Page 106 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“Well, she’s clearing the afterbirth on her own. I’d say you’re all good from here.” Dr. Van de Berg’s gaze cuts from Truett’s to mine and softens. “What a pleasant surprise to see you, Delilah. I trust your parents are well?”

I press my lips tight and try to nod, but it comes out as more of a tremor. Dr. Van de Berg’s shoulders droop, and he sighs heavily. “I’d heard your dad resigned from the music school. Guess I’d hoped he won the lottery or something and got to retire early, unlike the rest of us.” He smiles, and it’s full of kindness. Enough to steal my breath. “Tell him I wish him well, okay?”

I tilt my head and do my best to smile in return. “Will do, Doc.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle and he nods. His gaze cuts over my shoulder to the redheaded farmhand behind me. “Jason, help me carry that calf puller to the car? I’m an old man, after all.”

“An old man who could out-pull any of us, I’m sure,” Jason quips, his tone playful. “Yeah, I’ll get it, Doc.”

They gather his supplies and head for the exit. The calf glances up at me with big brown eyes, his thick lashes blinking slowly. He’s precious—and alive. My heart tumbles over itself at the sight of him.

“What are you gonna name him?”

Tru glances from me to the calf. “Don’t typically name the bull calves, for obvious reasons.”

My stomach plummets. I know how farms work. I know what happens to the steers in the feeder lot. But I look down at this baby who worked so hard to be born, and my heart can’t take it. “Can we make an exception for him? Please.”

I bite down on my bottom lip. I’m covered in hay and questionable liquids, and my arms are still trembling from more exertion than I’ve put in, in months. But all I care about is this little calf, staring up at me with his precious, dopey eyes. Not this one, I reason. This one is special.

Tru braces his hands on his hips and sighs, his shoulders caving in on the exhale. “What are we naming him?”

My eyebrows hit my hairline. “You mean it?”

He laughs, his whole body trembling with it. He’s dirtier than I am, but he’s never looked so attractive. “Yes, I mean it. So what’s the name?”

“Well, I need time to think about it.” I purse my lips. The mama cow turns in her stall and nuzzles her baby, cleaning his forehead with a swipe of her long tongue. “I’ve gotta make sure it’s perfect.”

“Understandable.” His eyes are alight as they dance over me. My skin heats, and I’m suddenly aware that every effort I put into how I look has gone out the window. I shift my weight, and Truett tracks the movement, a smile quirking the side of his mouth. “In the meantime, wanna head up to the house and get cleaned up? Not that afterbirth doesn’t look amazing on you, because it does.”

It snaps the nerves, the agonizing, the floundering all in half. I let out a laugh so loud it startles the cow, and she glares, letting me know I’ve overstayed my welcome.

“Yeah. Yes.” I shake my head, hoping to loosen some of the anxiety leaving me dizzy. “I would like that.”

He tucks his chin and offers a hand to assist me over the fence. “After you, then.”

I take his hand, and he lifts me up. “Such a gentleman.”

His reply is almost lost in the thud of my bare feet on the other side of the railing, but I swear I hear it. Sense it, down to the marrow of my bones.

“I’m certainly trying to be.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Delilah

It’s the quickest shower of my life, mostly because I’m pushing every thought of Truett naked in this very spot out of my head. I refrain from inhaling the scent of his body wash. His two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. All the intimate details that make him him. I don’t slip my fingers between my legs and let myself imagine the water pooling in the valley of his spine, running over the perfect globes of his ass, and down the thickly muscled planes of his thighs…

“Delilah?”

I spin the water dial off so quickly I’m shocked it doesn’t come away in my hand. “Yeah?”

“I’m leaving a shirt and some sweatpants on my bed for you. I’ll toss your clothes in with mine, try to save them while there’s still time.”

The scrape of rough terry cloth over my face brings me back down to earth. I scrub the threadbare towel down my throat, across my shoulders, and wring out my hair, then wrap it around my torso. “Okay. I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Can you pass your clothes to me?”

I glance at the puddle of discarded clothing on the bathroom floor and grimace. Right. I separate out my bra and panties, because there’s no way in hell, and crack the door. “Here.”

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