by Laura Moore
When Ethan was a kid, his teacher at Acacia Elementary used to have the class play a game. It was called something like “What Doesn’t Belong Here?” He, standing beside this perfect woman in her perfect, spotless world, was the oddball.
But one thing he knew about Adele and Daniel Knowles: their kindness and generosity were deep-seated and totally genuine. Quinn must have inherited it, for all she said next was, “Go wash up and we’ll set to work. Oh, and use the soap in the pump bottle. It’s antibacterial.”
While he washed his hands, he tracked her movements as she crisscrossed the room, pulling out neatly folded washcloths and a stack of metal pails from the cupboard next to the refrigerator. Setting them on the counter, she filled one of the buckets with feed pellets from the large bin.
When he stepped away from the sink to dry his hands, she took his place, turning on the water and filling another bucket before squirting some of the antibacterial soap into it. Picking up the two buckets, she hooked her fingers around the stack of still-empty pails and lifted them, too. “Grab the washcloths and follow me.”
He looked at all the stuff she was carrying. “I can at least carry the empty pails for you, damn it.”
With a roll of her eyes, she thrust them toward him so he could grasp the handles in his good hand. “There. Now that your male ego is satisfied, can we get a move on? Coco gets witchy if she’s kept waiting.”
The clanking of metal marked their progress outside. The noise had one of the goats removing her nose from the feeder. Looking at Quinn, she bleated imperiously.
“Yes, Coco, you’ll go first.”
He watched Quinn set the bucket of water on the ground next to a wooden platform roughly the size of a cot with an odd-looking headboard at its end.
“You can set the pails down here.” She pointed to a spot in the middle of the platform while she walked over to the headboard and poured some pellets into a trough that he hadn’t noticed before.
The imperious bleat came again.
“I hear you, Coco. You could try to be a little more polite, you know.”
She brushed past him and the air turned fresh. He inhaled, and her scent—it reminded him of a spring garden—entered his bloodstream. Something inside him tightened and became an ache different from all the others. This one sweet and beguiling.
The sky had lightened. He could see her tall, leggy form as she moved among her goats, continuing her cheerful chatter as they bumped her affectionately with their shoulders and gummed her down vest.
Wrapping her hand about the goat’s leather collar, she snapped a lead line on it and led her back to the platform.
“So this here’s Coco, my most demanding Toggenburg.” Dropping a kiss on the bony ridge above the goat’s eye, she continued, “Coco, this is Ethan. He’s going to get to know you today. Up, Coco.” She gestured, and the animal leapt onto the platform and made a beeline for the trough, her neck fitting into the vee of the headboard, which Ethan now understood served as a kind of yoke.
Quinn sat on a low bench and got to work, talking as she picked up one of the washcloths and dunked it into the bucket of soapy water. “Before you begin milking, you have to wash the udder and teats first,” she said, swabbing them with gentle efficiency. “The only good thing about this drought is that the girls aren’t playing in the mud. Frankly, I’d do a jig to see them caked in it from nose to tail. There, all done.” She set the cloth and bucket aside. “Now, watch carefully. As I said, Coco’s a bit of a diva. She gives a lot of milk but doesn’t tolerate fumblers. On the upside, if you can milk Coco, the rest of my girls will be a breeze. I’ll—”
“Wait. You intend to have me milk your goats?”
“Yup. It’s your new job. Consider yourself enrolled in Milking 101. See this? This here is a teat.” She brushed the distended teat with her index finger. “You ever handled one before?” The ghost of a grin lifted the corner of her mouth.
Damn, he liked her sense of humor. Clearly the moment had come for a little tit for tat. “I’ve had experience with something similar, but I’ve never been especially interested in milking any of them.” He paused as if considering. “Suckling, definitely.”
There was enough light to catch the fiery blush that stole over her cheeks. She cleared her throat and coughed. “Excuse me. Must have swallowed some hay.” She made a show of coughing again. “Right. Good. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. You’ll need to bring your A-game with Coco. Take a seat.”
He looked around. “Where?”
“Here.” She patted the space next to her. “You need to see what I’m doing.”
He shrugged inwardly. What the hell? He could give it a try. He sat, and she scooted an inch or two closer to the goat’s side.
“Watch and learn.” Quinn made a circle with her index finger and thumb. She brought it to the base of the teat until the back of her hand rested against the engorged udder. “You begin by pushing up against the udder like this and feeling for the milk. When you do, you’re going to close your thumb and index finger and draw the milk down, the rest of your hand squeezing as you do.” As she uttered the words, a stream of milk shot from beneath her closed fingers and landed on the wood.
“Don’t you need a pail?”
“First I have to check that the milk is clear, with no dark lumps. Now that I’ve seen it’s fine, you can place the pail a few inches in front of her hind legs.”
He grabbed one of the metal pails and positioned it as instructed.
“Okay, I’m going to demonstrate again. Then I’ll start milking for real.”
As he watched her hand moving up and down, drawing milk from the udder, he wondered whether she had any idea how erotic the act was—not her milking a goat per se, but her hand grasping and tugging on warm flesh and coaxing forth a jet of liquid. It was earthy and unabashedly sensual.
Then her other hand joined in, working the second teat. Quinn pumped rhythmically, the milk hitting the pail in a steady stream. “Once you’ve started milking, you’ll notice that the bag—a.k.a. the udder—empties. When it’s less full, you can press higher. See?”
“Yeah,” he said, and then, figuring she wanted him to look, he leaned in. A mistake, as once again he was distracted by her nearness. He told himself to concentrate on the goat and not the girl, on the rich tang of warm milk rather than the lighter, floral scent emanating from Quinn. It was damned hard.
And, Christ, she really must be unaware, or at least totally unaffected and uninterested, because she began chattering away, telling him all about her goats and the cheesemonger who used their milk to make cheese for the ranch’s restaurant, selling any extra that remained at the farmer’s market in town. Meanwhile, Ethan watched her long, supple fingers and wondered what they’d feel like against his skin….
“Okay, now put your hands over mine so you can get a better sense of what I’m doing.”
He bit back the instinctive No. Hell, no that sprang to his lips. He’d been to Afghanistan. Surely he could manage to milk a goat. Surely he could handle touching Quinn Knowles. “Right,” he muttered.
She stilled her hands. He placed his larger ones lightly over them.
For a second she was silent. Then she said, “Here we go.”
Was there a slight breathlessness to her voice? he wondered. But then her hands began moving, her fingers opening and squeezing as she worked the teat, his own following, learning, feeling the softness of her skin and the strength in her fingers. Warm milk streamed into the pail, the sound growing deeper as the pail filled.
“Pay attention to the rhythm,” she instructed.
Oh God, the rhythm. And no, it wasn’t a slow thrust and grind but that didn’t make it any the less carnal. He frowned, trying to concentrate. Up, open, down, squeeze, he recited silently.
“Got it?”
Jesus. “Yeah, I think so.” His voice was rough.
“Good.” Without warning, she slipped her hands from beneath his and sat back, crossing her arms about her middl
e.
He knew a moment of panic as he tried to remember Quinn’s motions, tried to feel for the milk in the udder that was waiting to be released. Then a minor miracle occurred. A stream of milk spurted into the pail, followed by another—nowhere near as strong or evenly paced as when Quinn had worked the teats, but still.
Ethan made himself maintain the tempo and smooth it out, even as his arm and shoulder began to throb from moving these few inches. Within minutes both his shoulders, biceps, and forearms felt as heavy as if he’d been chopping wood for hours. He set his jaw and continued, reaching ever higher as the goat’s udder softened.
After what seemed like an eternity she said, “You can ease up now. She’s at empty.”
He lowered his hands and bit back a groan.
“Pretty decent job for your first time.”
Who would have predicted her words would make him feel like he’d just been awarded a Pulitzer?
She reached up to pat Coco’s shaggy flank. “Coco obviously thought so, too, since she didn’t kick you in the gut. You up to milking Gertrude? She’s a real sweetie.”
God help him. This was harder than any of the PT exercises he’d been given. “Yeah.” He surreptitiously clenched and relaxed his right hand to keep the muscles from stiffening any further.
“Good. Then I can—”
“Morning, Quinn. Brought you coffee.” It was a man’s voice, laced with a Texas accent.
Beside him Quinn started. “Oh! Hi, Josh.”
Ethan looked up and encountered an assessing gaze. He had a hunch this Josh guy had been measuring the inches—of which there were none—that separated Quinn and Ethan.
“Hey there,” he said with a dip of his cowboy hat.
“Hey,” Ethan replied.
The word still hung in the air as Quinn scrambled off the bench. She strode over to where Josh stood by the pen and plucked the coffee mug from his hands, speaking in a rush. “Not necessary to bring me coffee, but since you did, it’d be criminal to let it go to waste.” She took a few quick gulps while he and Josh continued to eye each other, and then said, “Ethan, this is Josh Yates, one of our new ranch hands. Josh, this is Ethan—”
“You’re the photographer the guys are talking about. I have some buddies in Afghanistan. Marines. Camp Leatherneck. You been there?”
Guessing what was coming, Ethan tensed. “No. I was embedded with a unit in Kandahar, to the east. Camp Nathan Smith.”
“Right. Is it as effed-up over there as they say?”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“I thought so. I considered enlisting.” He gave a shrug.
Ethan couldn’t blame him for his decision. It wasn’t as if he’d signed up to fight, either. And it wasn’t Josh’s fault that so many others had died. That’s where Ethan knew he and Josh differed.
“Bet you saw some bad shit, huh?”
Christ, did people really expect an answer to that question? What did they want, a list detailing the horror, the blood, the carnage, the total mind-fucking wrongness of some of the things he’d witnessed? Experienced?
Apparently unfazed by his silence, Josh asked, “Who were you photographing?”
“Army grunts. Just your average Joes.” A number of them younger than Josh.
“Oh, yeah, sure. So, did they finish their tour of duty and return home for some well-deserved R&R?”
What he wouldn’t give to make that so, rather than have to live with the fact that Archie Donovan, Aaron Smith, and Casey Logar had died mere feet from him. If they hadn’t had the bad luck to be assigned to escort him into Kandahar, they might be alive. Instead they died for a fucking photo shoot.
They weren’t the only casualties that haunted him. From deep inside a familiar pain clawed at him. But then Quinn spoke. Though he couldn’t make sense of what she was saying, he clung to the sound of her voice. Gradually the pain loosened its hold.
“…I have some needy goats to milk and a pen to clean before I lead the morning trail ride.”
Goats. Milk. Pen. The words brought him back from that dusty road in the hell that was Afghanistan. He blinked, weak with relief. If she’d been anyone else but the disarmingly beautiful Quinn Knowles, daughter of his parents’ close friends, he might have kissed her out of gratitude.
Luckily she didn’t seem to have noticed anything off about him as he relived the harrowing pain or his slack-jawed relief at being freed from those memories. Her attention was on Josh.
No big surprise that the wrangler was equally focused on her. A woman like Quinn would have men lined up from here to South America hoping to date her.
“Oh, yeah. About that trail ride,” Josh said. “I’m your backup.”
A frown of confusion crossed Quinn’s face. “I thought Pete assigned Jim—”
“Nope. Jim’s off to the dentist with a real bad toothache. I volunteered to take his place. Have to admit, I’ll be jealous of you on Domino. Any chance you want to swap and ride Waylon?”
“Thanks, but no. Domino’s feelings would be hurt.”
“Had to give it a shot.” Turning to him, Josh said, “You seen her Appaloosa? A real beaut. Rides like the wind. And how about these goats? She takes real good care of them. Talks to ’em, too.” He chuckled.
Ethan got the message loud and clear. Josh brought Quinn coffee. He’d ridden her horse. He’d witnessed Quinn in a conversation with her beloved goats. Next on the cowboy’s to-do list: get Quinn somewhere private.
“Nothing wrong with talking to goats. They’re more interesting than many humans I’ve encountered,” he answered with a cool stare, even as he reminded himself that Quinn had two older brothers and a father who were more than capable of taking Josh out of the picture if need be. Besides, Quinn didn’t seem to mind Josh’s attention, though right now she’d ducked her head and was staring in apparent fascination at a tiny hoofprint in the dirt.
To his credit, Josh met his stare with a level gaze. Of course, it was likely the cowboy recognized that Ethan wasn’t exactly a threat. Josh could have him flat on his ass before he could even land a punch anywhere near Josh’s pretty mug. And in terms of competing for Quinn’s attention, well, that was a non-issue on so many levels, never mind that she was the first woman to make him feel and notice things—good things—in months.
Josh returned his attention to Quinn. “Since you’re so busy this morning, you want me to groom Domino for you?”
Ah, so Josh didn’t know Quinn quite as well as he should.
Ethan remembered the way she’d been with that pony of hers. The brushes had been bigger than her hands but that hadn’t stopped her from doing her level best to make that shaggy pinto coat shine. He doubted she would have outgrown the need to spend special time with her horses, connecting with them as she brushed their coats, inspected their hooves, and checked for any soreness in their bodies.
The bright smile that she pinned on her face came as a surprise, except when he realized that it was a shade too bright, as if she was eager to be rid of Josh. “That would be so great, Josh. Thanks!”
“Anytime, Quinn.” Along with a slow smile, Josh’s voice had dropped, going all husky. The guy was slick. “I’ll catch you in a few, then.” With a nod to Ethan he said, “Good to meet you.”
“Yeah. Likewise.” No reason to hold it against the Texan for asking about Afghanistan. It was natural. Plenty of people sounded off on topics about which they knew jack.
And so what if the guy was making the moves on Quinn? Who was he to judge, or denounce Josh as a little too practiced with his moves, or wonder whether he was right for Quinn?
The guy probably thought he was perfect for her, but Ethan had looked at people through lenses for many years. He knew Josh wasn’t seeing Quinn clearly. Because for all her easy banter, for all that Quinn appeared to be struck by the cowboy’s good looks and charm, she also seemed slightly uncomfortable around him. Why, he didn’t know.
Best to stay out of it. He could easily imagine Quinn setting him straigh
t. She wouldn’t mince words telling him to keep his nose out of her business. He of all people should respect that. Besides, why go looking for problems when he could hardly deal with his own?
LIFE AT SILVER Creek Ranch was something Quinn generally navigated with ease. She didn’t mind the long hours or shifting gears as she moved from one job to the next, one minute shoveling manure into the wheelbarrow and rolling it to the pile, the next minute tidying herself up and flipping on the charm switch to lead ranch guests on a two-hour ride or heading over to the main lodge and helping the waitstaff when the ranch’s restaurant was short of servers.
But suddenly her world seemed complicated, doubly so.
Men, she thought with a sigh.
She didn’t know which male troubled her more, Ethan or Josh. And she didn’t like having either one invade her thoughts while she stood in front of Major’s long brown nose and eyeballed his rider’s spanking new cowboy boots peeking through the stirrups.
The boots belonged to a guest named Sharon, half of a couple, and she was as new to riding as her boots. But she and her husband, Paul, seemed to love each other, so clearly she had smarts and experience that Quinn sorely lacked.
“How do those stirrups feel, Sharon? You want to be able to keep your legs long and your heels down when Major starts to move.”
“I guess they feel good.” Sharon managed a smile.
“You look great on him, hon,” Paul said, who was far more comfortable in the saddle than his wife, even though he’d confessed it had been nearly a decade since he was last astride a horse.
“That’s ’cause he’s standing still. All bets are off once he starts going.”
“No worries, Sharon. Major and I will take care of you,” Quinn assured her with an easy smile. “You, Paul, Mellie and Leonard, and Katherine and Stephen will be riding with me. Domino and I are going to take you on some of our favorite trails.”
“And the others get to go with Josh?” Katherine asked, her pout matching her tone.
“That’s right. He’ll be taking the more experienced riders this morning.” And the less flirtatious ones, too. It was sheer good luck that Katherine wouldn’t have been able to keep up with the faster-paced ride, because the overt come-hither glances she’d been casting Josh’s way had quickly gone into Houston, we have a problem territory. Had Katherine bothered to look over at Stephen, she’d have beheld a supremely pissed-off spouse.
