“It’s milk poop,” I explain, and when Molly stares at me blankly, I explain that the color changes depending on what the goat eats. Then I tell her we separate the babies after a few days to take better care of them than the mothers and increase the dam’s milk production. And for their own safety—the sad reality is that baby goats with their dam or other dams is dangerous.
“That makes sense, I guess. They are working animals.” She looks around, noticing the other kids. “Are these ones older?”
We walk down the corrals for a while, me squinting at the numbers on the gates and telling Molly how old each one is. Since we breed en masse, most of the kids are about the same age, give or take a few days. The kid I was feeding is from the second insemination round for the dams that didn’t take on the first one.
“Alex,” Kit’s voice calls from the barn. “You left your phone in the office again.” He strides toward us, tossing me my phone when he gets close enough, and he and Molly grin at each other. Trixie circles the three of us, gives a huff in greeting, and then sniffs the pens. “Hey, Perky.”
“Perky?” I ask. When did he give Molly a nickname?
Molly rolls her eyes. “That’s what some of my friends call me. Short for Perkins, obviously. Mr. Nosy here saw one of them texting me and thinks he’s in my inner circle now.” She hip-bumps Kit, and he slings an arm around her.
I frown and try to ignore the jealousy in my gut. Kit’s friendly to everyone. And so what if they like each other? I’m her boss. I can’t get mad about something that is none of my business.
Unlocking my phone, I see that I have missed calls from the farm shop, Gran, and my brother, Ethan. I swipe them all away, plus some notifications for a few of our social media accounts. Instagram is always trying to get me to post more, but I never do. I glance back up at Molly. “You called me?”
Molly’s face falls. “Oh shit, I left the shop unattended. I put a sign up that I’d be back,” she rushes to add. “I just didn’t expect to be gone for so long. We need more eggs and whole milk.”
My eyebrow raises. “Already?” I’ve usually had Kit run down at the end of the day to grab the unsold products. I also check our sales reports for the shop every day, and I’ve noticed that sales have gone up. They were higher than normal the week Kit was at the counter, but they’re up even more since Molly has been there. At least, compared to when I had a sign on the door to call for service, which isn’t a surprise. I increased the Friday morning stock in anticipation, so being almost sold out of a few things surprises me.
“Yeah. There have been quite a lot of big purchases today. A few people came in and said they won’t be able to make it to the strawberry picking this week, but they wanted to get some fresh milk from you because the one they had last week was so good. And someone came by—Lionel, I think—told me to tell you hello. His daughter is visiting with her kids, and he bought a lot.”
Lionel is the only lawyer in Fork Lick, the one who executed Grandad’s will. That makes me think about the missed calls from my family, and I sigh. “Alright, I’ll send one of the guys down in a few with a restock.”
Molly brightens, befitting her nickname. “Thanks, boss.” She pats Kit’s chest. “Catch you later, Romeo.”
Romeo? God damn it. I’m jealous of my best friend.
CHAPTER15
MOLLY
In between customers,I spend the afternoon thinking about Alex holding that damn goat. What is it about a big, burly guy, beard and flannel and work boots, holding a baby goat that makes my heart go pitter-patter?
It must be all those mountain men romance books I’ve read. They’re thick with beards and flannel, but not so much baby goats—a major oversight, in my humble opinion.
I leave work and bike home, waving hello to Ethel out on the porch. After dinner, I call my dad.
“Hey, Molly-girl, how was your week on the farm?”
I fill him in on all the shop news—the delicious food, the people I talked to, the baby animals I met. I’ve sent Dad pictures every day. Just because I’m not actively on the move doesn’t mean I’m not having an adventure that I can share with him. He’s probably never petted a baby goat before, so I tell him everything I learned.
This was the deal we made. Dad came home from deployment missing a leg, then received divorce papers and a two-year-old girl to take care of while my mother ran off with another man and never looked back.
The Boxcar Children and the stories my dad made up were some of my earliest memories, and according to him, all I talked about as a kid was wanting a boxcar of my own.
After the last business I worked for closed, Dad said life was short, and I had to take my savings and go now. All those conversations we had, dreaming about what Molly-girl and Satoot were doing, became real.
“I didn’t take any pictures,” I say regretfully. “Didn’t take my phone with me. Next time, I’ll get some photos.”
“I bet you’d look real stinking cute petting a goat.”
Not as cute as Alex did,I think. Seriously, seeing his big arms, with the sleeves rolled up and the light hair and tanned skin on display, was sexy enough, but goddamn, that baby goat took me down. I’ll never look at the man the same. And holding a bottle? Nursing a baby of any species? My ovaries exploded, and I was pretty sure they had been in a deep slumber. I’ve never thought dad-qualities would be sexy, but here we are. Not that I want kids all of a sudden, but thinking of Alex as a dad is pretty sexy.
Though, look, I’m not a huge baby fan. Alex holding a baby goat, even if it poops yellow, is way more attractive to me than a wailing, fussy baby. This goat was three days old and when I left, it was romping around, bouncing off the walls of its little pen.
My understanding (limited as it is) is that baby humans don’t do that until they’re about two years old? Three? I don’t know. I occasionally hang out with vanlifers my age who have young kids, but I’m out of my depth.
“Molly-girl? You still there?”
