Page 5 of Cabins Cows Critics
“So Franklin is off to Greece and you’re covering his travel assignment.”
“Yep.”
Normally, I review restaurants, cafes, pubs, clubs, and bars in New York and the surrounding areas. Basically, if I can drive there in under three hours, it’s on my list to review. While I once reviewed a bed and breakfast, I was there for the incredible omelet their chef made for each guest tableside, not really the quality of the sheets, though they were okay, too.
Being the only person on the staff who doesn’t have any family to spend the holidays with was the other reason this was assigned to me. My parents were in their forties when they had me, and both passed within two months of each other when I was nineteen. Mom first, a sudden heart attack. Then Dad died two months later in his sleep. I sometimes wonder if it was living without her that was his true end. They’d been together since school and never thought they’d have kids. They tried for years, all through their twenties and early thirties, and had completely given up, then boom, me. Dad joked it was the night they spent camped beside the Hayden River, which is the reason for my name. I guess I should just be glad they didn’t name me Schodack after the state park they were in.
I had hoped to have met a guy and started my own family before now, but that, too, hasn’t been quite what I expected. I dated a copy editor at the paper for a while, but it didn’t really work out. He only ever wanted to go out when I had an assignment to review a new place, and it became pretty clear to me that he was more interested in my job than me. I want a guy who is happy just curling up on the couch and watching a movie, or listening to me read, lying with my head in his lap, like in that old movie.
“So what should I pack? Where are we going?”
I pull out my phone and bring up the email again.
“Beaker Brothers Ranch,” I say, and her smile grows wide.
“So cool. I always wanted to be a cowgirl when I grew up.”
I always wanted to be a published author. Not published in the way that I am with the website. I never wanted to be a journalist. I wanted to be a novelist. I started writing a book a few years ago, but I’d get about twenty or so pages in and scrap the whole thing and start over.
“If you’re coming, you’d better go pack.”
“Ohh, do you think we have time to stop and pick up some cowboy boots and those ass out chap things?”
“All chaps are assless; you wear jeans under them. At least you’re supposed to. From what you just said, I am guessing you were hoping otherwise. What kind of ranch do you think we’re going to?”
“Hopefully, the kind with a bunch of hot cowboys I can seduce with my feminine wiles,” she says, climbing from the couch and heading toward the door. She pauses, one hand on the handle and turns back toward me. “I really needed this, Hayden. So, thanks.”
“There’s no one else in this world I’d rather spend a Cowboy Christmas with.”
Her grin grows. “Hayden and Wen’s Cowboy Christmas. I like the sound of that.”
She leaves, and I start refolding the remaining piles, satisfied that Wen has no clue exactly how much I am not looking forward to this trip. I don’t like small country towns, or ranches, animals, and dirt. I like things clean and organized and predictable. I like having my coffee made at the place that I like, even though they never remember my name. I like that I know what my day will mostly consist of, and I really have no desire to spend two weeks taking part in their Christmas Experience. I’ve always just been more comfortable with the known. My mom always called me an old soul, whatever that is. Urgh. I should probably take at leastone pair of denim jeans. I think I still have the pair I wore in college before I knew how to actually dress with style.
Okay, pull yourself out of this funk. Maybe it won’t be that bad. The noise of the city hasn’t helped get that book done, so maybe while Wen is busy partaking in all the activities, I can curl up with my laptop in the clean and cozy cabin and finally get something down that doesn’t totally suck.
My nerves about the trip settle as each positive that could come out of it starts to pop into my mind, and by the time every piece of clothing that was stacked on the couch is folded neatly inside my suitcase, I’m actually feeling pretty good about the whole thing.
I flip the suitcase top over and zip the sides closed.
“Okay, Beaker Brothers, ready or not, here I come.
Chapter three
Connor
HIDING OUT WITH HIGHLANDS
“PutMissMooinher mom’s section, she’s too big to be with the minis and babies now, so she can share with her mom,” I tell Poppy, and she leads her beautiful peach-colored cow into the cuddle cove, and past the mini zone to the space set aside for some of the larger cows. I thought having an eleven-year-old girl move onto the ranch was going to make things harder, but turns out, Preston’s kid is a real asset. Dean and Nial have a full team of people helping make the ranch run, and now that the town vet, Preston, moved into the big house with Dean and brought his daughter, our helping hands grew by four, and I scored an apprentice cow cuddler.
“Can’t she have her own space?” Poppy asks, her lips all downturned and pouty like she’s amping up to try to convince me to change my mind about something. Eleven-year-old girls are great at getting their own way with a single look.
“I’m going to be adding on a new section soon so that we can have more of our bigger beauties for the grown-ups to snuggle with, but she can share today.”
“Alright,” she replies, leading her cow in with its mom. She wraps her arms around her cow’s head and hugs her tight. “I’ll be back in a little bit, Miss Moo.”
Then she climbs out of the cuddle zone and runs off.
The cuddle zone is a large, fenced area set up with straw and fresh hay and sectioned out to create individual zones for the different cuddly animals we have on the ranch. I added a roof a few winters back, which I am thankful for now, as it helps keep the warmth inside the cove. We lay down plenty of straw to keep the animals and people warm, but it’s still winter, and judging by the bitter chill in the air, it won’t be long before we see our first snow. In the cove, the mini Highlands have their own space, as do the baby goats, or kids, including the two pygmies we now have living here. One adorable, perfect little Lulu, and one hyped-up crybaby ironically named Cuddles. Okay, he is pretty cute, too, but his taste in people leaves something to be desired. I still don’t know how he prefers Dean over me.
