Hiding Rose (Saved By Desire 5)

“Go away,” she called, frantically waving it away. She didn’t like the avaricious look in the bull’s narrowed eyes. “Go and find your farmer person.”

The bull found this aggravating and dipped his head with a snort and an angry stomp of a hoof. Rose eyed the spite in the bovine’s eyes and knew she was in trouble. Spinning on her heel she took off, determined to get to the gate before she lost whatever dignity she had left by being tossed into the field next door at the end of the bull’s horns. The snort of disgust behind her was enough to propel her faster, but her shorter legs were no match for the bull’s, and the heavy pounding of his hooves grew worryingly louder.

“Get away from me you monster,” Rose screeched. She dodged through the boggy quagmire which at one time could have been a pond, and slid through numerous cow-pats, which slowed her pace considerably. Eventually, she found the courage to look behind her and began to pray when she saw the whites of the animal’s hate-filled eyes above widened nostrils closing in on her.

“Run!” The farmer yelled helpfully.

&nbs

p; “What else do you expect me to do you fool?” she gasped beneath her breath.

Later, she would cogitate over how the bull didn’t seem affected by running over his own excrement, but right now she had bigger problems on her hands. For each foot she ran, the beast seemed to run two more. She felt the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck, she would swear to it, but didn’t want her final moments to be staring into the eyes of an enraged chunk of steak. Locking her gaze on the fence up ahead, she felt sweat break out on her brow but continued to run until she felt as though her lungs were going to burst. The beast still didn’t seem to want to stop.

“Run!” The farmer yelled again in a voice that was full of mirth.

Rose uncharacteristically cursed. She didn’t need to see the oaf of a farmer to know he was laughing just as hard as Barnaby had been earlier. In that moment she hated them both with all of her might. If the stupid farmer had just told her the field was occupied she would never have entered it.

Suddenly, the world went black.

“Oomph.” In spite of the fierce aching in her lungs, Rose daren’t breathe in. The stench alone was enough to kill her. Wiping her eyes, she knew death was upon her when the hoof beats grew incredibly loud and began to make the floor upon which she lay vibrate alarmingly.

Suddenly, the banging of a bucket drew silence; absolute, blessed silence. She remained still while she took stock of her condition. Thankfully, her body was still dry. However, her face was now covered in the bull’s best endeavour. Pushing manure out of her eyes, she blew out her cheeks angrily, and slowly peeled a thick strand of manure infested hair off her cheek. Seconds ticked by. As it did, her outrage grew.

“How dare he leave a beast like that loose?” she growled as she tried to get up.

As she pushed herself off all fours and onto her feet, the sound of tearing fabric rent the air. A gush of cold air immediately swept over her backside.

“Oh, no,” she moaned. She closed her eyes in horror as she clapped a hand over the hole in her breeches and felt bare flesh beneath.

Slowly turning around, Rose glared accusingly at the farmer who grinned proudly at her over the top of the animal’s head. The beast, it seemed, had forgotten all about her now that a bucket of food was on offer. Beside them stood Barnaby, bent over at the waist, practically howling with laughter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mortified, Rose stared at him for a moment before she slowly, and far too calmly, turned around and left the field. Once safely out of the bull’s space she contemplated which route to take before she set out, clutching the torn material of her breeches as she went.

“Damned lunatic,” Rose snarled.

“Problem?”

She closed her eyes as another wave of mortification swept through her. She had thought that her day couldn’t get any worse, but she was wrong. It had just grown considerably worse; dismal in fact, and was about to become even more miserable given that she now had to face him.

“Nope. I am fine thank you,” she replied with as much dignity as she could muster. She sniffed, but realised then just how bad an idea that was, and inelegantly wiped her soiled nose with the back of her equally dirty hand. Not once did she deign to look at Barnaby.

“I think you need to borrow a pair of the farmer’s breeches,” Barnaby mused in a friendly tone.

“Go to Hell,” she bit out.

He suspected that she wasn’t going to cool down for a while, especially now that walking was a trial for her. During her flight she had lost a boot which was now lost in a sea of mud half-way down the field. He glanced at the farmer who lifted his hand to indicate that all was well, and shook his head in disbelief at the docile nature of the beast now that he was being fed. Then he turned back to Rose. It was then that he caught sight of a pink patch of bared, extremely curvy, and delightfully feminine backside that she couldn’t quite hide.

Rose’s knew he had seen. Cheeks aflame, she battled tears but marched resolutely onward. She was incensed; outraged; appalled; humiliated; and horrified that not only had she been horribly arrogant with the helpful farmer, but Barnaby had seen her ultimate downfall from grace. It was inevitable that someone as smooth and as sophisticated as Barnaby would consider this a feminine characteristic that was more of a weakness than a benefit to anyone, and it made her want to cry.

Of course he will you fool. You are covered in poo. You are a liability to yourself, Rose; a shocking liability.

Quickly closing the annoying voice out, Rose eyed the fence now before her in consternation. She couldn’t climb it while holding on to her modesty. Nor could she stop in the field.

“Need a hand?” Barnaby offered helpfully. He knew her dilemma and waited to see how she would handle climbing over the obstruction with what was left of her dignity.

“No, thank you,” she replied stiffly.