What do I think? I’m already wet, that’s what I think.
“I think it should start sooner rather than later.”
He’s about to speak, but there’s a loud banging at the door. We both turn, and there’s Bob. He’s smiling, but I recognize the urgency in his face.
“Petunia is close. She should be calving any moment,” he says when Ashton opens the door. Ashton whoops, and grabs his jacket. He then strides to Lottie’s playpen and swoops her up.
“Grab her jacket off the hook,” he says, pointing. I do, then hand it to him. “I’ve been waiting for this. Lottie still hasn’t seen a cow give birth, and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity. Want to come?”
I nod, though inside I’m nervous as hell. I’ve only seen animal births on nature shows, and they’re pretty gross. Can I handle it up close like that?
But this isn’t the biggest issue. My gut is working overtime because, even though this is a damn cow, my mind is totally consumed by my own experience with birth.
One that ended with holding a dead baby—one I didn’t even know I wanted until I held her.
Would I ever get over this? I’m not sure. But I’m not about to show how much this is affecting me. So I race out with them, keeping close as Bob leads the way to the barns.
Petunia is by herself in the corner of the pen, her stomach broad, her tail up in the air as she restlessly moves her head, braying every few moments.
“Oh man, she’s close,” Ashton says, handing me Lottie as he gets a better view of the large protrusion from her backside.
My eyes widen, and he must have noticed the shock on my face.
“It’s her water bag,” he explains, taking a few steps back.
“The amniotic sac. The calf should come in the next hour or two.”
There isn’t much to do while Petunia is preparing to calf, so we sit on the other side of the pen and wait.
Ashton picks flowers with Lottie to keep her from getting bored.
But I’m gripped by the cow’s obvious discomfort.
I can’t tear my eyes away, completely consumed as she paces, stopping every now and then to hit her head against her side as if to make the pain go away.
I keep glancing at Ashton, afraid he’ll notice the deep breaths I keep having to take so that I don’t panic.
But he’s thankfully preoccupied, keeping Lottie entertained and glancing up now and then to check the cow’s progress.
Occasionally he offers me a wink with an excited grin, and I must do a pretty good acting job because he never notices how completely overwhelmed I feel.
Petunia eventually moves to her knees, then to her side, and I sit up straighter as I see the water bag bulge even more, and then burst.
“Ashton!”
He’s up in a second, holding Lottie as they lean over the fence. Bob is right there beside the cow, not touching but closely monitoring, as the calf’s head emerges. It all happens so quickly, that little body slipping through the canal and sliding with a gooey rush to the ground.
For a moment, it’s like time stands still. The calf is like a rag doll in the dirt, unmoving and lifeless. My breath hitches, tears stinging my eyes, and a suffocating tightness grips my chest.
And then it lifts its head, scrambling to its feet while struggling to stand.
“You see that, Lottie? See the baby?” Ashton is all smiles, and Lottie is pointing, her words coming out in bell-like babbles.
But I’m fighting to catch my breath, trying to hold back the sob that is trapped in my throat.
I will not ruin this for them. I can’t. They’re so fucking happy, but I’m consumed by death.
For a moment, that calf was Violet, my lost child.
When the calf came to life, it reminded me that my baby never would, that she’s bones and ash in the cold ground, invisible to everyone but the mother who dared to wish she never existed—and then got her wish.
“I can’t believe I missed it,” Bec says, walking up beside me.
Every part of me is shaking, to the point I’m not even sure I can keep standing. I can’t let them see me this way, let them know that I’m falling apart while they celebrate this fucking miracle.
“Dear, are you okay?” Bec’s voice is soft and low, and my sob is involuntary.
Once it escapes my lips, I’m on my knees, holding my head in my hands, and losing the fight against my tears.
I crumble in the middle of everyone. I ruin everything, just like I always do.
I fall into the darkness, and I can’t bring myself out.
I feel arms around me, but I’m too far gone.
Then we’re moving, my eyes closed, my head against a broad, warm chest. I’m barely there.
My screams are the only thing I can hear, my panic the only thing I can feel.
The whole world caves in on me, and all I can do is hope I’ll die before it rips me apart.