Page 3 of Till The Cows Come Home
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I choked out, desperately trying to convince myself that the words I spoke held an ounce of truth.
Beth just placed her hand over mine, looking at me with pity filled eyes until a symphony of “excuse-mes,” harmonized around us. “Sorry,” she mouthed before turning her attention to the group of people waiting with questions. Not quite ready to leave, I sorted through the homemade loaves, reading each ingredient to buy myself time before stepping from the familiarity. The last thing I needed was for the ounce of remaining dignity I possessed to be wisped away as I cried into baked goods, but against better judgment, I looked over my shoulder anyway, knowingly a glutton for pain.
My plan was to reminisce on my days behind that very same table, but when I looked over, it was empty, customers passing by the unattended booth. It didn’t take me long to spot the mass of man that once stood in its place and, to my surprise, he was barreling towards me. Too stunned to move, I stood wide-eyed and confused as he closed the distance between us, stopping right in front of me. He had to be well over six feet and built as you’d expect a farmer in their late twenties to be, stocky yet refined, which quite honestly just pissed me off. As he smiled down at me, I could feel the anger beginning to simmer and I could tell my face mirrored those feelings as his smile dulled to confusion.
“Hi. I’m sorry to interrupt you miss, I saw you from across the market and I just wanted to tell you how?—”
“Are you kidding me?” I interrupted, looking up into his eyes with fury I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” he stammered, but before he could continue, I cut him off again.
“Don’t even bother introducing yourself. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t want to.”
I stomped away until my anger bubbled up, begging for an outlet. I knew the last thing I should do was turn around, but I did it anyway, marching my ass back to him until we were toe to toe.
“Are you not ashamed, parading yourself around this market as someone you’re not? Truly so dull that keeping the name of a failed farm trumped creating your own? Because I can assure you without a conscience, your looks and charisma can only get you so far, and it’s nowhere near me. I don’t associate with wealthy men that swoop in and prey on others misfortune.”
Surprised by my own verbal tyrant, I clung to Ruby’s elbow and swung us away, leaving the tower of a man with his mouth slightly open.
“You’re my hero,” Ruby squealed, but all I could focus on was thrusting myself forward, eager to escape the disaster that was this day.
Before we could get too far, I heard his deep voice directed to sweet Beth, who was still feverishly running her bread stall.
“Uh. Should I know who that is?” he asked, gaze fixed on the spot I was moments ago.
Beth paused amidst the chaos, smiling back at him, her grin acting as a warning.
“Oh baby, that's Sage Baker.”
Chapter Three
Miles
Sage Baker.
I shook my head as I sauntered back to my booth, attempting my best mask of indifference as I completed my walk of shame. I wasn’t exactly sure what the chances were that the first beautiful woman I approached in this town just so happened to preemptively hate me, but I was evidently naive thinking they were low. As I began packing up my things, having wasted the tail end of the market taking the longest shot of the century, I became lost in thought, my brain desperately trying to recall any details that could have warned me of the potential tragedy that just unfolded.
Before I bought the farm, I’d explained to my realtor that I needed a complete change of scenery, and one evening she slipped me Gale Baker’s email, warning me that the property wasn’t officially on the market, but that the owners were heavily considering listing it. I held off, afraid of making quite that level of commitment, but after a particularly rough night at work I sent a message, lightly inquiring while introducing myself. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to metaphorically get a foot in the door, and she responded almost immediately withpictures and information about the place, her passion bubbling under each word she’d typed.
Instantly, I was in love.
They had a beautiful herd of holsteins and rolling hills as far as the eye could see, but what really sold me was a photo she’d attached from the kitchen window. No parking lot, no sea of buildings, just a calendar-quality picturesque view. Our correspondence stopped after a while, and I didn’t push the topic, knowing they weren’t set on getting rid of the place, and part of me was hopeful they’d made it work. But after a few months I had a surprise email arrive in my inbox. The details started to piece back together as I remembered the sorrow dripping from each word I’d received late that evening, but I recall the last bit of the message being what really solidified my decision to seriously consider uprooting everything I’d known.
“I just can’t keep racking up debt to pass on to my daughter. She already feels obligated to take care of us; the last thing I want is for her to be my age filled with regret for missing the life she never got to have.”
I emailed back immediately, not giving myself time for second thoughts, and we settled on a viewing for the next week.
What I had initially pictured when I read those words was a little girl living out her childhood tied to a farm, wishing for a normal life, but Sage Baker was nothing of the sort. She was a spitfire with no interest in leaving.
The farm was being sold with the contingency that the full herd of dairy cows came with it, which I accepted without much thought, spending the last three years with them learning the tricks of the trade. Many hours in that first year were spent in the library or scouring the internet, which eventually led to meetings with farmers in the surrounding areas to make sure I was educating myself on best practices. I was no stranger to cows, but I’d never truly farmed, and definitelynot at this scale. When I finally felt confident enough to advertise, I kept the name to pay homage to the family that gave me a start, not fully grasping that my beginning was someone else’s unfortunate end.
Guilt settled over me, but I knew deep down I couldn’t blame myself for the trajectory of a life I didn’t even know. Sage’s involvement in the decision to sell was unclear, but after the anger I saw, I imagine she was the minority vote that lobbied to keep the farm. I had to admire her willingness to lead when her father stepped down, but it also softened the spot I had for her parents, knowing they refused to let her meet the fate she nobly accepted. The responsibility that she so badly desired was heavy, and after carrying its weight I couldn’t help but second guess her ability to bear it alone. I’m sure that would piss her off more, but knowing the toll I felt daily, I’d hesitate to load the burden on her shoulders, too.
These past few years had been filled with fourteen-hour days milking, mucking, and making more cows, which left me little time to surface in the community. When I did arise, it was usually still in efforts to support the endeavor, whether it be financially or networking for support. The mature part of me wanted to continue that focus and steer clear of this woman, letting her have the space she so clearly desired. The stubborness in me, though, wanted to change her mind.
I wasn’t wealthy by any means like she’d hastily assumed, I just didn’t have a life. Before my rural rebirth, I sat in a cubicle, staring at a parking lot all day, crunching numbers for an accounting firm a few towns over. By the time I got off work, my brain had melted from the monotony, and most nights I had just enough mental stamina to eat dinner and crawl into bed. As depressing as that may sound, the one upside was that I saved most of my money. I worked for every last cent that I used to put a down payment on the farm, and I imagined the love I developed for it would mirror her own.
The thought of entertaining another human on top of my workload exhausted me, which is probably why I hadn’t done it thus far, but my guilt-laced curiosity tempted me to at least be cordial with this woman, even if it was just long enough to defend my honor. I’d approached her because she seemed different. She was gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but it was the effortlessness to her beauty that pulled me in. Her curls were tamed back just enough that they weren’t unruly, and freckles littered her nose and cheeks. I laughed as the image of her expression flooded into my mind. The little dots scrunched together as she scowled up at me, and while slightly terrifying, it was equally adorable.
