Page 25 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
She rubs her face on my hand, breathing puffs of air out of her large nostrils.
“Great,” I mumble. “Now I have snot on me on top of all the other stuff.”
“What was that?” Holt’s grin is back.
“Nothing.” I raise my other hand and scratch the side of her neck, though I make a note to buy a nail brush ASAP.
The three of us spend a few minutes in silence while I pet the cow and Holt watches. Probably doesn’t trust me with her.
“I’ll, uh, look over it at lunch time.”
I pull my gaze away from my new best friend to Holt. Who is looking oddly intent. “Look over what?”
“The thumb drive.” At my blank look, he raises an eyebrow. “For the wedding?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure.”
Cookie nudges my chest.
Yes. I named the cow Cookie. Because she needs a name.
And even with all the vagina snot she’s covered in, I can’t bring myself to call her Vag. And once upon a time I heard the Southern lady Trish call her nether regions ‘cookie.’
Euphemisms, people. Euphemisms.
* * *
HOLT
I still need to apologize.
My boot heels kick up the dirt as I walk down the main drive. I took the long walk back to the house to think things over. The ranch. The wedding. Jules.
I hadn’t been expecting Jules to show up at the birthing barn. At first I’d been annoyed at how grossed out Jules was ’bout the whole thing. My feelings didn’t improve when she reprimanded me about the wedding, bringing up string theory like her knowledge on such subjects made her superior or something.
But then she petted the calf. Shenamedthe calf, for God’s sake. Who names a calf? Cookie, no less.
I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the chip I’m now well aware is perched there.
It’s not like me to be so judgmental. I’m not sure what it is exactly about Jules that riles me up, but my grandparents would be ashamed.
Because Jules is right—I should’ve looked over the wedding stuff. Especially as I couldn’t sleep last night anyway.
Plus, if I remember correctly, I’m pretty sure Ididthrow up the first time I saw a cow give birth. Although to be fair, I was eight years old at the time.
A few of my men wave as I come up on the family barn. We have a few around the property, some for storage, some for calving and the like. The family barn is the one that shelters our horses. The barn my little brother wants to get married in.
That’ll take a lot of work. A lot of relocating. But if Jules can take time off from her high-powered job and cuddle with a just-born baby cow, I can get my behind in gear and clear a barn.
First things first—apologize.
Determined to do just that, I sweep my boots through the boot brush by the front door and step inside the house.
During the week, I’m used to a stillness in the house. A lonely quiet I tell myself is relaxing. Today that quiet is gone.
“Miss Starr, if you wouldn’t mind, we have some questions.”
“Shoot.”
