Page 23 of A Prince for Christmas

Nick hadn’t left, though I wasn’t sure why. I looked at him questioningly.

“Do you think I could try?” he asked.

I looked at Boots, who seemed completely at ease with his presence. “Sure, but follow my instructions exactly.”

“Of course.”

I got up off the stool, and told him to scratch Boots’ head, then pet her side. He followed my instructions to the letter.

“Now, sit down on the stool, and take a couple of minutes to rub the side of her udders that are still full. Give them a few gentle bumps.”

“No problem.”

I was pleased that Boots seemed to like him.

“Now, take one teat in each hand, and begin to milk her. Gently pull one teat, which will release the milk, then empty it into the bucket by squeezing your fingers together, top to bottom.”

“Well, what do you know, the prince of England is milking a cow in my barn,” I marveled.

Nick chuckled and shook his head.

Joking aside, I was astonished at how quickly he got the rhythm, and far quicker than I would have expected, he had emptied the other side of her udder. I checked to be sure she was properly cleaned out and released her from the stanchion.

Nick looked ridiculously proud of himself as he stood there holding the pail of milk. He absolutely beamed when I gave him a scoop of molasses-soaked grain to feed her. It was so cute I had to resist the urge to pinch his cheeks.

“What do we do with the milk?” he asked when Boots had finished devouring the grain and receiving more head scratches.

“You,” I said, “Bring the bucket into the house for Mom to deal with. And remember, you still owe me a lot more explanation.”

CHAPTER 10

Nick carried the bucket of rich, steaming milk into the kitchen without spilling a drop. It was hard to stay mad at a man who was so tickled at milking his first cow. Maybe tomorrow I’d show him how to give the barn cats a treat by squirting a little into their open mouths. Today we’d set out a dish of milk for them before coming in, but that wasn’t the same.

It would be fun, something he’d remember forever. But then it struck me that, while all that was true, it was different for him. This was like a vacation at a dude ranch, not an introduction to a way of life. I drooped a little at that but reminded myself that I hadn’t been looking for a husband when I met him, and I wasn’t ready for one now. What was wrong with enjoying the present?

And the present was a cozy house with a fire roaring and Christmas music playing quietly from the stereo. Nick set the bucket, which weighed around fifty pounds, on the kitchen counter with no apparent effort. He might not have done an honest day’s work in his life, at least not what we considered work out here, but he was strong enough for all practical purposes, despite the beautifully manicured nails.

Mom walked in and gave me a cautious smile. She hated conflict almost as much as she hated seeing any of her family hurting. I returned a bright, reassuring smile. It was Christmas, after all. No need to spread my confusion to the rest of the clan.

“What should I call you, Mrs. Miller?” Nick asked politely.

“Well, dear,” she said. “Everyone around here, John included, calls me Mom. You might as well do the same. I’d stick with Mr. Miller for her dad, though, until he tells you different.”

“Thank you… Mom.” I couldn’t quite read the look on Nick’s face, but I had the oddest feeling that he was blinking back tears. Maybe the Queen of England didn’t go by Mum.

“Of course, dear,” Mom said, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “We’re so happy to have you hear for the holidays. Everyone should be with family during Christmas, even if they can’t be with their own.”

“What do we do with all this milk?” Nick asked, peering into the bucket and clearing his throat.

“It isn’t as much as you might think, with three growing girls, pigs, cats, and dogs,” Mom said with a smile. “But first, have you tasted the fresh milk?”

Nick looked doubtfully at the bucket and shook his head. “Don’t you have to do something to it before it’s edible?”

“Not if your pastures and barns are clean,” she assured him. “I sell fresh unpasteurized milk to half a dozen moms in the area.” She grabbed a spoon, gave it a good stir, and scooped out a small glass for Nick.

For the first time, he hesitated. “You’re sure?”

“Emily never drank anything else ‘til she went away to college. I don’t think the English are allergic to real milk, either.”