Thrill

CHAPTER EIGHT

Blinking out of my stare, I cleared my throat and focused back on putting the basket to aside. I heard his deep footsteps, the clinking of his black boots as he walked further inside. I dried my somewhat wet hands, that had been splashed with sprinkles of water, with a small towel.

"When did you get here?" I heard him ask, voice husky and all.

"Uh... Around twenty minutes ago." I bit down on my bottom lip. It was fast becoming a habit.

He hummed in response, his brief movement sounding in my ears. "You were afraid when I walked through the back door. I saw you jump. Why?"

"I... nobody uses the backdoor other than papa or Herman." I quietly shared. "I thought you were an intruder of some sort."

A soft chuckle left him. "Un intruso? Una bella fantasia che hai lì."

An intruder? Quite an imagination you have there.

I frowned, still not glancing at him and busying myself with folding the towel up. "Nay, you scared me. I wasn't expecting that."

An echo of silence followed with my words. I pulled myself away from the sink and daringly darted my eyes towards him. His eyes weren't luckily on me, instead they were on the metal bucket he was cleaning thoroughly with the wall tap. It was something I had begged my dad to install. The stables sometimes got my hands dirty.

"I see," He abruptly murmured, clenching his jaw in what I presumed to be an absent manner. "But I used that door because your father recently added a cow to the stable. She takes up the back space to the stable."

My eyes grew wide at his statement, surprise bursting inside of me. 

"A cow?" I repeated.

He glanced over at me, dragging his gaze down my body, eventually taking it away from me and returning it back onto the metal bucket he was now drying. "Si, a cow."

Swallowing, I let the idea of my father purchasing a cow sink in. It had always been a horse stable, no other animal. When it came to farming, it had always been arable, meaning only crops and plants.

So, where did a cow come into play with this?

"Do...Do you know why?" I hesitantly asked, still not completely comfortable being around the blonde haired, tattooed man. 

"Milk," He uttered. "He wants to sell the produce. More money, no?"

An imaginary circuit connected in my mind. I let out a small 'oh', now understanding why my father had decided to add a cow the spare shed. Of course, he wouldn't dare miss the opportunity of making more income, as if he didn't earn far more than enough.

But it was not my business at the end of the day. And I wouldn't dare question my father on his business tactics. It was not my place.

"Sto cercando di indovinare che sei responsabile di che?" I reluctantly asked him. It still felt wrong talking to him - because it was wrong.

I'm guessing you're in charge of that?

He nodded, the corner of his lips curling upwards. "Why? Do you want to be? Because I'd be more than willing to hand over the position."

"No," I shook my head, pursing my lips. "I'm fine with what I do."

His eyes lingered on me, a small chuckle leaving him. I was unaware as to what was amusing but kept silent, finding something else to busy myself with. I wondered over to the large brush that we used to groom the horses and grabbed it, leading myself over to Mary, this time.