Page 16 of Buried Roots

Anyway, time’s up.

With butterflies flitting around in my gut, I make my way to the pasture with my trusty tablet tucked away in the oversized pocket of Owen’s shirt, my knees unsteady and my boots sinking into the ground wet from the dew—again. Ireallyneed a free minute to run into town for different shoes and clothes.

I see Frankie waiting for me in front of the barn, and she’s got an extra pair of boots with her. She holds them up. “You a size seven?”

I smile, my cheeks warming from the kind gesture. “I am, actually.”

“Then you’ve got a new pair of kicks.”

“Thank you so much.” I head over and sit on a five-gallon bucket as I put on the boots, which are nicely broken in. “And thanks so much for helping me—yesterday and today. It’s been quite a ride.”

“Owen said you did good in the delivery. I appreciate you.”

I stand, adjusting my feet into the new boots.“I gave it my all.” That’s the best response I can muster, considering I yakked and almost passed out. I have a feeling Owen probably didn’t tell her about those parts.

“Let’s get started. I have to leave at one—I’ve got mother-of-the-bride dresses to try on.” Frankie groans. “Lord help me.”

“I’m more of a jeans and heels kind of woman myself.”

Frankie grabs the shovels resting against the barn door. “I told Kayla that we’re getting a durable dress. I’ve got a son and two other daughters, and I’m not getting another one, so it better last.”

I don’t believe that for a second. Frankie plays it tough, but if her children wanted her to wear something else to their weddings, I bet she would.

Frankie holds out a shovel. “Let’s scoop shit.”

I take it. “Sounds delightful.”

After we do some basic cleanup in the barn, she walks me to the garage where the heavy equipment is parked. There, she introduces me to the farmhands—all three teenage boys doing the work as a summer job. Two manage the field work and one, Huck, Mary Louise’s son, tends to the grounds and pasture.

I take detailed notes to pass on to the next caretaker, along with processes of working a grain farm, which are all new to me.

While Frankie and I feed the goats, she gives Sir Fig A Lot a head scratch when she says, “The fence has a loose board that needs fixin’. This kid keeps getting out.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least.” I line the buckets of feed up against the wall. “Sir Fig A Lot’s a crafty bugger.”

“That he is.” Frankie puts a hose in the watering tank, and the goats surround it, obviously thirsty. She says, “I reckon you shouldn’t be naming the animals given you’re leaving in a few weeks.”

“True, but I couldn’t help it. I’m sure the new owners can give him a different name if they wish.”

She scowls. “That’s bad luck. Make sure they know that the kid’s got a name.”

I take out my tablet and tap the screen with the stylus pen. “It’s in my notes.”

Then we make our way to the stables, and I can’t wait to be near the horses—which, I realize, is a hundred-and-eighty-degree change from how I felt yesterday evening. I find the colt suckling from Eclipse, who looks tired, but well. I’m so glad to see mother and baby both thriving.

Frankie darts toward the new addition, breaking into a broad smile, something I haven’t seen from her. “Well, hello, sweet boy. You’re just as handsome as your papa.” She looks at me before pointing to the stunningly big and beautiful black horse in the adjacent stall. “Blackjack is the daddy, and I like animals more than humans.”

I chuckle. “I see that. I can also understand why.”

Frankie and I get busy. She shows me where the supplies are kept. She teaches me that most horses just graze on the pasture, but ones that are ridden a lot or pregnant need alfalfa hay, which is full of nutrients and protein. The stables require elbow grease, which I’m used to in my line of work, mostly. With my job, there’s a lot of dirt, and a whole lot of dust, but none of the manure.

At the end of the long morning, Frankie says, “You’re a natural.”

“Thank you.” I feel a sense of accomplishment as I look around the place, which will soon sparkle. However, I can’t help but notice the gaps in the windows, the cracks in the walls, and the water stains on the ceiling from leaks. “This stable needs repairing. The roof needs new shingles and fixing the cracks and holes will help keep the heat out in the summer and the cold out in the winter.”

She nods. “That’ll be good to get done before fall and the heavy rains hit, although in the summers, we still get a shower every afternoon.”

I don’t like the idea of the horses being cold or wet, and the materials are something I can afford, out of pocket. “I’ll just make the repairs myself. We need to make sure the place is in good shape with the new colt.”

---