He wanted to tell her to go back to bed, that he’d take over. He couldn’t. Yes, he’d learned new skills but he couldn’t milk by himself yet.
If he left today… Would she be milking the cows alone?
‘Happy Christmas,’ he replied at last. Cautiously.
‘The airlines are back. I’m sorry but I didn’t have time to check flights before milking.’
‘Not good enough,’ he growled, trying for a smile, but she stiffened and said nothing.
‘I was joking.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Bad joke.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ she said, straightening and heading out to fetch another cow in. ‘Last night…it should never have happened. It was like… I’d been so worried. It was reaction; nothing more.’
‘It felt like more.’
‘Well, it wasn’t,’ she snapped. ‘Fortunately, the airlines are operating. We’ll see if we can get you a flight out tonight.’
‘What about milking?’
‘What about milking?’
‘Who’s going to do it?’
‘I will,’ she said. ‘I’ve done it alone plenty of times before. It just takes longer.’
‘You’re exhausted already.’
‘Kerrie’s back tomorrow-she’s coming for lunch today so maybe she can even help tonight-and I can sleep in the middle of the day.’
‘And then you need to job hunt.’
‘I believe I’m still employed by you until my contract expires.’
‘So you are.’
‘So I’ll keep the office operating here as my contract specifies. That’ll give me time to find something else.’
They were being absurdly formal, he thought, but maybe formal was the only thing to be.
‘What sort of job do you want?’ he asked.
‘I’m a qualified accountant.’
‘You’ll do accountancy in a provincial city?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘What a waste.’
She didn’t bother responding. She just kept right on milking.
‘You don’t need to keep the office operating,’ he said at last.
‘You can’t dismiss me without notice.’
‘I’m not dismissing you. I’ll pay you till the end of your contract.’
‘Then I’ll work till the end of my contract. I’ve taken enough from you. I can’t take any more.’
‘I’d like to give more.’
‘Like what?’ she said from behind her cow and he thought about it. What would he like to give her?
Money. Security. The knowledge that she wouldn’t have to get up to milk a cow unless she wanted to.
The ability to drop everything and be with Scott when and if he needed further operations. The ability to care for Letty as she needed to be cared for. Financial freedom to call the vet whenever she needed the vet.
Freedom to have a bit of fun.
But this was nothing he could do. He’d given Scott his old cars. He’d given Meg dresses and he’d given them all the satellite dish. He knew without asking that she’d accept nothing else.
So there was nothing more he could do. There was nothing more he should do. As soon as his flight was confirmed, he could walk away and not look back.
That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Anything else was way too complicated.
Dogs. Cows.
Family.
‘We’d best get a move on,’ she said across his thoughts. ‘We don’t do Santa until the cows are done and then there’s church and then there’s eggnog.’
‘You don’t do eggnog until after Santa and church?’
‘Not very much,’ she said and managed a smile. ‘Grandma doesn’t tip up the brandy bottle until we’re all safe home.’
Milking finished, William swished the dairy while Meg went to check on Millicent and the brand new Milly. They were standing contentedly in the home paddock, Milly at her mother’s teat, no sign of the trauma associated with her birth.
If she was a hard-headed businesswoman, she’d remove the calf now, Meg thought ruefully as she looked down at the pretty little calf. After the first few hours, when the calf had taken the all important colostrum, efficient dairy practice was to remove the calf and get the cow straight into mass production.
Only neither Letty nor Meg were hard-headed. The calves stayed with their mothers until Letty decreed they were ready to be independent, which lost them milk production but probably made them a healthier herd. Or possibly made them a healthier herd. Or not.
It was a decision of the heart, not of the head.
‘Like me stopping working for William,’ she told Millicent and sat on the edge of the trough while she watched the cow and her new little calf. Killer nosed up beside her and shoved his head against her ribs. She hugged him tight and suddenly she felt like crying.
‘And that’s also dumb,’ she told Killer. ‘Why cry? For that matter, why quit? Working for the McMaster empire’s the best job I’ve ever had. Why can’t I keep on doing it? Why can’t I ignore how I feel about him and get on with it?’
She knew she couldn’t.
He was watching her. He was sluicing the yard but she could feel his gaze. She hugged her dog hard, then straightened her shoulders and rose and tried to look professional, as if she was examining cow and calf as a proper dairy farmer should. In terms of what she could make from them.
Millicent’s eyes were huge and contented and maybe a little bit wondrous. While Meg watched, she started to lick her calf and the little calf kept right on feeding.
Drat, those tears kept right on welling.
‘Happy Christmas, you great sook,’ she told herself angrily and swiped at her cheeks with venom. ‘Get a grip. And stop crying right now.’
She had to stop crying. William was finished in the yard. She should wait for him and walk him back to the house.
He was helping her. It’d be only civil to walk back.
But the feeling of that kiss of the night before was too huge, too raw, too real. It was threatening to overwhelm her.
‘If I head back now I get first shower,’ she told Killer. ‘That’s what a hard-headed, professional dairy farmer should do. And that’s what I am.’
Right.
‘Go fast before he catches up.’
Even more right. Or not.
He’d never seen a Christmas tree like it.
They’d been so busy, William had hardly been in the sitting room until now, but after a second breakfast and a little eggnog-yes, the serious stuff would come after church-Letty bossed them into the sitting room for present opening.
The tree was real but it wasn’t pine. ‘There are no pines here and there’s no way I’m spending money importing one,’ Letty growled, following his gaze. ‘This might not be what you’re used to, but it’s okay with us.’
