Faded Cotton (Erotic Romance) (11 page)

Jen looked back at her quizzically, “And what
about you and Jake? The last time I saw, you were kicking sand and
cussing up a storm.”

Laurel let out a sigh. “I don’t know. I just
don’t know. I’m not sure I can get past the hurt. I certainly won’t
deny him a relationship with Adam. We talked, but not about
anything important. I’m not sure if I want to do this again.”

“Your life is not over, Laurel.”

Laurel sighed, “And yours is definitely not
over either, Jen Delaney. You and I have work to do.”

“Well, we can’t start until tomorrow. I’d
really like to hear more about the farm and Derrick in the
meantime; if you don’t mind.” Jen needed to get her mind off
Adam.

“Mix drinks and I can talk all night!” The
two women laughed and Jen went to the bar while Laurel made herself
comfortable on one of the sofas. “Where were we?”

__________________________

When seven-thirty came and went, so did
breakfast. Derrick finally descended the stairs after nine o’clock.
The kitchen was clean, and there was no sign of Laurel. Derrick
grabbed a banana off the counter, moved out onto the deck,
scratched his head, and worked the sleep from his eyes.

He found her unloading feed, carrying the
fifty-pound bags over her shoulder into the stable aisle. Horses
nickered to her for a treat. Walking her way, he stubbed his
flip-flop-bared big toe on a rock and decided to head back to the
house for his boots.

Finally arriving at the barn, he heard her
snicker. “Jeans, okay. Shirt, maybe,” she commented on his baggy
Levis and sleeveless tee. “Tie your boots and untuck your pants
from them. Okay, boys-in-da-hood? Good grief, no real
man
runs around like that,” she said in disgust.

Tired and still hungry, Derrick wasn’t up to
an argument. He sneered at her comments, but complied with Laurel’s
demands. Bag after bag spilled into the grain bin after he finished
his banana and decided to help.

“Breakfast?” He queried.

“We have to get hay in from the hay barn.
I’ll show you how to stack.” Ignoring him, she jumped into the farm
truck and waited for him to do the same. She thought he’d
eventually get the picture. He slowly got in and they headed down
the hill to the hay barn.

Without the gloves he had refused, his hands
were blistered and throbbing when they were done. Derrick was
covered in dust, his back hurt, his arms hurt and sweat was
stinging his eyes. It was after one when they finally finished that
afternoon.

“Strip in the laundry room. I won’t have all
that hay and dust spread around my house,” Laurel ordered.

“Bossy bitch, aren’t you?” Derrick slipped
under his breath.

Laurel heard him plain and clear.

She turned to him, “Damn right I am.
The
boss
!” She gestured quotation marks in the air with her
fingers.

He grunted in disgust. “This is crazy!”
Derrick wanted to be done with the whole charade. He turned over
his shoulder, “What do I have to do to make you happy so I can get
the hell out of here without my father giving me shit?”

“You’re a grown man, Derrick. You can walk
away any time you want to.”

“It’s not that fucking simple and you know
it.”

“This isn’t about me, Derrick. You need to be
the man you were meant to be, instead of acting like a spoiled boy.
That will solve your problem.” She studied his face before
continuing. His nasty scowl served to piss her off.

“You just need to believe in yourself the way
he believes in you. So far, however, I agree with you. This is
crazy. It might possibly be the
stupidest
thing I have
ever
agreed to in my whole life—,” she broke off as she
sneezed. She looked back at him. Her words had stung. She saw the
hurt in his eyes behind the nasty smirk. “I need a shower. Then
we’ll grab some lunch.” She walked off—mad at him and mad at
herself.

The hot shower felt good. Laurel sneezed and
snorted out hay dust, laughing at herself. It felt odd to use the
master bathroom again. With the kids gone, she had the luxury of
using whatever bedroom she wanted. She’d been avoiding hers, living
out of Shannon’s room and the upstairs bath. It gave her an eerie
feeling that Jahn was somehow with her or maybe he would just walk
in the door, catching her naked, tickling her until she was in his
arms once again.

She leaned on the shower wall.
That’s not
going to happen, Laurel
, she told herself. She realized the
water had grown cool and she questioned how long she’d been
standing there, lost in the past. The thick terry hotel robe he’d
given her would have to do since all of her clothes were upstairs.
She headed upstairs to dress.

Retrieving her hairbrush from the upstairs
bathroom, she noticed Derrick’s door was open. Human nature willed
her to look. Nothing could prepare her for what she saw. Her
presence undetected, she couldn’t help but stop and stare.

Derrick was standing hands on his hips
looking out the window deep in thought. His back was to her with
nothing covering his massive frame—naked.
Good Lord. They don’t
make ‘em like that all the time.
His broad shoulders and firm
rounded ass were incredible. Chest—massive, his legs strong with
chiseled calves.

She knew what the farm would do for that body
and it heated her, making her twinge with desire. Laurel chastised
herself.
Are you really gawking at a boy?
Not a boy, a man,
albeit a young man, he was almost twenty. If he was old enough to
carry a gun and die for his country, he was a man. She tiptoed on
and dismissed her arousal as normal human response. After all, she
was a woman and he was one incredibly attractive man. She shook her
head trying to rid herself of her thoughts.

__________________________

It had taken a few days for Derrick to fall
into a routine.
Do the time,
Derrick thought; then he’d be
back in his father’s good graces and things would get back to
normal. He considered that of all the places his father could have
shipped him off to, this was probably the least of them.

Working with Laurel could be a comedy
sometimes. She would cuss up a storm if you made her mad. It had
made him laugh on more than one occasion. She had a good sense of
humor for the most part, though.

Curves too.
Real damn sexy
for a
hard-working woman in her thirties. He shifted uncomfortably at the
thought. It was a good uncomfortable, he decided. Watching her had
his mind wondering on more than one occasion. Smart and business
savvy—the package was kind of hot, he mused. She’d let him dive
into the workings of the farm and let him take responsibility for
key operations from day one, as if she wanted to trust him.

__________________________

That Saturday evening it was obvious he
wasn’t getting any sleep. After a shower and some time reading,
Derrick realized Laurel wasn’t in the house. Modesty wasn’t his
strong suit and it didn’t bother him to take off to the barn
half-dressed.

“Shit!” Laurel half screeched as she spun
around, not missing that he was in thin underwear and that was all.
“Derrick, don’t sneak up on people.”

“Sorry.”

“What the hell are you doing running around
in boxers and flip-flops?!”

“What the hell are you doing down here
alone?” He huffed. Derrick didn’t feel comfortable with her not in
the house that late.

“What the hell do you care?” She was
agitated.

They stared at each other.

“Oh good grief, this is ridiculous.” Laurel
realized she was staring at the very, very hot,
so hot
, body
of the man standing in front of her. She tried to shake it off.
Too long, it’s been too long.

She turned back to the stall. “The bay mare
is overdue,” Laurel said with concern as she refocused.

“Huh?”

Laurel made the half circle, big belly motion
for pregnancy and said it again, “Overdue, way overdue.”

“Okay.”

Derrick headed back into the darkness,
thinking he’d go to bed.
To hell with her.
While his
curiosity about the mare was roused, he was tired from a long day.
That evening he had been reading up on horses and foaling and
forages, borrowing from Laurel's personal library to bring himself
up to speed. He knew the farm was home to half a dozen really good
Quarter Horse mares that, with carefully managed artificial
insemination practices, had been consistent producers for Siddy
Creek Farm.

Laurel kept the mares producing high dollar
foals that helped keep the bottom line where it should be.
Resulting stock had paid for college tuition, a new truck, and a
lot of things her sons and daughter had needed. The sale of those
babies had even helped a friend in need when Darra’s divorce had
left her destitute.

The mares were a handpicked lot. A couple of
pleasure bred mares, and four stout reining and cutting mares. Each
was a money-earning producer. Over the years, Laurel had picked out
four big, sweet-natured geldings to keep for working cattle,
checking fences and the occasional trail ride or horse show. Ten
head, plus babies was enough.

The overdue mare had been hard to settle this
time around. She was getting older, and treated for a uterine
infection before she was finally ultra-sounded in foal. Laurel was
afraid she might not carry to term or the foal might not be
healthy. The mare had only missed one year. Laurel wondered if this
would be her last. Her foals took a lot from her; they were all big
babies.

The mare was a big bay reining horse that had
never seen a show pen because of a scar on her hock. She was slung
low and wide from years of being a broodmare. “Jilly” had raised
several quality colts and fillies. The mare had been noticeably
nervous at feeding time earlier in the evening.

Derrick had just drifted off when he felt a
shake on the bed. He woke up with a start. “Get your clothes on.
I’m going to need help with Jilly. I can’t get Doc Ramsey’s
answering service, and the other vet is already out on emergency
calls.”

Derrick bolted up and threw on jeans, a
t-shirt, and boots. He joined a nervous Laurel in the barn.

“Please be very quiet and as slow moving as
possible. Jilly really likes us both, but instinct can be stronger
than their trust in a human.”

They both moved close to the dimly lit
foaling stall. The big mare was covered in sweat. She nickered
nervously as she pushed up onto her big belly from lying straight,
legs out. Laurel had felt there was something wrong from the
beginning when the mare seemed extremely uncomfortable. She
normally had easy births.

Laurel had kept her distance watching the
mare’s labor progress until she realized they had a big
problem.

“Oh Jilly,” Laurel said, as she realized the
foals front feet were not both accompanying its nose.

“In between contractions this baby has to go
back a few inches so I can grab that other foot.” Watching the mare
carefully as she rested between hard contractions, Laurel deftly
slipped an arm into the mare’s birth canal, shoved, fished, and
then produced another little hoof. Laurel made a quick adjustment
and then removed her arm just in time.

“Ow, damn! Mare you could have held out a few
seconds longer.” She gave the mare a disapproving look and massaged
her arm. Derrick looked at her questioningly.

“A mare can break your arm if you get hung up
in her just right trying to adjust a foal.” She stroked the mare
reassuringly.

The hard contractions were telling on the
mare; the foal was big.

“Derrick, get this baby’s legs and when I say
pull, pull gently, and in the same arc as the foal, give a low tug.
She’s gotta pass those shoulders.”

Derrick looked at Laurel for a moment and
then reached into the torn amniotic sack and grasped the slippery,
wet legs of the foal.

“Pull.” Laurel said firmly, but in a hushed
tone, watching the mares contracting body, now frothed in sweat,
her shoulders and flank, white.

Derrick pulled during the contraction. The
mare groaned as she heaved.

“Stop, she’s done for the moment.” Laurel was
watching the mare carefully.

It took a couple more tries to get the foal’s
shoulders to pass and a few more to deliver its hips.

“Holy shit!” Derrick was wide-eyed at how
much space the foal had taken at its hips to pass from the mare. He
pulled the foal away slightly and stepped aside. He inspected a
trickle of blood from his vantage point.

“I think she has a tear. She’s bleeding.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. This foal is
huge
!” A minute later, the foal was completely free of the
mare and the mare rested uneasily.

Laurel motioned for Derrick to follow her and
they exited the stall. “We have to give her a chance to take it
from here and not interfere.”

The mare delivered the placenta in a push,
but a large piece hung on and it was dragging from her as she
heaved to get up. Weak, she staggered, stepping on it and yanking
it free. The mare froze, shuddered, and groaned in pain. She
struggled to nicker to her new baby, which was struggling with his
long front legs.

Then it began. The trickle became a stream.
The mare was hemorrhaging.

Laurel’s voice was one of action, laced
heavily with concern. “Try Doc Ramsey on the phone again,” she shot
at Derrick, running for the drug cabinet in the tack room. Spurting
syringes in one hand, and alcohol pads in the other, Laurel rushed
back to the stall and stepped in to shoot the mare with drugs to
help with the bleeding and pain.

Within minutes, the mare stopped sweating,
but the blood continued. Already weak from the rough delivery and
still bleeding profusely, the mare stumbled to her knees,
glassy-eyed. Derrick, sensing what was happening, stepped in, and
gathered the wet foal, removing it from the stall.