AN: Here we go, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Is she disrespecting you, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

Daryl had asked the old man to come by the farm and give him a hand in choosing where they'd set the farmhouse and in deciding how big Daryl might want to plan for it to be, but he'd really wanted something else entirely from him. They were working while they talked, but at least it was giving Daryl a chance to run things by him that he wasn't sure he was handling well on his own.

"She don't never," Daryl said.

"Did you ask her to stop working?" Hershel asked.

"Told her she could," Daryl said. "While I was thinkin' on it a week." He sighed. "An' she said she would. Said she'd up an' stop 'fore she even started good if that's what I said I wanted her to do."

"But it wasn't what you said you wanted her to do?" Hershel asked.

"She likes the workin' idea," Daryl said. "Says it's what she wants to do. Says it makes her happy."

"And what do you want?" Hershel asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders at the old man.

"Want her to be happy," Daryl said. "I promised her that. Promised—I'd make her happy. Do whatever the hell I gotta do to make her happy."

"And letting her work is what's going to make her happy," Hershel finished for him when Daryl hesitated.

"You ever let Miss Jo work?" Daryl asked.

"She works on the farm," Hershel said. "Jobs she can do. She works in the house."

"Ain't the same thing," Daryl said.

Hershel laughed to himself.

"No," he agreed. "It isn't. But then, Jo has never told me that workin' off my farm would make her happy."

"What would you do if she did?" Daryl asked.

"I can't know that for sure, son," Hershel said. "I think—in my life? I've been quick to say that there were things that I would do...or things that I surely wouldn't do. And I've been wrong on both counts."

"But you leanin' one direction or the other," Daryl said.

Hershel sighed this time and walked away from Daryl. Pulling off his gloves as he went—gloves that were older than Daryl's but the same sort of thing—Daryl didn't have to ask where he was going. He was headed for water. And Daryl, feeling a little parched himself, followed after him for his words and the water that he'd draw up out of the pump.

"I don't think I'd want Jo workin' in town," Hershel said. "And that's just because I know the kinda people that are in town most of the time. These hours? They're workin' hours. You and me—every proper man that ain't on his day off is workin' right now. That's how it should be. And if he doesn't work—then he spends his time in town."

"Goin' to Eden," Daryl said.

Hershel hummed and nodded. Reaching the pump, he worked it to prime it and begin pumping drinking water into the bucket that they kept there for just such a thing.

"Visiting saloons," Hershel said. "Whorehouses. Standin' around on the street harassing them that's got places to be and things to do. A man who's drinking at this hour is a man who's up to no good by sundown."

"Or passed out in a ditch somewhere," Daryl said.

"I wouldn't want Jo around it because it I wouldn't be there to see that nobody was bothering her," Hershel said. "Carol's at the general store, though, so you know she's safe while she's there. Joe Wagner's a good man. The kinda man that wouldn't let no woman in his store get taken over by someone."

"But it's the road you worried about," Daryl said. "The between here an' there?"

Hershel looked at him and raised his eyebrows at him before he offered him the cup that he'd been drinking from.

"Is that what you're worried about?" Hershel asked.

Daryl drank the water like it was whisky and would solve his problems—at least temporarily. It didn't, though—and neither did whisky, for that matter.

"I don't go no gun what's small enough for her to carry," Daryl said.

"So you thought about it," Hershel responded.

"I could teach her to shoot," Daryl said. "Wouldn't be no bad thing. We get assholes what come 'round here after dark anyway. Wouldn't be no bad thing her learnin' to shoot. But she can't ride Jubilee with my gun at her side an' I ain't got but the one gun."

Hershel looked around him—he took in everything about Daryl's farm. The farm was growing, that was for sure, but it wasn't growing at the rate Daryl wanted it to grow. He just couldn't seem to get the reality to catch up with what was in his head.

"That young brown calf you got off that heifer is a nice looking animal," Hershel said. "And I could use a new bull in my fields. Got some that I was going to cull out. Could see fit to letting you use them—if you wanted—before I sell them. Cover a heifer or two. But—what would make you see fit to parting with that calf?"

Daryl's stomach twisted.

"We lost four," Daryl said. "Way I'm going? That calf might be all I got left."

"You've coaxed more calves out of your heifers this year than I have," Hershel said. "And I see you got another that's just about ready to drop. You'll make up the four with interest. Especially with a couple of bulls my cows are tired of seeing."

"What you got in mind?" Daryl asked.

"I've got a pistol," Hershel said. "Small. Lightweight. Well taken care of and clean. Ammunition for it too. I believe I could see a way of giving you that gun in exchange for that calf—if you could see a way of parting with him."

"Small enough for Carol?" Daryl asked.

"I believe it'd be just the right size that she could wear it on her," Hershel said. "Without any real inconvenience, of course. Hope she don't never have cause to use it, but she'd have it if she did."

Daryl considered it and finally nodded his head.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Yeah. I'll give you that there calf for the gun. Ammunition, too, or it ain't no good."

"Got a whole box of it," Hershel said. "They sell it in town, too. If you used too much shooting targets with her. It's a popular gun with the ladies."

Daryl offered a hand out to Hershel and the old man took it.

"You can ride back with me," Hershel said. "I'll send Merle to help you get those bulls back."

"I got two heifers ready to cover," Daryl said. "But I don't know if it'll take on the first try."

"That'll be fine, son," Hershel said. "I can sell them bulls any day for what they'll be used for. Besides—I'll just be happy to have them outta my fields."

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl stood staring, somewhat unsure, at the stall that Miss Jo had brought him to see in the barn. Running around in there, like they were having the time of their short lives, were five dogs that Daryl would have described as piebald mutts.

"They're at least two months old," Miss Jo said. "You can see—Annie don't even pay them attention anymore. She's been out of the barn for almost two days now."

"What are they?" Daryl asked.

"They're dogs, Daryl," Miss Jo said. Though that wasn't what Daryl was referring to, he was thankful that the woman didn't use a tone of voice that said she'd reprimand him for his stupidity if that were the case. He laughed at her. "I know they dogs," Daryl said. "But I ain't never seen no huntin' dog what looked like them before."

"I suppose they're mutts," Miss Jo said. "Hershel says Annie's a setter, but you can see their father must've been a good deal shorter than Annie was."

Daryl scratched at the back of his neck.

"Don't seem like it makes sense, do it?" Daryl asked. "Him bein' that much shorter'n her—don't seem like it'd worked out. But it musta worked out somehow." Daryl felt his face grow warm when he saw the look that Miss Jo gave him. He realized that it probably wasn't proper to ruminate on the breeding habits of the area's dogs in her presence. He cleared his throat to try to clear away a little of his embarrassment. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be," Miss Jo responded with a laugh. "Don't look like it should've worked out, but it did. Still, they're good pups and they'll be good enough dogs with some training."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders at her, not entirely sure why she'd brought him there, and then nodded his head.

"Reckon they will," he said. "Dog is a dog. Good luck with 'em."

"You're not going to pick one of them out?" Miss Jo asked.

"Why'd I do that?" Daryl asked.

"For Carol," Miss Jo said. "A gun offers fine protection for some things, but a well-trained dog offers it too."

"Them's just pups," Daryl pointed out.

"And they'll grow," Miss Jo said. "Besides—even if they aren't the best dogs in the world, they'll make good companions."

Daryl swallowed.

Part of him, deep down inside, wanted the dogs. He'd always wanted a dog. Ever since he'd first seen someone that had a dog—following all around at his heels—Daryl had longed for one. He couldn't imagine what it might feel like to have something that followed you like that. Like it would follow you to the ends of the earth and back just because you were his master. He couldn't imagine what it might feel like to have something that was so loyal to you that it never left your side.

Of course, he'd never owned a dog of his own—but loyalty was still important to him.

"Good companions is just another mouth to feed," Daryl said.

"And Annie lives mostly off scraps that we weren't going to eat anyway," Miss Jo said. "What they eat in food, they make up in no time. Let you know right away when someone's near that's got no business being on your property. One saved cow is enough to justify throwing a little extra food out the door. Helps keep your chickens safe too. Hogs. A dog more'n pays for its food, Daryl. Don't you worry about that."

Daryl shook his head.

"Just can't," he said. "Traded that calf for the gun. Hell—we so strapped for money it's what the hell's got Carol out there in the first place workin' at the general store. I just don't got the money to buy no dog, even if it wouldn't eat nothin' that I weren't willin' to part with."

Miss Jo frowned at him.

"I weren't askin' you to pay for the dog, Daryl," Miss Jo said. "We can't keep all of 'em. Just like the barn cats we offer off to them that needs them—we won't keep the pups. I was telling you to pick one—for Carol."

"I don't wanna take nothin' that you was gonna sell," Daryl said.

Miss Jo smiled at him.

"The pups are mine," Miss Jo said. "And you oughta know by now that my animals aren't for sale. I can give them away as I see fit, but I don't accept trade for them. Givin' them to a good home is one thing. Sellin' 'em? It feels too much like disrespecting them. Won't you take one of my pups for Carol? For the farm?"

Daryl looked back at the wiggling and over-excited animals. He nodded his head.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I guess—give me the one what you think she'd like."

Miss Jo almost looked giddy. She pushed past Daryl and pushed her way into the stall, closing the door behind her just moments before she practically dived into the puppies that surrounded her.

"You'll take two," she declared, fishing around in the animals like she was looking for specific ones.

"I can't be takin' two of your pups," Daryl said.

"Nonsense," Miss Jo said. "You'll take two. Even pups get lonely and they'll keep each other company. One pup for you and one for Carol. And you can thank me by taking a handful of those kittens off my hands when Sooty drops them. I'll never get rid of them all otherwise and we've already got a dozen hunting the mice and snakes out of everything."

Miss Jo emerged from her pile of piebald puppies with one under each arm. Both of the dogs were wriggling in a desperate attempt to reach her face with their tongues. She nodded her head at Daryl and he let her out of the stall, pushing back the door—a board attached to it that dragged the ground—and the remaining puppies as soon as she was free from it.

"Here you go," Miss Jo said. "I've been calling this one Toby, and this one Shadow, but you can change their names. Give'm something proper when they earned it if you want."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"He ain't even dark like a shadow," Daryl pointed out, gesturing toward the dog that she'd given the ill-fitting name to.

"No," Miss Jo ceded, "but he follows on your heels like one. Come on. We'll get the wagon and I'll ride out to the farm with you. Make sure you make it back with the bulls and pups."

"Hershel gonna want you doin' that?" Daryl asked.

Miss Jo winked at him.

"I got a feeling he will," she confirmed. "Merle'll just have to drive. I don't know how you boys do it. I hate drivin' a team. I was certainly never fit to be a bullwhacker."

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Oh but Daryl, they're so little," Carol said. "Can't we let them stay in the house for a few nights?"

"They outside dogs, Carol," Daryl said. "Good for protection. Gonna be good for huntin' an' workin' with the cows. They ain't sleepin' in the house."

"What if they freeze?" Carol asked.

"Ain't that cold," Daryl said. "And when it gets that cold? We'll fix 'em up someplace to go. Right now they fine in the barn. They was borned in one an' they lived in one 'til we dragged 'em right over here. They gonna be fine in the barn tonight."

Carol had seemed genuinely surprised by her gifts—the gun and the pups equally—but she'd seemed pleased with both as well. Without the bullets in it, Daryl had her already walking around the house and carrying the gun to get used to the feeling of it. It was small enough that it fit right into her hand. It was just exactly what she'd need to carry with her—the kind of gun that wouldn't weigh her down. It would be easy for her to handle, Daryl figured, and that would make her a lot safer than she would be with a gun that she just wasn't ready for yet.

The puppies had pleased her too, and it hadn't taken more than a minute to see that she was partial to the one that Miss Jo called Toby. The dog looked like he was wearing a mask across his eyes and he wiggled and squirmed, lapping his tongue at Carol, already, like she was the greatest thing he'd ever seen in his life. And Carol, in response, had taken a some scraps from cloth that she didn't see fit to use and she'd packed it in with the hay in the stall that the dogs would call home until they were big enough to roam the property. She'd fed them until their bellies looked ready to burst on scraps of food, leftover biscuits from early in the day, and milk from one of their dairy cows.

Now, inside the house and full on their own supper, Carol was sitting at the table touching the gun at intervals that lay in front of her while Daryl reclined on the bed and enjoyed the feeling of his own digestion chewing up everything good that he'd eaten.

"You're really gonna teach me to shoot?" Carol asked.

"Tomorrow," Daryl said. "Tell Mr. Wagner that you can't stay late. Come home early tomorrow. I'ma take you out to the woods and work with you. You oughta get the hang of it pretty quick, but we'll work until you do. It's easy, really. Just point an' shoot. That gun ain't gonna kick back on ya too hard."

"And when will you teach me to shoot your gun?" Carol asked. "For when I'm here and you aren't? 'Cause I might need it, Daryl."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Comes after you get good with yours," Daryl said. "Damn kick back on that one's gonna bang the hell outta your shoulder for a while. Reckon we'll hold that off 'til at least you can handle a gun what fits in your hand."

"They just give you the pups?" Carol asked. "You didn't have to pay for them?"

"Just give 'em to me," Daryl said. "Thanked me for takin' 'em. Miss Jo don't got the heart to sell 'em and Hershel said he can't have but so many damn dogs runnin' around underfoot. Deal is, though, you gotta take a couple of them barn cats when they cat drops 'em. Not a bad deal, though. They'll stay outta the way. Eat the shit we don't want no way. Rather them eat the snakes than you throw back some hay in there one day an' get bit by somethin'."

"We can't afford losing that calf, Daryl," Carol pointed out.

"Well it's done," Daryl said. "Them bulls'll cover them heifers again. They gonna be more calfs around here."

Carol got up from the table and walked over to the fire that was burning low in the fireplace—just enough to put off a little heat and warm the pot of water that she had over it. Carol got the pot out of the fireplace and carried it over to fill the washbowl with it.

"I don't see hardly nobody on the road, Daryl," Carol said. "I didn't have to have a gun."

"Trick is," Daryl responded, "that you don't see hardly nobody until you see 'em. Rather you got the gun, Carol, and don't have need to use it than you don't got it when you oughta."

"When will there be more calves, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"When they get borned," Daryl said. "Reckon them bulls won't hesitate when it's time. I got two cows out there though that's ready to be serviced. They don't get the job done tonight—might take a lil' time tomorrow to go out and see how things is going. Wouldn't mind seein' the servicin' to make sure they good."

Carol snorted.

"Come get your bath, Daryl," Carol said. She stripped out of her clothes and Daryl pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He didn't move, immediately, because he got caught up watching her delicately wash herself. It wasn't until she reminded him again that Daryl started working his way out of the clothes that he hadn't lost since he'd come in the door. Finally stripped of them, Daryl walked over to join her and Carol pushed his hand away when he went for the rag to wash himself. Daryl closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the thorough baths that Carol so often gave him—following up her washing with sweet and gentle kisses to his skin.

She giggled while she washed him, this time, and the out-of-place laughter made Daryl look down at her. He wouldn't have minded her laughter if she wasn't washing around his prick, but he didn't figure that was proper location for laughing.

"The hell you found's so funny down there?" Daryl asked.

"Your prick's hard," Carol said.

"And? You knowed it would be," Daryl said. "You always do that to me. It's your own damn fault."

Carol straightened herself up and returned the rag to the water bowl.

"And is it for me?" She asked. "Or because you been thinking about goin' down to the field tomorrow to watch the cows fuckin'?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her, but he couldn't be too pissed off. She looked every bit as much like an angel right now—with just a little bit of the devil curling up the corners of her lips—as she had in Eden the day that he'd gotten her so stuck in his mind that he knew he'd never be able to sleep again without her.

"I'm goin' to watch the cows fuck to make sure they get covered right," Daryl said.

"There's a wrong way to do it?" Carol asked, raising her eyebrows at Daryl. "Pricks go in pussies. Isn't that the way it works in the whole of the animal kingdom?"

"You really interested in this?" Daryl asked. "Or you just yankin' me around 'cause you ain't ready to sleep yet?"

Carol walked over to the bed and folded the blankets back like she did every night. She slipped into them and patted the bed beside her.

"I'm really interested," Carol said. "If there's a right way and a wrong way—I wanna know about it."

Daryl laughed to himself. If she wanted to know, he'd tell her what he knew. Though his knowledge was limited to what Hershel felt it important to tell him for the growth of the herd. Daryl joined her in the bed and Carol flicked the covers over him and entertained herself, while he talked, by rubbing her hand over his chest and teasing his nipples.

"Don't guess they's a right way an' a wrong way to fuck," Daryl said. "But they's a difference in a servicin' that's likely to take an' one that ain't. An' you tryin' to build a herd? Got a lotta damn interest in the right way there."

"What takes?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself. He felt his face grow as hot as it had the day that Hershel had dragged him to observe the servicing that he was arranging between his own bulls and heifers. He might sleep with Carol, but talking to her about cows fucking felt like a whole different thing. He cleared his throat.

"See—if he don't get in there good? If it goes too shallow before he...before he...ya know?" Daryl offered. Carol nodded her head at him. She knew. She could figure it out. "It don't got a good chance a' takin'. If he gets in there real good, though—all the way? Well—she's gonna react. You gonna know he got in there good. Got a better chance a' takin'. That's all."

Carol licked her lips.

"How do you know he got in there good?" Carol asked. She laughed quietly, but quickly got it under control. "How do you know—how do you know a cow's having a good time, Daryl?"

Daryl swallowed and shook his head.

"Don't think it's a good time," Daryl said. "She'll kinda buck. Sometimes—try to get away from him. Hump up her back. Don't think—it don't look like a real good time. But—it's what the hell's gotta happen if you wantin' a calf. Hell—he gets in there good enough? You'll see her go off to lay down."

Carol hummed.

"I guess that could be really good or really bad," Carol said. "Depending on what the cow thinks."

Daryl hummed.

"Reckon so," Daryl ceded.

"Sounds like something Andrea woulda said you gotta request up front first," Carol said.

Daryl nodded his head at Carol.

"More'n likely," Daryl said.

Carol bit her lip and continued to trail her hand around his chest. It wasn't long, though, before she trailed her fingers down his stomach and made his muscles jump there. She smiled to herself when he wriggled away, almost involuntarily, from the tickling sensation. In response, she changed the pressure of her touch and worked her way farther down, teasing him to get him every bit as hard as he'd been while she was washing him.

"I want you to fuck me like that," Carol said.

"Do what?" Daryl asked, surprised by her request.

Carol laughed quietly and somewhat batted her eyelashes at him.

"Like you said," Carol said. "I want you to—you know—fuck me like that."

"You want me to fuck you like a cow?" Daryl asked.

"It doesn't sound nice if you say it that way," Carol said. "But, yeah."

"So as you don't like it?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"You don't know they don't like it," Carol said. "Not unless you got something to compare it to."

"When he don't do it like that she don't move around so much," Daryl said. "Stays still. Don't go off afterward and lay down. Just goes off normal to mind her business. That's what'cha comparin' it too."

Carol laughed.

"Sounds like that could be the dull way," Carol said. "And—I'm going to be laying down anyway. So are you. We gotta sleep sometime. Besides—you said before we could do what I want. And that's what I want."

"Don't wanna hurt you," Daryl said.

"Then I'll tell you if you do," Carol said. "And then you won't."

As if to illustrate her point, she pushed the cover off of both of them and assumed the position that she thought best suited what she had in mind. Daryl swallowed. They'd done a number of things—but most everything they'd done involved him facing her in some way. He hadn't ever suggested, before, fucking his wife like she was an animal.

But he had promised her that he'd do what she wanted—and it seemed that's what she wanted.

Daryl assumed the position, behind her, that seemed most fitting to him and, lining them up, he pushed himself into her as deep as he could. She moved, readjusting her position.

"You sure about this?" Daryl asked. "You already buckin' about."

"That's not always a bad thing," Carol informed him. "But I'm sure that something should be happenin' by now."

Daryl started by setting a slow and easy pace, not entirely sure that she wasn't going to change her mind any minute, but Carol's urgings that he change things to be harder and faster—and to suit her more—soon had him forgetting to control himself in any way. He went with what felt right—and she didn't seem to complain too much herself. He stopped a second when she changed her position, folding her elbows to lean her face down against the bed, but he picked up again when she urged him to do just that. And the change, whether or not it did anything for her, just made everything feel even better to Daryl and drove him to get to his own finish faster than he might have before.

When Daryl finished, Carol raised up and changed her position so that she was sitting with her back against him. He kissed her back and shoulders while he struggled to catch his breath, and she turned her face to offer her cheek to him for more of the kisses that he planted there and at the corner of her mouth. He held her like that for several moments, relishing the holding her against him—their skin wet, though it was no longer with bathwater—before he finally let her go to get comfortable in the bed.

Settling down next to him, Carol moved her face close to his and nuzzled him.

"I don't think the cows hate it," Carol said, her breathing still a little ragged.

Daryl laughed to himself, his own breath not much more under control than hers.

"That your way a' sayin' you didn't?" Daryl asked.

It was Carol's turn to laugh then.

"You didn't," Carol asserted.

"Didn't ask you about me," Daryl said.

"I didn't," Carol breathed out. "And..."

"And?" Daryl pressed when she fell off speaking.

"And I think I could see how it's the kinda service that would take," Carol said.

Daryl snorted.

"Damn cows might be onto somethin'," Daryl responded.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

AN: Through all my research on this story, I've learned a lot of very interesting things from a lot of very interesting sources. I now know, though, more about the mating practices of cows than I ever thought I'd need to know, especially when breeding for herd-building. LOL