Page 11 of Alive and Wells

“Sounds delicious. It’ll go great with the chilli we’re making for branding tomorrow, too.” I slip an apron over my head, as she cuts the dough and plunks half down for me to work.

A few moments later, Austin strolls in like he owns the place.Because he does, obviously.But that’s no excuse to act like a cocky prick. With Beryl and me working on opposite countertops, he has to squeeze between us to access the coffee maker. As he walks in our direction, my skin involuntarily tingles in anticipation. Despite this being a distinctly non-sexy moment, my body fails to receive the memo. He may be a grumpy asshole sometimes… okay, most of the time. But he’s also attractive. I can’t help the primal desire or the way my mind sometimes runs rampant, picturing what it would feel like to be close to Austin. What his rough hands might feel like on my skin, whether his truck really is compensating for something, and what his lips taste like.

When was the last time Iwanteda man to touch me?

His belt buckle drags across my lower back as he passes, making every muscle along my spine contract in concert. He may as well slice me open with the way my skin stings. It isn’t even an actual touch. No skin to skin. His exclusive intention is to reach the coffee—not to get close to me. Even still, the sharp breath held captive in my chest doesn’t release until he’s long gone. This is easily the most pathetic I’ve ever felt—married and pining for my boss.

Great, Cecily. You really are a whore.

The following morning is warm, but overcast. According to Beryl, it’s the perfect weather for branding. When my feet hit the compact dirt, I don’t think any amount of eavesdropping or research into calf branding could have prepared me. Wood fire and horse sweat, mixed with burning flesh and hair, nearly knocks me off my feet. I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth and try not to take in the noxious air. It’s no use. There’s no escaping it, and I’ll be here all day.

“Oh, my God.” I gag.

“You get used to it.” Beryl winks. I can’t imagine how anybody could ever get used to this stench.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I reply, doing my best not to inhale too deeply through my nose.

I stand by the truck like a statue. Holding cookies, which suddenly feel like an inappropriate snack choice, and watching as the men on horseback work in organized chaos. They don’t bother trying to speak to each other over the loud moos and braying horses. Instead, they silently gesture as they move methodically through the herd, separating calves, stringing them by their back legs with a quick toss of a rope, and pulling them into the branding area. It’s impressive to see the men in their element, moving amongst the cattle and each other like they’re performing a choreographed dance.

A hard lump forms in my throat when I see Jackson Wells pull a long metal rod from the bonfire. The end, featuring a prominent W, has a slight red tinge from sitting in the hot embers. I blindly feel for the metal water bottle strapped to my side and take a slow sip, silently reminding myself not to show any emotion. This is definitely not the time to be a pathetic, crybaby city girl. Even if—Jesus Christ—Jackson places the hot steel against the calf’s right hip. Searing the hide, and filling the air with more sickening smoke.

I look away, swallowing hard, perfectly timed to catch Austin watching me from under his hat. A smug look gives away every cruel thought behind his eyes. Somehow, one moment of weakness as I watch a sweet baby cow being branded seems enough to undo all the hard work I’ve put in thus far. When the smoke clears, the calf’s released and sent happily back to find its mom—seemingly no worse for wear. Relief flows across me and, within another couple calves, my guts are no longer churning with each brand placed.

My eyes flicker back over to Austin. Thank God for the scorching sunshine, so I don’t have to make up an excuse for the way looking at him makes me sweat. Worn leather chaps—a cowboy clothing staple I didn’t know I needed in my life, before coming here—sit overtop perfectly snug Wranglers. I may have referred to them as being too tight in the past, but that was a defence mechanism. They’re incredible—hugging his ass and muscular thighs.

Turning his attention away from the branding action, he casually spits on the ground and an aching takes up residence in the spot behind my hip bones. Clearly, it’s been too long since I’ve craved a man if this kind of thing turns me on. My fingers touch the spot where my ring once was. No longer having an indent there almost feels like I’m single again. And that’s all the validation I need to continue staring. Daydreaming.

“So, what exactly is the point of all this?” I ask Beryl as we prepare the stockpot filled with chilli to hang over the fire.

“Branding for identification, ear tags for transport regulations, vaccinations to keep ’em healthy, and the boys get castrated because we already have darn near enough cattle around this place.” Beryl laughs.

I grimace. “Isn’t it painful, though?”

“It’s not too bad.” I didn’t notice Austin moving from the other side of the expansive corral, and his voice makes me jump. I’d almost forgotten what he sounds like; he’s beenthatcold to me lately. My breath hitches when I feel how close he is behind me. Close enough, I could spin around and be in his arms—not that I’d be dumb enough to try.

“Oh, yeah? You’ve been castrated then?”

“No.” He pulls a face. Even under the shade from his wide-brim hat, there’s no denying his face has a fuchsia hue. “I thought you meant branding.”

“I did. And I forgot you speak cow. Did they tell you it doesn’t hurt in a series of moos?” I quip.

“First-hand experience, actually.”

My smile falters as I blink up at him.Say what now?

Placing a brown-work-gloved hand on my shoulder, he shuffles my shocked body slightly to the right and picks up the heavy chilli pot with ease. My muscles react subconsciously, shuddering under his hand. The cast-iron pot swings as he reaches across the massive fire to hang it from a metal rod, making the branching veins across his tanned forearms pop.

Get it together. He’s your boss.

Every muscle’s outlined by his sweat-soaked t-shirt, rippling as he lets go of the pot. It dangles over the coals and he steps back, taking one last look at my pathetic self before heading back to his work. My brazen stare as he walks away is broken by someone calling my name.

“Cecily, want to give me a hand?” Kate waves her arms from further into the chaos.

Horses, men, ropes, cows… so many different things that could kill me in a thousand different ways. My heart pounds at the thought of stepping into the mayhem. Every functioning brain cell’s screamingfuck no. I’m afraid I’ve used up all my luck when it comes to staying alive in situations where I should’ve died.

“My mommy’s callin’ ya.” Odessa hangs from the fence with a lollipop dangling from her mouth. I don’t know many preschoolers, but I can’t imagine most kids her age would be relaxed in this environment. I can be at least as brave as a four-year-old, can’t I?

Shaking off the nerves, I duck between fence boards, and I’m in it. Like, really in it. Keeping my head on a swivel, and darting to the side as Red trots past me with a calf strung behind him, tugging it across the soft earth to the branding area.

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