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Authors: Judy Clemens

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BOOK: Till the Cows Come Home
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“Look at the milk in the tube!” she said, pointing. I looked, and it was the same as always.

“Take the milker off the next one and put it on the one beside her,” I said.

She figured out how to take it off and it only took her two tries to attach it to the next cow. She caught on quickly—I had to give her that.

I finished giving out the grain and was in the feed room getting the hay when I heard a screech. I walked back into the parlor and found Missy sitting in a cow pie.

“Whoops,” I said.

She looked at me, dismayed.

“There’s a sink over there,” I said. “Wash your hands.”

She gingerly picked herself off the floor and brushed off what she could. Her fancy white sneakers would never be the same.

“Want to take over feeding them?” I asked, giving her an out.

She shook her head, washed her hands, and switched the next milker. We went on like before, and I turned to tell her to start on the next row when I saw the cow right behind her lifting her tail. I’d like to think I didn’t have time to say anything, but in reality, how long does it take to shout out that piss is going to fly?

About a gallon of urine came spurting out of the cow, drenching Missy’s shirt, jeans, and sneakers. She stood, dripping, and looked at me with horror.

“Sorry,” I said.

Without saying a word, she shook herself off, went to the next cow, squatted down, and switched the milker.

“That was deliberate, mean, and nasty—and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Nick stood in the doorway, close to where I was filling troughs. My hormones began a hundred-meter sprint, even though he was wearing his cover-up outfit again. At least the goggles were hanging around his neck and not giving him bug eyes.

“Glad to provide some entertainment,” I said.

“Oh, you provide plenty.”

I squinted, unsure how to take his comment, until he gave me his slow smile and leisurely made his way back the direction he’d come. When he was out of sight I leaned my head on the closest cow’s back.

“You okay, Stella?” Missy asked.

I straightened up and gave her a scowl for good measure. “I’m fine.”

“Fine.”

The main herd was finally done. We got the new mamas on their separate milking, unclipped the rest of the cows, and soon the milking tubes were going through their cleaning routine. Before letting the mamas go I got out the can of antibiotic spray Carla had given me and gave Wendy’s incision a good going over.

Missy sat on a bale of hay and leaned her face into her hands. I felt a twinge of guilt about the wet and smelly state of her clothes. But
just
a twinge.

She sat up. “God, that’s tiring—and, unfortunately for me, somewhat disgusting.”

I gave her a small, hopefully not
too
nasty smile. “Sorry you’re so bushed,” I said. “’Cause we ain’t finished yet.”

Chapter Ten


Now
are we done?”

Missy and I stood looking at the milking parlor, which had clean stalls, fresh bedding, and limed walkways. As much as I hated to admit it, Missy worked hard—even with her putrid clothes.

“We’re done. Now I take the milk from the new mothers out to Gus and formula to the other two.”

“Oh, can I help?”

I was afraid she was going to start clapping again, so I grabbed a bucket of colostrum and handed it to her. She strained under the weight as we walked toward the hutches, but clamped her jaw and bumped along beside me.

“It’s so wonderful that you gave Zach this calf,” Missy said with effort. “It’s given him something to think about while he’s…laid up.”

I grunted.

“It’s something how the Grangers support each other,” she went on. “Everybody has been by Ma’s to keep her up-to-date. Well, not Marianne, I guess. Jude’s been around, but without her. Not surprising, I guess, with the way she hates farming and all. Abe says she’s never really made herself part of the family.”

We were about a hundred feet from the hutches, me trying to shut out Missy’s voice, when I knew something was wrong. I dropped the formula bottles I was carrying and started running. Missy’s bucket sloshed down and her footsteps raced along behind me.

Gus’ hutch was turned on its side, and Gus’ face stuck out in between the wire door and the hutch, distorted and grotesque, his tongue swollen out the side of his mouth.

Missy gagged and ran behind the nearest barn, where I’m pretty sure she emptied her stomach. I squatted down in front of the hutch, sick and angry, unsure where to look. I stood and turned away, taking a deep breath. Missy came back from the barn, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

“What happened?” she asked, tears in her eyes. “That’s Zach’s calf, isn’t it?”

I didn’t want to tell her what I was really thinking, so I said, “It happens sometimes. He must’ve gotten overly excited about something, or something scared him, and he got caught in the door.” I tried not to let rage and fear slip into my voice.

“Why don’t you use something different if this happens a lot?”

“I didn’t say it happens a lot. I only remember two other times in my whole life.”

“I hope you’re not so hardened
this
doesn’t bother you.”

“Shut up, Missy.”

She hiccupped and wiped her face again. “I’m sorry.”

“The other calves need to be fed. Why don’t you go ahead and give them their bottles.”

Missy got herself together enough to figure out how to clip the bottles on the cages. Detective Willard wouldn’t want me to move anything, but I just couldn’t leave Gus hanging there. I did what I could to extricate Gus from the hutch, being careful not to touch much, and laid him down beside it.

“How long ago did he die?” Missy asked.

“Don’t know. Had to be this afternoon, though. I fed the calves this morning and then was mowing the yard—I can see the hutches from there and would’ve noticed. Damn.”

“You going to call him?” Missy asked. We both knew I had to tell Zach.

“No. He needs to hear this in person.”

“Want me to come along?”

“Thanks, but no.”

“Can I do anything else?”

I shook my head.

“I’m sorry, Stella.” I knew she was talking about more than Gus.

“Forget it. Thanks for helping with the milking.”

“Sure.” She looked like she wanted to say something more, but turned and walked to her car. She pulled a blanket out of the trunk and draped it over the driver’s seat before sitting down. Smart move.

I walked to the garage and rang Howie’s bell. He appeared at the top of his stairs. “What now?”

“Gus got hung in his hutch.”

“Oh, shit.” He shut his door and came down. “Is it Them again?”

I looked out over the cornfield behind the garage, beautiful with Jude’s crop. “Probably. Could be a nasty coincidence. There’s no way to know.”

“Still think it’s Hubert?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. I would never have thought he had it in him. He’s slimy, but this? He’d be petrified of Queenie seeing him and ripping his throat out.”

“Yeah, unless he knew she was gone.”

Oh, hell.

“You gonna call the cops?” Howie asked.

I sighed. “Next on my list. Damn.”

Howie closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “What can I do?”

“I’m gonna go over and tell Zach after I call Willard. Can you get Gus covered up and maybe start on a hole? I want Zach to help bury him if he’s not too sick.”

“You bet, Princess. I’ll get right on it.”

Detective Willard was gone, as was the receptionist. A recording told me to call 911 for emergencies. I punched in the number and was soon telling the dispatcher what had happened. He contacted the borough police as we spoke.

“A patrol car should be coming by,” I told Howie, when I found him. “Don’t know if Willard will show or not.”

He nodded and shoveled another clump of dirt in the field behind the feed barn.

I got in my truck and drove as slowly as traffic would allow over to Zach’s house. It took fifteen minutes and I still had no idea how to tell a boy his new pet was dead.

Belle met me at the door and, just like with Howie, my face was an open book.

“It’s Zach’s calf, isn’t it?” she said.

I nodded, amazed at what mothers can know.

“Come on in. Mallory’s taking a nap upstairs and Zach’s sacked out on the couch, watching old Disney movies.”

“Yikes,” I said. “How is he?”

She concentrated on shutting the door, then said, “About the same. He’s on a diet of penicillin and clear liquids. Mallory, too. Nothing else we can do till they know more.” She took a sob-like breath. “At least no one else has died yet.”

Small consolation for Toby Derstine’s parents.

“Will you be going to the funeral tomorrow?” Belle asked.

“Toby’s? It’s tomorrow already?”

“The cops, or whoever, are done with his…autopsy. Claire and Tom want to put him to rest right away.”

“Sure, I’ll go.” Didn’t want to. Never had been to a kid’s funeral before.

Belle turned to walk toward the living room, then stopped, not looking at me. “Betsy’s got the illness.” Jacob’s wife. “And Penny.” Joshua’s. “And Josh said he’s not feeling too good, either.”

So it had started. Adults were now fair game.

Belle and I walked into the living room and my first impression of Zach was that he’d paled a few shades. His face looked gaunt after just the one day since I’d seen him. I was afraid to tell him about Gus, for fear it would make him even sicker.

“Hey, Stella,” Zach said.

“Hey.”

Belle turned off the TV.

“What’s going on?” Zach asked.

I looked at my shoes, then at Belle, and finally at Zach. “Gus…is dead, Zach.”

He looked at me blankly.

“He hung himself in his hutch. I’m sorry.”

Zach’s lower lip began to tremble, and he sat up abruptly. Belle made a little move like she would go to him, but stayed where she was. Zach turned his head so I couldn’t see his face.

“I
told
you he should’ve been in the barn.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I thought it was the best thing for him to be in the hutch. Calves are normally safest there.” When a maniac isn’t running loose
.

“Lot of good that did Gus.” He sat completely still, keeping his head turned away. “Why don’t you go now, Stella.”

“Zach—” Belle said.

I put a hand on her arm. “It’s okay.” To Zach, I said, “Howie’s digging a hole. You feel well enough to come and help bury Gus?”

His back stiffened, then twitched. “Will you take me, Mom?”

She looked at him, then at me, I suppose thinking I might be offended he didn’t want to ride with me.

I nodded at her. “If you think it’s okay.”

“Sure, honey,” she said to Zach. “We’ll go right over.”

I left. There was nothing else to say.

When I got home Howie was showing a police officer the hutch. The same police officer who’d practically run me over at the police station. Great.

They turned toward me as I approached, and recognition sparked in the policeman’s eyes. I think we both wished Willard had gotten the call. I know I did.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked. “Officer.…”

“Meadows.” He crossed his arms and tapped his fingers against his side. “I can’t really do anything. The detective is at the hospital with his son, and the only other officer in the department who does fingerprints just came down sick, herself. It’s not supposed to rain tonight, so the detective can come by in the morning to check things out. Not that it will help, seeing as how you already messed with the crime scene. If it really is one.”

Oh, that was just dandy. “I have no doubt a crime was committed,
Officer
,” I said. “And that means we’ve got to protect the rest of my livestock. What are you going to do about that?”

He snorted. “We’ve got two people on a shift these days. Can’t afford any more because of the town council’s budget cuts. I guess we could drive by your place a few more times than usual, make our presence known, but there’s not much more I can offer.”

I fought down anger, knowing he was right, but ticked all the same. Ticked at him, at the borough. Enraged with whoever was pulling this crap.

Meadows shrugged. “You could hire private security.”

I glared at him. “You tell me where I can get money for that, I’ll look into it.”

He shrugged again. “I’ll let Detective Willard know what happened. I’ll write up a report, too, but there’s really nothing else I can do.”

I looked at Howie, and I knew by his blank expression he was as annoyed as I was by the cop’s lazy responses.

“You can help us dig the grave,” I said.

Meadows stared at me like I’d suddenly grown a second head—a
cow’s
head—till I spun around and walked toward the hole Howie had started. When I got there, I looked back and saw Meadows getting into his car. Howie was trudging toward me, holding his bandaged hand up by the wrist.

“Oh, shit, Howie,” I said. “I forgot about your hand. I’ll dig the rest.”

“Won’t argue with you on that.” He planted himself on a patch of weeds—hopefully not poison ivy—and watched, keeping his stitches above his heart.

I was finishing up ten minutes later when Belle and Zach pulled into the lane. I gave Howie a hand up and we walked over to meet Zach at the still, tarp-covered figure.

Zach didn’t look at us, but knelt down by Gus and pulled back the plastic sheeting. He stroked his calf’s head, lingering on the soft nose and ears, flattening the short whiskers around his mouth. His fingers traced the markings on Gus’ back and side, then he laid his palm where there should have been a heart beating, and stood up.

“Okay, Mom. Let’s get out of here.” He turned and walked to the car without looking back.

Chapter Eleven

“Sorry about the calf,” Nick said.

“Yeah.” I was sitting on the side steps of the house, my boots on the ground in front of me, wondering where on earth Queenie had gotten to, and how in hell I was going to protect my farm. Would someone who kills cows go after collies, too?

It was good to have an excuse to sit, because I couldn’t summon up the energy to go inside, change, and get supper. I kept envisioning Zach’s face, burning with accusation, as well as fever. Thinking of fever made me remember that adults were now getting sick, and I put a hand on my forehead to check if I was above the usual ninety-eight point six. Couldn’t tell, of course.

If I did have a fever, it could just as easily have been from rage as the flu. Whoever was attacking my farm—Hubert or not—I was impotent. Willard had ordered me to stay away from Hubert, and if it wasn’t him I had no idea where to look. The teen-agers just didn’t seem like realistic suspects anymore.

Willard hadn’t called back, and I assumed it would be morning till I heard from him. I didn’t know how to arrange security for my farm without any money, and I knew Howie and I couldn’t do it twenty-four/seven and still run the place. Normally I’d ask the Grangers, but they were all busy caring for sick children or getting sick themselves. I tried calling Bart and Lenny, but the Biker Barn was closed and neither one was home.

Hell.

Seeing Nick standing in front of me didn’t even arouse any enthusiasm, so I knew I was really in a funk. I looked him up and down, which was a pleasure, if not invigorating. “You’re looking awfully clean.”

“Changed out of my painting clothes, even though I know you liked them.”

I managed a grin.

“Dog still gone?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I tried to sound in control. “Probably checking out a dead raccoon somewhere.”

“Mm-hmm.” He held up a bag. “Got a big Italian hoagie. Want to split it?”

“Hot peppers?”

“And sweet.”

Even in my aggravated state I couldn’t resist. Besides, I had to eat. “Sounds great. Let me grab some drinks.” I stood and paused in the doorway, wondering if I should do what I was about to, then gave in to my impulse. “Come on in. You might as well make yourself at home.”

Nick followed me into the kitchen, where I grabbed paper plates, a couple of sodas, and a bag of chips that was gathering dust on top of the fridge. Nick eyed the chips warily.

“They’re not
that
old,” I said. And they weren’t. They crunched just fine if you stuck them in your mouth whole and tried not to chew much.

“So how’s your little farmhand doing?” Nick asked after we’d both taken bites and done the appropriate lip smacking. I glanced up at him, not sure if he was talking about the flu or Gus’ death, then realized Nick probably wouldn’t even know Gus had been Zach’s.

I raised a shoulder, not wanting to think about it. Zach’s anger—let alone his illness—was enough to make the hoagie unappetizing.

“Okay,” Nick said. “Tell me about the helper you had for milking tonight.”

“Helper?” I waved my sandwich at him. “You mean Miss Nosy Britches?”

He grinned and talked around a big mouthful. “How come you’re so down on her? What’d she do to you?”

I shoved my hoagie into my mouth to give me time to think. What
had
she done, other than come home on Abe’s arm? I swallowed. “She’s just such a white bread, white collar, Miss America-type. Gets on my nerves.”

“Seemed to me she held up pretty well to all the crap today. Literally.”

I glared at him, because he was right. “Okay, she did. But you must admit it
was
funny when she got pissed on.”

“I’m not denying that.” He smiled and took another bite.

I watched the oil dripping from the end of his sandwich and realized this was the first time I’d shared a meal with a guy at my table that I could remember. Well, Howie or Abe might have been there, but they didn’t count.

“You go to agricultural school?” Nick asked.

I shook my head. “High school. Never really thought about college. What about you? You look like a frat boy.”

He laughed. “Especially when power washing, right? I went to a year of college, couldn’t stand the schedule or the confinement, blew off the frats, and quit after the first year, making my folks crazy.” He shrugged. “Who knows. I may go back once I figure out what for.” He stopped to put back toppings that had fallen off of his sandwich, and I wondered at the suddenly serious expression on his face.

“You going to hand this place down to your kids?” he asked.

“What kids?” I finished off my sandwich and got up to get some napkins. “If there
were
any kids, I’d want them to take it over, but it’s pretty unlikely.”

“Kids or kids farming?”

“Either, really, but what I meant was kids taking over the farm. Not a whole lot doing that anymore.”

“I was wondering. I was running out of farms to hit up for work when I came across you. Once I saw you, I figured I’d see the bottom of your boot before you even said hello.” He grinned, taking the sting out of his words.

“You weren’t far off.” I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms. Enough about me. “Where are you from, anyway?”

He took a final bite of hoagie, then wiped his mouth. “Not PA.”

He didn’t seem like he was going to offer any more. Not liking nosy parkers, myself, I let it go. I started cleaning up the table and threw everything—including the chips—into the trash.

“Come on.” He stood and held out his hand.

“What?”

“Come
on
. There’s something I want to do.”

“What?”

“Trust me.”

I looked at him and decided to ignore the nagging feeling of apprehension knocking at my gut. Howie was around, so I wouldn’t be leaving the farm unguarded if I took off for a little.

“Okay,” I said. And for the first time since fifth grade, I let a guy take me by the hand and tell me where to go.

***

The sky was brilliant with stars, and it looked even better than usual since I was lying on a blanket beside Nick in the bed of my pickup. The cicadas and crickets were having a riot of a time singing around us, and we could hear an occasional car or truck in the distance, but other than that, there was no noise.

Nick had taken me outside and ordered me to give him the grand tour of the farm, from the tractor barn to the milk storage tank, then wanted to ride around in my truck—since his was full of painting gear—to see my land. I tried not to feel nervous when I pointed out the manure lagoon and the spot where Cleopatra had died, but I had to wonder what would be next.

Now I had a blanket under my head, a gorgeous man beside me, and endless space above me. If only I hadn’t had dead cows, a missing dog, greedy developers, and a fatal illness to think about, it couldn’t have gotten any better.

“So what are you gonna do?” Nick said, interrupting the quiet.

“About what?”

“The farm. Zach. Kids.”

“Oh. Everything.”

“I guess.”

“Zach’s a tough one. He wanted Gus to be in the barn and I said no. He’ll blame me forever.”

“Was it your fault?”

I thought about the scumbag killing my cows, and wondered if I could’ve prevented Gus’ death. “I don’t think so.”

“Will you give him another calf?”

“As soon as he wants one. Which, if he’s as upset as he seemed, could be a while.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. It hurt to think about the calf. Well, not the calf so much as what it meant to my relationship with Zach. I was used to animals dying. What I wasn’t used to—besides animal cruelty—was having friendships threatened because of it.

“Kids?”

I opened my eyes and turned my head toward Nick. “Why should I tell you my life plans?”

He rolled onto his elbow and looked down at me. “Why not?”

My breathing grew shallower as I looked into his eyes, and a flash of heat made my body sticky with sweat. He smiled at me, looking at my mouth, and when I thought it was inevitable that he was going to kiss me, I got an attack of shyness and sat up, wrapping my arms around my knees.

Nick pushed himself up beside me and let his feet dangle off the tailgate. “Won’t you regret it if you don’t have kids?”

I looked around at the field where we sat. We were right in the middle of my eighty acres, having followed the irrigation path through the rows of corn. I thought about little kids running through the fields, Jude and Marianne going to a fertility clinic, and the sight of all the Granger children playing and squealing at my birthday party the day before. I also thought about the handsome and, apparently, available man sitting next to me.

“I can’t abandon this,” I finally said. “If I had kids, my priorities would change. Who’s to say I wouldn’t get scared and sell my farm, only to see it raped into submission by somebody like Hubert Purcell?”

Nick had no reply, and the silence stretched into minutes before he spoke again.

“Who will be with you when you’re old? When you can’t farm anymore? Not Howie.”

I jumped off the end of the truck and walked a few steps away, sticking my hands in my back pockets. Just who was this guy, and why was he pushing all my buttons? Did he know I sometimes lay awake at night wondering the same thing, sometimes so fiercely I had to get up and turn on the TV just to scare away the thoughts?

“The Grangers will be around,” I said. “There are too many of them to all die before me.” I bit off my words, terrified some of them just might die, and soon.

Nick was oblivious to my worry. “They’re not family.”

I gave a harsh laugh. “Don’t tell Ma that.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t you sometimes wish for someone to be a permanent part of your life? Someone you go to sleep with and wake up with?”

I turned to him. “Just who are we talking about here? Me or you? You’re the one traveling around without a permanent residence. Or do you have someone waiting at home, wherever home is?”

He shook his head slowly and lay back down on the truck bed, his hands behind his head. “I’m not making a life out of barn painting. It’s just something to do till I figure out what’s next. Come on.” He patted the blanket beside him. “Relax. I didn’t mean to spoil the mood.”

I walked back to the truck, shoved his feet up onto the tailgate and slammed it shut, surprising him onto his elbows. “There was no mood. There was just me being depressed and you trying to pick my brain.”

He smiled at me with such tenderness I almost changed my mind and jumped back up beside him. But I didn’t. I got into the cab, and he lay down in the bed to watch the stars as I drove us home.

BOOK: Till the Cows Come Home
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