Page 171 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

The barn was quiet this early. Morning light slipped through the open doors and caught tiny pieces of dust floating through the air. Somewhere farther down, one of the cows bumped against a gate, but otherwise Marigold hadn’t woken up yet.

These were my favorite mornings.

Before everyone arrived.

Before someone needed something.

Before the Harvest Festival existed on twelve different lists taped to my refrigerator.

Just me and the animals.

I could still picture him on the opposite side of that fence Saturday night, orange lights glowing behind him. The way he’d tucked my hair behind my ear. The way he’d stopped before kissing me.

That was the part I couldn’t shake.

He’d stopped.

Beau Jones, who always seemed completely certain of himself, had stood close enough that I could feel his breath and waited for me to make the first move.

I’d had every opportunity to walk away.

Instead, I’d kissed him. And for a few wonderful seconds, I hadn’t thought about my leg.

I hadn’t thought about what he knew or didn’t know. I hadn’t wondered whether he would still want me if my jeans came off. I’d just wanted him.

God, I wanted every glorious inch of him. That feeling hadn’t disappeared with the kiss either.

It had only gotten worse.

I hadn’t felt butterflies like this in years. I hadn't had my skin tingle because someone’s hand touched my waist or caught myself wondering what a man’s mouth would feel like against mine.

Before the accident, attraction had been easy. I’d been twenty and convinced my entire life was waiting for me.

Rodeo.

Sponsors.

Travel.

Eventually marriage.

Children.

Marigold.

I’d never questioned whether I’d have any of it. Then one night had turned every certainty into a question.

I had spent six weeks without the weight of my left leg before my first fitting. I could still remember standing between the parallel bars staring down at a prosthetic that felt too heavy, too foreign, too ugly to possibly belong to me.

Meme had been there. She’d held my hand while I cried afterward and told me I could hate every second of it if I needed to, but tomorrow morning we were getting up and doing it again.

So we had.

Again.

Again.

Again.