“We just got a new shipment of milkers in, you should take a look, Chelsea.”
Vaughn blinked, the only visible reaction to the announcement of her presence. Keeping his head down, his hat covered his face as he scribbled numbers on a notepad.
“Really? I've been needing a new milker recently, my cows hate the old one I'm using now.” Chelsea laughed stepping though the threshold after Julia, closing the door behind her. Vaughn's eyes flicked over in her direction before going back to his notes.
“Oh, hello there dear, in for your weekly fodder order?” Mirabelle dusted off her hands on her skirt, shuffling behind the counter. “Always on Wednesdays.”
Chelsea smiled, leaning on the counter, “I hate it when I feed my cows old fodder. I wouldn't wanna eat sour smelling old grass if I was a cow.”
“Always thinking of the cows,” Julia shook her head smiling.
Vaughn coughed into his fist, flipping his notebook closed, shoving it into a pocket. Grabbing a new milker from a freshly opened crate, he set it on the counter with a thud and walked outside, closing the door behind him. Eyebrows furrowed, Chelsea stared a the closed door for a few moments before the ringing of the cash register woke her from her thoughts. Grabbing her rucksack from her shoulders, she paid Mirabelle quickly, nearly forgetting the milker in her haste. Shouting a quick farewell to the two women, she hurried outside.
“Took you long enough...” Chelsea turned. Vaughn was loading bales of fodder onto a wooden cart usually used for transporting crates and small animals to and from the beach. She stood, somewhat dumbstruck. Never had he bothered to even bat an eyelid at her on his own accord. Only when she addressed him first would he bother to utter a single-sentence response.
“Well?” He said simply, folding his arms across his chest as he stood, the cart fully loaded, Chelsea's horse already hooked up.
“Oh, t-thanks...” Chelsea nodded, smiling apprehensively. She stepped to the side of her horse, patting her side appreciatively.
Hearing the creak of old, weathered wood, she glanced over her shoulder. Vaughn had settled on one side of the cart's seat, raising an eyebrow as if to say “Will you hurry up already?” Taking the hint, she hopped up onto the opposite side, taking the reins.
“Hup!” Chelsea called out to her horse. She whinnied before taking off at a steady walk, hooves clip-clopping down the newly built roads. They sat in an awkward silence for several minutes, the horses ears folded back slightly, sensing the tension in the air.
“So...” Chelsea started, glancing at Vaughn.
“What?” He said in his usual monotone voice, not bothering to take his eyes from the road before them.
Chelsea bit her lip, taking a deep breath. “Why did you decide to come along?” She kept her eyes on her horse, watching her muscles rotate rhythmically underneath her skin. Several moments passed as she wondered if she had simply imagined voicing her question.
“I want to make sure that your cows are fine.” Vaughn shifted, leaning against the small plank of wood behind their backs. Grasping the brim of his hat, he tilted it down over his eyes before folding his arms over his chest once more. “You said that they didn't like the old milker. They may have chapped or developed a rash.” Unknowingly to Chelsea, Vaughn smiled cat-like to himself beneath his brim.
Sighing, Chelsea flicked the reins, signaling to her horse to speed up to a trot.