Page 22 of Buried Roots

“How exciting! And who doesn’t love goat cheese?” I mean my words. I can’t imagine doing that as a career, but it sounds awesome. “I have my own business, too. In restoration.”

“No kidding.” She looks at me. “So, you’re a badass.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.” She stops what she’s doing and grabs a spray can. “Now that I’m done milking, I spray this on each teat. It’s an antibacterial solution that also closes off the milk holes. This is so when the goat rolls in the dirt, it keeps bacteria away and prevents mastitis. You donotwant that.”

“Wow, thank you. I never would’ve had any idea how to do any of this.”

“My pleasure.” She stands, taking her bucket of milk. “This is three-fourths of a gallon, which is a good amount for two goats. My deal with Bo was to pay by the gallon—I can show you the contract.”

“That’d be great, thank you.”

As we walk out of the barn together, she sighs. “I’m so glad you’re taking over. I don’t want to change my milk supplier. I love these goats. Bo fed them organic food and gave them the highest standard of care, which is what’s made my cheese business.”

A stab of guilt hits. “I’m actually selling the place. But I’m happy to put you in the resale contract to try and keep your same business deal going.”

“That’s awfully kind of you.” Her shoulders sag. “But this stinks. I have a feeling we could be friends.”

“Me too.”

“Why don’t you come with me to the store? I’ll show you how to make cheese… maybe give you a free taste or two.”

I groan. “That sounds so awesome, you have no idea. But I have to meet with a real estate agent today and get things rolling with selling this farm. Otherwise, I’d be there in a second.”

“How about I make it so you get both?” She perks a brow. “There’s only one good real estate agent in town, Sally Keller, and she’s my cousin. I’ll call her right now. I know she can meet you for breakfast because she just had a showing canceled.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course I would. I gotta butter you up good so you help me keep my goat milk.” She laughs.

That’s honesty for you, but with charm—my kind of person. “A tough offer to resist.”

As we’re heading to the driveway to get in Dakota’s car, I look into the distance, seeing the forest surrounding the gnarly tree, and I freeze.

I’m always scared of the woods, but something about that specific view just rocked me to my core.

9

The Festival

CuttheCheese’skitchenis filled with fancy stainless-steel appliances, all things to make cheese, and a commercial latte machine. After making me one, Dakota holds out a brimming cup. “Candied maple bacon coffee. Try it.”

“That’s a thing?”

“It is here in Violet Moon.”

I take a sip, thinking I’m going to hate it, but I don’t. It’s rich, for sure, but a unique blend of bursting flavors. “Dessert in the morning.”

While Dakota puts the goat’s milk in the double-boiler pot and adds cultures, I tell her about what I do in New York. After mentioning that Bo probably left me the farm because he was friends with my father, I’m wistful when I say, “Bo’s house is beautiful. I’d love to restore it if I could.”

“Bo’s Château is the prettiest place in town.”

“Is that its name?”

“The locals call it that.” She stirs the milk as it starts to boil. “Bo did such a great job with it. He was gonna build a big ol’ fancy barn on the lookout spot on the hill—for weddings, birthdays, anniversaries.”

“No kidding. I know the exact spot you’re talking about—right over the lake.”

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