Page 7 of Mountain Man's Flirty Farmgirl
My dad would’ve kicked my ass if I’d tried wishing on something. But Sienna didn’t need to hear my bummer of a life story. There was an innocence about her that I just did not want to corrupt. I wanted her to continue to believe in sunshine and rainbows if it made her happy.
Whatever made Sienna happy. Suddenly, that was all that mattered to me.
“So, what exactly are you wishing for?” I asked, hoping to shift the subject away from my stargazing habits.
“Crops. My folks are struggling. They may have to sell the property if things don’t pick up soon.”
She exhaled. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been traveling around to different farmers markets since the spring, just trying to bring in some revenue.”
I examined the dots in the sky above us, tracing their patterns like it was a puzzle I was solving. Connect the dots. We played that game a few times when I was a kid. At school, not at home. There were no games in my childhood home.
“It’s the only home I’ve ever known,” Sienna said.
It took me a second to realize she was still talking about her family farm. My thoughts had drifted to my own childhood home, so I was confused for a second, but I quickly figured it out.
“So, you’re wishing for crops to grow?”
“Or for big sales this week,” she said. “Last week was a bust. I was in a small town…” She sighed. “I guess they didn’t advertise the event at all. A few people showed up, and nobody was buying. I ended up practically giving away some items by the time it came to an end. They were going bad anyway.”
“That sucks,” I said. “We’re a pretty small town too, though.”
“Yeah, but I’m already seeing more people today than I did all last week put together. Someone did a good job advertising.”
I had no idea who that “someone” would be. Maybe Bobbi, who owned the inn and the pancake restaurant next to it.
I glanced over at Sienna, lit faintly by the moonlight, her arms folded behind her head and her long legs stretched out in front of her. She looked peaceful. Comfortable. Like she belonged in this exact moment.
“So,” I said, keeping my voice low. “You’ve lived on that farm your whole life?”
She nodded. “Every single year since I was born. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
I stayed quiet, but something about that hit harder than I expected. I didn’t like it. Didn’t like the twist in my gut. Like maybe I was hoping she’d say she was looking for somewhere new. Like maybe I wanted her to stay in Wildwood Valley.
That was absurd. I didn’t even know her.
But maybe I did.
“I mean, I’ve traveled,” she said. “I’ve been outside my hometown. Nothing big. No trips to Europe or anything. But I’ve been all around Tennessee, Kentucky, Alabama. Even hit Georgia a few times. But I always go home. Always.”
“You ever think about not going back?”
She turned her head toward me. “Sometimes. Lately more than ever. But it’s hard to imagine. That land…it’s more than just property. It’s my whole identity.”
“Must be nice,” I said, my tone more bitter than I meant it to be. “To have something like that.”
She nodded. “It is. But it’s not always easy. We didn’t have money growing up, so we all pitched in. I was out in the fields before I was tall enough to reach the bottom branch of a peach tree. And once I could run a stand at the market, I did that too. Early mornings, late nights. No sleepovers. No football games. No homecoming dances.”
She laughed a little, but there wasn’t much humor in it.
“I’ve missed out on a lot,” she said. “Still missing out, honestly.”
I looked at her again, her expression open and thoughtful. “That’s hard to believe.”
She smiled, then looked up at the stars. “You ever feel like you’re just a little too safe? Like you played everything right, but still ended up with an incomplete life?”
I didn’t answer. Because yeah, I did.
“I’ve never done anything reckless,” she said. “Nothing wild or crazy or off-script. And sometimes I wonder what it’d feel like to let go.”
