Page 195 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

The driver’s door opened, and he climbed out wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched across shoulders I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about since he’d kissed me against the fence. His hair looked like he’d run his hands through it repeatedly throughout the day, and there was still a faint streak of grease along the inside of one forearm despite his obvious attempt to clean up before coming here.

Then he saw me.

That was the part I was terrified of losing—the way his entire expression changed when his eyes found mine across the yard. His attention settled on me completely, as if whatever he’d been thinking about during the drive disappeared the second he saw me.

I wondered how he would look at me an hour from now.

The thought made me feel sick.

“You’re staring at me again, sweetheart.” He’d gotten close enough that I should’ve said something, but apparently I’d been too busy memorizing his face.

“Maybe you’ve got something on your face.”

His hand immediately went to his cheek. “Do I?”

I reached up, but he caught my wrist and rubbed my thumb across a perfectly clean spot near his jaw. His fingers stayed loosely around my wrist, and for one dangerous moment, everything felt normal. His mouth was close enough to mine that all I had to do was rise onto my toes, and judging by the way his eyes dropped to my lips, Beau would’ve met me halfway.

Yesterday, I would’ve kissed him.

Tonight, I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he didn’t know what existed beneath the denim covering my left leg.

I stepped away first.

“Long day?” he asked.

“The longest.”

“How many disasters?”

“Depends. Are we counting Rosie deciding we need another two hundred pumpkins forty-eight hours before the festival?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then at least seven.”

He fell into step beside me when I started toward the barn, and I hated how easily he belonged here now.

A month ago, Beau Jones had been the mechanic I reluctantly walked two miles through a storm to find. Now his truck looked normal parked beside the barn. Meme kept the beer he liked in our refrigerator. Blueberry recognized his voice. Half the tools he’d brought to repair the ranch were still scattered around because he no longer bothered taking everything home.

Somewhere along the way, Beau had stopped visiting Marigold Ranch. He simply came over. And I had started expecting him.

That was exactly why I had to tell him tonight.

We spent nearly forty minutes walking the property before I finally admitted to myself that I was avoiding it.

Beau checked the brackets on the hay wagon. I followed him to the vendor barn while he replaced one loose bolt. We tested a strand of lights. I showed him where Rosie wanted the additional pumpkins as though either of us cared.

Through all of it, my leg continued to ache. I tried hiding the limp. Apparently, I wasn’t doing a very good job.

“How bad is it?”

I stopped. Beau was several feet ahead of me near the barn doors.

“How bad is what?”

He turned. “Whatever’s making you limp.”

My stomach dropped. For a moment, I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know how. “How long have you noticed?” I forced the words out.