Page 24 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

I just move mechanically, nod, and help.

“Hold that post. Must’ve gotten loose during the storm the other day,” he grunts, already raising the mallet.

I plant my hands on the fence and brace.

He swings, driving the post down into the damp earth with that casual Bear strength all his kind seem to have.

I watch, but I’m barely there.

My body’s moving, but my mind?

It’s miles away.

Still wrapped up in blonde curls, blue eyes, and the scent of wildflowers and sweat behind a bar.

We can’t afford downed fences on the ranch.

Not unless we want the place overrun by Dolly Lees, Lous, and Maes before sundown.

The goats.

Jed, our resident goat whisperer, spoils the hell out of those ornery little beasts.

I pretend to grumble, but honestly? I kind of love those stubborn creatures. Especially Dolly Lou.

That girl is known to headbutt a fence post and knock a Shifter on his ass all in the same day.

Also? Her dairy game is unmatched.

Who knew goat cheese could be so creamy, tangy, and borderline addictive?

As a Bull Shifter who’s vegetarian out of sheer moral defiance, I get most of my protein from dairy.

The fridge back in my cabin is stuffed to the gills with milk, yogurt, eggs, and cheese.

Seriously, it’s like a protein-packed dairy temple in there.

I can’t wait till we start harvesting all the vegetables we’ve been sowing every which way across this place.

The farm side of Motley Crewd Ranch has been quiet, asleep really, all winter long. The whole place seemed tucked beneath snow and silenced during those months.

Like the whole damn earth was holding its breath.

But now? Now it’s spring, baby.

And my Bull is restless.

He’s itching, stomping inside me like he’s got hooves and sunlight in his veins.

Because this is his season.

This is when the ground wakes up, when the air turns sweet, and the fields breathe again.

We’ve spent weeks turning soil, tilling rows, planting seeds like we were casting spells, coaxing life back into this patch of land one shovel, one calloused hand, one whispered promise at a time.

And soon, well, soon it’s gonna bloom.

And yeah, I’m a Bull Shifter, not a farmer.

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