“I went to bed early.” Moving to the side of the milking station, Ginny put a metal bucket under the goat, who’d since hung his head out between the slates. She gave him a brief glance before she started milking the goat.
With short, efficient movements, he heard the sound of the milk hitting the side of the bucket.
“You’re looking all refreshed,” she eventually said.
“I went to bed early.” Repeating the same reason she was up early, he then uncomfortably opened and closed his mouth, trying to put into words what he wanted to say.
“I’m sorry,” he finally muttered, wanting to say much more, but the words wouldn’t come out of his stupid mouth.
“You’re forgiven.” Ginny slid the bucket out from under the goat, placing it on a small table next to her waist, before she started unloading the goat to release it back into the pen attached to the stand.
“That’s it?” Dragging his hand through his hair, he wanted to rip it out in frustration.
“What did you want me to say?”
“I don’t know … I hate your fucking guts would be a good start.”
“But I don’t, so I’m not going to say something I don’t mean.” Giving a low whistle, Ginny slid the gate open to the milking station again. “It’s your turn, Millie. Get her, Jack,” she ordered.
Reaper moved closer to the pen and saw a flash of black and white fur singling out a particular goat from a herd of four. The dog skillfully maneuvered the goat until she had no choice but to go up the ramp.
He gave a low whistle of appreciation. “What kind of dog is he?”
“Australian Shepherd.”
She hadn’t looked at him, except the brief glance she had given him, and continued milking the goat as if he weren’t there.
“You hate me, don’t you?”
“I could never hate you. You said what you were feeling. I can’t begrudge you for that.”
“I didn’t have to be such a jerk.” Using his boot, he nudged a tuft of grass.
“Do you mind if we don’t go over this?” Setting another pail of milk to the side, she told him, “I’m trying to get several chores finished for Silas.” Ginny slid the gate open, releasing the goat. Then, picking up the pails of milk, he realized she was leaving him behind when she started walking away.
“Let me carry them for you,” he offered, reaching out to take one of the pails from her.
Ginny swung the bucket away from him. “I can carry them myself.” Her lashes fluttered as if she was trying to find patience before lifting her eyes to his.
“What do you want, Gavin? I accepted your apology. We’re good. You don’t have to pretend to be nice, so I won’t ask you to leave. Is that what you want to hear?”
Staring down at the spilt milk on the ground, Reaper felt as if he was scrambling in the dark to illuminate the reason he had been so cruel to her yesterday without giving her hope there could be something between them.
“Getting to stay here wasn’t what I was after ….” The thought hadn’t crossed his mind that she would want him to leave. It for fucking sure should have after the way he had spoken to her.
Setting the pails down, Ginny opened the door to an outbuilding. Reaching inside, she turned a light on before picking the pails up and carrying them inside. “I know what you were after.” Opening a refrigerator, Ginny set the pails inside before turning back to him. “You lost your temper because I was coming on too strong. I can’t blame you because you’ve been telling me you don’t return my feelings. Sadly, I became the very thing I’ve been running from myself.”
He gritted his teeth at her blaming herself. “Stop it, Ginny.”
“I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to back off and give you space.”
Why was it that, when she was giving him exactly what he wanted, Reaper felt as if his heart had just imploded, sucking all the oxygen out of the building.
Striving to maintain his equilibrium, he placed a hand on wooden table, sending the bottles on top rattling.
“Sit down, Gavin. There’s a stool right behind you.”
Drawing a deep breath became impossible.
With a firm hand on his shoulder, Ginny pressed him down. “Wow. Me backing off is that big of a relief?” Her attempt at humor didn’t help.
Unconsciously, he started tearing at his shirt, feeling as if it were strangling him.