Page 10 of Dairy and Deadly

“Let’s find out.” He screwed the lid and nipple on the bottle and held it out to her, giving her a look that was half-teasing and half-challenging.

“Let’s.” She boldly stepped forward to grasp the bottle with both hands. It was heavier than she’d anticipated. She lifted it in the air experimentally. “That’s a lot of milk.”

“Two whole liters, babe.”

“Thirsty little things.” Though Ashley kept her expression neutral, she was secretly thrilled over how easily endearments kept slipping off his tongue. He had no idea how starved her ears were for that kind of attention. Her ex had never gone out of his way to shower her with compliments or endearments. Martin had mostly called her by her last name, making her feel like a random side character in some B-rated police procedural show. Perkins. Just Perkins.

Not darling. Not Ash. Not babe. All of which Johnny had managed to call her within a twenty-four-hour period, and they weren’t even dating.

He cupped one large hand beneath hers on the bottle to wave it enticingly at the nearest calf. “Come here, Bossy.”

His sudden nearness made her catch her breath, which she attempted to cover with a cough. “Is that really her name?” Though her gaze was on the prancing calf, she was very, very aware of his gloved fingers curling around hers.

“It is.” He held the bottle steady as the hungry creature came bawling in their direction. In the end, the only real challenge to bottle feeding proved to be holding the bottle firmly enough so the wiggling calf didn’t pull it straight out of their hands.

The fuzzy little Holstein sucked on the bottle so noisily that it tugged every last one of Ashley’s heartstrings. “You sweet, sweet thing,” she crooned, crouching down in front of the frisky little creature. She had to keep adjusting the angle of the bottle while she danced and wiggled beneath it.

She quirked a questioning glance up at Johnny. “Do you name all of them?”

“Nah, just my favorites.”

Her curiosity spiked. “Exactly how many favorites do you have?”

“Over seventy.”

She started laughing. She couldn’t help it. The guy clearly adored his cattle. It was an unexpected and endearing discovery.

“Whelp.” He stepped back and folded his arms, grinning down at her and Bossy. “Not that you’re gunning to become a dairy farmer, but…” He let the words hang teasingly between them.

“But I’m out of work.” She finished the sentence for him, giving him a beseeching look. “And I believe you have a job opening for a farm hand.”

His eyebrows shot upward. “You’re joking, right?”

She shrugged. “What if I’m not?” During the drive to his farm, the idea of working for him had continued to grow on her, and not simply because she needed the income. There was something vulnerable about the former bull rider — something lurking just beneath the surface that she couldn’t quite define. Whatever it was, she couldn’t stand the thought of The Black Widow exploiting it.

He made a sputtering sound. “Don’t you live in Dallas?”

“Not anymore.” It was time to drip a few more details of her story onto him. She kept her attention on the wiggly calf as she confided, “I terminated the lease on my apartment before I left the city.”

He lifted his Stetson and ran his hand through his hair. “Be real with me, Ash.” His grin disappeared. “What are you really doing in Heart Lake?”

She didn’t dare look up again for fear of giving something away with her expression. “Like I said, I’m looking for a job.”

“I know what you said,” he pressed quietly, “but that’s not what I asked.”

She was both impressed and exasperated by his keen perception. “That’s the only answer I can give you right now. I’m not gonna beg you for an interview. If you don’t think I’m qualified to serve as a farm hand?—”

“Good grief,” he growled. “You’re way overqualified and you know it!”

She drew a sharp breath of relief. Overqualified might be stretching things, but she was a quick learner. “Then I don’t see the problem.”

“For starters, you’re a police officer, not a dairy farmer.” The initial protest in his voice was growing weaker by the second.

“I’m no longer a police officer.” To her dismay, a sheen of hot dampness prickled the backs of her eyelids. “I got tired of sitting on the bench, waiting to pass my psych evaluation, so I turned in my resignation. Are you happy now, Mr. I Gotta Have Every Last Detail of Your Personal Life?”

“No!” He jammed his hat back on his head. “The things you’ve suffered don’t fill me with a single ounce of joy. How can you say that?” He scowled at her for a moment before speaking again. “If you’re serious about wanting the job, it’s yours. I just…” His scowl deepened. “Are you sure this is whatyouwant?”

She dashed the back of her gloved hands over her eyes. “I guess that’s a fair question.” She sniffled, hating how weak she must look and sound to him. “The truth is, I don’t know what’s next for me. The only thing I’m sure about right now is that bottle feeding your calf is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” It was true. There was something peaceful about slowing the pace and feeding a farm animal. Something restful. Something that soothed her deepest, darkest, most tormented thoughts. She needed this every bit as much as he needed her protection from Caro Madison.

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