Page 3 of Mountain Man's Flirty Farmgirl
Oh, boy. This was going to be an interesting week.
2
BLADE
Sienna. The name was almost musical as it rolled through my head over and over—all morning, all afternoon.
The newly arriving merchants kept me busy, mostly because the other guys had helped me out at the loading dock during the initial rush, then headed off to their other assigned duties. That left me alone to haul crap. Candles, baked goods, even a bunch of Christmas decorations for some crafts table.
My mind was on one thing, though. The beautiful brunette with curves that threatened to burst the seams of her red-and-white checkered farm shirt and denim capris.
I should have shoved her out of my mind like I would any other woman. But she wasn’t any other woman. I knew that already. I’d known that the second I looked at her.
“I need your help.”
The voice pulled me from my thoughts. A feminine voice. A voice I knew so well already. Weird but true.
I turned to find the beautiful brunette staring at me, eyes wide, smile big. But there was still a hint of tension on her face. She was stressed, and this time, it no doubt had nothing to do with runaway tomatoes.
“What’s up?” I asked.
I tried to summon the same annoyance I’d have if anyone else had approached me here. I always did my best to fake my eagerness to help, which meant acting exactly as I was right now. But with her, it wasn’t acting. I genuinely wanted to help her.
Fuck. I wasn’t supposed to be eager to helpanyone. What was going on here?
“I need power,” she said.
I blinked at the statement, my mind trying to process it. She needed power. Control? She thought I could somehow give that to her?
She glanced back over her shoulder before continuing. “I have a cider-tasting station to help promote my farm-fresh apples. I didn’t realize we could request power. I missed that whole part of the application.”
Now I really was battling annoyance. Electricity required setup in advance. We’d done all that last week, while we put together the various tables that made the vendor booths this week.
She sighed. “Without it, I’m just selling fruit, which is fine. But I won’t win the contest that way.”
That godforsaken contest was going to be the death of me. All the vendors were competing for some made-up award called “Best in Harvest.” The mayor had donated a trophy, and one of the boutique owners in nearby Hartsville was throwing in a fancy fall-themed prize basket to boost participation. All it did was make the new vendors frantic.
Sienna was frantic. And beautiful. And looking right at me like I was the only one who could save her from cider-related disgrace.
“Where’s your setup?” I asked.
Her whole face lit up. “Just past the kettle corn guy. I’m the table with the checkered cloth and corn stalks.”
I knew that. I’d helped her carry her tomatoes to her station, after all. Something about her scrambled my brainwaves.
“I brought mums too,” she said. “Deep orange, super pretty.”
“Do you have a cord?” I asked.
“I…no.” Her smile faltered. “I didn’t realize we had to bring those.”
I should’ve walked away. Should’ve told her I was busy. That she needed to take it up with event coordination. Instead, I sighed and tipped my head toward the power trailer behind my truck.
“Come on.”
Her shoes crunched on the gravel behind me, quick and light. She caught up just as I unlocked the back of the trailer and pulled out an extension cord and a three-way splitter.
“You’re really saving me,” she said. “I can’t believe I forgot something so basic. My mom’s going to laugh so hard when she hears. She’s always teasing me about being too scatterbrained to run a business.”
