Page 12 of Falling

Her laugh is quiet, but it still echoes in the bathroom. She looks at me over her shoulder and winces before quickly turning backaround.

“I hate to say it, but yes, I might need help. It hurts to move. There’s just the small zipper there at my—”

I stare at her beautiful back and the way the lace is barely hanging onto her perfect ass. A deep inhale and exhale.

“I don’t see a zipper.” My voice is husky, and I lift my eyes to the ceiling in a silent prayer for strength.

“I know, right? It’s exquisite detailing. I was really impressed with the seamstress.”

The girl has got to be in pain, in more ways than one if she was supposed to get married today, but she’s yammering on about exquisite detailing. I shake my head slightly, needing some focus to find this zipper, not the way her hips dip in like a landing spot for my hands. Or how her perky ass curves into an upside-down heart.

I clear my throat. “Okay, I’m coming in.”

Fuckme.

Why is everything I say the absolute worst?

I decide to not even try to make it better. The gutter my mind is dwelling in couldn’t possibly help.

My fingers slide between her skin and the material, and I freeze when I hear her gasp. Another deep inhale and exhale…from both of us this time, I think. I pull the material out slightly to get a better look, nearly letting out a string of curses when I see the zipper.

I slowly lower it and when it’s all the way down, the dress falls to the ground, leaving me in a world of trouble far greater than before. The sight of her in the barely-there lace, her curvy cheeks peeking beneath the edges, will be permanently burned into my memory.

I gulp and move quickly to the doorway. “Let me know if I can do anything else. I’m just across the hall.”

“Thank you, Callum.”

I mutter something, no idea what, because I’ve clearlylost my mind. I should’ve insisted she go to the lodge or anywhere but here. Not because I don’t trust myself around her—I’m not a fucking caveman despite the way I sometimes sound—but because something about her in my space looks a little too right.

And there’s no way it could be.

She’s in a wedding dress.

I wait around for a while, mostly pacing in my room or trying to read while I’m really listening for her to start the water. And later, when I’m sure she’s not using the water anymore, maybe she’s even gone to bed, I take a quick shower, my boner protesting angrily when I don’t do anything to relieve it.

It already feels depraved how much I want her when she’s in distress. I deserve to live with my situation, at least until she’s out of my house.

The next morning I get up half an hour earlier than usual and check on Ruby’s RV. I’m able to move it off of the street and onto my property, but the thing dies again and won’t restart. I consider calling Bill to see if he can take a look, but it’s too early and I should probably ask Ruby first if she’s okay with that.

The whole thing took longer than I was expecting, maybe an hour. I’d hoped it’d be an easy fix, but I’ve gotta get started on my day. I head to the barn and watch the cows perk up as I walk through. For a dairy farm, I don’t have a big production going on here compared to most—although our organic milk and cheese are used in every local restaurant and many in the surrounding region, our cheese is sold in several top-notch wineries and select boutiques, and it sells out fasterthan any other vendor every week at the farmer’s market. It feels good to be able to say that and know I’m doing it in a way I can feel good about.

Initially, my income came primarily from being smart in the stock market from an early age, and that jumped drastically this past year when I received an inheritance from my granddad. But for as long as I can remember, I’ve loved animals, and when Granddad and Grinny told us as kids which parcel of land would be ours one day, I knew I wanted to raise cows in an ethical way.

My farm isn’t crowded, and my cows have plenty of time to graze. They’re not milked too much. Cows are highly social animals, and I give them plenty of time to socialize. Irene takes advantage of that on a frequent basis, and she’s not the only one. She’s so dang cute though, I have a hard time resisting. My calves are given time with their mothers, and I don’t slaughter my cows when they’re done producing.

I also don’t eat beef.

I don’t judge other people for eating it, but after I look in the eyes of my friends and they give me milk and joy each day, I just can’t do it.

I’ve gotten hassled a bit by the other farmers in the region for all of my choices, but I just tell them in no uncertain terms that they’re welcome to their opinions. I’ll deal with my farm my way.

As for what I choose to do, once my cows have stopped providing milk, I want to let them enjoy the rest of their days roaming and chilling, and I’m fortunate to have plenty of land to do just that.

I start the cleaning process and then move on to the milking, the machines making it go so much faster than it used to by hand. Once that’s done a couple hours later, and I’ve let the cows out to graze, I check in on my goats.

Delphine, as always, is the first to run up to me and nuzzle in for an ear rub and treat. She usually can’t get to Irene fast enough. I swear the two besties are like Grinny and her besties—the Golden Girls—Peg and Helen. Once the goats are out, I peek in on Dolly. She lifts her head and when she sees it’s me, she tucks it back in, like she’s waiting to see Ruby before she’ll get up. It’s just as well, I don’t want to interfere with the feeding schedule Ruby has her on.

It’s eight thirty by the time I head into the house to get another cup of coffee and make breakfast. I leave my boots at the back door and walk toward the kitchen, my nose perking up at the smells coming from there. The sight that greets me is that lace-covered heart ass in the air as Ruby bends down to pick something up in front of the refrigerator.

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