Нора Робертс - Hideaway

“A gamer, are you?”

“Not like I tried to be as a kid, but if you don’t make time for fun, what’s the point? Especially on long winter nights. Anyway, I’ve got a couple of pals who game when we have a chance. Leo’s got a kid coming in a few months, so he may fall out for a while. The other’s actually a game programmer. Dave kicks our asses regularly. Always did,” he added, “even when we were kids.”

“You’ve known them that long?”

“Since first grade, yeah.”

Something to envy, she thought, those roots, that continuity.

She trailed a finger over the games. “You play Sword of Astara ?”

“Hot warrior babe, swords and battles and magic spells. What’s not to like?”

“I voiced her.”

“You did what? Shalla? Warrior Queen? She doesn’t sound like you.”

“No. But I can sound like her.”

Turning, face suddenly fierce, Cate mimed drawing a sword, lifting it high. “My sword for Astara!” Her voice went as fierce as her face, deeper than her own and with a hint of the Highlands. “My life for Astara!”

He wasn’t sure what it said about him that hearing that voice come out of her made him want to just grab her and dive in.

He tried restraint. “Well, holy shit. I’ve played you dozens of times. I didn’t know you did games. What else have I got?”

“Let’s see. Yeah, the bubbly fairy in this one, the wicked sorcerer queen in this, and, ah, the stalwart soldier here, the smart-ass street kid here.”

She turned back, amused at the way he just stared. “One of the jobs I just finished was Sword of Astara: The Next Battle . I might be able to get you an early copy.”

He finally found his voice. “I don’t suppose you want to get married?”

“It’s so nice of you to ask, but we haven’t even been dancing. Instead, maybe I haven’t missed the afternoon milking. I really would like to see how it’s done. Who knows? I may need to voice a milkmaid one of these days.”

“I can help with that.” He started out with her. “Does Baltar the Conqueror come back?”

“He does.”

“I knew it.”

She milked cows. Well, the machines milked them, she admitted, but humans played a part. She hadn’t been up close and personal with a cow since childhood, and only really to watch. She judged that washing and drying udders ranked about as personal as it got.

“Good work,” Dillon told her. He took off his hat, plopped it on her head. “Next step is stripping before the machines take over.”

Adjusting the hat, she gave him a long look. “I’m supposed to get naked to milk cows?”

“No. But now that’s an image in my head. We prime the pump, let’s say. ‘Stripping’ just means we help them let down the milk. Like this.”

He closed a lubricated hand over one of the cow’s teats, drew down. “Gently. Smooth. Anything that hurts her’s wrong.”

She watched with delight when milk squirted into the pail.

“How do you know if it hurts?”

“Oh, she’d let you know. Here.”

Taking Cate’s hand, he guided it, kept his over hers. Gentle, she thought, smooth.

A little thrill fluttered inside her as the milk squirted.

Maybe several little thrills, she realized, as he crouched beside her milking stool, his body close and warm, his cheek nearly pressed to hers.

He had strong hands, she thought. Strong, hard-palmed, calloused hands. Sure ones.

Mixed with the delight of a new experience twined the surprise of finding out a milking parlor that smelled of hay and grain and cow and raw milk could, in any way, be sexy.

“You’ve got a good touch.”

Testing both of them, Cate turned her head so their faces were barely a whisper apart. “Thanks.”

She saw his gaze flick down to her mouth—just for an instant, but she saw it—before he eased back. “You’re good to go. Do you want to strip her other two?”

“I’ve got it.”

He’d felt it, too, no question. And wasn’t that interesting? Wasn’t that fascinating?

He’d stripped the other two cows by the time she finished the one, showed her how to attach the machines. The cows seemed largely bored by the process. One buried her head in a bucket of grain.

“They tend to get hungry after a milking.”

“How do you know when they’re done?”

On cue, suckers released and dropped from one of the cows. “Oh, okay, that’s how. And that was fast.”

“Definitely a time saver, but we’re not done. Now we wash and dry the udders again, clean and sterilize the machines.”

“And all that three times a day. What happens if you miss a milking?”

“You’re going to have unhappy cows,” he said as he worked. “They’d be uncomfortable, even start hurting. They can get mastitic. If you’re going to have milk cows, goats, it’s your job to look out for them. It’s your duty.”

“Anything that hurts is wrong.”

“There you go.”

“It’s a lot of work, what you do.” She washed udders as he’d shown her—a completely different feel after milking. “Even just this part of it. Then there’s the beef cattle, the horses, and all the rest. Doesn’t leave you much time for recreation.”

“There’s always time.”

Once he’d stored the tanks, he got to work cleaning the machines. Methodically, she thought. The man was definitely methodical.

“Since Red retired, he pitches in, and it takes some of the load off. I’m a decent mechanic, and so are my ladies. He’s better than all three of us. He’s damn handy in the dairy kitchen, too, so I mostly get a pass there.”

“But you know how to make butter, cheese, and all that.”

“Sure.”

“No gender bias on a ranch?”

“Not on this one. We’ve got a system that works. The day starts early, but once the stock’s fed and bedded down for the night, there’s time for whatever.”

Methodical, she thought again as he stored equipment, noted something down on a hanging clipboard. He led the cows back through the parlor door, back into the pasture.

“The Roadhouse just this side of Monterey’s got a live band on the weekends. Dancing.”

Oh yeah, he’d felt it, too. She kept her smile internal, just glanced up at him with mild curiosity. “Do you dance?”

“I grew up in a house with two women. What do you think?”

“I think you can probably hold your own.”

“Dave can’t dance worth dick, but he likes to think he can. He’s seeing someone. Leo and Hailey might like to have a night out before the baby comes. Would you be up for that?”

“I could be. What’s the dress code?”

“It’s not fancy.”

Amused, she took off his hat, rose to her toes, and dropped it back on his head. “I just helped milk cows, so I’d think you’d see fancy isn’t one of my requirements.”

“Good. I can come by, pick you up about seven-thirty.”

“That’ll work.”

He walked her around to the mudroom rather than the front, and spotted his mother hoeing a row in the family garden. “She’s tireless.”

She had her hair bundled up under a wide-brimmed hat, a half apron with deep pockets over baggy jeans. The faded T-shirt showed the muscles in her arms rippling and flexing as the sun washed down over her and the turned earth, the tidy rows of vegetables.

“She’s wonderful. I know you know how lucky you are because I see it. I envy it.”

Following instinct, Dillon stepped back. “She’d like some company if you’ve got a few minutes. I’ve got some things I need to see to. I’ll see you Friday.”

“All right. I bet I can teach your friend to dance.”

With a shake of his head, Dillon walked away. “Not a chance.”

“Challenge accepted,” Cate murmured, then walked toward the garden and the mother she wished she had.