The man had to think she was a complete loon.
Stomach churning, she ran after him and caught him on the porch. The sun hung low on the horizon behind him. “Rowdy, wait. I might have overreacted.”
At her quiet words he halted and turned back to her. “Maybe. But, hey, if my kiss drove you to it, then I guess that’s a good thing. Only I get the feeling what’s going on here goes a whole lot deeper than my kissing. Right?”
She owed him, so she nodded. “It’s a long story.”
“Look, I have a feeling you’re not comfortable sharing whatever it is with me. Especially now. But how about getting out of the house to practice for the rodeo?”
She had to shut down the sudden impulse to spill everything to him. Working with him was one thing— confessing to him was another. But she had made him feel terribly bad—at least it seemed that way—and she had signed on for this wild-cow milking. “Okay, that sounds like a plan,” she said.
He waved a hand toward his truck. “In that case, your chariot awaits you. And I promise to stay on my side of the truck, behind the steering wheel.”
Feeling more foolish than ever, Lucy pushed her hair behind her ear, contemplated changing her mind and then followed him to his truck.
* * *
“First things first. Do you know how to milk a cow?”
Lucy blinked blankly at him, and Rowdy took that as a no even before she confirmed what he’d figured out.
“Um, I can’t say that I’ve ever had the need to know how to milk a cow.”
Rowdy was having trouble concentrating. He shouldn’t have kissed her. Hadn’t meant to. He was a yahoo, a buffoon, an idiot. That was for certain. He’d swallowed the woman up as if she was sweet tea on a hot afternoon, and then he’d lost his mind in the process. He just didn’t think straight around her.
He knew that now.
The thing was, he liked Lucy and he couldn’t seem to do anything but want to get to know her better. But if he’d thought there was something bothering her before, he knew it was true now. Not that he was God’s gift to women or anything, but she’d responded to him and then shoved him away as though he was Jack the Ripper.
What was her story? Something had happened to cause this leeriness.
She had a mistrust of men. And he wanted to know why.
The best way to do that was to get to know her, and teaching her to milk a cow was one more way to do that.
“So this isn’t a milk cow.” It wasn’t a question but an observation on her part. She bit her lip—he fought to focus—and she studied the mama cow in the holding pen. “Aren’t mama cows dangerous?”
“Yes, they are when their calf is around. They’re not to be toyed with, and you need to know what you’re doing so you can get in there and get out. Okay?”
She rolled her gorgeous eyes. “I’m thinking this is the craziest stunt I’ve ever agreed to.”
He chuckled. “I hope so, because it is kind of crazy.”
“Then why are you allowing the kids to do it?”