Page 7 of Harvested By The Mountain Man
The train chugs along back toward the square, whistle echoing off the foothills of the Rockies. I keep my eyes on the track ahead, but my mind’s still twenty rows deep in the pumpkin patch. Her words replay in my head:It’s just the two of us.
I shouldn’t care. People come through here every fall with their stories. We host couples, families, busloads of kids on school trips. But her words hit different. Not just because of what she said, but how she said it. Like she wasn’t used to admitting it out loud. Like it cost her something to let me hear it.
The train shudders as it slows near the welcome square. Parents gather their bags, kids already begging for kettle corn or another ride. I help them unload, nodding, answering questions, doing what needs to be done. On the outside, it’s just another Saturday. Inside, I can’t shake the thought of her.
She and her little girl picked a pumpkin bigger than most kids could lift. I should’ve offered to follow them home, get it up on the porch. That’s what I wanted to do. But I can’t just walk away from the festival. Too many moving parts, too many people depending on me. It dawns on me – I can take care of this another way.
Kyle’s already back from lunch. I motion him over to me. “Kyle, this is Hannah and Ivy,” I tell him, pointing toward them struggling to gather their pumpkins. Grab the huge pumpkin Ivy picked out and put it somewhere safe. When they’re ready to leave the festival, I want you to follow them. Make sure the pumpkin gets carried up to their porch or wherever they want it placed. You hear me?”
He grins like I’ve given him a mission from God. “Got it, boss.”
I grunt. “Don’t be a fool about it. Just do the job, then come back here. And make sure you know the address.”
He nods, still grinning. I make the introduction to Hannah and let her know we’ll keep their pumpkins safe for the day. Also, I hand three free pumpkin tickets to Hannah and tell her, “They’re on the house.”
Hannah hesitates, her fingers brushing mine as she takes the tickets. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Already did. It’s part of the festival,” I say, my voice a tad stern. I’m not taking no for an answer.
Her mouth curves into a small smile, the kind that isn’t for show. “Well … thank you.”
Ivy pipes up, clutching her smaller pumpkin. “Mommy says thank you means more when you look someone in the eye.”
Hannah gives a mock gasp. “I did look him in the eye!” Then, she laughs heartily.
The little girl giggles, and I notice Hannah’s blush. I watch as Kyle carries the large pumpkin for them, I presume toher vehicle. Ivy and her beautiful mom lead the way with the medium and small pumpkin.
Her laugh still echoes in my ears as she walks away, hair catching the sun. The curve of her hips sway easy and unhurried, and damn if I don’t notice every line of her. In a crowd of festival-goers, voices calling, music drifting from the square, it’s her absence I feel most. Like the space she leaves behind pulls the air out of me. For a man surrounded by hundreds of people, I’ve never felt more alone.
My duty as train engineer pulls me back into the rhythm of the day. More families, more rides, and more smiles. But now, my wheels are turning faster than the ones under this train. I want to know everything I can find out about Hannah, like where she lives. How she takes her coffee. Whether her laugh sounds different when she isn’t guarding it.
Maybe later tonight, when the festival winds down and the crowd thins, I’ll have an excuse to drive by. Drop off a jug of leftover cider. Maybe some honey or bread from the stand. Nothing much. Just … something. Because Hannah may not know it yet, but I do. Meeting her today has changed something inside of me.
♥♥♥
Kyle reappears and waves me down a couple of hours later. “Pumpkin’s on their porch. Address is 562 Maple Street, blue duplex house with a swing out front.”
I nod, keeping my voice flat. “I appreciate you helping them. Good work.”
He heads off, already chasing another task. My brain goes into overdrive. 562 Maple – Blue house. Swing on the porch.
All around me, kids are shrieking for another ride, parents calling, music spilling from the bandstand. But my focus has narrowed to one place, one woman. The festival hasn’t sloweddown, yet somehow I feel like I’ve stepped out of it, like my whole world just shifted toward Maple Street.
Chapter 7
Hannah
Istand there for a moment, purse in my hand. Kyle hefts the giant pumpkin out of the back of the truck like it weighs no more than a bag of flour. I follow behind with the medium-sized one balanced against my hip, while Ivy toddles along proudly hugging her little pumpkin like it’s a new pet.
By the time we reach the porch, I’m out of breath and silently cursing myself for agreeing to Ivy’s pick.
“I knew we should’ve chosen pumpkins I could actually carry myself,” I mutter, setting mine down with a soft thud.
Kyle grins, his freckles bright against the late afternoon sun. “Happens all the time. People’s eyes are bigger than their arms.” He winks at Ivy. “Besides that one’s a champion pumpkin. Needed a champion lift.”
Ivy beams. “See, Mommy? I told you it was the best one!”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You win this time, kiddo.”
