“Mr. Jennings,” I say as I hold out my hand to shake his.
“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t Tanner Savage,” he says, smiling wide as he shakes my hand. “How is your mama?”
“She’s great, sir, thank you. I’d like you to meet Abigail.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Abigail,” he says softly to her as he eyes her up, no doubt he’s heard all about the new girl in town. Gossip travels fast in a town like ours.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” she says quietly. “You have beautiful horses.”
“Would you like to meet Merle and Waylon?” he asks her, and I have to bite back a smile at the way her eyes light up.
“Yes, please,” she says. “I would love to.”
“Here you go,” he says as he offers her sugar cubes. “Just hand these to the boys and tell them that they’re handsome and they will be putty in your hands before you know it. Kind of like another big bruiser we both know.” He winks at her and I feel my cheeks blush.
“It’s lovely to meet you boys,” she says as she strokes their noses and I think about another big beast that would like to be stroked by her. I feel my jeans tighten at the thought.Go slow.
Abby feeds Waylon and Merle their treats and just as Mr. Jennings said, they were putty in her hands. Merle, who is arguably kind of a bastard as he always nips my ass if I get too close to him, nuzzled her. And I swear he gave methe eye, one that said neener-neener-neener I’ve got your girl, asshole.
I have never been gladder than when Mr. Jennings told everyone it was time to load up on the wagon. That Merle is a real jerk. Waylon is sweet as pie though. And doesn’t nip my ass.
I walked Abby around to the back of the wagon where there is an opening to climb up. I grab her by the waist again and lift her up. Her cheeks blush beautifully as she heats to my touch no matter how innocuous. I hand her our blanket and then climb up behind her.
“Choose our seats,” I tell her, and she grins at me before leading me to a prime corner spot. “Excellent choice,” I tell her, and she blossoms to the complement. It makes me want to give them to her frequently.
I sit down next to her on the hay bale and settle the red flannel blanket we brought over our laps. Mr. Jennings drives the horses around the orchard and through the trees. It’s a beautiful ride through the countryside and all I can see is Abby and the bright smile of wonder and delight on her face.
“It’s beautiful,” she says looking out at all the tall trees.
“Yes, it is.” She looks back and me before dropping her gaze to her lap. That pink creeps across her cheeks again.
We ride for another hour or so before we stop. It’s completely dark now but that’s the fun of the hayride. I hope she likes the next part just as much.
“Why are we stopping?” she asks me.
“To pick our pumpkins, of course.”
“We’re picking pumpkins?” she asks. Her expression is bright with excitement and I can’t help but wonder how many times she got to pick a pumpkin in her life. I’m glad I got to give that to her too.
“Well, what else are we going to carve into jack-o’-lanterns tomorrow afternoon?”
“I’ve never done that before,” she whispers and my heart clenches for the woman who didn’t get a chance to do kid things.
“Well, I’m happy to be your first,” I say, winking at her. Apparently, the move startles her because she stumbles before she falls off of the back of the wagon.
“Eeek!” she shrieks.
“Abby! Are you okay?” I shout as I jump from the wagon, but she’s popping right back up, dusting hay and dirt from her fantastic ass. This girl should be put in a bubble she’s so accident prone.
“I’m good, I’m good,” she laughs. “Not let’s find me a pumpkin!”
“Good, baby,” I say so softly that only she can heart it. “Then let’s find you a pumpkin.”
Abigail races down the neatly planted rows of pumpkins—and I follow her like a lost puppy—until she finds the mother of all gourds. It has to be a sixty-pound pumpkin. Her broad smile stretches clear across her face. She’s so proud of her find I know I’m going home with this big ass pumpkin and a smile on my face. I would buy her the moon if it made her smile like that.
“Great work, Charlie Brown,” I laugh as I pull my folding knife from my pocket and cut her pumpkin away from the vine.
“What?” she asks, the confusion is clearly painted across her beautiful face and I stare at her for a minute. Who hasn’t seen The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown? The Answer is Abigail.
