“The same thing that goes on around here twice a day, every day.” It was an effort for him to readjust himself. He’d planned to avoid her for a few days, but here she was, pretty as a picture with those big, curious eyes, right in his milking parlor.
“But how do you manage it all by yourself? There are so many of them.”
“I don’t always do it alone. Anyway, it’s automated, for the most part.” Deftly he removed inflations from udders.
“Where does the milk go? Through the pipes, I imagine.”
“That’s right.” He bit back a sigh. He didn’t much feel like giving her a class in Milking 101. He felt like kissing the breath out of her. “From cow to pipes and into tanks in the milk house.” He gestured vaguely. “It keeps it at the proper temperature until the milk truck pumps it out. I have to take these girls back to the loafing shed.”
“Loafing shed?”
He did smile now, just a little. “That’s where they loaf, before and after.”
Rebecca made way, perhaps a bit more than necessary, as he herded the milked cows out. She wondered how he kept them straight, the ones still to be milked, the ones who had been. And when he herded more in, she realized the answer was obvious.
Their bags were huge. She muffled a giggle as he moved them into place. With approval for the efficiency and organization of the system she watched him pull a lever that poured grain from chutes to troughs.
“So they feed and milk at the same time.”
“Food’s the incentive.” He paid little attention to her as he went about his business. “They eat, you milk half of them. You milk the other half while you set up the next group.”
Quickly, and with little fuss, he hooked his new stock into their stanchions. “These are inflations. They go over the teats, do the work that used to be done by hand. You can milk a hell of a lot more cows a hell of a lot faster this way than with your fingers and a bucket.”
“It must be more sanitary. And you use that solution—some sort of antiseptic, I suppose—on their…”
“Bags, honey. You call them bags.” He nodded. “You want grade A milk, you have to meet the standards.”
“How is the milk graded?” she began, then stopped herself. “Sorry. Too many questions. I’m in your way.”
“Yeah, you are.” But, as the machines did their work, he stepped toward her. “What are you doing here, Rebecca?”
“I told you, I was out walking.”
He lifted a brow, hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “And you decided to visit with the cows?”
“I didn’t have a plan.”
“I think it’s safe to say you usually do.”
“All right.” He was, of course, on target, no matter what she’d told herself when she started through the woods. “I suppose I felt we’d left something unresolved. I don’t want things to be difficult with you, since I’m dealing with so much of
your family while I’m here.”
“Um-hmm…” He wasn’t precisely sure which side of her he was dealing with at the moment. “I was pushy. Do you want an apology?”
“Unnecessary.”
That made him smile again. He had a growing affection for that cocky tilt to her chin. “Want to try it again? I’ve got an urge to kiss you right now.”
“I’m sure you have an urge to kiss any woman, just about anytime.”
“Yeah. But you’re here.”
“I’ll let you know if and when I want you to kiss me.” As a means of defense, she turned, wandered, frowned intently at a container labeled Udder Balm. “The problem I have is that as long as we have this…”
“Attraction?” he put in. “Lust?”
“Tension,” she snapped back. “It makes it difficult for me to follow through on my plan to work here. I do want to work here,” she said, turning to him again. “But I can’t if I’m going to have to deflect unsolicited advances.”