Chapter Two
DAISY
Four Months Later
There’s peace in the early morning, right before the sun peaks above the horizon.
A moment when the world seems especially quiet and the only things on my mind are the designs I’m going to score onto three dozen loaves of sourdough as I sip my Dulce De Leche coffee.
The moon is still high in the sky, full of hopes and dreams.
Near the sink, I place my ceramic mug, wash my hands, and pick up the bread lame.
I arrange the rounded and shaped loaves evenly across the butcher block kitchen island on pieces of parchment paper.
Then, carefully set to the task, dashing and slicing my way across each one before moving them to the preheated bread oven.
We recently converted the small dining area off the kitchen into an extension of my micro-bakery.
The new bread oven wasn’t something I’d imagined I would need or invest in, but it was proving to be helpful in baking more things at once.
And having the extra space to prep and package everything while staying organized kept my mom happy—not that she used the kitchen as much as I did.
Before, I scattered my baking supplies in containers that were constantly overflowing into the living room.
I was a bit of a mess with my clutter. Not that I couldn’t keep things organized, I just had trouble letting things go.
If the worst thing about me was not being able to turn down a new kitchen gadget—well, that wasn’t really terrible.
Besides, my love for being in the kitchen had turned into a blessing.
For the first time, I felt like I was contributing something to our life on the ranch and not just existing on it.
Never even in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would be a baker, let alone bake more than a dozen loaves a week.
I’ve always loved to cook and bake. It never occurred to me before how it could be turned into something so beautiful.
Plus, having the house smell like a bakery was a dream.
Life on the family cattle ranch wasn’t something I wanted when I was younger. Sure, I could cowgirl with the best of them, but it wasn’t what I wanted out of life. At least, not while I was younger. I didn’t appreciate the slower and peaceful lifestyle it gave me.
When I was in high school, I preferred to stay busy.
I craved the hustle and bustle of city life I saw in movies.
I’d envisioned a life working in a high rise with a cramped office and a mix of comical and annoying coworkers.
Maybe I had a closet size apartment to myself or shared something larger with a few roommates that grew to be like a family.
Then, I found my first love—and maybe my only one.
For a while, I saw something different. At the time, it was going to be beautiful. We were going to create a life together. That was all during the last semester of my senior year. Everything changed within a couple of weeks. Time just stopped.
I couldn’t leave my mom alone after that.
Here I was, a twenty-five year old woman still living at home with her mom. The same house my parents brought me home to when I was born. The very house my mom moved into as soon as my dad could convince her, at least that’s what they told me.
Most days, it still felt like home. But, I would be lying to myself if I said the emptiness didn’t linger in the corners.
Like shadows creeping in the dark during times I wasn’t expecting.
Threatening to swallow every bit of happy left.
It’s beens like that for the last seven years. Ever since my dad’s passing.
More love and laughter should have filled the four-bedroom home than the years allowed us.
I was an only child, though. My parents tried for more, but I was it.
One spare room remained a guest room never touched, while the other a cluttered storage room.
We never went into that room. It held too many memories neither my mom nor I were willing to part with, or face.
Until now, she’s never left or bothered to travel. Then again, neither have I.
My mom is my best friend, better and more comical than any entertaining roommate I could dream of having when I was younger. Times change, though, we grow up. The things we want for ourselves as we grow change with every passing moment.
It’s never lonely on the ranch. Spread out on several hundred acres of the Miller Cattle Ranch is the rest of the family.
Our house is set towards the front, closest to the road and front gate.
Nobody could tell by driving down the road.
The trees surrounding the house make it feel like a private park.
They were the best climbing trees when I was little.
Uncle Beau and Aunt Maggie live the closest, not too far from the main barn.
Andrew, my older cousin, lives in a house a little farther back.
Delilah, Andrew’s younger sister, has a house on the other side of her parents.
She’s hardly home, though. She’s a storm chaser and practically lives on the road.
My grandparents are right in the middle of everyone. Centrally located and ready to bring everyone together every Sunday for family supper and game night.
There are also two bunk houses on the property. The one near the front of the property houses nearly a dozen of the ranch staff. Most of those old cowboys have been around since before I could walk. The bunk house farther back is empty, only used seasonally when needed.
When my grandparents took over the ranch from grandpa’s grandparents, they started mapping everything out.
There was only the main house that would become theirs and the bunkhouse near the back.
The Miller Cattle Ranch has been in the family for generations.
My grandparents had a vision, though. It grew to be a true family estate, with room to grow as they added buildings and various structures.
There were family members that didn’t live on the ranch, some that didn’t even live in Sage Creek, let alone Texas. They didn’t care to be part of ranch life. It was like they ceased to exist, dropping off the face of the planet and cutting off communication.
Except for Grandpa’s younger brother, Elliot.
Uncle Elliot preferred to live in town. He enjoys the convenience of living right in the middle of Sage Creek.
He also owns one of the local bars, The Copper Mug.
It’s where he spends most of his time. He’ll occasionally come to family supper and help with the occasional cattle drive.
The sounds of the world waking up flow across the open window as I set to work wrapping an assortment of pastries.
I can imagine across the property Grandpa is bringing Grandma her morning cup of coffee in bed after getting a head start on whatever work he has planned for the day.
Aunt Maggie will still be sleeping. Probably longer than usual since her and mom stayed up late last night drinking wine and gossiping.
Uncle Beau is most likely yelling at the rooster, who always escapes the coop and likes to make noise right outside their window when the sun comes up.
Andrew will be doing his morning chores before hockey practice this afternoon.
Although, his schedule is going to be different now that the season is getting started.
Then, there’s me, up for a few hours already because I don’t need to sleep. Not when there are new recipes on my mind. It’s something I do far too often. It’s not a big deal to wake up in the middle of the night and wander down to the kitchen when an idea strikes.
I’ve always loved to experiment in the kitchen. Sometimes it’s a hit, and other times it’s a miss. There’s something special about a kitchen. It feels like the heart of the home. So much love can come from one, regardless of the size.
After a couple of hours, the bread has cooled and I can finally finish packaging and labeling.
I load everything into my golf cart to take it to the farm stand at the property gate.
Andrew built it for me a couple of months ago after I’d been using an old entertainment center for all of two weeks.
I would say I still had the entertainment center, but Aunt Maggie had this great idea to use it for the chickens.
I haven’t been brave enough to see what she did.
Not that I don’t trust her, I just don’t trust the chickens.
I pull up next to the white and yellow farm stand.
Parking close enough to unload everything easily.
I have a routine I go through every time.
Empty the cash box, flip through the suggestion notebook, then wipe things down.
After I load it with fresh baked goods, I replace the rechargeable camera, flip the sign to open, then take pictures and videos to post to social media.
I like to get an assortment of angles for content.
Capturing the Flowers and Flour sign and the one showing Miller Cattle Ranch.
The sunset mural painted on one side was a recent addition my grandmother added.
Beautiful shades of orange and purple cover the background for the longhorn in a field of bluebonnets.
In a couple of hours, I’ll drive back over to see what has sold and take updated photos to post.
I’ve been working nonstop for the last two days to make sure it was all ready for the pickup. Each week there seems to be a handful of more preorders than before and I always like there being extras.
“Damn, cousin.”
I look over my shoulder as Andrew steps out of his tan ranch truck. He approaches me, his shaggy red hair blowing in the breeze.
“What are those?” He points to some of my newest creations.
“White chocolate macadamia nut muffins.” I grin and move the empty baskets to the back of my teal golf cart.