The Milkmaid Pt 02

As noted in Part 1, this a slow-burn romance told over several chapters but released in three parts a few days apart. There's some suspense, and action and violence will occur later in the story. And of course, since this is Literotica, you can look for some spicy scenes along the way! Those involved in the latter are over the age of 18.

Thanks to all who've voted, favorited, or commented on the story, too! I appreciate your feedback in whichever form. And I hope that those with constructive criticism will find their comments addressed in this chapter.

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PART 2 of 3:

Chapter 2

After a night of troubled dreams, I awoke just before 7, finding myself still alive and Jessi gone. We'd fallen asleep in my bed holding each other, but she must have left during the night to keep my father from finding us together or perhaps to count her money and get her gun. I figured I'd let her sleep so I wouldn't have to face her for a while.

The rain had ended shortly before, so, wearing my farm coveralls, barn boots, and coat, I walked to the dairy barn munching on a cinnamon-raisin bagel with cream cheese while navigating around the puddles. A lot went through my mind, as it had during the night.

Despite all that had happened in my area in recent years, with the recent influx of drugs, the rise of homelessness, and the overdoses of Jonathon and others, I had no proof that Jessi was involved in a drug operation. In my mind, it was the most logical explanation, though there had to be other, equally good reasons out there somewhere. With her black eye and as fast as she must have been going to have rolled her Bronco, maybe she'd taken her money out of a bank and was running away from an abusive boyfriend...or maybe a husband? Maybe she was a bank robber?

I felt queasy at the thoughts, but then realized that, no, in either of those cases, the bundles of money would have been wrapped in those little bands they use at banks, not rubber bands like in this case. Maybe she was like that guy I read about in the newspaper who didn't trust banks and kept all his money hidden in a mattress. Maybe she kept the gun just to protect herself...

I couldn't come up with anything else that made any sense and my conviction that it involved drugs was even more certain now, but my dad could help me. As I neared the barn, I decided to talk with him, to tell him what had happened, and to see if we could figure it out together. Reaching that decision was a great relief, which lasted for all of maybe 30 seconds while I stopped and drank some coffee from my thermos, for when I entered the milking parlour, I was shocked to see Jessi putting the milking machine on a cow, with my dad standing to the side, nodding.

"Okay, the back one on that side," he instructed.

Standing in the trench of the herringbone, she took the teat cup, positioned it, and then laughed lightly as it pulled the cow's teat into the rubber liner with a loud, sucking sound.

"Careful, there," he said. "A smooth motion so it engages and doesn't scare her. Her udders are full so she wants to get the milk out to relieve the pressure, but she doesn't want it to sound like a loud raspberry down there either.

"Oh, Nick! Good morning! Look at this!" she exclaimed. "Your dad's teaching me to milk a cow!"

She took the right front cup and put it in place, with this one only making the quick "whup" sound as it seated in place. She looked excitedly at Dad, who nodded with a smile.

"You got it, girl. Now the back one."

It went on like the one before and she looked to the glass pipeline as the pulsator ran. The white stream from her cow's hose was soon joining that of the rest of the cows on the way to the pump tank and, ultimately, into the big milk tank where it would be cooled and gently stirred periodically until the milk truck arrived to take it to the plant for bottling.

"Isn't it cool, Nick? I can milk cows now!"

I saw nothing

cool

about it at all; she'd ingratiated herself with my dad and denied me that much needed period where we could be together as father and son to discuss something critical: her. My blood was boiling as she stepped up and tried to give me a hug, but I brushed past her and moved on, cleaning the first new cow on the opposite side.

"Yeah, you're a regular milkmaid," I replied mockingly as I washed the cow's teats. Taking the two on the near side, I pinched the top and rolled my fingers and grip as Dad had taught me to do when I was about ten. A dribble came out of it as I alternated hands, starting at the back. On the next front cycle, a steady stream shot out splashing on the floor, followed one second later by the rear. I did one more, gave her a quick look of disgust, and moved on to clean the next cow. She turned and ran out the door with tears in her eyes.

"Nick! What going on?" asked Dad, keeping his voice low in case she was listening. "That was her fourth try and she was so excited to have finally gotten it. I think she wanted to do it as much for you as for herself. Showing out like that was cruel considering you've been doing it for so many years. What's wrong with you?"

"Me? She's not Miss Sweet and Innocent, Dad"

"Hmmph. I figured that out based on the noises coming from your room last night, but I don't think you were exactly being Mr. Goody Two-Shoes, either."

I turned bright red, but he tried to suppress a grin as he put the milker on the next cow. "Nick, after seeing what I saw last night—from both of you, I might add—I'd have been surprised if something hadn't happened. But you need to figure out where you want to go with this and not hurt her any more than necessary if you decide you don't want to pursue it. She seems like a nice girl who's been through a lot; don't make it worse for her."

"Yes, sir," I agreed, wanting to tell him that she wasn't nearly as nice as she seemed. After all, I'd worked it all out on the way to the milkbarn, but, for some reason, now I wasn't able to say the words. Maybe, with the way he felt about her, I just didn't want to disappoint him.

Therefore, despite my plan, I held my tongue as I helped with the cleaning, feeding, and milking. He only had a few groups of six left to go, so by 8:15, we were done and cleaning up. Avoiding all discussion of Jessi and of my concerns about the town, we talked about school, the farm, my trip from hell, and the local football team as we did, but as we were washing the milking equipment I noticed that he looked uncharacteristically hesitant.

"What's wrong, Dad?"

"Nick, I need to tell you something. Ahem, you know your mom's been gone for a good while and I've been here by myself most of the time. Well, I started talking to Mrs. Nelson, Kate, after church one Sunday. I don't know if you remember her, but her husband passed away a little over two years ago."

"Mr. Nelson, The bald guy? I think he did something at the shirt factory?"

"Yeah, that was him, their chief quality control guy. Anyway, Kate's a nice lady and we enjoyed our little talk, so I gave her a call one night after I finished milking and we went on a date that weekend. We've been talking to each other quite a bit on the phone and seeing each other occasionally since then. We have a real go-out-to-dinner date scheduled for tonight."

"Wow, Dad. I'm happy for you," I said, hoping my lack of enthusiasm wouldn't be too obvious, "but you don't have to ask me for permission."

He laughed, hard, and clapped me on the shoulder. "Oh, Nick, I know that, and I'm not. I don't know what, if anything, will ever happen with this, and I know that she won't ever take Ellie's place if it does—"

I was confused by what he was saying and wasn't exactly thrilled about it so, being impolite, I interrupted. "Dad, I got it. But why are you telling me this?"

He smiled. "Because I'd like for you to milk for me tonight so Kate and I can go before it gets too late. And that way, you and Jessi will have some privacy to work on your issues, too."

While he didn't say it, I knew he was mentally adding something on the line of "or if you just want to have sex."

***

I ended up going to town for Dad later than morning. He'd already ordered the things at the feed store, so that was a quick stop with everything being piled in the back. The grocery store run was only a few minutes longer. I put the grocery bags on the passenger's side floorboard and seat so they wouldn't roll around in back before returning the cart and heading out.

The last stop wasn't on Dad's list, but I'd thought of it as I drove by on the way to the grocer's and pulled in on the way back home. Sturbin's little police station shared two rooms on the side of the volunteer fire department building, which then housed two old trucks. Since a police car was parked on the side, I stopped and went in to see the chief of police, Junior Pardee.

Being the weekend, the clerk wasn't present in the outer room and the door to the chief's office was open so I tapped on the jamb.

He looked up and smiled on recognizing me. "Well I'll be! If it isn't Nicholas Buice! How's my favorite wide receiver? Has your knee healed up? Will you be rejoining the team next fall?"

"Sir, I'm a junior in college now. I got hurt four years ago."

"Shit, Nicholas! Has it been that long? I'm sorry, I thought it was like two years ago and that you'd be a senior soon."

Yeah, in college,

I thought.

"Well, what can I do for you, young man?"

"Jonathon Toliver, sir. He died of a drug overdose early last year. I was wondering if you ever caught the people responsible for distributing the stuff that killed him?"

'Yeah, the Toliver kid, poor boy." Looking up at me like it had suddenly clicked, he said, "That's right, you were in his class, weren't you? Good kid, but he apparently started using drugs when his scholarship didn't go through, and he went down pretty quick from there. The sheriff's office is handling the investigation on that case, but I suspect it's gone cold. No leads, you know. I could call Sheriff Mackenzie, if you'd like? Being Saturday and with State playing later today, don't know if he'd be in..."

"Jonathon was one of my best friends, sir. It all went down while I was away at college; I feel terrible for not being here to help him through it, so yeah, if you don't mind, please call the sheriff."

I sat in one of the chairs in the little lobby while the chief made the call from his desk. With the door wide open, I overheard them chatting for several minutes before Jonathon's name came up; I'd started to wonder if Chief Pardee had forgotten. A series of "Uh-huh"s and "Huh-unh"s followed, with a "That's too bad" and a "You're shitting me" peppered in at various points along the way.

"Well, thanks anyway, Gil. I appreciate the update. Will I see you at the county Rotary meeting in a couple of weeks? Good. I'll see you then. You have a happy Thanksgiving and tell Winnie I said hello. Bye."

He came out a minute later. "Sorry, Nicholas. Sheriff Mackenzie says there've been no new leads in the Toliver case, but with the amount of drugs coming in, you never know when another clue might turn up. Problem is, cases like this get old and cold, and even if you get a good clue, you may never be able to do anything much with it."

I came so close to blurting out my suspicions about Jessi, to give Chief Pardee the information and let him run with it, but considering that I had minimal evidence in the form of the revolver and absolutely no proof, I passed on the chance. Based on what I'd just seen and heard, he'd have to pass it along to the sheriff

if

he believed it enough to do anything at all. I needed more evidence if I was going to report her.

Therefore, I thanked the chief and headed home, gritting my teeth in frustration at the law's inability to bring criminals to justice and at my mountain of suspicions but complete lack of proof in Jessi's case. On thinking of Jessi, with her gun, her money, her soft curves, and her ability to confuse me so much, I fumed as I turned onto Dowdle Road and drove out of town into the country. She might not be as bad as I thought, but if I confronted her, she'd probably pull an Uzi or a MAC-10 out of her big suitcase like the guys on Miami Vice and blast Dad and me both. If I ever faced off with her, it would have to be where I had the upper hand and she wouldn't have access to a secret weapon.

As I slowed near the tee to Buice Road, I saw Mr. Chambers drive through the intersection in his big blue GMC truck, heading west toward his house, a half mile away. A tow truck marked Hadley's Garage pulled up at the right stop sign just before I stopped, so he pulled away first, giving me a wave as he turned and passed me, heading back to town.

A few yards past the tee, Dad's truck sat on the side of the road, with him standing in front facing the hood and Jessi on the side, her elbows on the hood and her head in her hands. She didn't look happy. I stopped and got out, wondering what they'd discovered.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Too wet today, and probably tomorrow," replied Dad. "Assuming the weather guy is correct for a change and there's no rain, we'll probably be able to get it turned over and pulled out with the tractor on Monday. We can tow it to Joe Hadley's shop if we can get it to the road."

I looked over at Jessi to see she had tears in her eyes and a look of frustration that bordered my own just minutes earlier. Turning back to Dad, I asked, "How bad is it?"

"Frame doesn't look bent, but there's some steering damage up front and a good bit of body damage you might expect for something that rolled that many times. Right front fender is the worst of the body damage; part of it bent in toward the wheel and may have damaged the tire. Assuming the frame checks out like he thinks, Joe's estimating about $1,500 to $2,000 to get it back on the road, another $1,000 to $1,500 to get all the dents out and get painted to look good."

"What about insurance?" I asked Jessi, but she shook her head.

"Can't file a claim. Got to get it fixed, but the worst part is he said it would take two weeks to get parts and get it fixed, and that's without repainting it."

Dad nodded. "Joe does the body work but contracts out the painting to Majefski's Paint and Body over in Wallington. With their backlog, he said it would be another week or two after that before they could get to her and that it would take at least a week to do it right."

His expression turned from one of sadness to that steely, resolved look he gets when he's making critical decisions about the farm. "Nick, Jessi's going to be staying with us until the Bronco's fixed, however long it takes. I haven't been able to find anyone since Mark quit to head to college early this fall, so I've hired her as our new assistant milker. She's starting tonight. Hourly plus room and board."

He saw my expression change from bad to worse, so he decided to help by coming up with the worst possible idea to help. "I've got to get back to the house to take care of some things, so Jessi, ride back with Nick when y'all are through here."

Wordlessly, we watched him go, turning around in the intersection. Then Jessi turned to look at her Bronco, its tires pointing up at the sky like a dead dinosaur.

Her tears flowed, but I suspected crocodile tears to entrap me, so I turned and walked toward my truck. She ran after me a second later.

"What's come over you? You were the nicest guy I'd ever met last night and today, you've been acting like every other asshole in my life. What did I do? Give it up too quickly? I don't meet your lofty expectations as potential marriage material so you toss me to the curb and move on? What, Nick? What is it?"

I stared at her for a second, intense dislike if not hate clear on my face. "Jessi, I think, if you stop and search your conscience for a second—that's assuming you actually have one—you'll find that you already know the answer."

I stomped to the truck without waiting for her response and was about to get in before remembering the groceries sitting in the seat. I rolled my eyes in displeasure while waiting for her to get in on my side and slide over.

We rode back to the house without another word being said.

***

Other than cleaning her wound and rebandaging it, I avoided Jessi for the next couple of hours, during which I thought and fumed. Reaching a boiling point, I got dressed, went out to the shop, and then went to find my father.

"Dad, I've got to run an errand. I'll be back in a little while."

"Where you headed? Need some company?"

I was excited at his interest but he continued before I could accept his offer. "Why don't you take Jessi with you?"

"Uhh, no. It's personal, Dad. I'll, ah, be back in a little while. I got in my truck and drove off, not knowing if he'd noticed that I was wearing my barn boots and an old set of clothes.

I stopped on the side of the road by Mr. Chambers field, got the toolbox I'd borrowed from our shop out of the truck bed, and made my way out into the field toward the Bronco. The mud was as bad as I expected, and I slipped and slid out there with only mud on my boots and spatters on my pants.

I looked and looked at the Bronco, searching for drugs or hidden compartments where they might be. The flashlight and Dad's mechanics mirror came in handy, but they helped turn up nothing, even after a second, closer inspection, so I finally entered the Bronco, putting a plastic trash bag on over each of my muddy boots before I stepped in to hide my visit. My earlier set of muddy prints, still clearly visible, were easily explained, but new ones wouldn't be.

Again, the search turned up nothing despite being as thorough as I could be. Both frustrated and a bit relieved at my lack of new evidence, I gave up and headed home.

***

My bad day got worse at around 4 PM when it was time to start getting ready for the evening milking. Dad, freshly shaved, reminded me of his date with Mrs. Nelson. Not only would I be milking, I'd be continuing to train our new milkmaid.

He frowned at me at my curse. "Language, son. Please. Now, I don't know what's happened between the two of you, but you and Jessi need to work it out. She's going to be here for at least two weeks, and while she is, this is her home. And, Nick, she'll be here with us on Thanksgiving; you're not going to keep acting like this and ruin it for all of us. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," I replied glumly, realizing it really wasn't a request.

"Good. Then get to it."

Jessi came along as I did the evening chores, demonstrating to her how to do all the feeding, taking care of the young calves, and getting the cows into the holding pen just before milking time. She asked questions related to the work, but nothing friendly or personal passed between us. Her eyes lingered on me at times, trying to see through my stony veneer, but I did my best to ignore her and to put my suspicions out of my mind.

Having had a taste of it that morning, Jessi picked up on the milking processes quickly, adding in the feeding, cow movement, and cleaning parts without any issues. I watched closely, trying to keep her work separate from my thoughts of either her possible criminal side or the most definite softness of her curves hidden in the baggy coveralls Dad had given her. It was difficult, remembering that bag full of money with the gun and our time together the night before, but I was actually pleased with her efforts and finally gave a begrudging, "You're doing a good job."

It must have shocked her for she stopped and stared at me for a moment before she replied. "Thank God! I didn't know if you were ever going to say a word or if I was going to go to my grave wondering what I'd done wrong. Nick, please, can we talk now and work through whatever it is, or do we go back to giving Jessi the silent treatment?"