Page 3 of Hayrides with Hank
“I’ve got it,” she said through gritted teeth, wobbling slightly as she tried to line up the hanging hardware.
That was it. I stepped forward and steadied the chair with one hand, reaching up with the other.
“Hand it down,” I said. “I’m a foot taller than you.”
She looked down at me, and for a second I thought she might argue. Then she sighed and carefully passed the bear down to me.
“Fine,” she said. “But I could have managed.”
“I know you could have.” I hung the piece easily, making sure it was level. “Doesn’t mean you should have to.”
She climbed down, studying the bear’s placement with a critical eye. “A little to the left.”
I adjusted it. “Better?”
“Perfect.” She turned to me with a smile that made my heart skip. “Thank you.”
For the next hour, we worked side by side, setting up her booth. She had an impressive collection—garden sculptures, wind chimes, and decorative panels. All were crafted from metalwith an artistic eye that surprised me. Each piece was unique and beautiful in its own way.
“These are incredible,” I said, hanging a delicate butterfly wind chime. “You make all of these?”
“Every single one.” There was pride in her voice. “I’ve got a portable forge in my RV. Not much, but it gets the job done.”
“RV?”
“Home sweet home.” She gestured vaguely toward the road. “Parked behind the festival, with all the other RVs. I travel the circuit, selling my stuff—spring through fall, anyway.”
“What do you do in winter?”
“After the Christmas craft fairs, I find somewhere warm and make inventory for the next season. Arizona, usually. Sometimes Florida.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, but I couldn’t imagine that kind of rootless existence. “What about you? Born and raised here?”
“Born, yes. Raised, mostly.” I handed her a small owl sculpture to position on her display table. “Did four years in the Navy after high school, but I came back. This place gets in your blood. My brother Beckett feels the same way. He's the county fire marshal now. He keeps us all in line with his safety regulations and smart mouth."
They said when the leaves fall in Maple Ridge, the mountain men fall too. I'd heard that saying my whole life, never thinking much of it. But standing here with Maddie, watching the way the autumn light caught in her hair, I was starting to understand what it meant.
“And you work for Jackson’s Orchard?”
“Part-time. I’ve got my own business too—tree removal, land clearing, that kind of thing. But during festival season, I help out with the hayrides and setup.” I paused, watching her arrange a set of metal flowers. “The festival’s been huge forthe community. Brings in tourism, helps the local businesses. Everyone benefits.”
“Including you?”
“Including me.” I caught her eye. “Especially this year.”
She blushed, and I felt like I’d won something important.
We worked in comfortable rhythm after that, talking easily about her travels, my work, the beauty of the mountains in fall. She was easy to talk to, funny and smart, with stories from the road that made me laugh. By the time her booth was fully set up, I didn’t want the morning to end.
“Looks good,” she said, stepping back to survey our work.
“It does.” I took a breath, knowing this was my shot. “Hey, if you don’t have plans, I’d love to treat you to dinner tonight. After the market closes.”
She studied me for a long moment, and I held my breath. Finally, she asked, “Are you asking me on a date, Hank?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Pick me up at seven?”
“I’ll be there.” I grinned, feeling like I could lift one of her metal bears over my head in triumph. “It’s a date.”
