Page 57 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
“Absolutely not,” she declares, but I can see the nervous excitement in her eyes.
At the top, a teenage farm hand hands us a “slide”—a simple plastic sheet with handles that increases speed on the hay. I position it at the edge and gesture for Emma to sit.
“Your chariot awaits, my lady.”
Emma laughs and settles between my legs, her back pressed against my chest, and I resist the urge to bury my face in her hair.
As I’m about to push off, we hear an insistent bleating from behind us.
“Maple,” I groan as I spot the white goat determinedly climbing the steps, shoving past waiting children with single-minded purpose. “Your fuzzy stalker has arrived.”
Maple makes a beeline for Emma, plopping herself directly onto her lap with a satisfied bleat.
“Maple! You can’t—” Emma starts, but it’s too late. The goat’s weight shifts us forward, and I quickly wrap my arms around Emma and Maple, holding the slide in place just as we tip over the edge.
We plummet down at alarming speed. Emma’s scream and Maple’s loud bleat pierce my eardrums as we hurtle downward.
We land in a heap at the bottom, hay flying everywhere, with Maple bleating triumphantly.
“That scream!” I say between fits of laughter. “Pretty sure they heard you all the way in the next county.”
She playfully elbows me in the ribs. “I did not scream that loud!”
“Oh, you absolutely did. Even Maple looked concerned for a second there. I might need to get my hearing checked.”
“It was Maple’s fault,” She protests, laughing, “She ambushed us!”
Speaking of the troublemaker, Maple is already charging back up the steps, pausing halfway to look back at us expectantly.
“I think she wants another go,” I say, my arms still wrapped comfortably around Emma.
“She’s incorrigible,” she says, watching as Maple bleats insistently, stomping one hoof as if to say ‘hurry up!’
I stand and offer Emma my hand, grinning as I pull her up.
“What do you say? Ready for round two?”
“Race you to the top!” she says, then bolts for the steps, and it takes me a beat to process before I run after her, our laughs echoing across the farm.
* * *
“Three times down the slide. I think you’re officially an expert now,” I tell her, plucking a piece of hay from her hair.
We’re laughing so hard my sides hurt. Emma’s cheeks are flushed pink with excitement. She looks happy, carefree, so unlike the guarded woman who first arrived at our farm.
My heart swells seeing her this way.
“That was amazing!” she says, breathless as she extracts herself from our tangled limbs.
“You know what? I just realized something terrible.”
Her smile falters. “What’s wrong?”
“You’ve been atHarvest Home Farmfor months and never been on a proper hayride.” I shake my head in mock dismay. “This is a serious oversight that needs immediate correction.”
“I’ve seen them running all day,” she says, looking toward the tractor pulling a wagon full of visitors.
“Those are the regular hayrides. What you need is the VIP experience.” I stand and offer my hand to help her up. “Meet me by the barn at sunset? I have a surprise for you.”
