Page 13 of Bourbon Girl: part 4 of 6
"Gross," Poppy muttered in their direction when I returned with the zip ties. "Teddy's being all weird again."
"Again?" I asked, kneeling back down to help stabilize the scarecrow's frame while keeping one eye on the couple across the pavilion. "Has he ever said anything to you that made you uncomfortable?"
Poppy wrinkled her nose with disgust. "Ew, no. If some old dude tried to be weird with me, I'd punch him right in the privates and scream. Mom taught me that when I was eight."
Her matter-of-fact delivery made me laugh despite the seriousness of the topic. "Good for your mom. And yes, if a man or boy ever says something that makes you uncomfortable, or tries to touch you when you don't want to be touched, that's exactly what you should do. Aim for the privates and run away yelling at the top of your lungs."
"Obviously," she said with the confident dismissal of someone who'd never doubted her right to defend herself. "ButMarilyn doesn't seem like the type to punch anybody. She just takes it."
I followed her gaze back to where Marilyn stood trapped in conversation with Teddy near the cider station. Even from this distance, I could see the way she kept glancing toward the other activities as if looking for an escape route, only to have Teddy step closer and reclaim her attention with what appeared to be urgent whispers.
"The thing is," I said carefully, "some people need help learning how to set boundaries. Especially young women who might not have had anyone teach them that they have the right to say no."
Tracy looked up from arranging the scarecrow's plaid shirt. "Are you going to say something?"
The question carried weight, referencing my previous attempt to interrupt one of Teddy's interactions with Marilyn—an intervention that had been met with hostility and defensiveness rather than gratitude.
"She made it pretty clear she doesn't want my advice," I said, using the zip ties to secure straw-stuffed arms to the scarecrow's torso. "Sometimes you have to let people handle their own situations, even when you can see they're struggling."
But even as I said the words, I found myself watching Marilyn's increasingly tense posture and Teddy's possessive hovering with growing concern.
October 14, Tuesday
barrel entry proofthe proof (alcohol content) of the spirit when it is placed into the barrel (maximum 125)
THE LAKEtrail beckoned with autumn's promise as I laced up my hiking boots and shouldered a small backpack containing water, a granola bar, and the novel I'd been struggling to concentrate on lately. October's cooler temperatures had transformed the oppressive summer heat into something invigorating, and the changing leaves created a canopy of amber, crimson, and gold that seemed to glow in the morning light.
I needed the solitude that only hiking could provide—time to sort through the tangle of emotions and uncertainties that had been accumulating like debris after a storm. Dylan somewhere in Texas, his family's interference, Tom Feldon's loud silence, Jett's complicated relationship with Naomi, my dwindling savings, and the looming decision about returning to Arizona all swirled in my mind without resolution.
The trail wound around the lake's perimeter through mature hardwood forest, the path soft underfoot with decades of fallen leaves. Each step released the earthy scent of decomposition and renewal. The lake's surface reflected the morning sky like a mirror, broken only by the occasional ripple from a fish jumping or a turtle surfacing near the shoreline.
Twenty minutes into my hike, movement in the underbrush caught my eye. Two white-tailed deer stood motionless among the trees, their large dark eyes fixed on me with the kind of alert stillness that wild animals perfect for survival. The does regarded me with curious caution before bounding away with graceful leaps that barely disturbed the underbrush.
The encounter left me feeling both privileged and peaceful. Arizona had its own wildlife, but I'd seen very little of it.
My thoughts drifted to the crossroads I faced. The college opportunity in Arizona represented safety, structure, a chance to rebuild the life I'd planned before cancer stole my mother and left me adrift. But Kentucky had surprised me with its complexity—not just the bourbon industry that had drawn me here, but the people, the culture, the sense of belonging I'd never expected to find.
A rustling in the trees ahead interrupted my contemplation. A flock of wild turkeys emerged from the forest like a small parade, their iridescent feathers catching the dappled sunlight as they pecked at acorns and insects with methodical efficiency. The largest tom strutted with comical dignity while the hens maintained their vigilant search for breakfast.
I stood perfectly still, not wanting to disturb their morning routine. The scene felt like a gift—one of those moments of connection with the natural world that reminded me why solitude had always been my preferred method of processing life's complications.
But even surrounded by this peaceful beauty, I couldn't reach any conclusions about my future. The variables remained too numerous, too interconnected to untangle with logic alone. Tom Feldon might or might not be my father. Dylan might or might not return from Texas with continued interest in pursuing whatever had been developing between us. Jett might or might not work through his relationship issues with Naomi.
A small brown rabbit hopped across the trail just ahead, pausing to regard me with bright black eyes before disappearing into a thicket of brambles. The brief encounter made me smile despite my unsettled thoughts. Kentucky's wildlife seemed determined to remind me that life continued regardless of human uncertainty.
"Beautiful morning for a walk."
The voice behind me sent adrenaline spiking through my bloodstream. I spun around to find Teddy emerging from a side trail, carrying what appeared to be a canvas harvesting bag and wearing the kind of sturdy clothing suited for serious foraging.
"Teddy," I managed, my heart still racing from the surprise. "I didn't hear you."
"Sorry about that. These old hunting boots are pretty quiet on the trail." He gestured toward his feet with a smile that seemed genuine enough. "I've been out since dawn collecting ginseng and black cohosh. This area's perfect for wild medicinals if you know where to look."
We were completely alone on this remote section of trail, surrounded by dense forest that muffled sound and obscured sightlines in every direction. The realization of my vulnerability hit me like cold water, sending a chill down my spine.
Teddy bent down to pick up a sturdy walking stick that had been lying beside the trail, testing its weight and balance in his hands. The movement put him between me and the direction I'd been heading, effectively blocking my path forward.
"This looks like good hardwood," he said, approaching me with the stick extended. "Probably oak."
