Page 33 of Home Hearts Hooves

“If this is a joke, Preston Robert Knight, I’ll never forgive you,” she says, clutching her hands at her chest.

“It’s no joke,” I reply, and Poppy steps forward.

“Hi Grandma.”

Chapter eleven

DEAN

GOSSIP GOATS AND GRUDGES

Allthecabinsarebooked for the Spring Fair, and with Beaker Brother’s Ranch having a cow cuddle corner set up this year, we’re all out in the ranch before the sun rises, trying to get the work done before most of us head over to partake in the activities. Connor and Skye will be manning the cuddle corner, and Sally-May has been baking for three days to stock up her pie stall. She’ll be sold out in an hour or so I bet, if last year’s fair is anything to go by.

We bedded the barn yesterday, after all the rain we’ve had, we needed to bed both the floors and the stalls to make sure nobody slips when they come in or out. Perry is already running the wash and is hooking everything back up, ready to start milking a bit early today. I start on filling the cornmeal cart. Thankfully, the sky is clear and all reports say this week will be a nice warm sunny one. Perfect weather for the Spring Fair.

The cornmeal tank is right beside the barn, making it easy to collect. We jacked it up last year, welding on a new base that’s taller so we can get the cart right under it, saving a bunch of time in the mornings.

The tractor rumbles in behind me, and it’s Nial with the hay.

“Grab The Beast,” he calls over the noise, and I head over to the machine we use to spread the hay down, that we call The Beast, and press the start button. It sputters for a few seconds, then kicks into gear. The Beast holds one bale at a time and unrolls it as I wheel it back over the front of the stalls, dropping clumps all the way along. Nail follows behind, sweeping it towards where the girls will be popping their heads through once we let them in.

The beast is another great piece of machinery that saves us a bunch of time, like the tractor and the old dirt bikes Nial and Skye use to check the sections of the land we haven’t found use for yet. Gramps sold off an acre or two when he moved to Savannah, but Beaker Brothers has been here since the beginning of Bellerelleandhe made sure he held onto enough land that we could grow the ranch if it came to that. I’m not sure he envisioned a menagerie of odd animals, but he didn’t seem to mind the last time he visited.I should call Alan and check in,invite them up again.Maybe after his Banana Ball tour is over, he and the guys can all come up again.I’ll check the dates and block them out until I check with himwhattheir plansare.

Perry helps us get the girls all milked and released back out to the pasture, and then he and Nial head over to the Fair. Atlas will stay on the grounds; Loki is still a work in progress, and we expect a few guests might wander back early, and we wouldn’t want the ranch to have no one here they can call if they need something.

I’m a sweaty mess by the time we get everything done, so I head in for a shower while the guys take the cuddle crew over to the fair. Connor coined that name for them. Had shirts made and all that, too. I will also reluctantly be wearing one. Apparently, it shows I’m one of the team and not just the boss. I don’t see why I can’t be both and not wear a ridiculous shirt.

I throw on my green flannel over the top, leaving it unbuttoned, pull on my boots and my hat, and jump into the truck to follow them over. The fair is about twenty minutes from the ranch, and when I arrive, it’s in full swing.

Roasted corn, fresh bread, apples, cinnamon, and hay meld together on the breeze with all of Main Street filled with people, food, and wares stalls. The noise of conversations, barteringandlaughter becomes a sort of buzzingandthe hairs on my neck stand up. I normally hate places like this. Loud and busywhereeveryone is talking all at once. I find it hard to focus. To think. But we’ve got the cuddle corner set up, and I promised I’d make a show. Besides, I did put on the shirt, so I might as well get it over with.

The cuddle corner will be up the other end, so I make my way through the crowd to check in on them. When Connor first suggested we start offering cuddle sessions with the cows on the ranch, I thought he had been kicked in the head, but they really are just like big dogs in the way they love affection, and unlike with a dog, you can climb right up onto the back of a heifer laying on the hay and she’ll just lay there while you squeeze her as tight as you can.

The mini moos are less hearty, but they wriggle out of little hands when they need to, and Connor and Skye are great at keeping an eye on the cuddlers.

“Feel like something sweet?” Nate, the owner of Buxton Estate, calls, holding up something blue.

“What have you got there?” I ask, stepping closer to his stall and spotting the sign,Buxton’sFresh Tarts. There are a few people taking photos with their phones, pulling shocked expressions with open mouths as they pretend to take a bite, then take ten more for good measure before they actually do eat it. I can’t blame themthough. The tart Nate’s holding out to me right now doesn’t look like any tart I’ve ever seen. It looks like he’s giving me a blue flower. Their entire table looks more like aflorist,it’s covered in little silver tart cases filled with what look like different colorful flowers.

“It’s a blueberry hydrangea,” Nate says, picking up a yellow flower tart from the table. “Really, it’s blueberry cheesecake piped to look like a hydrangea, and this yellow one is a citrus sunflower,againit’s actually cheesecake, a lemon-lime mix. Which would you prefer?” he asks.

I take the blueberry one, holding it gently in the palm of my hand. “These look amazing.”

“It’s all Rémy, he’s the genius chef. I’m just the pretty face selling them.”

Rémy turns from helping another customer at the other end of the table. “Oúi, oúi, I made them, but Chérie, you are more than a pretty face,” he says, stepping sideways and kissing Nate on the top of the head.

Nate played Banana Ball with my little brother Alan before he hurt his shoulder. He inheritedBuxtonEstate after his late uncle passed, and now he and his boyfriend, alsopartowner, Rémy, run it. They buy milk, cheese, yogurt, cream, butter, and eggs from our ranch, along with some products we hold on consignmentlikethegoats-milksoaps Sarah makes from our goats and some of the natural herbs growing in the garden Sally-May manages.

“How is the estate management business treating you?”

“It’s good. I’m finally getting the hang of how it all works. I took a few online courses to help me out. We’re fully booked this weekend with the fair. How about you guys?”

“Yeah, we’re maxed out on the ranch, too.”

“That’s great. So are you going to eat it? I swear it tastes even better than it looks.”

“You’re really hyping it up here,” I say with a chuckle before taking a bite. I don’t know why I expected the petals to be firm, but they’re soft as butter, and the sweet tang of blueberry explodes on mytastebuds. “Holy shit, that’s good.”

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