Page 14 of Hogging the Hunk
“Guess my reflexes aren’t that great before the sun comes up.”
“That’s fair.” Ignoring my rampant pulse, slamming against the soft part under my jaw, I ran a mental diagnostic of my body. Other than a throbbing derriere, I’d miraculously spared myself any serious injury. “What are you doing here?”
“Starting my rounds for the day. Maren called and said one of the goats from the last kidding had a horn injury.”
“I know the one you’re talking about. The adorable, tawny thing with a sharp black stripe running down her back?”
“No denying she’s a cutie.”
“Her personality sets her apart. She’s always looking to amuse herself. One time, I watched her for ten minutes while she bounced off her napping mother’s rump.”
“I just saw her chase Slo Jo across the pen, wiggling her stubby tail the whole time. She seems to delight in tormenting that cat.”
Glancing past Milo I smirked at Slo Jo. I wasn’t the only one who had a less-than-graceful start to the day. “The doeling looks like one of her horns is lopsided.”
“My best guess is she got herself into some trouble while playing and something knocked it loose.” Stopping abruptly, Milo rubbed a hand across his face. It would have been difficult to tell he was concealing a smile if it didn’t extend to his eyes, making the corners crinkle. “Can I help you up? I feel bad talking to you while you’re…”
Still laying spread eagle on the cold concrete, there was no dignified way to get up without his help. I’d ignored my embarrassment as long as I could. “Have at it.”
Milo offered me a hand. Conceding that there was nothing more that could intensify my humiliation, I put my hand in his and let him hoist me to my feet. I was righted in a fraction of a second by his strength. Letting go of my hand, it felt oddly empty without Milo’s thick fingers gripping mine. I resisted the urge to shake the tingle out of my skin and stuffed my hands in the pockets of Maren’s coat. My fingers toyed with the small pile of shavings and hay that had accumulated along the seams.
“Isn’t a nightgown a tad chilly for this weather?” Milo’s eyes were still glued to me, like his visual connection to my face was the only thing keeping him tethered here on earth.
That or he was trying not to make it obvious that I still hadn’t put a bra on for the morning and he knew it.
I glanced down at my pajamas and felt the uncomfortable scorch of embarrassment claw up my neck and nestle into my cheeks. Balling my fists was the only thing I could do to keep from fanning away the heat. No bra and the words printed on the cottony material weren’t exactly subtle. I’d been so flattered I’d giggled when Greg had given me a cottony nightshirt that read, Woke Up Sexy Again for my birthday. Now, I wished I’d burned the thing when Greg had requested we take a hiatus.
If Greg truly thought I was deserving of such a nightgown, he could have always bought me another one when we got back together.
If we got back together.
“I was running behind this morning.” I stuck out my chin like it was a weapon, daring him to so much as grin. “Otherwise, I would have changed.”
The corners of Milo’s mouth twitched. There it was again. He was trying not to laugh. It was the best he could do to allow me to escape this nightmare with as much dignity as possible.
“I figured.” Milo bent over and picked up the milk pails that had clattered across the aisle.
Given a moment while Milo was turned away, I covertly zipped up my coat. Still wearing pajamas from my ex, or wearing pajamas that proclaimed my sensuality when I’d just rolled out of bed… which was more pathetic? The sliver of consolation was at least Milo didn’t know I was wearing a gift from… what was Greg? My pseudo ex? My temporarily on-hold boyfriend? The start of a tension headache throbbed behind my eyes.
This was not at all how I envisioned my morning going.
Becky’s hooves clattered on the gate of her stall and her tongue stuck out as she bleated desperately at us. Milo took a sliver of alfalfa from an already-opened bale and tossed it to her, placating her momentarily.
“I take it Maren called in a favor and asked you to do the milking while she’s away?” Leaning down to set the milking pails next to the stanchion, the momentary drop of his gaze to the few inches south of my coat landed his eyes on the bare skin exposed along my legs. He swallowed and snapped his attention to fussing with the goat milking stand. The thought of Milo Fox—who half the town referred to as Dr. Foxy—noticing that I, of all women, had legs, produced an effervescent giggle from my chest that I tried my best to strangle. It came out as a trio of hiccups.
“That’s right. I’m playing milkmaid this morning.” Squinting at him, a burning question sat at the tip of my tongue until I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Can I ask you something?”
With a mouthful of alfalfa crammed in her cheek, Becky barely slowed down her verbal assault. Putting on her halter as I opened the door, Becky shoved past me and jumped onto the stand. She already knew this routine and the look she aimed at me when she craned her neck in my direction suggested I was an idiot for thinking any differently.
“Ask away,” Milo said, his face far more stoic than I’d witnessed all morning.
A genuine laugh tipped out of me. “Don’t look so worried. I won’t twist your arm and make you tell me your deepest, darkest secrets or anything. You know how I feel about a person’s right to keep things to themselves.”
Milo leaned against the stanchion, and a wave of his dark hair fell over his forehead. Even in seasoned coveralls, in a barn, while tending to an ornery herd of goats, Milo was undeniably handsome. Some people had all the luck. “I know. I appreciate that you’re not nosy. That doesn’t mean I’m not quaking in my boots, though.” He paused, and I didn’t immediately spring on him. Was he joking or serious? “What’d you want to know?”
“How come you’re out here so early?” I prepped Becky for her morning milking. I had half a dozen does to go and as fast as a milking machine was, I might still have to get to a few by hand. My joints ached with the phantom pain of hand milking even one. “That doeling’s horn is hardly an emergency.”
“Me? Oh.” The cogs turned in Milo’s head as he considered his words. I hadn’t considered my question particularly challenging. It was a matter-of-fact observation that most veterinarians wouldn’t be on our farm before the sun had even properly rolled out of bed and showed up for the day. Curiosity had me in a tight grip, and as much as I wanted to respect Milo’s privacy, it also created an insatiable urge to solve the puzzle his hesitation created. “I like to be home by dinnertime.”