Mine does too, but my thoughts usually revolve around something happening to someone I care about, not immaculate conception.
Tyler finds what he’s been looking for, pulling the yellow bottle of gas-line antifreeze from Bailey’s glove compartment and making his way back over to Tate’s pickup.
“Hey, you can’t just steal Bailey’s,” I get after him with a grin, hitting the button on Kenny’s key fob to unlock hers.
Tyler shrugs with a smile that makes those stupid-looking dimples of his pop. “Bailey doesn’t let her fuel line freeze. I told you, I’m taking care of Cricket. The other two are your job,” he says with a wink.
SIX
MADDOX
Tyler hasto finish taking care of Tate’s pickup and I’ve got animals to feed, so we go our separate ways. Cash doesn’t appreciate me spending a few extra minutes bullshitting and lets me know it by snapping his teeth at my fingers when I reach in to pet his muzzle. He’s a very no-nonsense type of horse, his personality as dominant as his appearance—solid black and sixteen hands.
I fill his hay net and check his water before moving on to the other family horses. The monotony of the chores allows my mind to wander to the woman from last night. My own weakness pisses me off, but I’m already counting down the hours until my work is done so I can go home and make an account just to see her again.
I can’t get her off my mind. Her little whimpers and gasps play on repeat, louder than the clucks from the chickens and the donkeys whuffling. The way she was such a little brat until I stopped giving her attention makes me wonder if she’s like that in person too, or if she’s learned it gets her more tips to play those games.
I wasn’t judging her either way. If people were willing to payto watch someone fuck themselves with a vibrator, why shouldn’t she take advantage of it?
I rarely go on sites like those. Jacking off is more of a chore than something I look forward to doing, but I needed to pass time so I didn’t fall asleep only to wake up two hours later feeling like shit.
I excused it by blaming it on Austin. She’d been running around me like a mare with her tail held high for the past couple of years. I’d tried to do the right thing by my sister, ignoring her best friend, but that’s been harder to do ever since that night in November.
When I saw the thumbnail for RedRanger’s show—the softness of her stomach and the bellybutton charm dangling from it—it wasn’t hard to pretend Red was the bratty little bartender I’d been itching to dominate.
I hadn’t had a chance to have a scene with a brat yet, but there was something about them that interested me. They were amusing, knowing the value of their submission and making whoever wanted it have to work hard to get it. Just the thought of earning Austin’s has me hard in the chicken coop, which, I have to say, is a new low for me.
By the time I’m done feeding everyone, the sky is light and Tyler’s already on the tractor, delivering a hay bale to the cattle feeders. When it drops, Jameson prods at it with a pitchfork, loosening up the outer, frozen layer. The heifer nearest to him moos, nudging the feeder like she’s rushing him, and Jameson grumbles back at her. He sees me and gestures with his head to a wheelbarrow of hay he’s already chopped up and set aside for the bred heifer we’re keeping separate from the others.
“Morning, Mama.”
She moos back at me petulantly and while I can’t say I’ll ever know for sure how she’s feeling, her exhaustion is evident enough in the way she’s standing that it makes me wince in sympathy. I wheel the hay into her stall.
We aren’t set up for winter calving. It’s harder on everyoneinvolved—from us humans, to the heifer, to the calf—and because we didn’t know to plan for her calf, she hasn’t been getting the same care and attention that the cows that were purposefully bred for calving season have been.
I check her over while she eats, keeping my hands light on her udders and joints so I don’t hurt her or make her anxious. She’ll probably give birth within the next few weeks.
With the morning chores done, I make my way back to the big house for breakfast. Mama’s barn cat, Sheriff, tangles around my ankles, tripping me every few feet. Mama said it was his way of showing how grateful he was that I’d fed him. I wish he’d get it through his head that I wouldn’t be able to feed him anymore if I ended up tripping over him and breaking my neck. The best way he could show me his gratitude would be continuing to catch the rats in the barn and leaving me the hell alone.
Bailey shoulder-checks me as she walks past, the screen door slamming behind her. “You’re twenty-six years old, Bails,” I grumble, but she sticks her tongue out at me.
She heads toward her Jeep, but I stop her, digging my wallet out of my back pocket. “Tyler took your HEET for Tate’s truck, so I need you to stop and get another bottle for your glove compartment on your way home from school.”
“I’m not going to school today,” she replies, ignoring the twenty dollar bill in my hand. She looks restless and I feel even worse knowing she probably didn’t go back to sleep after we got home either.
“Why?” I ask her, suspicious. I have a feeling it has something to do with the pride in Chase’s voice last night when he heard she’d re-enrolled and I’ll be damned if she’s gonna drop outagainbecause of him. “If you aren’t going to class, where’re you headed?”
Bailey glares at me, and I take the hint that I’m not getting any answers from her this morning. That’s fine. I know her well enough to know that she probably doesn’t have a destination in mind. She just wants to gosomewhere.
“Wanna take Cash out for a run? He’s been antsy for days, I just haven’t had a moment,” I lie, trying to find an outlet for her.
“I have my own horse, Maddox.”
Fuck. She used myactualname. She really is mad.
“Bailey, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think he’d?—”
“‘Didn’t think’ sounds about right.” She crosses her arms.
