“It’s beautiful,” she says looking out at all the tall trees.
“Yes, it is.” She looks back and me before dropping her gaze to her lap. That pink creeps across her cheeks again.
We ride for another hour or so before we stop. It’s completely dark now but that’s the fun of the hayride. I hope she likes the next part just as much.
“Why are we stopping?” she asks me.
“To pick our pumpkins, of course.”
“We’re picking pumpkins?” she asks. Her expression is bright with excitement and I can’t help but wonder how many times she got to pick a pumpkin in her life. I’m glad I got to give that to her too.
“Well, what else are we going to carve into jack-o’-lanterns tomorrow afternoon?”
“I’ve never done that before,” she whispers and my heart clenches for the woman who didn’t get a chance to do kid things.
“Well, I’m happy to be your first,” I say, winking at her. Apparently, the move startles her because she stumbles before she falls off of the back of the wagon.
“Eeek!” she shrieks.
“Abby! Are you okay?” I shout as I jump from the wagon, but she’s popping right back up, dusting hay and dirt from her fantastic ass. This girl should be put in a bubble she’s so accident prone.
“I’m good, I’m good,” she laughs. “Not let’s find me a pumpkin!”
“Good, baby,” I say so softly that only she can heart it. “Then let’s find you a pumpkin.”
Abigail races down the neatly planted rows of pumpkins—and I follow her like a lost puppy—until she finds the mother of all gourds. It has to be a sixty-pound pumpkin. Her broad smile stretches clear across her face. She’s so proud of her find I know I’m going home with this big ass pumpkin and a smile on my face. I would buy her the moon if it made her smile like that.
“Great work, Charlie Brown,” I laugh as I pull my folding knife from my pocket and cut her pumpkin away from the vine.
“What?” she asks, the confusion is clearly painted across her beautiful face and I stare at her for a minute. Who hasn’t seen The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown? The Answer is Abigail.
“I’m adding a movie to our pumpkin carving tomorrow,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she answers.
We climb back into the wagon, this time with our massive pumpkin. I set it on the floor of the wagon at our feet and pull the blanket back up over our laps. Abby sits just a little bit closer to me on the ride back to the front of the orchard and it’s everything. Her thigh ever so gently brushes mine with every little bump or dip the wagon hits. She shivers in the crisp, night air. I’ll take every little step that she’s willing to give me. Her trust in me is everything.
“Are you cold?” I ask her.
“Just a little,” she says. “But I’m okay.”
“Here, take my jacket,” I offer as I slide the old canvas jacket down my arms and wrap it around her. I have to say, I love the look of her bundled up in my coat.
“Thank you,” she says softly as we enjoy the rest of the ride around the orchard in the cool, night air. The stars are out and it’s a beautiful night—but not as beautiful as Abigail.
We pull back into the front of the orchard and I carry our pumpkin to the back of the wagon. I have to set it down before jumping down myself. I reach out for Abigail and place her gently on the ground, giving her a little hug before I release her and then I turn and grab our bounty.
I walk her to the truck and stop and set her pumpkin down before pulling the keys from my pocket and unlocking the door. I pull it open and help her inside. When Abby looks at me, I wink making her blush again, before closing the door softly behind her. Then I load up our big, orange buddy in the back seat before running around to the driver’s side and jumping in.
I drive Abby back to the hotel debating the entire time if I should try and kiss her at the door. I really want to kiss her. One little kiss won’t be so bad, right?
I shouldn’t have worried because as soon as I pulled into the parking lot of the motel, Abigail jumps out running for the motel. I’m not even sure the truck had stopped moving before she hurled herself out.
Shit.
I put it in park and climb out, following her up the stairs. My long legs easily catching up to her even though her short legs are working double time.
“Was the date so bad you had to run away?” I ask softly.
“No,” she sighs. “It was perfect. Story book perfect.”
“Then why did you run?” I ask.
“Because you scare me,” she says. “I don’t want to want you.”
“But you do?” I ask her, my voice husky. “Want me, that is?”
“Yeah,” she says, and she sounds so forlorn.
“I swear to you, Abigail, that you can trust me. I won’t hurt you.”
“I know,” she says, and her words burn through my chest and light a fire in me. I land my mouth on hers for a fast, hard kiss.
Abigail blossoms underneath me letting out a beautiful little moan as she opens up for me. I lick into her mouth eager to taste her but I remind myself the Abby needs slow as much as my dick and I want full speed ahead. Her tongue meets mine in a hesitant but soul blistering kiss. When I pull back from her we’re both panting to catch our breath. I lean in a kiss her forehead, her eyes tipping closed as I do. She has the sweetest responses. This woman could easily take me to my knees in the forever and always kind of a way if I’m not careful. There are some decisions to be made here.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Abby,” I tell her. “I’ll pick you up at noon.”
“I’ll see you then, Tanner,” she says before slipping through the door and I want to fist pump I’m so happy. Whether she wants to or not, Abigail knows that she can trust me.
Until tomorrow, Abigail Williams. Until tomorrow.
Chapter 8
Abigail
“REALLY REACH IN THERE,” TANNER tells me. “Don’t be afraid to go elbows deep.”
I stand there wide-eyed. If you had told me before how disgusting pumpkin carving really is, I would have passed on this excursion. Or if you’d have told me last night when I found the biggest pumpkin of all times and was riding that high that it would be full of sixty pounds of pumpkin guts and seeds I would have also had to pass. Hard pass.
Last night I floated to sleep on the wings of the very best date I had ever had—not that I’ve had so many great ones. But none compared to the orchard with Tanner. It was straight out of a romance novel.
This morning, I woke up feeling like Cinder-freaking-ella with the singing birds and everything knowing that I was going to have another great day with Tanner. I got up and had a bowl of cereal and then showered and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, my sneakers and a sweatshirt. I had dried my hair and twisted it up into a messy bun on top of my head before dabbing a little makeup on my face. I want to be pretty for Tanner but not too pretty like I’m trying too hard. Just . . . pretty.
Tanner arrived at exactly noon. Got to love a man who acts like not only his time but your time is important. He escorted me down to his truck and then drove me to his home, a modest one story on the opposite end of town from the motel. It’s gorgeous but not in an in your face kind of a way. More of a ‘I could see myself helping to prepare Sunday barbeques in the backyard while the kids played’ kind of a way. It was the kind of vision that makes you want things you know you can’t have. Or at least it makes me want things I know I can’t have or shouldn’t want.
When we walked into the kitchen, he had the table covered with old newspapers and our pumpkin, Big Bertha, right smack dab in the middle.
“Roll up your sleeves, darlin’, and we’ll get to work,” he tells me before he cut the huge top off and then told me to dive in.
“You want me to what?” I asked.
“Stick your hand in there and scoop out the good stuff,” he laughs. “Seeds go in this bowl of water here and guts go in the big empty bowl over here.”
“Because the seeds are delicious roasted, and the guts make great things like pie and bread.”
“I’m not sure those great things are so good for my ass,” I say off hand as I scoop out more guts. Tanner leans back and gets an obvious, but favorable view of my backside.
“I’m not so sure anything could be bad for that ass.”
“Thank you, I think.” I shrug.
“Oh, that was most definitely a compliment,” he says, grinning. I sigh and roll my eyes which just makes him chuckle.
Once we’ve cleaned the pumpkin and wipe it down, we let it set for a moment while we eat turkey sandwiches for lunch that Tanner made himself. I can’t remember the last time someone made me a sandwich.
“Well, what would you like to put on our pumpkin?” he asks me. “A face? A cat? A pirate ship?”
“You can do a pirate ship?” I ask him, amazed.
“You can put anything on a pumpkin if you’re creative enough,” he says, smiling at me.
“I think I want a face,” I tell Tanner. “Like the normal jack-o’-lantern face.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he says as he grabs a couple of pens from a desk drawer and hands one to me. Together we start drawing the face that we’ll cut out.
I laugh the entire time we work on our pumpkin. Tanner has the ability to make me feel carefree when that is definitely not the case. He has a relaxed manner about him that puts me at ease and a quiet strength that makes me feel safe. Not that I need to feel safe anymore, Brandon is dead.
“Alright, let’s put him on the porch now,” he tells me as he picks up our pumpkin and heads for the front of the house. I quietly follow behind him.
I pull open the front door for Tanner since his hands are full of our sixty-pounder and he smiles his thanks to me. Once outside, he places our jack-o’-lantern in a place of pride before pulling an LED tea light from his pocket and turning it on, lighting up my very first carved pumpkin.
We stand back for a moment to appreciate our hard work. I feel the heat of his gaze on my face and when I turn to look at him, Tanner is looking at me, not the pumpkin.
“You have a little . . .” He gestures to my face as he brings his hands up to frame my face and gently wipe away a little stray pumpkin.
His eyes burn with something I haven’t seen in a long time. I should turn away, run home to my safe, little motel room, but I can’t. I want this, this tiny little sliver of time where I get to be a normal girl with a normal guy on a great date.
Just as his lips touch mine, lights flash across our faces.
“Oh shit,” he says under his breath, his nose still brushing mine.
“What?” I ask. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing to worry about, darlin’.” He shakes his head and chuckles under his breath. “It’s just my mom.”
His mom?
A car door slams and then a beautiful woman, probably in her mid-fifties with long black hair streaked with silver and the same bright hazel eyes and copper skin as Tanner—no doubt she’s his mother—steps out onto the driveway. She’s gorgeous. We should all be so lucky when we’re fifty.
“Hi, Mama,” Tanner says softly. “What brings you by?” he asks with laughter in his voice and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Hello, Son,” she laughs back. “Oh, you know, I was in the neighborhood.”
“Sure, you were,” he responds.
“And you called and asked for my recipe for toasted pumpkin seeds, so I figured I would come and stop by and make sure that you had all the seasonings in your kitchen.”
“And Mrs. Jennings called you first thing this morning to tell you that I had a date with me at the hayride last night.” He smiles indulgently at his mother.
“There is that too,” she says, smiling back. “So, are you going to introduce me?” she asks as she bounces on the balls of her feet, apparently eager to meet me.
“Mom, this is Abigail,” he tells her before turning to me. “Abby, this is my mom.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I tell her.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says to me, her voice is soft and gentle and I think she might mean it. “And please call me Edna. That’s a lovely pumpkin, kids.”
Together we all walk inside and head back into the kitchen where Tanner’s mom sees the massive amount of pumpkin seeds we have washed and dried. She starts pulling spice jars out of her purse that is so huge it kind of reminds me of the carpetbag Mary Poppins carried.
“You’ve done a lovely job, sweethearts,” she praises. She reminds me of my own mom when I was young, before things went bad, and she had the chance to be a wonderful mom. “Now, let’s spice these babies up. Tanner, preheat the oven.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says as he moves to the oven to do just that.
Together we work to prep the pumpkin seeds and then toast them in the oven. Truth be told, it was a lot of fun. Once the task was done, Tanner’s mom, Edna, breezes out the same way she came in.
“It was lovely spending the afternoon with you, sweetheart,” she says to me as she wraps her arms around me in a big hug. “Thank you for letting an old woman have some fun this afternoon and it’s nice to see my boy too.”
“I had fun too,” I tell her.
“Don’t be a stranger.” She winks at me. There’s a twinkle in her eye. She’s up to something and the look of mischief makes her even more gorgeous.
“I won’t,” I say quietly not sure what to do with being welcomed so openly. I’ve never felt wanted before and both this beautiful woman and her handsome son have done just that.
“I love you, my son,” she says as Tanner wraps her up in his strong arms. “Don’t mess this up.”
“I love you too, Mama.”
“I like her,” she whispers, but I can still hear her and have to bite my lip to hold back the smile. “Bring her to dinner this week to meet Dad.”
“Mom,” he says.
“What? We’re family,” she tosses back. “She has to meet us sometime.”
“The second date is not usually that time, Mom,” he laughs.
“So, we do things a little different.” She winks. “This one is different.”
“She is,” he says seriously.
When she climbs in her car, Tanner and I stand side by side and watch her drive off. “I should probably get home,” I tell him. “I have an early morning.”
“Then I should probably get you home,” he says before pulling the keys from his pocket and locking up his house.
The drive from Tanner’s house to the motel is quiet, but comfortable. I like that we don’t have to fill the void with nervous chatter. We can just be in the same space together. He pulls into the lot and parks his truck.
“Wait right there,” he says before jumping from the truck and walking around to my side where he pulls my door open and helps me down. His hands on my waist burn hot through my sweatshirt in the cold night air.
“Thank you,” I say to him. “For everything.”
“You’re most welcome.”
Tanner walks me up the stairs and to my room. I pull my ancient metal key from my jeans pocket but before I can turn to open the door, he wraps his arms around me and pulls my body flush with his. I gasp when his mouth hits mine and it’s the opening he needs to lick inside.
His tongue meets mine and I grab him by the front of his shirt and kiss him back with all I’ve got. There’s something about Tanner that I just can’t seem to walk away from. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, he can because he breaks the kiss dropping his forehead to mine, our breaths choppy and harsh.
“I’m gonna head on home before this goes too far too fast, darlin’,
” he tells me.
“Oh, okay.”
“But I’ll stop by the cafe tomorrow,” he tells me.
“Okay.”
“And we’ll go to dinner at my parents on Thursday night,” he says.
“Okay.” Wait, what? I can tell he can see my brain trying to work through the fog that’s left behind after he kissed me stupid because he smiles at me like I just agreed and there is no taking it back. And I did!
“And then we’ll go to the football game on Friday night. Dress warm, it’s supposed to be chilly.” And with that he’s running down the stairs so that I can’t say no, that cheater.
I unlock the door to my room and step inside, nearly tripping over my other two pairs of shoes that I brought with me. They’re lined up in a neat little row by the door. I take a moment to look at the shoes and frown.
Brandon always wanted shoes lined up in neat little rows like this. No shoes were allowed on the carpet of his house. After he died, I had started wearing my shoes whenever I felt like it and leaving them where the mood struck me, so to see that I must have reverted back to old habits does not make me feel good.
I kick the row of shoes with my sneaker clad foot sending them all flying. That makes me relax a bit but I have to remind myself that Brandon is dead, he can’t hurt me anymore. On that thought, I ready myself for bed and fall into a dreamless sleep having just had a great second date with Tanner.
Chapter 9
Abigail
“I’M SO SORRY WE’RE LATE,” I say to Tanner’s parents as they usher us into their home. “I couldn’t find my keys anywhere.” I still have no idea where I left them. Which is so weird because usually I set them in the exact same spot every time. I’m a creature of habit like that.
“That’s quite alright, sweet girl,” Tanner’s dad tells me. He’s as big and burly as Tanner but with light skin, blue eyes and red hair. He has that same way about him that makes me feel comfortable—safe even—that his son does. “Everyone has those kinds of days.”
Church Bells Page 4
