Cattle Stop by Kit Oliver

Chapter Six

Cooper’s boots are wet.And his pants. He stamps his feet at the door of the barn like it’ll make a lick of difference. All it does is stick the canvas of his work pants to his legs. He wiggles his toes, and yep, the mud he just walked through has soaked clear through to his socks.

“You’re a ray of sunshine this afternoon,” Penny says from her perch on top of the cows’ fence. In front of her, a calf stands braced on all four legs, its head tipped up and its throat working as it drinks from the bottle in her hands. “Did you sneak in those cattle stops that you’re pretending to hide in the back of your truck?”

“Nah, I’m saving that for the crowning glory of the week, and I’m gonna make Whit help me install them as a special present.” Cooper bends down and smacks at the cuffs of his pants. That doesn’t make a difference either, just gets his hands wet. “I need more socks. Or for the damn farm to dry out.”

Penny tips the bottle up higher. “Ah, the joys of spring. Bugs, mud, and more bugs. Come feed a calf, it does wonders for the mood.”

“Does that one actually need a bottle or is Drew just doing you a favor?” Cooper leans across the fence and lifts the calf’s ear, checking its tag number. “Knew it.”

“Buttercup and I are best bros, so get out of here with that attitude, mister. Drew—the walking, talking grump—just came through, and we’re trying to recover.”

“Buttercup’s a boy.”

Penny rolls her eyes. “Which is why I said bros.”

The calf sucks the bottle dry and finally releases it. Cooper gives him a scratch under the chin. “Drew’s around?”

“He’s in with his cheese. But I’d give him a minute.”

“It’s not going well in there?” Cooper leans against the fence, his shoulder even with Penny’s hip. It’s cooler in the barn than outside, the sun already shining a sharp blaze into his eyes. “I wanted to let him know that the grass is up enough in the back field to let the cows start grazing.”

“That’ll make him happier than the ricotta.”

“Oh, is he making that?” Cooper looks up at her. She’s got her hair in a knot at the back of her head and is wearing an old T-shirt with a couple drops of milk staining the hem. “Pizza night soon? Yes?”

“Clean the grill? Yes?” Penny parrots back. “It’s gross as anything, Coop.”

She pats the top of Cooper’s head, and Cooper pushes into her hand. “That feels good. Buttercup, clean the grill.”

“Buttercup thinks that those who let the cheese from burgers they cooked last fall drip all over the grill should clean it themselves.”

Cooper leans farther into her and she sighs, petting at his hair. It does feel good, her fingers scratching against his scalp like that. Penny’s got a nice touch. Drew isn’t crazy to be more than halfway in love with her.

“It burns off,” he says.

“Gross.”

She lightly runs her nails against the back of his head, and he lets his eyes shut.

“I like your hair long like this. It looks good.”

“I need a haircut.”

“Don’t,” Penny says. “Grow it out and I’ll braid it.”

“Only if you do Buttercup’s too.” Cooper rolls his head to the side, butting his forehead against her leg. “What’s wrong with the ricotta?”

“There’s too much of it to sell before it goes bad. And I quote, ‘Fucking fresh cheese something, something, fuck, fuck, fuck.’”

“Oof.”

“Yeah.”

His shoulder hurts like this, leaning up against the fence. It hurt all morning bumping along on the tractor too. He lets out a sigh as Penny scratches down his neck. He’s got to go check over the hay equipment, what with the growth the grass has been putting on. Add it to the list, he thinks, but lets himself stay right where he is for another moment. It’s been entirely too long since anyone’s touched him with anything nicer than Drew and one of his crushing hugs.

Maybe he should ask Whit what the hookup scene around here looks like these days. Give his body a change from hefting hay bales and pushing cows this way and that. It sounds nice as anything. Of course, that would involve admitting Whit knows something Cooper doesn’t, so no, getting laid may not actually be worth that.

Or we could just fuck each other. He frowns at the thought. Unhelpful, that little part of himself that always crops up when he spends too much time around Whit. He’s a jerk and an asshole, and if Cooper’s going to actually know anything about a guy he jumps in bed with, he’d like the facts to not add up to insufferable, fussy, and an utter bonehead.

“I’m worried about Drew,” Penny says softly.

“Do we need to eat all that ricotta? I’m up for it. I’ll take one for the team.”

“I’m serious.”

“Good news, I am too.”

“Well, you could use some meat on your bones.” Penny pokes a finger into his ribs and he flinches away.

“Maybe I’ll have Drew give me some. I still owe Brad a bit for those stops.”

She grabs a lock of his hair and tugs gently. “You going to just deliver him a truckload of ricotta that’s got to be eaten within the week?”

“Oh, if it goes bad, he won’t notice over all that damn gum. Did he always do that?”

“Annoying as all hell, isn’t it?”

“Right?” Cooper sighs. “No wonder Whit hates him.”

Penny snorts softly and jostles Cooper’s head side to side with her grip on his hair. “That’s not why.”

“Get off,” Cooper says, batting halfheartedly at her hand.

“And Whit doesn’t hate Brad.” Penny jumps down from the fence, landing lightly on her feet.

“Wait, no, go back to rubbing my head.”

She walks backward toward the milk room and points a finger toward the house and says, “Clean the grill.”

“What’s the deal, then?” Cooper calls after her. “With Brad and Whit? Did they hook up? Is Whit super into gum chewers?”

“The two of them?” Penny lets out a laugh. “God, no.”

“Then what?”

But she just shakes her head and pushes into the milking room, and the door that falls shut doesn’t give him any answers.

In the kitchen, Cooper wipes Drew’s name from the whiteboard and scribbles in his own for who’s cooking dinner. He hums to himself, shredding a ball of mozzarella onto a plate, dough rising in a bowl next to him, and Sadie snuffling around the kitchen floor at his feet, licking up bits of cheese that fall. He looks down at her for a moment, and then not-so-accidentally brushes another piece off the counter.

“That’s not good for her.”

“Jesus, Whit, I’m gonna have to put a fucking bell on you.”

Whit pushes the door shut behind him, his cheeks flushed and his hair damp with sweat. Cooper turns back around and sorts through the refrigerator, staring at a hapless bottle of ketchup.

“Ready to eat soon?” Cooper asks.

“I just got back from running.”

Cooper pulls out a bundle of asparagus and turns only far enough to point it at Whit. “Obviously.” Whit picks at his T-shirt where it clings to his chest, and Cooper goes back to rooting through the fridge. “I’m making pizza.”

“Obviously.”

“You around tonight, or are you going to your parents’?”

“My parents’?”

“I’m trying to encourage you to disappear.” Cooper pokes his head back into the refrigerator, like he really needs the Parmesan right this second and isn’t fighting a battle against ogling the drip of sweat rolling down Whit’s temple. “The nights you’re gone are my favorite if you’re looking for scheduling feedback.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Well, what else is new?” Cooper finds the block of Parmesan and peels back the plastic wrap. Drew probably made it last summer if it’s in the fridge now. And any that he makes this summer…who’ll even be around to eat it if he sells the farm? Will Drew just have to toss out all the wheels that haven’t finished aging, give the pigs a heyday of cheesy joy and shut the door on the cheese room, to never open it again?

Fuck. What an awful thought.

Cooper gently closes the fridge. “Never mind. There’s plenty for all four of us, anyway.”

Whit nods and when he goes upstairs, Cooper lets out a breath. Right. Look at them, they can get along. And maybe Cooper can find a chance to have some good old quality time with his right hand soon. He can work on forgetting about how Whit looks when he gets back from a run, which is only moderately more tormenting than how he looks when he gets out of the shower, and is only topped by the sight of him slipping into bed in just his boxers. Whit Morales, Cooper’s personal torturer.

The stairs creak once more and Cooper turns back to the mozzarella, because there’s Whit all over again, and this time walking toward Cooper, close enough to smell clean sweat and the dampness of fresh spring air still clinging to him.

“Your phone.”

“Just leave it.”

“It rang twice.”

“S’fine.” Cooper grates the cheese hard enough his knuckles are at risk of becoming a pizza ingredient. But Whit just keeps holding it out, like not answering a call is a greater affront than even replacing the damn gates, and Cooper sighs and grabs it from him.

“Is this Cooper Langston?”

“Yeah,” he says, turning his shoulder to Whit. Cooper can still smell him. That should be illegal, to come in after a run and stand so damn close. Farm reg eighty-three point what-fucking-ever, no tormenting Cooper.

“This is Cheryl. Cheryl Frederick from Frederick Dale Farms?”

Cooper brushes his hands clean on his pants. “Oh. Hi, yeah.”

“So great to catch you. How’ve you been?”

“Good, yeah, so glad you called.” Cooper turns farther away from Whit. The last time he’d talked to Cheryl, he’d been at his winter job up in Maine, sitting in his truck with the heater blowing and looking through the fogged windshield at the dreary gray and brown forest. Anywhere warmer in winter had been at the top of his list for his next job, as he’d watched ice crystals form on his window and held his reddened fingers in front of the air vent as Cheryl went on about her goats.

“Well, I have the very happy news that we’d love to check your references if you’re still interested in a job here.”

Thousands of miles from Whit? Fuck yeah. “Awesome, yes. References, I can get you some names.”

“I don’t tell most applicants this, but we’d really love to have you here, Cooper. I’m sorry for the delay in getting back to you over the last couple weeks, but I mean it, so the sooner you can send some names the better.”

“Yeah, soon, that’s no problem,” Cooper repeats. He should stop doing that, echoing her words. But it’s hard to focus with Whit’s attention on him, quite obviously listening and probably silently grading Cooper’s performance on this call.

And now he’s got his hand held out too. The phone, Whit mouths.

Cooper draws back and shakes his head. I’m talking on it, he mouths back.

Whit wags his fingers, like Cooper’s Sadie, and if he says “drop it,” Cooper will. And then Whit just steps forward and takes the phone from him, too quick to stop.

“I can be a reference,” he says into Cooper’s phone.

“No,” Cooper hisses.

“Whit Morales. I’m his supervisor.”

Cooper grabs for the phone, though Whit just turns slightly, and fucking hell, Cooper can’t reach around him, not with the handful of inches Whit has on him.

“Oh, he’s worked for me for—what is it?—nine or ten years now, off and on.”

“Whit,” Cooper whispers loudly. “Fucking stop.”

“Yep, Two Pines, a dairy farm in upstate New York. He’s been a real help totally reconfiguring our fencing system.”

Reconfiguring. Fucking shit, this is a nightmare. Cooper tries to grab for his phone again.

“Real good with animals,” Whit says and just steps away from Cooper. His shirt’s damp when Cooper grabs a handful of it, and he lets go quickly. “Punctual? Hmm.”

Whit looks like he’s about to start laughing. Which, oh great, the one time Whit decides to have some fun, it’s to agonize Cooper. Of fucking course.

“Yeah, he knows how to be on time.”

Knows how to be on timeisn’t at all the same as actually being on time. Which, fuck. Which Whit’s right about, but he doesn’t need to actually say that.

Drew should be talking to Cheryl. Or Cooper’s boss from this winter up in Maine, or any of the last dozen jobs he’s had. Not fucking Whit. Cooper reaches for the phone again, but Whit just puts a hand in the middle of his chest and easily, casually, holds Cooper at bay.

Which…yeah, that feels good. Really good.

“Well, he’s always full of new ideas,” Whit says and Cooper groans, his eyes closing. That’s a deep, coursing note of sarcasm in Whit’s voice. Maybe Cheryl can’t hear it, but Cooper sure as shit can. Dammit, he’s apparently wrong about Whit being able to have a good time, and this is how he fucking finds out.

“Very handy, real good with a wrench.”

Fuck you, Cooper mouths, leaning into Whit’s hand, though it doesn’t budge.

“Hard worker? Well, he was out working most of yesterday evening, after we all quit for the day,” Whit says and throws Cooper a look. Ah, still pissed about the cattle stops. Well, at least that hasn’t changed. “Sure. Let me know if you have questions, yep, goodbye.”

When Whit hangs up, he sets Cooper’s phone next to the cheese grater and finally drops his hand.

“Whit.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Fucking hell.”

“She seems nice.”

“Whit.” Cooper groans, digging his fingers into his eyes.

“Say ‘Thank you, Whit.’”

“Fuck you, Whit.” Cooper drags his hands down his face. “You are not my supervisor.”

“Oh, good to know. I’ll call her back and tell her to ignore all that.”

“I can’t tell if that’s the nicest you’ve ever been to me, or if you just lost me any chance at that job.”

“I should’ve told her about the spigot. You’re so close to fixing it by just swearing at it every morning.”

“Is this revenge for getting the damn gates finished?” Cooper jams his phone into his pocket and grabs for the ball of mozzarella, though there’s so little left, he just tosses it to Sadie. “Why didn’t you just tell her what you told me last night? That no matter what I do around here, it’s not going to make a lick of difference?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did, you said that—”

“And I think you were right,” Whit says.

Cooper freezes. Slowly, he turns around to look at Whit. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

Whit blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. It strains his damp shirt along the lines of his body, the flat plane of his stomach and the bulge of muscles in his arm. Cooper frowns at the sight, annoyed all over again.

“Drew asked me to keep the farm running this season while he works on the house and does his cheese, and yeah, I’ve just been going about things the same way we always do.” He looks at Cooper and then away, out the windows where the grass is dancing in the breeze and the lupins are starting to bud. “I, yeah, I do that a lot. Just keep on going with what I’ve been doing. So.”

Cooper wants to jam his finger into his ear and work it around until he can hear Whit right. “So?”

“So okay, the farm needs to make more money and spend less. And that means things have to change.”

Cooper squints at him. “So you don’t hate the cattle stops?”

“Hate the cattle—no, Cooper, this isn’t about that.”

“Is it about the gates, then?”

“No, it’s—I do hate the cattle—but it’s not—look, we gotta help Drew, right? So how’re we going to do that? You said you’d figure it out, so what’ve you got?”

“Um.” Cooper leans back against the counter. Sadie presses forward, tongue swiping like if she just stretches enough, she’ll reach the entire pile of grated cheese.

“You do have ideas, right?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Cooper pulls open the refrigerator again. Think, think, think. Though the only thing filling his brain is Whit still standing there, handsomely sweaty and so fucking distracting.

“Cooper?”

“Just, you know, turning all my plans over in my head.”

Fix this whole place. Combine every working, profitable idea he’s seen in his years bouncing from farm to farm, implement them here, and pat himself on the back when he’s done.

His stomach grumbles. Fucking hell, Whit’s probably delighted Cooper doesn’t have a spreadsheet and presentation ready to go, complete with handouts and a diagram on a whiteboard. He doesn’t even know what he’s putting on the pizza tonight, let alone any type of actual, solid plan. Winging it, he’d say if it weren’t Whit standing there, Cooper’s neck burning.

Asparagus.

Right, he can do this. He already got asparagus out. There’s some sausage in the fridge, too. And early spring onions. That and the cheese. He’ll just drown the pizza with way too much cheese and that’ll solve all their problems. Deliciously gooey and perfect.

Which…huh.

“Pizza,” he says.

“What?”

“Artisan pizza shop. Perfect outlet for cheese, yes or yes?”

“Pizza?” Whit says slowly. “Your plan is to help the farm by starting a restaurant?”

“C’mon, it’s great.” Cooper leans toward the open window above the sink and calls, “Drew! I fixed it!”

“One low-profit, high-capital enterprise with a second one attached to it?” Whit asks.

“Never mind, you’re not invited to dinner,” Cooper says. “Sadie’s getting your pizza.”

“I’d tell you it’s the worst idea you’ve had, but frankly, it’s a competition at this point.”

“Drew!” Cooper yells again, and ah, that worked, because Drew pushes the kitchen door open, stamping his feet and looking between them. “See, Drew heard me.”

Whit huffs a breath out his nose. “Well, when you shout like that.”

“Drew, pizza shop,” Cooper says.

“Have you two seen my tape measure?” Drew asks.

“Just sell the cheese to a pizza shop,” Whit says. “It’d make more sense.”

“I thought I had it, but I must’ve put it down somewhere,” Drew says, turning in a slow circle. “I was going to get some more work done in the attic before dinner.”

Cooper taps a stalk of asparagus against his chin and pushes another piece of cheese toward Sadie. “Huh.”

“Sadie shouldn’t be eating all that cheese,” Whit says.

“Sadie, don’t.” Drew pats at his pockets and turns around again. “Did I leave it in the attic?”

“No, wait.” Cooper points the asparagus at Whit. “That’s…that’d work.”

“What would work?” Whit asks.

Drew looks over too, his hands still pressed to his jeans.

But Cooper doesn’t answer, just digs his phone out of his pocket and flicks to his texts. What had Brad said? Moving up the supply chain? Cooper quickly types out, Any interest in selling some of our cheese at the market? I’ve got some ricotta I can get you at a good price.

“Totally going to work,” Cooper mumbles. We got mozzarella too, he adds.

“Coop?” Drew asks.

Cooper’s phone lights up immediately. Enough for wholesale? Brad asks.

Definitely, Cooper writes.

He catches the corner of his lip in his teeth. Kind of definitely. Almost definitely. Whatever, Drew can make more, and hell if Brad isn’t apparently by his phone right this minute ready for an answer. All the cows are coming into their milk now, and if this works out, then why couldn’t they just empty out the stock room, pack it up for Brad, and get started making more? So, yes, definitely. They have enough. Or they will have enough, at least.

I’d love to talk about it more, Brad writes. You around sometime?

Absolutely. He grins at Drew and waggles his eyebrows. “Problem solved.”

Whit tips his chin toward the counter. “Sadie’s eating our dinner.”

Cooper’s phone buzzes again. Tomorrow? Want to grab a bite to eat?

Sure, he replies and then sticks the phone into his pocket. “Wholesale. We’re doing it. Nobody has to drive to farmers’ markets, we’ll have more time to increase milk production with all those extra hours each week, and we’ll ramp up the entire farm. Brad, a wholesale account, the ricotta. Done and done.”

“What?” Drew asks. “Sadie, no.”

Cooper catches her by the collar just as her tongue takes another swipe at the pile of mozzarella on the cutting board. “This is genius. I’m a genius. You’re welcome.”

“Ramping up production?” Whit asks. “With what cows?”

“Cows make more cows,” Cooper says. “A bull, plus a lady cow, ’cause see, Whit, when two cows love each other special, etcetera, etcetera.”

Whit rubs at the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, what?”

“This is—Drew, this is what we need. A big wholesale account, right? Scale up from selling to local folks and hit the major leagues. We’ve got the herd size for it, you’ve got the cheese skill, so what we do is increase production and sell to Brad. Hell, beyond Brad.” Cooper pats his hands at the air in front of him, his smile growing as his words speed up. Drew’s never tried this, not once, Cooper knows. Of course he hasn’t, if Whit’s had anything to say about it. Too risky, he can already hear in Whit’s voice, shooting down the idea before it can get any traction, digging his heels in like he always does whenever there’s the slightest possibility he might fail.

“How many grocery stores are there around here? Or in Albany? Hell, down in New York City? Other farms make this jump to a wider market. Why can’t we?”

“Coop…” Drew says slowly.

“You need a ton more income for the size of this farm, right? Which worked fine back in your uncle’s day when milk prices were higher, but times change and we gotta change with them.”

“We,” Whit murmurs.

“I can’t hire anyone else,” Drew says. “C’mon, Coop, more cows would mean more staff and—”

“No, you’re not hiring anyone, we just need to change a couple things around. More efficient systems, smoother operations all over. The cattle stops are just the start. Dependable wholesale accounts, higher production, more money.” Cooper smacks his palm down on the counter. “Bam. Solved.”

“Bam,” Drew repeats, far softer. “Wholesale is an entirely different game than what we’re doing.”

“It’s not. I mean, it is, but it’s not. It’s just cheese, right? And Drew, you make the best damn cheese. Sure, the scale is different, but you can do it, and you and Whit can still manage this whole place. Maybe if it works out, one other person to help Whit out, eventually. That’s it. That’s all you’d need.”

The stairs creak and Penny pokes her head into the kitchen. “What the hell is all the noise?”

“Cooper thinks he has a good idea,” Whit says.

“I have a great idea.” Cooper taps the counter twice and then points at Whit. “His idea, actually. I’m just here to improve on it.”

“I,” Whit says, “did not suggest working with Brad.”

“Brad?” Penny asks. “Oh, Sadie, sweetie, don’t eat that.”

Cooper drags Sadie back from the counter again. She’s got bits of mozzarella stuck to her nose and swipes her long tongue to catch them, her tail wagging.

“Brad and I are going to talk tomorrow,” Cooper says. “Get a bite to eat and go over this. Drew, price list? Yes? Send it to me?”

“You’re getting dinner.” Whit’s voice is flat. Pissed that Cooper’s stepping all over his toes, Cooper’s sure, but hell if someone around here needs to fucking do something. Isn’t this what they talked about? Working together to help Drew?

“I don’t know. Yes? That’s what he said.” Cooper ruffles Sadie’s ears. This is it. It’s big. He can feel the promise of this plan thrumming through him.

“Dinner, dinner?” Penny asks.

“Dinner,” Cooper says.

Whit’s shoulders rise on a long breath.

“What?” Cooper asks.

“I’m going running.” Whit yanks the door open.

“Whit,” Penny says.

“This is going to be great.” Cooper nudges Sadie’s nose away from the cheese again and squints at Whit. He just went running, didn’t he? “Fix everything.”

Behind Whit, the door bangs shut.