Chapter 1: A Bell and a Blunder
The feed shed was a cathedral of dust and golden light. Slats in the old wood walls cut the afternoon sun into sharp, glowing blades that fell across burlap sacks stamped ‘OATS’ and ‘ALFALFA’. The air hummed, thick with the sweet, peaty smell of grain and the ever-present undertone of damp straw and animal musk. From the milking barn next door, a steady clink-clink-clink of metal buckets provided a slow, rural heartbeat.
Kaidan’s own heartbeat was a frantic rabbit in his chest.
He was supposed to be counting sacks, but his focus was shot. The new guy was here. He’d seen him from the paddock fence earlier—a mountain of a man hefting bales like they were pillows, skin tanned and creased like old leather. A stranger. Kaidan’s pink cow ears twitched, swiveling toward the shed door. His small tail gave an anxious flick.
He heard the heavy boot-steps on the gravel outside, then the rasp of the door sliding open.
Light flooded in, outlining a massive silhouette. Kaidan froze, one white-gloved hand resting on a sack of clover. The bell around his neck gave a tiny, betraying ting.
“Well, hey there!”
The voice was a friendly boom, bouncing off the high rafters. Clem ducked inside, his work boots kicking up little puffs of dust. He wiped his forehead with a thick forearm, a wide, open smile on his face. His eyes, a warm brown, scanned the dim shed and landed on Kaidan.
Kaidan couldn’t speak. A soft, involuntary “m-moo” escaped him, so quiet it was almost lost in the dust motes.
Clem’s smile widened. “Yeah, hey! Good to meet you too.” He stepped closer, his big hand coming up. Kaidan flinched, but the hand didn’t strike. It landed with a solid, friendly weight on his shoulder, giving a single, reassuring shake. “You must be one of the special stock. Read about you in the pamphlet.”
Kaidan blinked, his sky-blue eyes wide. His pale skin was already flushing pink to match his hair. The pamphlet? He’d seen it once. It had cheerful clip-art and used words like ‘efficient throughput’ and ‘valuable yield’. He hated it.
“I’m Clem,” the farmhand said, his hand still resting on Kaidan’s slender shoulder. He looked him up and down with an appreciative, almost professional eye. “Just started today. Boss says you’re all real gentle. That’s good.” His gaze drifted to the small bell, the cow-print bikini barely covering Kaidan’s thin frame, the delicate horns curling from his messy pink hair. Clem’s expression was one of pure, uncomplicated delight. “Well, ain’t you just the prettiest little thing. Top-of-the-line, I bet.”
Before Kaidan could process the words—pretty?—Clem’s other hand moved.
It wasn’t aggressive. It was practiced. The big, calloused palm settled squarely on the soft plane of Kaidan’s belly, right above the tie of his bikini bottom.
Kaidan gasped, a tiny, startled sound.
“There we go,” Clem chuckled, his voice a low rumble. He began to rub, slow and firm, a broad, circular motion meant for a broad, bovine flank. His hand was overwhelmingly warm, rough against Kaidan’s pale, smooth skin. “Gotta keep the producers happy and relaxed, that’s what the pamphlet said. You’re a bit skinnier than the others, huh? Don’t you worry. We’ll get some grain into you.”
Shock held Kaidan rigid. The touch was immense, covering most of his lower abdomen. It was also the first voluntary, skin-to-skin contact he’d had in months that wasn’t clinical. It wasn’t violent, but it was so utterly, catastrophically wrong. Heat bloomed under Clem’s hand, spreading through Kaidan’s gut and racing up his neck to his face. He was burning up.
“M-moo,” he stammered out, louder this time, a plea swallowed by the hay-scented air.
“Yeah, I hear you,” Clem said amiably, misinterpreting completely. He gave Kaidan’s belly a final, patronizing pat and finally removed his hand. “Just sayin’ hello. You got a name, or just a number?”
Kaidan’s mouth was desert-dry. He swallowed. “K-Kaidan.”
“Kaidan. Pretty name.” Clem nodded, finally taking his other hand off Kaidan’s shoulder. He looked around the shed, all business again. “Alright, Kaidan. Carry on. I’m just on water duty.” He turned, hauling a sack of feed aside to reveal the central faucet and hose.
Kaidan stood frozen, the ghost of that rough, warm hand printed on his skin. His belly tingled. His heart hammered against his ribs. He watched Clem’s broad back as he wrestled with the stiff hose, the casual power in his movements.
Shame and a strange, fizzy confusion churned inside him. Clem’s touch had been a mistake, a giant, humiliating error born of ignorance. But for a few seconds, in the middle of that profound wrongness, Kaidan had felt… seen. Not as a person, but as something. It was more than the usual invisible silence.
Clem glanced back over his shoulder, catching Kaidan staring. He winked, a simple, friendly gesture. “Don't be nervous, kid. You’re in good hands.”
The hose coughed, then spat out a gush of water into a waiting bucket. The sound was cold and definitive. Kaidan flinched again, his bell chiming softly as he took a stumbling step back into the shadow of the grain sacks, trying to disappear, trying to understand the electric, awful echo of touch still buzzing on his skin.