Page 7 of Sweet Like Whiskey

Stepping past the sink, I open a cupboard and grab a travel mug. Ash shoots me a grateful smile as I dump the rest of his drink into it. I simply grunt, handing it over and grabbing my own.

“So, we do a bit of everything around here,” I explain as Ash and I head down the porch stairs at the front of the house. I lead him toward the pastures first. “Our main focus is the cattle. We run a dual beef and dairy operation. See that low red barn over there? That’s for milking.”

Ash nods, his eyes wide as he takes everything in. The cattle are out grazing, the sun not yet high enough for them to seek shade, although with the temperatures beginning to drop, that’ll be less of a concern.

“They’ve already been milked,” I tell him. “Five a.m. and five p.m. every day. Out further are the beef lot.”

“Wow,” Ash says quietly.

The astonishment in his tone has me following his gaze. Our land stretches far to the west, farther than the eye can see. Deciduous trees and pines dot the landscape, and cattle roam over still-green grass, like black-and-white ink blots on a spring canvas. To the left, a slow-moving river snakes toward the mountains towering in the distance, the surface of the water reflecting the bright blue of the sky.

I grew up on this land, and I’ve never once taken it for granted. But it’s easy to forget, I think, the beauty in what you see every day.

It’s not the first time a newcomer has reminded me of that.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Where’re you from?”

“Maine,” Ash answers, giving me a smile. His bottom lip is fuller than the top, and there’s a tiny divot in his chin that I have to forcibly tear my gaze away from.

“Come on,” I say gruffly, heading in the opposite direction. Ash keeps pace at my side. “So we have about twenty employees who man the cattle. They come to the ranch house for meals. That’s where you come in. Breakfast is at four—”

Ash makes a choking sound, and I pause.

“All right?” I ask.

He nods quickly. “Yep. Four a.m. Okay, what else?”

“Lunch at eleven. Dinner at six.”

“Holy shit,” he says before wincing slightly, presumably at the swear word. “That’s a long day.”

“The ranchers work in shifts,” I tell him, stopping at the dirt drive that leads further into the property. “You will, too. We don’t expect more than eight hours a day out of you, so you’ll take time for yourself between meals. Plus, you’re not expected to clean up after dinner. We’ll handle that.”

He nods, and I point toward the white barn at the end of the drive.

“Down that way is our petting farm,” I explain. “We’ve got goats, a pony, and some chickens, although the chicks don’t always like being pet. It’s open to the public in the afternoons, and we have employees there, too.”

Ash gives another nod. “Got it.”

“We do trail rides on the weekends, as well. The brown barn? That’s the stables. Some of the horses are for the employees’ use only, but we have several with even temperaments who do great with kids.”

Ash shakes his head slightly, that smile still on his face. “You weren’t kidding. You’re busy here.”

“That we are,” I agree, waving him back toward the main house. It’s then I notice his shoes. “You’re probably gonna wanna get some boots. Those won’t hold up here.”

He looks down at his feet, huffing a laugh. “Noted.”

I sip my coffee as we walk. “Questions so far?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “Who lives there?”

He’s pointing at the cottages situated beside the ranch house. One is pink, and the other is blue. I heave a sigh as my mom waves at us from her garden.

“My mom lives in the blue house and my dad in the pink.”

Ash looks at me in surprise. “They don’t live together?”

“They’re divorced,” I say flatly.

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