Page 40 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

“You’ve never milked a cow before, have you?” I ask, smiling.

“No,” she admits, folding her arms.

“Here.” I pat the stool beside me. “Take a seat.”

She does, and I guide her hands to the cow’s udder, showing her how to apply the right amount of pressure.

“Like this,” I say, demonstrating.

Her first attempt is awkward, the milk barely trickling into the pail, but she sticks with it. Her determined expression as she tries to get it right, leaves me feeling an unexpected surge of pride. She's so different from the polished manager—here she is, sleeves rolled up, trying something completely new just because it matters to me.

“You’re a natural,” I tease.

“Hardly,” she mutters, but I see the sparkle in her eyes.

I catch my dad watching us, and though his expression is unreadable, I see a glimmer of approval in his eyes.

After we finish, he shows Emily how to pour the milk through cheesecloth into a jug, explaining how it helps filter out impurities before it cools. She listens intently, her brow furrowed in concentration, and I feel a strange sense of satisfaction watching her.

Back in the house, the smell of bacon fills the air as Dad works at the stove.

“Sit,” he says when Emily tries to help.

“I can—”

“Sit,” he repeats, his tone firm but not unkind.

She glances at me, and I shrug, grinning. “When he says sit, you sit.”

She laughs, taking a seat at the table while I grab the coffee pot and pour myself a cup. I pour a glass of cold milk for Emily, who looks at it doubtfully at first but then shrugs and takes a curious sip. “It’s rich but good.”

Dad places plates of food in front of us—eggs, bacon, biscuits, and a heaping pile of hash browns. It’s simple but hearty, the kind of meal that sticks with you.

As we eat, he leans back in his chair, his gaze resting on me.

“That money you sent,” he says, his tone even. “It was more than enough to fix the well. I’m having the tractor worked on next.”

Emily’s fork pauses mid-air, her eyes darting curiously to me.

“I’m glad it helped,” I say, my voice casual.

He nods, his expression unreadable. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” I say firmly.

Dad shakes his head, but I catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Emily looks at me, her eyes wide with surprise.

“You work too hard, Dad,” I tell him, feeling a little self-conscious under her gaze. “It’s the least I can do.”

Dad snorts. “Don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity,” I argue. “It’s me helping take care of the farm and you.”

He doesn’t respond, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not as annoyed as he pretends to be.

After breakfast, Dad leans against the counter, his arms crossed.

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