Page 13 of Harvested By The Mountain Man
“Okay. We’ll do the small one and the medium one. But the big one?” I glance out the window where it sits oversized on the porch. “That one might be more than we can handle.”
Ivy doesn’t miss a beat. “Maybe we could get Levi to help. He’s pretty strong and besides, he knows all about pumpkins and trains.” She kicks her legs faster, like the idea alone charges her with energy. “You have to ask him. You promised we’d make the best jack-o’-lanterns on the street.”
Her words land like a pebble dropped into still water, ripples spreading outward until they bump against every wall I’ve built. Levi’s number waits on my nightstand. His voice waits in my memory.
“We’ll see. Maybe we’ll manage to carve it just fine on our own.”
Ivy just shrugs, unconcerned, like she knows something I don’t. “He likes us,” she says simply, spoon clinking against the bowl. “You’ll see.”
I watch her for a moment, the innocence in her eyes mixing with a certainty that makes my heart ache. Kids don’t overthink things. They just trust what feels good and true. They believe the fairytales and yes, they’ll even believe lies. If only it were that simple for me.
♥♥♥
Millie’s Mountain Café is alive with Monday noise. The espresso machine hisses behind the counter, dishes clatter in the sink, and the rhythm of conversation rises and falls. I tie my apron tighter and slide another tray of rolls onto the cooling rack. Cinnamon and sugar hang in the air, sticky sweet and warm, clinging to my skin like perfume.
“Smells like you’re trying to kill us all, Hannah,” Millie says, poking her head into the kitchen for a moment. “Those rolls won’t make us famous, unfortunately … but they do add a lot of the bottom line. You’re an expert at them.”
“Thanks, Millie. It seems to be a favorite,” I say, dusting flour from my apron. “Mrs. Harkins ordered a dozen for her church meeting on Wednesday evening.”
“Mm-hmm.” Millie sets down the pot long enough to rest her hands on her hips. She’s older, hair pinned up in a bun thatsomehow never comes loose, sharp eyes softened by laugh lines. “You’ve been glowing all morning. Have a good weekend?”
“Ivy and I went to the Harvest Festival out at this ranch.”
“Ah, the popular Stone Valley Ranch,” Millie says, leaning against the counter like she’s about to settle in for a story. “How was it?”
I can’t help a smile. “Ivy loved it. We rode the train, picked pumpkins. She begged for kettle corn, of course.” I set the icing knife aside, glance at Millie, then back to the cinnamon rolls. “We also ended up with the world’s largest pumpkin. Bigger than our porch. I told her our arms were no match for it.”
Millie chuckles, pinching off a corner of one roll that didn’t form right. “So how’d you get it home?”
I try to sound casual, but the words feel heavier than they should. “The guy who runs the place – Levi. He arranged for one of his employees to follow us and drive it over. Left it right on the porch. Now it looks like we’re hosting the county fair on Maple Street.”
Millie’s brows rise. “Levi Rowe, huh? Heard he’s running that ranch single-handed since his aunt and uncle left it to him. He seems like a solid guy. Keeps to himself mostly. Must be busy with a huge place like that.”
“Seems that way,” I say, finishing the icing on the batch.
“Okay, I can’t resist. Give me the rest of that messed up roll,” Millie demands, a sly tilt to her mouth. “Funny how you forgot to mention him first. Your eyes light up a little when you talk about him”
I roll my eyes, but heat creeps into my cheeks anyway. “It’s nothing. Just … he was helpful.”
“Helpful’s a start,” Millie says, patting my arm. “Don’t go writing it off too quickly.”
Before I can answer, she flies out of the kitchen as fast as she flew in.
Millie’s words echo:Helpful’s a start. Maybe so. But a start can be dangerous and risky, even if it feels like something good.
Chapter 12
Levi
That pumpkin has been in my head all damn morning. I can see it plain as day, sitting on her porch like a huge boulder. Ivy will want it carved. No kid in the world looks at a prize winner like that and doesn’t dream of a jack-o’-lantern taller than themselves. Hannah won’t manage it alone, and she knows it. God, I wish she’d just call.
I work the ranch like usual … placing orders, fixing a stubborn valve on the irrigation system, hauling feed. But every task feels slower, my mind split in two. Half on the work, half on her. By mid-morning, I’m pacing the supply shed, phone in my pocket burning a hole like it wants to be used. I realize I don’t even know her phone number … only where she lives.
I never asked Hannah where she works – if she works. Seems like I would have collected more information last night, but I could tell she was guarded with me. I didn’t want tooverwhelm her. I put myself out there. Told her to call if she needed me. If I push again, I risk crowding her. She’s not ready for that.
So I force myself to lay low. Let her be the one to reach out. It’s the hardest damn thing I’ve done in years.
The day drags on. I check fences, talk to vendors about the next weekend rush, nod through conversations I barely hear. Every free second, my thoughts circle back to a Hannah and her cautious, yet beautiful, smile.
