Theirs To Protect: a Reverse Harem Romance

by Stasia Black

  “Hi there, Bessie. We’re gonna take this nice and easy, okay?” That wasn’t a tremble in her voice. Nope. Not at all. She cleared her throat. “I’m here to help.” She smiled.

  Apparently the cow didn’t buy it because when Isobel took another step forward, the cow skittered sideways and then past her, dragging her water bag with her as she went. In humans, women’s water just broke. In cows sometimes, like with this cow apparently, it slipped out intact like a giant water balloon hanging out her back end.

  Oh the joys of veterinary medicine.

  Isobel approached the cow again. She crouched lower and tried to make herself seem as non-threatening as possible. “Nice cow. We’re all friends here.”

  The cow bolted again. When Isobel jolted to run after her, she slipped in the mud—at least she hoped it was mud—and fell on her ass.

  The loud masculine laughter from behind her did nothing to lighten her mood. She set her jaw, ignored the squelching mud that splattered all over her eight-hundred-dollar riding boots, picked up the lariat, and approached the cow again.

  She finally got the rope around the heifer’s neck on the sixth try. Which was good because she didn’t think it would be very compassionate of her to start screaming four letter words at a pregnant cow. Hunter on the other hand, now him she’d be happy to give an earful. If she was acknowledging his presence, that was.

  Which she wasn’t.

  He did not exist.

  It was just her and Bessie.

  “Sorry,” she said, yanking on the rope to urge the cow back toward the gate, “I’m stereotyping by calling you Bessie, aren’t I? I’m sure you are a very unique cow with your own individual spirit. How about you work with me to get this baby born and we’ll come up with a name that reflects your incredibly complex and personal style, what do you say?”

  The cow let out a plaintive mooooo.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “All right. Over here. This way. Atta girl.”

  Finally, Isobel managed to get the cow to the fence near the eight-foot long swinging gate door. Before the cow could run away or move again, Isobel dropped the lariat and hurried to the gate to pull it toward them to enclose the heifer. Finally the heifer was secure, nose toward the apex of the V created by the side of the fence and the gate. Bessie wasn’t going anywhere till her calf was born. The whole close-the-cow-in-with-the-paddock-door thing was another trick she’d learned from the dairy farm.

  “Maybe Cassandra?” Isobel offered conversationally while she knelt down to open up the surgical box and grab out a long plastic sleeve. She fit the glove on over her left hand and then pulled the sleeve all the way up her arm to her shoulder. “Or something classic, like Helen?”

  Here goes nothing. She squeezed some lubricant on her hand. With her right hand she held onto the gate and with her left, she reached right up into the cow’s hoo-ha.

  And reached.

  And reached.

  She was almost shoulder deep before she felt was she was looking for. A little hoof, and further in, a head. She felt around. Nose, jaw, and there it was—the mouth.

  She stuck her finger inside and the little mouth started sucking on her finger. A grin cracked her face.

  The baby was alive.

  You never knew when labor had gone on for an abnormally long time. Another of the tools in Hunter’s truck was a calf-cutter. In the case of dead calves, sometimes you had to cut the calf up in order to pull it out and save the mother’s life.

  She liked that Hunter had left the calf-cutter in the truck and hadn’t just automatically brought it out. It indicated a sort of optimism. Or at least a commitment to trying every other option before going to that extreme.

  But this baby was alive, and Isobel was going to keep it that way.

  She felt around some more. Okay, there was one front hoof and… yep, there was the second one. The calf was in the right position. It must just be oversized. If she remembered her statistics right, oversized calves were the trouble in ninety percent of problematic calving cases.

  Which meant she was going to have to put that calf puller and her own muscles to good use.

  She withdrew her arm and breathed through her mouth, trying to ignore all the goo that came out with it.

  A glamorous job this was not.

  She reached down for another glove and then grabbed the chains of the calf puller. They had little cuffs on the end to attach around the baby calf’s front hooves.

  Here went nothing. She dove back in, this time with both arms, each hand holding a chain.

  The cow bucked forward.

  “Oof!” Isobel was knocked off balance, stumbling forward with the cow. There wasn’t far for the cow to go—unless she nosed at the gate to push it open. Which she immediately did.

  The gate started to swing back, widening the V and making space for the cow to get loose. Isobel yanked her right arm out of the cow and grabbed the gate to pull it back in position.

  “Cassandra!” Isobel yelled. “Naughty cow!”

  Once the heifer was still, Isobel tried again. But the second she took her hand off the gate to try to attach the first chain around the calf’s hoof, Bessie/Cassandra was taking off again.

  Isobel grabbed the gate at the last second to stop her, again.

  Hair had escaped Isobel’s ponytail but she couldn’t push it out of her face because, yeah, cow goo all up and down her arms. She tried to blow it out of the way but it just settled right back in place.

  She pursed her lips and huffed out a breath. She needed three hands—two to put the chains on the baby calves hooves and one to hold the gate shut—but obviously, she only had two. And Hunter was just sitting there behind her, probably gloating and laughing at her.

  Ugh!

  Okay, well maybe she could get the cow to lay down. If she would lay down, that would solve all of Isobel’s problems.

  “Why don’t you take a load off, honey?” Isobel crooned, pushing down on the cow’s rump. “Let’s have a lie down.”

  The cow just started to the side again, knocking into the gate so that Isobel had to grab it before it opened again.

  Fine. Isobel would just attach the chain one handed. How hard could it be?

  Turned out it was hard. Very hard.

  The latch for the little cuff was almost impossible to do one handed. Especially with the plastic glove on. With her hand all the way up inside the cow, she couldn’t see what was going on either. She ended up shoving both hands inside the cow and quickly latching one of the chains around the first hoof, then stumbling along behind the cow before yanking out and grabbing the gate to push the cow back into position.

  Then she repeated the process with the second cuff.

  Finally, finally, she had both cuffs in place. She was soaked in sweat and cow muck. A cow’s back end was not the most sanitary place, suffice to say. Not to mention, she couldn’t tell how many times she’d been smacked in the face by the cow’s swatting tail. A tail that was coated in manure.

  But she had the chains on, goddammit, and this calf was coming out, come hell or high water. She attached the chains to the calf puller, a long flat metal shelf she braced behind the heifer’s hips for traction. It worked similar to a car jack. She started cranking the lever that gave her torque to pull the calf out by the chains on the hooves.

  Isobel only got a couple good pumps in before the cow started heading sideways, pushing against the gate again. But dammit, Isobel was done with it. So beyond done. She was getting the damn calf out.

  So she didn’t stop gripping the calf jack. She dug her feet in and pulled until she felt the veins in her neck straining.

  And then was yanked off her feet by the cow starting forward again. She stumbled forward after the cow.

  “Dammit, keep still,” Isobel shouted, digging her feet again when the cow came to a standstill. She strained, leaning backward, and thought she felt some give as the calf shifted. She reached forward to massage around the cow’s openin
g to help ease the calf’s way. The hooves and front nose were peeking out now. Okay, now to just crank it a few more times and—

  But before she could get in position, the damn cow darted forward again. Isobel wasn’t about to let go of the calf puller. The heifer was booking it though and—

  Shit!

  Isobel was yanked off her feet. The heifer started dragging her along behind it. Ugh! Oh. Fuck. Gross. They were halfway across the paddock before Bessie stopped. Meanwhile Isobel had been on a chest-first slip and slide through the mud and shit filled barn yard. Isobel spit out a clod of what she could only pray was mud as she got to her feet and grabbed hold of the calf jack.

  “Stop fucking with me, Bessie!” Isobel jammed her heels in the mud, solidified her grip on the handle and then started pulling the lever and maneuvering the jack and then pulling some more.

  Out came the calf’s head. The jack’s lever was so taut she could barely get it to move. She managed one more crank and then she just pulled with everything she had. More than everything she had. She gave a primal scream as she yanked and pulled and strained, and then when she had no more to give, she yanked some more.

  Oh God, oh God. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t have any more in her.

  No, dammit. Just a little more. A little more!

  She started sliding in the mud as the fucking cow started forward again. But Isobel kept her feet dug in and just kept pulling.

  Then the chains she was holding suddenly gave all at once and before she knew what was happening, Isobel was on her ass in the mud and a baby calf was on the ground beside her, afterbirth landing all over both of them.

  Isobel started laughing in euphoria. She wanted to hug the little calf. She’d done it. She’d actually done it!

  The mother cow turned around and immediately started licking the little calf. It was lifting its little head and nosing back at its mom.

  Isobel was still grinning as she shook her head and then undid the chains around the calf’s front hoofs. She crawled and checked underneath. It was a girl. She laughed then sat back on her haunches. But only for a second before scrambling to her feet and reaching back inside the cow to make sure all the afterbirth was cleaned out. It was.

  She stepped back, grinning at the mama and baby cow. She’d done it. Her first ever solo calving.

  It was only then that she heard the laughing.

  She swung around and saw Hunter doubled over, laughing so hard he was actually slapping his knee.

  Her mouth dropped open. And then closed, her teeth clenching. She leaned over and grabbed the calving chains and puller, then stalked back toward the gate.

  Hunter was still laughing, actually wheezing from laughing so hard as she opened the gate and slammed it behind her.

  “I saw a spigot and hose on the back side of the barn,” he managed to get out, wiping his eyes with amusement. “Better hose down along with the tools. You’re a bit too ripe to get back in my truck like that.”

  She glared at him. In all likelihood, she had a warrant out on her for attempted murder in one state.

  Why not make it two?

  She yanked the long muck-covered gloves off her arms and threw them at his feet before grabbing the equipment she’d used and going in search of the spigot he’d mentioned.

  She finally found it after walking around almost the whole barn. Because of course Hunter couldn’t have been more specific, the bastard. She turned the spigot on and sprayed water at the chains before turning it toward her own boots.

  She’d been so caught up in the moment with the calving, she hadn’t really been paying attention to just how gross she’d been getting. But now that she had a chance to look down at herself, she almost gagged. She was covered in—

  She jerked her head away. Nope. Better not to think about what she was covered in. She just turned the hose on herself.

  “God!” she yipped, dancing away from the freezing spray for a second before closing her eyes, bracing, and aiming it back at her chest.

  She didn’t care if she had to ride home drenched, she didn’t think she could stand herself smelling like the insides of a cow.

  She dared a glance down at herself after spraying for several minutes. Ugh, the water was barely making a dent in all the shit covering her. Because she had no doubt there was plenty of actual manure mixed in there. The water was just turning it all into a brown slurry coating her previously light blue work shirt.

  She gagged and threw the hose down, then ripped the shirt off over her head. Nope. Nope. Nope. She was not wearing the poop shirt for another second.

  She stripped out of her boots and pants just as quickly. Her boots were dirty even on the inside. When she’d tripped and been dragged by the cow that one time, the mud and manure had caked up inside the top and run down her calves.

  Ugh, God, could this get more disgusting? She put her thumb in the tip of the hose to make it spray high power at her disgusting clothes. Her poor boots. The supple leather would never be the same after this.

  “Here, you can change into—”

  She shrieked and covered her chest as Hunter came around the side of the barn. He paused, just staring at her while she stood there in nothing but her bra and panties, both of which were soaked through.

  “It’s not a wet T-shirt contest,” she yelled at him. “Stop ogling me!”

  His eyes jerked up to her, a lazy smile crossing his face. “If you say so, sweetheart.” He tossed her a dark bundle of clothes. “You can change into this. But those boots go in the back of the truck.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Now hurry it up, I wanna make it home before the first inning’s over.”

  It would be justifiable homicide in this case. Surely any jury would agree.

  “Get out of here,” she cried when he continued just standing there looking at her.

  He finally turned and moseyed back the way he came, moving so slowly she could have screamed. The instant he disappeared around the corner she unrolled the blue fabric and saw it was a pair of coveralls. She eagerly stepped into them. They were huge on her but still better than putting on the poop clothes. She pulled up the front zipper. The crotch sagged and she had to roll up the legs so they didn’t drag on the ground, but that was fine. She grabbed all the equipment and her boots. Her boots were clean enough to hold underneath her arm, but she held her dirty, wet clothes between her thumb and forefinger as she headed back toward the truck.

  She stepped carefully across the field back toward the driveway. It was muddy from recent rains and she had the disconcerting feeling that anything that looked like mud could just as well be more manure. A comforting thought, when she was walking barefoot.

  That was it, tomorrow she’d ask Melanie if she’d mind using her Amazon account to order some work boots.

  Isobel finally made it back to the truck and threw everything in the back. They’d disinfect the chains and cow puller when they got back to the clinic. In the meantime, she needed to dip her entire body in Purell.

  When she rounded the truck, she heard voices.

  “A live calf? That’s great to hear.”

  “Yep. A little heifer. She was getting milk and feeding well when I left her.”

  “You always do a great job, Hunter.”

  “Not a problem. You have a good night now.”

  Isobel’s hands clenched into fists. Did he actually just take credit when she’d—

  Hunter was still smiling when he came around the truck and saw her standing there. If he noticed how furious she was, he didn’t let it show.

  He just looked down at her bare, dirty feet. “Clean those up before you get in the truck.” He opened the driver’s side door. Oh,” he paused right before climbing up. “And next time,” his smirk was fully back in place, “you might want to tie the cow to the gate with the harness so she stays in one place. Though I gotta say, I did enjoy the show.”

  Chapter 11

  ISOBEL

  Three weeks later, Isobel was still smarting abou
t the mistake she’d made with that first calving. How dumb could she get? She couldn’t believe she’d made the most basic of mistakes. Not tying up the freaking cow? Facepalm. And then she’d looked like a complete fucking idiot chasing that heifer all around.

  She scrubbed shampoo into her hair as she thought about it.

  Things hadn’t gotten much better in the ensuing weeks. She’d backed off asking to help in cases and Hunter seemed just fine with that. Probably because he assumed she was an imbecile who couldn’t even think to tie up a calving heifer.

  During the daily in-clinic hours she felt a little more helpful. At least there she could direct the clients and their pets into the exam rooms. It had gotten so busy last Tuesday—one of Dr. Roberts’ off days—that there wasn’t any other choice except for her to help out. Several emergencies had come in on top of their regular appointments.

  Isobel gave shots and dealt with minor complaints while Hunter took care of a collie with a major laceration and a choking llama that a man brought in with a trailer out back.

  Then, without asking his permission—because screw him—she just started seeing and diagnosing clients on a regular basis. She was certified, damn it. So while he was dealing with patients in exam one, she took the next appointment in exam two. There’d only been one case so far that she’d wanted to check with Hunter on before giving treatment.

  And he’d been civilized and professional about it. Maybe just because they were in front of the clients. She’d taken scrapings from a cat to check under the microscope, but wasn’t positive about what kind of parasite the animal was carrying. Isobel had felt about ninety percent sure what she was dealing with, but she’d wanted to double check.

  Hunter had coolly agreed with her assessment and then gone back to his own patient without another word. So he was aware she was seeing patients on her own and apparently didn’t have anything to say about it. Yesterday, she’d seen him looking over the files of patients she’d seen that day. Since he hadn’t said anything, did that mean she was doing a good job?

  She closed her eyes and let the shower spray rinse the shampoo out of her hair. She’d been disgustingly filthy again when she’d gotten home today and the shower felt divine.