The air turned crisp under the shade of the tall trees, and I shoved my hands in my pockets as I continued deeper into the forest. Leaves crunched under my feet with every long, purposeful stride. The dark, damp atmosphere of the trail was an appropriate backdrop for my foul mood. The situation back home has only worsened, and I wonder if coming to Voss was the right idea.
“Meow.”
I stopped mid-step, my boot falling into the dirt hard as my head whipped around, and I searched for the cat again. He sat two feet away from me, in the same curious position he had been in on the driveway. His head was cocked as his fluffy tail curled around him.
“What do you want?” I asked, my voice slicing through the silence of the woods.
Again, I got no response, so I shrugged and continued my hike. The cat trailed after me for the entirety of my fury-induced walk. When we returned to the lodge, I was convinced that this cat thought he was my keeper. He followed me inside as if he had done this his entire life, and I watched, astonished, as he pawed over to the nearest sofa, leaped onto it, and curled into a ball. He settled with his head on his paws, eyes wide as he watched the room.
“What is that?” Asta asked, surprise in her voice.
“A cat.”
“Yes, Alex. I can see that. But what is it doing inside?”
“The same thing I am,” I told her. “Trying to figure out what to do next.”
Chapter four
Agotia
“Areyousurethisis a good idea?”
I bit back my laughter as I watched Lucas struggle to wrangle one of the ornerier lambs into the pen sitting on the back of the old farm truck.
"I promise it will be worth it," I told him, unsure who I was trying to convince.
“Remind me again what the plan is?”
We had been over this a hundred times last week, but I didn't mind running through things again.
"I will set up a little corral beside the booth for the goats. I have built a backdrop out of scrap wood from the shed; people will take pictures in front of it; it also has the company name. I will charge just a few bucks for people to pet and feed the goats or take their pictures with a lamb. It is a way to get the farm name out there a little bit more."
Lucas nodded as he closed the tailgate and dusted off his hands.
“Anything else?”
"That is everything. Thank you for being so helpful. I don't know what I would do without you."
“You would probably come up with some crazy plan to get all this done anyways,” he said, nudging my shoulder gently. “But I am glad I can help you.”
I shot him a shy smile, a little uncomfortable with how close he was standing and how intently he looked down at me. I was starting to feel that Lucas wanted more from me than a friend, which was how I considered him. It would be a difficult conversation to have if he ever braved broaching it. With any luck, this is just a boyhood crush that sparked after I came back that would fade quickly.
"I should get going. It will take me some time to get everything set up before the festival starts. I will see you later?" I asked.
“Yeah, of course,” he assured me. “I’ll stop by after I get off of work.”
He held out an arm for a hug, and I twisted into the side of him. I could tell he was disappointed with my evading maneuver, but I didn't stop to think about it as I pulled open the truck door.
The hinges squealed with the weight of the metal; I cringed and hopped into the cab. The fabric on the bench was worn and dull, and the entire truck smelled like my father. I inhaled, allowing memories of him to float as I started the car and pulled out of the driveway.
It took only a matter of minutes for me to make it to the wide-open field, where people had already begun to set up their booths. I waved as I drove by the familiar faces. It was still early in the morning, and dew coated the sea of emerald grass.
Excitement thrummed in my veins as I went through my mental checklist of everything I needed to do before the festival opened this afternoon. If it all went according to plan, I would have enough by the end of today, to pay the most pressing bills and keep the water running.
Determined to make the most of this opportunity, I flounced out of the truck, the layers of skirt swishing around my legs. While I loved wearing the traditional dress, sometimes it was more of a nuisance than anything else. With the black embroidered skirts down to my ankles and a red satin sash wrapped around my middle section, wrangling goats was no easy task. I tied a once-white apron around my neck and waist and got to work.
Leaving the animals for the end, I decided to set up the booth section first, pulling out the long table and standing it up in my designated spot. I covered the stained tabletop in cream-colored linen and began piling on the products. I tossed a bag of ice in an old bucket that now seemed on brand rather than obsolete before setting the glass bottles of goats' milk down.
