Wild Hearts

Chapter Five

The morning sun starts to peek in the horizon as we stand over the barn. The barn is a blend of rustic charm and practicality. The air is thick with the aroma of hay, mixed with the sharper tang of manure and the faint sweetness of feed. It is not entirely unpleasant, but it is intense, grounding me in the reality of farm life.

The barn is spacious, its thick wooden beams crisscrossed with cobwebs that shimmer in the sunlight streaming through gaps in the walls. The old wood creaks softly underfoot as I walk, a constant reminder of the barn's age and history. In one corner, bales of golden hay are stacked nearly to the ceiling, their coarse texture inviting the occasional stray cat to nestle in for warmth.

The gentle swishing of cow tails and the occasional low moo add to the barn's symphony. The cows themselves stand lazily in their pens, their large, dark eyes blinking slowly as they wait for the day's work to begin. Flies buzz around them, darting in the warm light.

Despite its rough edges, the barn has a kind of tranquility to it. The sounds of the outside world feel distant here, muffled by the thick wooden walls and the soft rustle of hay. It is a place where time seems to move slower, where the natural rhythm of life took over, and for a moment, I feel a strange sense of calm.

After giving some workers their duties of the day, my father crosses his arms and looks at me and Preston.

"Alright, you two. Milk and bathe the cows first. Be at the market by noon. Don't be late."

I force a smile, but the images of muck and manure cling to me, just like the smell that will not leave my clothes. As much as I try to focus on the work at hand, I cannot shake the thought of what I left behind in the city—brunches, champagne, and clean shoes. None of this... mess.

Preston nods easily, clearly accustomed to the routine. "Got it, Ben," he says with a small smile, his eyes catching mine for just a second longer than necessary.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road," Preston says with a grin. "Ready to impress the cows?" He moves to the nearest cow, his hand casually patting its flank with an easy familiarity. I cannot help but notice the way he moves—confident, like he belongs here.

"First, you want to get the cow used to your presence," he explains, his voice calm and steady. "Give her a gentle pat, talk to her. It makes the whole process easier." He runs his hand along the cow's side, and I mimic his movements, my hand trembling slightly as I reach out.

The cow looks at me with large, dark eyes, and I feel a flutter of connection. I take a deep breath and speak softly, trying to channel the same ease Preston exudes.

"Hey there, girl," I murmur. "We're going to be friends today."

Preston chuckles softly at my attempt, encouraging me with a nod. "That's it! Now, let's get to milking. It's all about finding the right rhythm." He demonstrates, his hands moving in a fluid motion as he expertly squeezes and pulls.

I watch closely, but when it is my turn, my movements feel clumsy. The cow shifts under my touch, and I flinch, glancing over at Preston. "I—I don't think this is working," I mutter. "I'm probably just frustrating the cow."

"Here, let me help." His hands cover mine, guiding me through the motions. I feel the warmth of him seeping through the gloves, and suddenly, I am hyper-aware of every point of contact—the soft rasp of his breath as he explains what to do. It is ridiculous, really, how my heart speeds up over something so mundane. But the farm, the cows, my nerves... they all fade because he is this close.

I try to focus on the task at hand, but my mind drifts, I wonder what it would feel like if he was not just guiding me through farm chores. What if...?