Page 9 of Milked for the Holidays

Cow?

That one word stops everything.

“I’m not a fucking cow,” I manage to screech, bucking against the straps. “How dare you comment about my size when I’m obviously injured?”

Both men stop and look over at me, their eyes narrowing as they glance over my very naked body. After a moment, the one with the nice voice eases over. He pauses, his hand hovering over the top of my head as if he wants to pat it.

“My brother made no mention of your size. As I see it, you’re perfectly agreeable to me.”

“Agreeable?” I snap out. “Yeah. Because every woman wants to hear they look agreeable.” Though the last part is mumbled, he seems to hear every word clearly.

Bending low, he runs his thumb over my lip, sending shards of lust blazing through my body. “There are other words I could use, but you would not understand them.”

“Try me.” Despite the fear threatening to swamp me, I bait this blue demon.

What the hell is wrong with me? Perhaps it has to do with why I’m in the hospital. But if he’s a hallucination, then I might as well work through whatever issues rise to the surface. I never thought my size was one of them, but apparently, there’s a tender nerve there under everything else.

Granted, there’s enough emotional pain to mask recurring problems, if there are any. Narrowing my eyes, I watch as he leans in even closer, my breath catching in my throat. I already knew he was big, but having him this close reminds me just how large he is.

Should I apologize now? Or should I just wait and see what happens? We both remain silent, our breaths intermingling. Somehow, it feels intimate… too intimate. Squirming, I move to pull my face away, but he holds onto my bottom lip, pinching it as he keeps my head in place.

“I have allowed you a leniency no other Rancher would tolerate. However, I seem to be the odd one out. I prefer my cows to be happy and content. But even I have my limits, and you’re coming very close to testing them.”

There was that fucking word again. Hostility rises in my chest as I forcibly yank my head away, willing the painful cry to stay in my throat where it belongs. Though I expect him to get mad, he seems sad, disappointed almost.

“If you’re not commenting on my size, then stop calling me a cow. I happen to like how I look and don’t want you criticizing me.”

He backs up, his eyes flashing with some unknown emotion. “You seem to have a massive misapprehension of your place here. It’s entirely my fault, and I take the blame. You are not in charge here. You are in no position to make demands. Even your requests are up to me to grant or deny. Now, try it again, little cow. This time, with the respect due me.”

Enough. I don’t care if this motherfucker is a hallucination or not. I refuse to allow my brain to keep saying I’m a cow.

“How about you fucking respect me? Huh? I’m not some little girl you can shove around. I happen to be in a position where I can slap a lawsuit on you. Sue your asses for all it’s worth. How about that? And if you really are doctors, I’ll have your licenses for this. No one should have to endure this horrendous bedside manner.”

Granted, I’d have to call up some of my old contacts, but there has to be a precedent where a doctor fat-shamed someone and was sued. Even so, the men don’t seem phased. In fact, if anything, they seem rather confused.

The somewhat kind one furrows his brows. “Sue? Bedside manner? I’m not familiar with these terms. Please explain.”

“I…” I falter as I search my brain.

How in the world do I explain this? It’s common knowledge. Unease drips down my spine as I study his face. Neither of them seems to be putting on a show.

“Ah,” the mean one remarks, slapping the other on the shoulder. “Sue. You know, Kajóy has a cow by that name. She was a mean heifer.” Turning, he spears me with a deadly glare. “How do you know she’s here? No humans are supposed to know anything about us.”

Again, that sinking feeling curls through my gut, making me nauseous. “Not the name,” I whisper. “Yes, Sue can be a name, but it’s also an action. It’s… Well… restitution of sorts?”

At their blank stares, a frisson of irritation runs up my spine. Are they just playing dumb?

“Restitution? To make something right? Basically, I’m threatening to extract money from you for your mean words to me.” Even as I say it, it doesn't feel enough. It’s silly somehow. “And I’ll make sure you never practice medicine again.” There. That should scare them.

The mean one steps up, his chest puffing up as he approaches. “I see. You dare threaten my position when you’re the one strapped down? I think not.” Turning to the other, he grits his teeth so hard the muscles in his jaw pop. “Take your damned heifer in hand before I do.”

I flinch at the anger in his tone, fear swamping my senses. Off in the distance, I hear a rapid beeping. Based on my time in and out of the hospital with Mom, I know that sound. I recognize it just like I would her voice. It has to be the heart monitor, and based on the frenetic sound, my heart rate is shooting off into the stratosphere. Something is wrong, and none of this makes sense.

Before I can open my mouth, the other steps closer to the mean one, his lips curling back in a feral snarl. “You will not touch her. She is mine.”

“Not until you win her in the auction,” he spits back.

Auction? Fuck. What is actually happening here? I’ve not been the type to watch scary movies or read horror novels. Hell, I don’t even watch true crime because I just can’t handle it. Why is my brain coming up with these scenarios?