Cattle Stop by Kit Oliver

Chapter Fifteen

The sun shines toobright into Cooper’s eyes and he squints, tucking his face into Whit’s neck. Whit slowly stirs, his palm pressing to the small of Cooper’s back, brushing his shirt up and aside to touch Cooper’s skin.

Milking, Cooper thinks, but he stays right where he is, nudging his knee between Whit’s legs and snuggling a little further into his body. He could just stay like this, ignore everything outside of this too-small twin bed, and doze like they have all morning to wallow in the warm sunshine.

Apparently, Whit could too, his arm tightening around Cooper. Oh, this is so nice. So, so fucking nice. Waking up like this, to warm skin and Whit’s hands on him, his arm still across Cooper’s waist, like he held him there all night. Perfect, Cooper thinks and nestles into Whit’s neck.

A knock sounds at the door.

Whit jerks and sits up so quickly that it pushes Cooper nearly off the narrow mattress. He scrambles, floundering at the empty air behind him, trying to find his feet before Whit can finish shoving him away.

The door creaks open and Drew calls, “Whit?”

Cooper gets a foot on the floor before he ends up on his ass, yanking his shirt down, shoving his hair off of his face, and jerking his boxers up.

“Hey, you awake?” Drew asks.

Whit pulls Cooper’s sheets over his lap. “Yeah, guess I am.”

“Sorry, your day off, I forgot.” Drew crosses his arms over his chest, already dressed for work in his jeans and T-shirt. He glances at Cooper as if surprised to find him there.

Right. The cows. Farming. Not lying in bed, cuddled up and drowsy.

Well, another way of things between Cooper and Whit, and Cooper would be shoving Drew back into the hall, ready to give him hell about interrupting what would’ve otherwise been quite an enjoyable morning. Instead, Whit’s clearly mortified to have been nearly caught curled up with Cooper like that, carefully not meeting his eyes. And it’s fucking embarrassing for Cooper too, bodily shoved out of bed. He shuffles through his pile of clothes, trying to ignore the blush sitting on his face and the small, sick slick of hurt at how quickly Whit’s smoothing out the bedsheets.

Drew coughs into his fist. “Just wanted to talk.”

“Yeah.” Whit gets to his feet and reaches for his jeans. He must’ve kicked them off sometime in the night, and Cooper pushes them closer with the side of his foot. “Yeah, no, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you about my parents, you were right.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Drew says and casts another look at Cooper.

Cooper busies himself sorting through his pairs of pants. There’s a reason to keep clothes in a dresser and not on the floor, though it’s not like Cooper even has an option.

“Your folks okay?” Drew asks. “Your dad?”

Whit shrugs, pulling his pants up to his waist and zipping his fly. “They’re doing fine, Dad’s healthy, and a smaller place is working out for them. Besides, now they don’t have to deal with another winter in their own house.”

Drew puts on a small smile. “Yeah, otherwise face the wrath of squirrels.”

Whit smiles back, just as small and tentative. “Exactly. Drew—” Whit smooths his shirt and takes a deep breath. “I tell you everything important, I promise.”

“Yeah.” Drew tucks his chin down toward his chest and nods at his feet. His expression is still a little too tight, shoulders too tense. Though when he looks up again, his smile is bigger. This’ll blow over, clearly. It apparently nearly already has. “Which bed is yours, anyway?”

Cooper’s stomach turns. Tells Drew everything. Of course. Everything except this, Whit cuddling Cooper close a minute ago and then a mad scramble to pretend they weren’t doing exactly that. Ouch, he thinks and tries to find the humor in it but feels only a dull ache.

“The one that doesn’t have an entire bale of hay in it,” Whit says. “Listen, Drew, we’re in this together, okay? You and me. You’re not on your own here. I want you to know that.”

Drew nods and that tight smile loosens a little bit, reaches his eyes even as he holds his arms out for Whit. They hug, clapping each other on the back. Cooper sniffs at a stray sock. He should do laundry. He should get the hell out of here, leave them to their moment. Their farm, more like.

The three of us, he could say if he wanted to butt in and be obnoxious. But that’s not right, is it? Two Pines Farm is theirs, and all this time Cooper’s only been visiting.

Drew and Whit step back, and the moment’s gone anyway, carried out under the creak of the hall floor as Drew walks away, a quickness to his steps that wasn’t there last night, and the words left behind on the squeak of the door, You and me in this together, that echo through Cooper’s head.

“You want a hand with milking?” Whit asks.

Cooper shoves the sock into his bag. His chest is cold, his hands a bit numb. “It’s your day off.”

His extra shirts, a pair of jeans he doesn’t wear that often because of how threadbare the knees are. He puts those in the duffle too.

“Are you okay?” Whit asks.

“Yeah.” Cooper stands, dusting his hands off. He wants to go and nurse his sharp pain in private. Grab Whit’s shoulders and shake him until something else falls out of his mouth, You too, it’s your farm too, you’re important also, Coop, of course, it’s always been you.

How dumb, to wish for something that’ll never happen.

“Someone cutting onions in here?” Cooper says. “You and Drew were so touching—especially the big hug. Now excuse me while I go shed a quiet tear with Buttercup.”

Outside, the day is already hot and muggy, the wind too weak to do more than stir hot air against Cooper’s cheeks. The cows take longer than it feels like they should to amble their way to the barn, and as they’re chewing over their breakfasts and the milk is chilling, Cooper strings up the last lines of fencing for the lane. The final fence posts’ll need to be pounded in before winter comes, but it’s good enough for now, stretching from the far fields up to the side of the barn. Cooper tosses open the barn door and one of the heifers pokes a curious nose out, sniffing at the sunshine.

“Come on,” Cooper says, clapping his hands. He grabs a bucket of grain and shakes it. “Buttercup, c’mon, my man. Don’t show me up.”

It’s not gonna work, he can hear in Whit’s voice, and no, he should really be doing this for the first time with Whit and Drew, and even Penny if she’s around. They’d help coax the stubborn and unsure herd away from their normal routine and through an entirely different morning. Teamwork makes the dream work, right? And here he is, facing down cows that won’t budge.

It’s fine. Fine. Cooper’s just in a crappy mood, and Whit tells Drew everything important, and besides, it’s too hot for this, sweat already dampening his shirt despite the early hour. His phone buzzes as he stands there, the back of his wrist pressed against his forehead. He thinks about just not answering, sitting down in the shade of the barn and feeding handfuls of grain to whichever cows want to come over and be his friend.

Terry’s name is on the screen. She’d understand if he didn’t answer. She’d leave a cheerful message for him to call her back, that she loves him, she’ll talk to him soon, and she hopes he has a great day.

Though maybe Cooper could use a little bit of that cheer now. He slides his thumb across the screen and says, “Ter, can I put you on speaker and have you help me give these cows a talking-to?”

“Cooper.”

“Mom?”

“I missed you yesterday. I was hoping you would stick around more of the afternoon.”

“Yeah, no, we had to get back.” He squints against the sunshine. He’s just so damn hot and the sun’s barely above the trees. “Though I did stick around for lunch.”

“I know. I had a meeting I couldn’t get out of.”

Cooper puffs up his cheeks on a breath, and then blows out hard enough it makes a crackling sound into the phone. That meeting was probably important. So damn important.

“You know what,” he says, “I think I’ve heard that one before.”

Silence.

Don’t talk to your mother like that, he can hear in Terry’s voice, that gentle firmness she’s taken with him only every so often in her years of playing referee between him and Mom.

Normally, thinking of Terry would temper Cooper’s ire, but today a fly buzzes too close to his face. He swats but misses, and sweat rolls down between his shoulder blades. “I’ve been back in New York since April,” Cooper says. “Haven’t exactly seen you.”

“Well, you know you’re always welcome to come down here to visit.”

“Funny story, I did. Yesterday. For lunch.”

The fly buzzes past again. Heat shimmers off the field and the sky’s hazy, humidity like a blur between him and the far stand of trees.

“Cooper,” Mom says.

“You can’t even make it to lunch? Practically downstairs from your building?”

“Cooper. Please.”

This is how Cooper’s always felt, like he could boost himself up to sit on his mother’s desk and still not be seen. There was no real change between the school year when he lived in a tiny apartment with Mom versus when he was up here at Two Pines. Either a handful of square feet to trip over each other or miles of highway were the same too-far distance. All it took was Mom boxing up his bedroom and replacing his childhood bed with a desk, and there he was, wiped away. Not all that different, in the end, than stacks of photographs he’s not in.

I tell you everything important, Whit had said to Drew, and fucking hell, Cooper would like to make that list at least once in his life.

Cooper swallows and his throat is too thick. “Can I talk to Terry?”

“Cooper—”

“Now, please?”

“Kid,” Terry says after a shuffle of the phone, the soft murmur of her voice and Mom’s.

“The fucking cows won’t walk down the lane I built for them.”

“Cooper,” Terry says, and her voice has all the warmth Mom’s never does.

“And Whit’s real, real clear there’s nothing going on between us.”

“Coops, hey, I love you.”

“I’m having a shitty day.” Days. Weeks.

Though no, that’s not right, is it? This has been the best summer since—since forever. Since he was back at Two Pines for this length of time. And then messed up, laying a big goddamn mistake of a kiss on Whit.

Fuck, he thinks when it just makes his chest ache that much more.

“I’m sorry,” Terry says.

Cooper drags his wrist beneath his nose. “Everyone keeps saying that.”

“Everyone cares about you.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

Terry lets out a long breath. “Yeah.”

Leave her, Cooper used to think, spinning out fantasies of living with Terry in some house with a yard and warm sunlight, no clicking of computer keys to fall asleep to. He might as well have staged that imaginary house here at Two Pines, while he was at it. Maybe he would’ve made the hallowed pages of Whit’s photo albums, though, then again, maybe not.

“What can I say, Coop? You deserve better,” Terry says.

He wipes off his nose again. “Whatever.”

“You do. That friend of yours, Whit, he—”

“Oh God, don’t.”

“If you’re going to tell me it’s not like that, I’m here to say that it should be. If he had any sense, he’d be chasing after you. Your mom would be too. And I know you and your mom have a tough time, but can’t help but love the dummy.”

“You’re the one who married her.”

“Happily so, though I know you won’t ever believe me. Different strokes.”

“Yeah, yeah, different folks.”

“You’re my absolute favorite, Cooper.”

At least I’m someone’s, he thinks.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“I love you so much,” she says, and he sniffs as he hangs up, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

It buzzes with a series of texts he ignores, his mom probably apologizing and Terry telling him she loves him again. Same old, same old.

He knows how this one goes: call Terry back tonight, she’ll tell him that he’s so loved all over again, that he does deserve better but his mom isn’t good at this type of thing and that she’s so sorry. And then nothing will change, not next time he goes down to the city, not even if he stays here at Drew’s for years, for decades.

Oregon is delightfully, wonderfully so far away, such a bright, shining ideal of a transcontinental flight that could’ve soothed the sting of the lack of visits. Cooper works the heel of his hand into his forehead. The last person who really wanted him around other than Terry was Cheryl, and he just had to go and fuck that up too.

I tell you everything important, Cooper hears in Whit’s voice all over again.

So what the hell does that make me? he thinks.

Slowly, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, there are the texts he was expecting. He swipes them away and scrolls through his email until he finds the right number.

Three hours behind in Oregon. Cooper chews on the inside of his cheek as the phone rings, and he’s ready to leave a voicemail when Cheryl says, “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Cooper, Cooper Langston. We talked a couple weeks ago, and I’m calling back, uh, now.”

“Cooper, of course, it’s good to hear from you.”

Cooper squeezes his eyes shut. Good to hear from him. A polite line, in all probability. Professionalism smoothing away any irritation with him.

But still. It sounds nice.

“Look,” Cooper says, “I know I didn’t do a particularly good job with actually heading out west earlier this summer and gave you the runaround, but if you still have any interest at all in hiring me, I could be there by the start of next week.”

“To be honest, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again.”

“Well, to be honest, I wasn’t really expecting to call.”

She lets out a gentle laugh into the phone. Thanks, but no, he’s ready to hear. He’ll go up into the loft, scoop up Socks, and hide with him in the fort of Whit’s tiny hay bales. Just stay there until he can face today, with its heat and his building headache and Whit’s I tell you everything important.

“My answer isn’t different, Cooper. We need someone who’ll work this summer and stay for the fall. If you’re here and then gone again come the end of August, I’m not interested.”

“That’s fair.” Cooper takes a deep breath. “I think I’d told you, I have some friends who needed a hand, but that’s all wrapped up now. And I—I think I’m really ready for a change. I’d be yours through at least the fall.”

“You’re sure?”

“Just give me the time to drive out there, that’s all I’ll need. And look, I get it if you don’t want to take the chance, but I work hard, I’m good at solving the problems that come with farming, I really enjoy working with animals, and everything I liked about your farm when I applied still matters. And you liked me as an applicant, which meant a lot. I’m sorry I was an ass and couldn’t commit, but I am now.”

“You’re still an ass now?”

Cooper lets out a short laugh. Oh hell, he might end up liking her. “Well yeah, probably, but I meant, you tell me what time work starts next week and I’ll be there.”

“You got a place to stay?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“There’s a cabin we rent out to staff sometimes.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Cheryl says.

“I won’t.”

“Then I’ll look forward to having you here.”

Finally, Cooper thinks. He smiles against the pang in his chest as he looks around the barnyard. “Yeah, me too.”

* * *

Drew holdsthe chain for the fence just out of reach. “No.”

Cooper says, “Drew—”

“I can finish your room. I know I’ve been making a ton of cheese, but you won’t have to share with Whit anymore so—”

“The account with the market is all set. Elaina might have some contacts for other places, too, so call and check in with her, okay? And I’m leaving you the number for the shop down in the city.”

“But Cooper—”

“Don’t let Whit tear down all the fences I just put up. You know he wants to.”

“Or you’ll come back and fix them?”

“Or you’ll have cows running all over the damn place.”

“Fuck you, Cooper, you can’t just up and leave,” Drew says.

“I’ll remind you I swung by to say hi—what was it?—oh, months ago now.” Cooper grabs the chain and slings it around the fence post to close the gate. “Listen, the next couple days, toss some grain out into the lane here, okay? The cows’ll get used to the different routine, but they might need some encouragement in the beginning.”

“I’m going to let all the air out of your tires.”

“I hate to break the bad news to you, but there’s an air compressor in the shop.” Cooper steps closer. “Look, pay Whit more, okay? This is crazy for me to be here and you trying to split wages between us.”

Drew’s cheeks flush red. “I can pay you both. I’ll make it work, I—”

“Stop. You’d be running the farm with one hand tied behind your back if I tried to stay, and I don’t need you to do that. Get this place into a good spot, okay? And pay Whit what he’s worth. I’ll deny it to my grave if you tell him I said this, but he’s not half-bad.” Cooper taps his finger against Drew’s forehead. “Now remember, never, ever repeat that. I gotta go pack.”

Inside, Cooper grabs a pair of work gloves off the shelf above the woodstove, but no, they must be Whit’s, since they’re a size too big for his hands. Gently, he sets them back down as neatly as he can.

“Tell me this isn’t what it looks like,” Penny says, her hands on her hips. “You’ve just been suddenly struck by the urge to finally tidy up your shit?”

“Gotta get while the getting’s good.”

“Farm reg thirteen point four—”

“States I never hang around that long and it’s been ages, agreed?”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Cooper says.

And hell if that isn’t the truth. Exactly, utterly nothing happened. It’s his own goddamn fault for wishing it would, like he could just hope a future into existence.

Packing takes all of five minutes. Toothbrush, his handful of clothes, his phone charger. He strips the sheets off his bed, leaves the quilt folded and the pillow set against the headboard. Go, go, go, he chants in his head as he bundles the sheets into a ball and tosses his towel on top of them, like any hesitation will break this spell, have him sitting on the edge of his mattress, listless and uncertain.

But, no. He should’ve left ages ago. Whiling away time here, hanging around like if he just stayed long enough, he could force this farm into a shape that fits him.

Force Whit’s life into a shape that includes him. He jerks at the zipper on his bag, though it sticks, a fold of T-shirt caught between the teeth.

Footsteps creak up the staircase. Whit pushes the door open. His injured hand’s unbandaged, the heel of his palm shiny and red.

Eyes a little too wide, Whit asks, “What’re you doing?”

“Getting out of your hair, you’re welcome.”

“Drew said you’re leaving.”

“I was always leaving.”

“But now?”

“Yes now,” Cooper says, “cheese accounts, check, innovative farming solutions, check, you haven’t sliced open any of your extremities lately, so check that off the list too.”

Cooper keeps his back to Whit, trying to yank the fabric out of the jam he’s created. Then he pauses…last night—no, the night before, that was the last time he and Whit will ever have sex, and Cooper didn’t even know it. They’re never going to fuck again. Oh shit, that’s over between them. One for the road? he so wants to ask.

Though maybe it’s better like this. What else would they do, some sort of horribly awkward, drawn-out afternoon in bed?

It’d be so nice, he thinks. He frowns. Stop, he tells himself.

“Don’t,” Whit says suddenly.

“The farm’s going to be fine.”

“But wait, though, ’cause…”

Cooper waits. His skin itches, and he wants to bounce from foot to foot. “Wait for what?” he finally asks.

“I just…”

This is your chance, Whit,he thinks. Lay it all out there, tell me you want me to stay, you’re desperate, you can’t live without me.

Whit’s mouth opens and Cooper’s chest rises on a swell of hope.

But Whit just shuts it again, his lips pressing into a thin line. Cooper turns away.

Of course. That empty, naive wanting always leaves him hollow when it rushes back out again. Cooper slings his bag over his shoulder, balancing it so it doesn’t spill dirty laundry all over the floor. Enough, he tells himself. Whit, chasing after Cooper, like Terry said. What a fucking joke.

“I’ll throw these in the washing machine,” Cooper says, holding up the bundle of sheets.

“Okay,” Whit says softly.

Outside, he tosses his bag into the passenger seat of his truck while Drew glares at him. Penny stands beside Drew, arms crossed. Even Sadie looks miffed, leaning against Drew’s knees and refusing to come over to Cooper when he pats at his thigh.

“Bye, baby girl,” Cooper says to Sadie.

“She’s old and wise and therefore knows you’re making a stupid mistake,” Penny says.

Cooper kneels next to her, resting his cheek on top of her head. “My puppy would never.”

“Sadie, don’t talk to him,” Drew says.

“Sadie, you be good. You’re in charge of the squirrels, okay? You and Socks.”

“Socks is mad at you too,” Penny adds.

“Socks is my main man.” Cooper stands and wraps Drew in a hug. “As are you. I fucking love you, take care, okay? Don’t sell the place.”

“M’gonna try not to,” Drew says, and Cooper squeezes him tight enough he gives a little oof.

Penny pushes her mouth to the side, a hard look on her face. “Cooper…”

“Look, I got another job, right? So I’ll see you later, gator.”

“Fuck you for leaving,” Penny says.

He pulls her into a tight, long hug. “Love you, crocodile.”

When he lets her go, Whit’s there.

“The cows are all set,” Cooper says. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “And the barn’s ready for evening milking.”

He could stay. Not clear out when Whit’s supposed to be enjoying his day off. Though Whit and Drew balanced the chores of milking and the herd before Cooper ever showed up and they will again. Cooper presses his mouth closed over the offer to stick around for another couple hours. He did that once and here he still is, summer edging onward, and where the hell would it leave him this time? Wandering through a life that doesn’t fit him well into fall?

Besides, it’ll give Whit the joy of one last annoyance if Cooper takes off now. Prove Whit right too, that Cooper can’t plan his life for shit when he packs up and leaves at the drop of a hat. Cooper drags his boot backward through the driveway’s gravel and says, “Bye.”

“Bye,” Whit says softly.

Cooper hesitates, then steps forward. He hugged Drew and Penny. What’s a quick goodbye to Whit, too?

Whit smells good. Feels good too, the hand he touches to Cooper’s back, the strength in his body as Cooper closes his arms quickly, tightly, around him.

Cooper steps back. Jumps up into the cab of his truck and turns the key. Go, he tells himself, or he’s not going to. He’s going to walk right back into Whit’s arms and bury himself there, in that soft skin above the collar of his shirt, the spot on his neck that Cooper’s grown so used to snuggling into.

He checks his gas gauge to keep himself from staring around. Cooper knows what the barnyard looks like, the house with its maple trees, and the shape of the tractors and trucks parked against the barn. One more glance won’t make a difference.

He shifts into second gear as he pulls out. There’s a muddy old tennis ball on the side of the road. Sadie must’ve left it there. That, or someone threw it for her and she never ambled her way over to fetch it. Whit, probably. Cooper works his mouth side to side, pinching it tight enough to nearly hurt.

Take me out to dinner, Whit,Cooper wants to shout from his window. Say stupid, sweet things to me. Want me.

But Whit’s silence, like ever, would answer him back.

Cooper rolls down the window, sticks his hand out to wave goodbye, turns the corner and is gone.