Titus: Book Two of the Cantrell Brothers Series

Chapter Thirty-One

Looking over to the recliner where he more often than not liked to sleep, Anna cringed with the knowledge that he was outside working his ass of like he always did and she was in here, just relaxing and boring herself almost to death on a very comfortable couch.

Removing herself from the very same couch, Anna went back into her room, changed into some acceptable work clothes, and then headed outside, gloves in her back jeans pocket. Sweat began beading on her forehead the few hundred feet that it was to the barn where she saw a pair of dark brown boots underneath an ancient red swather.

Once inside the old barn, Anna gently nudged one of those boots and waited for a response.

“Yeah?” a voice that was somewhat quieter than Titus's asked.

“Luther?”

“Hey, Anna,” the man greeted, nothing but his boots visible as he tinkered with something or other underneath the back of the swather. “Whatchya need on this fine, Thanksgiving Sunday?”

“Is there anything that I can, ya know, do to help?” she asked and kicked around some of the dry hay.

“Well, Ocala,” he began, referring to the manure hauling company Titus used, “still ain't done with the manure hauling, so Titus'll probably be busy with that. He said he'd have to hold off on milking until tonight, so you could go do that if you wanna. I'd check the list first, though.”

“Where's the list again?”

“Right on one of 'em bales over there – to my right, I think.”

She looked over to Luther's right, her left, and spotted a white piece of crumpled paper. Checking through the very long list of chores with some crossed off and some not, she saw milking was still bare and walked all the way across the property to the parlour. Most of the cows were already inside the barn, some laying down while others leaned across the metal gate as she walked past.

She stroked their heads with light touches before jumping down into the dirty parlour area and pressing the button that opened up the gates. After counting eight, she waited for them to all go in their own separate stalls before getting the iodine dip and dipping all the teats.

One by one, she got through them all, once again establishing the quick rhythm she had developed at just the age of nine when she used to come to the Circle T and help milk. She squeezed each teat until a shot of clean milk came out and then applied the automated milking machines on all eight cows, waiting until every machine came off and she could dip their teats before letting the next eight in.

The process was a little tedious and very messy, but she didn't mind it. She had done this so many times before that it was ingrained. The smells didn't bother her, neither did the few kicks the cows sent her way if she touched a delicate udder. It was all just a part of milking, and she would help out any way that she could.

Once it finally got down to the very last group remaining, her hands were stained with iodine, and her clothes had a mixture of mud and manure on them. She was just about to apply the machine to the fourth cow's teat when the barn door crashed open, and she didn't have time to look at who it was, for the cow before her kicked out and landed its hard foot on her forearm.

She touched the smarting skin, already knowing that a bruise was going to form soon. “Damn it.”

In the corner of her eye, she saw a large figure that could only be Titus walking towards her in quick, long, and agitated steps. She put her arm down, ignoring the ache that came with the small motion as she finished putting on the very last milking machine.

“Anna,” he said in a voice that was more strained and much more rough than she had been expecting. Before she could even reply, he continued, “What are you doing down here?”