Page 21 of Bourbon Girl: part 4 of 6
We had time before our scheduled tour, so Jett suggested a hike around the cave. The path wound through dense woods and soaring cliffs.
"Careful here," Jett said as we reached a particularly rocky section where the trail curved around a limestone outcropping. He offered his hand, and I accepted it gratefully, feeling the warmth and steadiness of his grip as he helped me navigate the uneven terrain.
The trail led us to a natural arch formation where sunlight streamed through the opening in the rock, creating an almost cathedral-like atmosphere. Jett pointed out various geological features with the same quiet enthusiasm he showed for everything he loved about Kentucky.
"You really know this place," I observed as we paused near an overlook that offered views of the forested valley below.
"I've been coming here since I was a kid," he said. "My dad brought all of us here for camping trips. Said it was important to appreciate what was in our own backyard before we went looking for adventure elsewhere."
When it was time for our cave tour, we joined a small group of other visitors at the X Cave entrance. The ranger led us into the cool darkness, our flashlights revealing extraordinary formations—stalactites hanging like chandelier crystals, flowstone cascading down walls like frozen waterfalls, and chambers that opened into vast underground cathedrals.
"The temperature down here stays constant at fifty-four degrees year-round," the ranger explained as we moved deeper into the cave system. "These formations have been growing for thousands of years, drop by drop."
The cave tour was absolutely fascinating. I found myself mesmerized by the intricate beauty hidden beneath the earth—delicate soda straws hanging from the ceiling, massive columns where stalactites and stalagmites had joined over millennia,and pools of crystal-clear water that reflected our lights like underground mirrors.
Afterward, we found a picnic table next to a stream that meandered through the park, its water chattering over smooth stones worn by countless years of flow. Jett had packed sandwiches—thick slices of country ham on fresh bread with sharp cheddar and mustard that reminded me how much better food tasted when eaten outdoors.
"These surroundings are so different from the arid climate of Arizona," I said, watching a leaf spiral down from an overhead branch to land on the water's surface.
"Do you miss it?" Jett asked, unwrapping his sandwich. "Arizona, I mean."
I considered the question as I listened to the stream's gentle music and felt the cool air on my face. "I miss the familiarity of it," I said finally. "And I miss being somewhere my mother used to be. We lived in Tucson for almost ten years—longer than anywhere else. There were places we'd go together, little routines we had. Here, everything's new."
Jett nodded thoughtfully. "I can't imagine that. My family's almost too close—we all live within twenty minutes of each other, see each other constantly for Sunday dinners and birthday parties and random weeknight visits." He paused, looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm ashamed to say that to you, considering your situation."
"Don't be ashamed," I said, touched by his honesty. "Everyone's family operates differently. What works for one person might feel suffocating to another, and what feels lonely to me might feel perfect to someone else."
I looked around at the peaceful setting—the stream, the colorful trees, the sense of being completely removed from the complexities of everyday life. "Have you brought Naomi here?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop myself.
"No," Jett said. "It's not the kind of thing she'd like to do. Too outdoorsy, too rustic. She prefers restaurants and cultural events, things with more... sophistication."
He paused, his expression growing slightly uncomfortable. "And by the way, it's probably best if Naomi doesn't know about our trip today. She'd only misinterpret it."
"No problem," I said, understanding immediately. The last thing I wanted was to create complications in his relationship, especially when this felt like such a pure friendship moment—two people enjoying nature and each other's company without any romantic undercurrents.
As we finished our sandwiches and prepared to hike back to the truck, I felt grateful for Jett's thoughtfulness in bringing me here. Whatever questions remained about my father, whatever uncertainties lay ahead, this day felt like a gift—a reminder that beauty and peace could be found in unexpected places, often in the company of someone who understood the value of simple pleasures.
October 22, Wednesday
barrel head brandingthe practice of stamping the end of the barrel with date, distillery, and other info
I FELTa flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension as our tour bus pulled into Goldenrod's gravel parking lot. Dylan was inside and despite my attempts to focus on work, my pulse quickened at the thought of seeing him again.
"Welcome to Goldenrod Distillery," I announced to my group of bourbon enthusiasts from Nashville as they gathered their belongings. "This family-owned operation has been crafting premium bourbon since 1934, and today you'll have the chance to taste some of their most celebrated expressions."
The barmaid costume felt different today—more confident, more theatrical. The leather corset hugged my waist, the full skirt swished with each step, and the white peasant blouse with its puffy sleeves made me feel like I'd stepped out of a Wild West saloon. Several passengers had complimented the authentic period look during our earlier stops.
As we approached the tasting room entrance, I spotted Dylan through the large windows. He was behind the bar, polishing glasses with the easy efficiency I'd come to associate with him. When he looked up and saw our group approaching, his face broke into that devastating smile that never failed to make my stomach flip.
The cool air of the tasting room enveloped us as we entered. My group spread out along the bar while I hung back, ostensibly checking my notes but really stealing glances at Dylan as he prepared for our tasting.
"Well, well," he said, approaching me with obvious pleasure, his green eyes bright with mischief. "Look what the bourbon trail brought in."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Biggs," I said formally, trying to maintain professional distance in front of my tour group. "We're here for the scheduled tasting."
"Of course you are." His gaze swept over my costume with obvious appreciation. "That outfit is something else. Kind of sexy, actually."
Heat rose in my cheeks at his directness, and I was grateful my group was already engaged with the bourbon samples being poured by another staff member.
