Page 8 of Harvested By The Mountain Man
Kyle sets the huge pumpkin on the porch to the side. He straightens, brushing dirt from his hands. “All taken care of. Enjoy your pumpkin patch trophy.”
“Thank you, Kyle. Really!”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Part of the job. You and Ivy have a good night.” And with a little wave, he hops back down the steps and disappears toward his truck.
Ivy plops cross-legged beside the pumpkins, already chattering about how hers will have triangle eyes and a big toothy grin. I let her talk while I unlock the door, then usher her inside and set our jackets over the chair. The house smells faintly of cinnamon from the candle I lit this morning. Immediately, it makes me wonder what I’ll make for dinner.
I busy myself in the kitchen, pulling out chicken and noodles for dinner. The ordinary rhythm of boiling water and chopping vegetables usually calms me, but not tonight. Not with my mind circling back to him.
Levi … the big, broad-shouldered train engineer, almost too large for that little cab he guided so easily. His voice is an imprint in my mind – the timbre low and deep. I felt something just in the brief touch of my fingers brushing his huge hand when he gave me those tickets.
I catch myself smiling into the steam rising from the pot, and I hate it. This is dangerous ground. I’ve been here before – letting myself lean into the warmth of a man’s attention, only to discover it was false, built on lies, and fleeting as the steam rising from this pot.
Jake had been such a let-down. I thought we’d build a life together. He promised forever. But it all collapsed one morning with four words: I’m leaving for her. He packed up, drove five states away, and never once looked back.
The anger still stings, but it’s the betrayal that haunts me most. Not just of me, but of Ivy. He left her without so much as a backward glance, no bedtime stories, no pumpkin patch, nothing. Every time she asks what happened to her daddy, my chest caves in a little more.
I grip the wooden spoon tighter, forcing air into my lungs. I can’t risk that again. Not for me, not for her.
I step into the living room and watch Ivy drawing pumpkins on scrap paper, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth in concentration. Through the window, the giant pumpkin sits proud on the porch, glowing orange in the fading light like some ridiculous gift we don’t deserve.
Levi put that there. Not with his own hands, maybe, but with his generosity. He didn’t have to. That’s what scares me most. It wasn’t duty. It was a choice.
“Mommy?” Ivy looks up suddenly, her crayon paused mid-line. “Do you think the train man will come see our pumpkin?”
I force a laugh, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.
“He’s busy running the festival, honey. He’s got a lot on his plate.”
She nods, satisfied, and goes back to her drawing.
That’s when I notice my throat feels tight and my mind a little hopeful. The truth is, I want him to. I want him to knock on that door, to see the pumpkin glowing there, to prove me wrong about men and the way they always leave.
I almost want to smack myself. I don’t believe in fairy tales anymore!
Chapter 8
Levi
Ishould stay focused on closing activities for the festival. I need to make sure everything is working smoothly with the train for tomorrow. Many of the teens working here like to skip out right away and resist all the clean-up and prep that must be done. But, I’m having trouble. My thoughts are restless, circling Hannah like a teenage boy with a crush – except I don’t even have her number, just her address.
Every spare thought comes back to Hannah and Ivy. That little girl who looked at me like I was more than just the train man. Her eyes were bright and excited for me to help, like I was a hero.
By the time the sun dips low, I’m a restless mess. Every instinct screams at me to climb in the truck and go to Maple Street. I could just drive by. Just see that pumpkin sitting ontheir porch, proof they got home safe. Proof that today actually happened.
Here comes the other voice cutting in. The one that reminds me I’d look like a damn stalker showing up uninvited. Hannah doesn’t know me. Not really. For all she knows, I’m just some stranger who runs the pumpkin patch.
I pace the platform after the last ride, muscles tight, jaw clenched. I want to see them again. I need to, but I can’t spook her. She’s probably the kind of woman who’s had to do it all on her own. I could read it in her eyes, in the way she squared her shoulders like she carried more than the weight of pumpkins. If I show up too soon, too eager, she might shut me out before I ever get close.
So I make myself stay put. Saturday night passes with me working late, checking stock, fixing a bent latch on the ticket booth door, anything to burn off the restless energy. Perhaps, they’ll come back again tomorrow. Maybe she’ll bring Ivy back for another ride. Maybe fate will do me a favor.
But Sunday comes and goes, and though the ranch fills with crowds of people, Hannah and Ivy aren’t among them. I scan the faces until my eyes ache, waiting for a glimpse of her hair, her smile, the little one clutching a another pumpkin. Nothing.
By the time the last whistle blows and the final families filter out, I’m done pretending she might show. The festival’s over. The crowds are gone and one good thing is now, I’m free.
I purchase some things from the vendors … half a jug of cider, a loaf of peach bread, and a jar of honey. Nothing fancy. Just enough to pass as a neighborly gesture instead of what it really is – an excuse.
Climbing into my truck, my head tells me I should let it go. That this is foolish, reckless, maybe even selfish. But somethingelse inside nags me loud and clear, saying ‘just go’. The truth is, I can’t not go.
