A short time later Becky sat on a small three-legged stool in the barn beside a large cow.
James stood behind her. “It’s quite simple, really. Grasp the back teat from the two on the left and the front one from those on the right, clamp them between your thumbs and first fingers and squeeze down, alternating the pressure between the two.”
The teats felt a lot different than she’d expected. Firmer and stiffer. She gave one of them a squeeze, but nothing happened. Adding a little pressure, she tried the other, but once again there was no stream of milk.
“Don’t be so timid. Give them a good squeeze. You won’t hurt her.”
After three more unsuccessful attempts, she sighed. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?
“Let me show you.”
She stood.
“No. Stay there.”
She sat. He reached around her and covered her hands with his own. A chill raced down her spine, and although she did her best not to, she shivered. She’d never been in a man’s arms before, and yet here she was with James’s brushing her sides and his breath warming her ear.
“Do it like this.” He squeezed her hands—hard—sending streams of milk pinging against the sides of the metal pail. He kept at it for what felt like an eternity.
She leaned forward and forced herself to ignore him, which wasn’t easy. When she could take no more of his closeness, she glanced at him. The uninjured side of his face was mere inches from hers.
My, but he was handsome. She swallowed in an attempt to moisten her throat, which had become as dry as stale bread. “You can move. I’ve got the idea.”
He shot to his feet, took several steps backward and leaned against the pen with his arms folded over his broad chest. “Let me see you do it, then.”
His high-handed manner rankled. Taking the teats in her hands, she squeezed one and then the other, shooting milk into the pail. She kept at it and silently rejoiced as the amount of frothy white liquid grew. Just as she turned to smirk at him, the cow’s tail smacked her across the face.
James chuckled. “You have to watch out for that. Buttercup likes to flick her tail when you least expect it. And be sure to keep your knees around the bucket, or she could kick it over.”
She huffed. “You don’t have to laugh at me. I’m doing my best.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa! There’s no need to get a polecat in your petticoats. It was funny. That’s all.”
“I doubt you’d be laughing if you’d just gotten a mouthful of tail.”
“You’re right, but I know to watch out for it.”
She lifted her chin. “I’ll learn.”
“You can finish up and leave the pail outside the pen. I’ll carry it in when I finish with the horses.” He sauntered off toward their stalls with his shoulders shaking.
Fine. She’d show him. She would get the milking done quickly and beat him to the house.
She’d barely resumed the milking when James returned. He stood at the back end of the cow, but Buttercup didn’t seem to care. She kept munching her breakfast. He patted her hindquarters. “There. She won’t get you again.”
He’d tied a piece of twine to the cow’s tail and secured it to the top rung of the pen. His thoughtfulness touched her. “Thank you, sir.”
“My name is James. You’re free to use it.”
“So you’ve said.” Becky dipped her head to hide her smile. She shouldn’t take pleasure in irritating him, but he could be so heavy-handed at times that she hadn’t been able to resist.
Before long her back ached and her hands screamed for relief, but she kept on.
She’d been at the milking a good fifteen minutes when James’s voice made her jump.
“Lean into her side. It helps.”
She did as he suggested and felt the cow’s bristly coat against her cheek.
To her dismay, he watched her work for a couple of minutes, and then he peered over her shoulder. “It looks like you’re done, so I’ll get that.” She rose and eased her weary body out of the way. It was a good thing she didn’t have to carry the milk, since her bruised ribs were aching.
“Let’s go.” He freed the cow’s tail and hefted the pail.
She followed him out of the barn, took one look at the orchard and came to a standstill. The sun had crested the horizon, stretching its far-reaching fingers to caress each blossom. “I thought it was beautiful yesterday, but this...” She flung her arms wide. “It’s breathtaking. Just look at all those trees with their loose petals floating in the air. It might seem silly, but I could see myself dancing in them.” He was clearly not amused, so she shoved her fanciful musings aside. “How many trees are there?”
He stood at her side. “About thirteen hundred currently bearing fruit, and five hundred more that I’ve started in the past three years.” Pride dripped from his every word. “I plan to add some more each year until I have all fifty acres planted.”
“I love the soft colors of the flowers, but I noticed yesterday when I took a short walk that some of the trees don’t have any blooms. Why is that?”
She tore her gaze from the apple trees and was rewarded with a sight sweeter than any fruit. The first rays of sunlight had illuminated James’s face, revealing a smile so filled with warmth she could bask in it.
“Those with the white flowers are Rome Beauty and Esopus Spitzenburg, my late-season apples. The pink blooms are my Winesaps. The Jonathans and Baldwins already bloomed and will be ready for harvest earlier.”
“When you’re not so busy, I’d love for you to show me which is which. I want to learn all about the apples, the trees and how you take care of them.”
His expression changed to one of wonder. Or was it disbelief? “You would?”
Disbelief, definitely. “I love apples and know very little about them. Other than how tasty they are and how to bake with them, that is.”
“You’re the first woman I’ve met besides Mutti who’s shown an interest. Neither my sister nor my—my friend...” He glanced from Becky to the house and back. “You’ll be busy with Mutti, but perhaps we could fit in a lesson now and then.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
He stared at her for several seconds, his face a study in conflicting emotions. Surprise. Curiosity. And was that admiration?
Color crept up his neck, and he shook himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare at you like that. I should, um, get this inside.” He took off in such a rush that he sloshed milk over the edge of the bucket.
She watched his retreating figure. James might be a bit brusque on occasion, but he had a softer side, too. Perhaps in time she’d figure out how to get him to reveal it more often.
Not that she’d be here any longer than necessary. Thanks to Dillon, she’d have to change locations frequently to avoid having him find her.
Even so, she welcomed this opportunity to learn all she could about the apple trees. If she happened to enjoy the company of the intriguing man who cared for them, so be it.
“Shh!