“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.
Not in Front of the Baby
Tripp
Hey Papa Bear! You still thinkin' about getting off the circuit and settling somewhere with Claire? I've got a job opportunity out here for ya.
Brooks Wilder
Would I have to work with your irritating ass?
Ha! I know you've missed me. We're looking for another ranch hand to help out, do riding lessons, maybe some training. You in?
I'll have to think about it.
Come up and see the place. Check out the herd and the horses.Visit the town.
I'll let you know when I've got a couple days free.
It’s been a long day, but by the time we finish working, Quinn has supper waiting for us. It takes everything in me not to grab her and slip out of the house, but she made my favorite again tonight, and this time, she made enough garlic bread for both me and Wes to have plenty.
She reassures Wes the calf is doing well and standing on its own. “I was going to go out to feed him again after I do the dishes.”
