Page 14 of Drowning Her

“But you only got in a few hours ago.” She put a hand on her hip. “Fromwork.”

“Can you cook?” I asked.

She tilted her head, perhaps too intrigued that I had askedhera question, to notice the fact that I had ignored hers.

“I mean, I can throw something together?—”

“Then you’re on kitchen duty.”

“Excuse me?” I took a long, hot sip of coffee, the liquidburning my throat. Maisie wrinkled her nose. “Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“Because the chef is out.”

“Doyoucook?”

I raised a brow, and she touched my arm. A jolt of electricity surged through me. I stepped back.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she whispered.

I narrowed my eyes. Even though I constantly rejected her, Maisie never gave up. She put her hands on her hips again. “What doyoudo during the workday? Dare I ask about the graveyard shift that keeps you out all night?”

“Cattle,” I said. “Livestock.”

I motioned for her to follow me. Kyle and a few others were waiting past the edge of my property. We only had about twenty cow-calf pairs. We honestly didn’t needthismany men. But it was part of how we operated both sides of the business.

“Then let me do that.” She lifted her chin. “Trust me. I can handle it.”

For a second, I considered working in the main house kitchen myself, just so I could laugh at her trembling through a day of ranching. I nodded at Kyle.

“You want kitchen duty?” I asked.

Kyle practically leaped toward the house, his smile spread wide. “Yep. On it, boss.”

Maisie snorted at him. “Why is he so happy?”

“Air conditioning,” Kyle yelled back. Maisie’s brow furrowed, and I buried a chuckle. She’d learn fast.

I dipped my head toward her clothes. “Get dressed.”

When she came back, she was dressed in the same holey jeans, but this time, she had a short-sleeved shirt. I considered telling her to wear long-sleeves, but seeing as she was so damn confident in what she was doing, I let it be.

I had Maisie and a rancher corral a few of the calves into the barn, with the other ranchers keeping the mothers separate. The two of them led the calves down to the chute, where we quickly vaccinated and tagged their ears, then let them off into another pen where the cows lined up at the gate, bawling for their babies.

We opened the pen to let the calves back in with their mothers, but one eager cow headed straight through us for her calf. I smacked a hand into Maisie’s chest.

“Hey!” she yelled. But then she saw why. The cow moved past us, sniffing at her calves’ back. Once the cow confirmed the calf was her own, the cow grunted at us, the noise deep and protective.

Maisie’s mouth was open, her fingers shaking, but she nodded at me to prove she was fine. Nothing could scare her away. Not even almost being trampled by a thousand-pound animal.

After taking them back to their pastures, Maisie and I took the tractor out to lay hay bales to supplement anything they needed. She cut the net wrap. Strips of hay clung to her arms and neck, and she slapped it off. Long-sleeves; she’d figure it out. Kitchen duty was a prized position.

I took a seat at the edge of the pasture, leaning against the metal gate. A few of the pairs, including the trampling mother and her babe, acknowledged me, their low sounds humming toward us. Some pairs were still new to our farm, and it was good to have them get used to us, especially if Maisie planned to do the day shift. The pond glared with sunlight. Maisie’s strong scent spread through the air, mixing with hay, dirt, and fur. Either she had forgotten the perfume, or her musk was too strong for it. I kept my gaze on the reflective pond.

“You swim?” I asked.

“I can survive,” she said. “I wouldn’t drown or anything.” I had a hard time believing that. Under the right circumstances, anyone could drown. “I can doggy paddle.” I snickered, and Maisie sunk down beside me. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You ought to learn how to swim,” I said.

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