Pumpkin King Read online

  Pumpkin King

  Abby Knox

  Copyright © 2020 by Abby Knox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Proofread by Red Pen Princess

  Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations

  Contents

  Pumpkin King

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Abby Knox

  Snowplowed

  This story is dedicated to everyone who’s ever had to start over. You’re a badass. Keep going.

  Pumpkin King

  Opening a new pumpkin patch in a small town seems like a sensible move for Henry, who wants nothing more than to live a simple, stable life. When he impulsively complicates everything by offering a job to cute single mom Jane, he realizes he's got a lot more work to do: both on the farm, and on his finessing his new employee.

  Jane has moved back to her hometown to start over, hoping a change of scenery and proximity to her best friend, Rocket, will provide the stability she wants for her daughter and for herself. The last thing she needs is a man, least of all one who’s her boss. If only he’d stop being so attractive in that sweaty shirt … and smelling so good … and looking at her like that, she might be able to concentrate on her work.

  Come along for some good old-fashioned autumn fun with Henry and Jane, and stay for the not-so-wholesome pumpkin patch shenanigans. Don’t worry. Henry’s gourds are extremely sturdy.

  This book is intended for readers 18 and over due to graphic sexual content.

  Chapter One

  Jane

  Toddlers are the ultimate cock block.

  Wait. Is it a cock block if a toddler prevents a woman’s attempt to procure a man’s phone number? Or is that technically a cooch block?

  Whichever it is, I have Sarah, my angel-faced, mop-haired 14-month-old daughter to thank for making sure I don’t get any contact information from the incredibly hot guy we meet at the fair.

  Picking up dudes while I’m out with my daughter is not my normal M.O., especially when I’m packed into a beauty pageant audience in support of my best friend, Rocket. It’s not that I wouldn’t talk to these somewhat intense people, it’s just that most of them are super invested in the outcome and not interested in making small talk with strangers.

  My first impression when seeing a young-ish guy alone, eating snacks and observing a beauty pageant, is maybe he’s a little bit of a creep. I mean, this is the section reserved for friends and family of the contestants. I’ve attended half a dozen of these to support Rocket, and I’ve never seen that guy before.

  He doesn’t give off creep vibes, though. I amuse myself with the most likely answer to why he’s sitting in the reserved section: he just needed a convenient spot to sit and eat his fair food, and the reserved section is never too crowded with people.

  I’m not about to rat him out. He seems way more into that corn on the cob than he is the beauty pageant. Besides, he’s very cute. So, Sarah and I sit near the corn eater, because why not? He seems…interesting and different.

  Different from Carl, Sarah’s biological dad. Very different.

  I’ve always believed babies are an excellent judge of character, and Sarah immediately begins babbling at the man as soon as we take the empty seats next to him. She grows even more excited when he leaves and comes back with a funnel cake. Sure, she might be fascinated by the way he devours that sweet monstrosity, licking the powdered sugar off his fingers, but I see the way he playfully side-eyes her while he eats his food.

  “I hate to eat sweets in front of a hungry baby, but I also don’t feel so good about tearing off a piece for her with my grubby fingers,” he says.

  I appreciate this. It’s shocking to me how some strangers think they can offer candy or food to babies and toddlers, completely unaware of choking hazards or germs.

  The man gets up and comes back with a small funnel cake for her—with my permission—thoughtfully cut up into bite-size pieces. He’s a god to my little monster after that.

  For a second I think he’s bought himself a second adult-sized funnel cake, but then he holds it out to me. “And one for you,” he says with a wink.

  The truth is, funnel cakes are not my favorite. Give me kettle corn any day of the week, if we’re ranking fair food. But I take it, and I nibble on it, enjoying the sugar rush and grateful for his thoughtfulness. Sometimes I feel a little invisible with all of the attention that a toddler requires.

  Throughout this humid day at the pageant, Sarah’s new hero keeps my kid entertained but always checks in with me to make sure I’m cool with him talking to her. The checking-in part makes my soul want to cry from happiness. If he only knew how refreshing it is; too many people feel entitled to the attention of a cute kid.

  I don’t usually find myself physically attracted to country guys, but Henry, as he introduced himself, has a certain laid-back aura and an easy smile that engages without trying to actively charm me. After everything I’ve been through since Sarah was conceived, charm doesn’t work on me anymore.

  What touches me is Henry’s open enjoyment of our company. Surely he has things he’d rather be doing at the state fair than talking to me and entertaining a toddler. Tractor pulls. Concerts. The butter sculpture. A whole exhibit dedicated to potatoes that look like faces. But what does he do? He runs off to the midway games and comes back ten minutes later with a stuffed unicorn for Sarah.

  “How in the world did you manage that so quickly?” I ask. “Those games are rigged!”

  Henry’s large hands, chafed and calloused from hard work, mimic a tossing motion and he says, “It’s all in the wrist.” I’m pretty sure he paid off the ring-toss guy, but I don’t question it. That unicorn buys me another hour with a happy toddler.

  It occurs to me that this man, in the span of a few hours, has spent more time interacting with this child than the child’s biological father. And that right there is why I never questioned my decision to omit Carl’s name on the birth certificate.

  Just when I’m trying to decide if I want to ask for Henry’s phone number, and just when I think he’s looking at me like he might ask for mine, drama happens. Because of course, it does. Rocket texts me from backstage with some shocking news. Around the same time, Henry’s friend—who, it turns out, is one of the pageant judges—needs help with a low-key investigation of some contestant shenanigans.

  When he has to leave to go question the stage crew, I offer to help by tracking down some contacts. “Perfect,” he says, shooting me his contact info. I love it that he’s leaving the ball in my court.

  Before leaving, he looks me right in the eye and, with
an intensity he hadn’t shown before, says, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  I believe him. I try to stay put. I really do. But Sarah is about to lose it in this heat and then has a massive blowout from all the fair food, rendering me done with this day. Using the public bathroom changing table, I refuse to buckle her in; those straps are not the cleanest, so I hand her my phone to play with while I change her diaper.

  I realize too late that I’ve left my phone screen unlocked. After she’s changed, I try to get my phone away from her, but she screams. A toddler screaming in a public place on a hot day is my limit. We’re leaving.

  I wrestle her into the stroller, both of us nearly in tears because she’s doing that back-arching move that makes it almost impossible to strap her in. And then, like magic, she sees my tears, softens her posture, and lets me clip her in. She hands me my phone and I dig the unicorn out of the diaper bag for her to snuggle on the way back to the car.

  It’s then when I look down at my phone that I realize something terrible has happened. Her sweet, dimpled fingers have erased all my contacts. I can’t be angry at her, but I want to explode. So, I take a deep breath, and simply refuse to process what has happened until later.

  I get Sarah into the car and, mercifully, she falls asleep on the drive home, which gives me time to think.

  All is not lost. Rocket will understand why I couldn’t stay; I can text her when we get home, as I have her number memorized.

  As for Henry? He told me he’s a pumpkin farmer, and his pumpkin patch and corn maze will be opening in a few weeks in a town not far from where we live. A more perfect excuse to bump into him again, I could not have thought up myself.

  Between trying to find a job in a new town and caring for the little munchkin, it’s not like I have time to be subtle with a potential gentleman caller.

  My phone rings on the way back to the apartment and my spirits rise for a moment. See, Jane? People will call you and they can be added back into your contacts one by one. How many do you actually need?

  I recognize the number, and the hopeful feeling darkens. I hit “decline” while keeping my eyes on the road.

  Moments later, I receive a text notification. I don’t look at it until we’re home.

  “If you bring her back now, I won’t ask any questions. I’ll put in a good word with the CEO to get your job back. As I said, no questions asked.”

  Sure, Carl. Sure, I think. But what if I’m the one with questions?

  Chapter Two

  Henry

  “You can’t post that here.”

  The clipped voice takes me back. Oh boy, does it take me back. The memory of being forced to take a job bagging groceries at Grossman’s Market the day after I was legally allowed to hold a job.

  I turn around casually and pretend I’m talking to an old friend. “Norm. You still captain of this ship?” I hold out my hand to shake his.

  His pencil mustache twitches. My old boss doesn’t like it that I used his favorite phrase from back in the day.

  “I am,” he replies. I can see I have no chance of getting a smile out of him today.

  I give him my twenty-second pitch. “Then, as a pillar of the local business community, Norm, you might have heard that I recently acquired a business permit to open a corn maze and pumpkin patch and it opens for the public in a few days. I thought to myself, now, where would I be able to catch a lot of parents with kids looking for something to do during the autumn season? And I said, of course! The obvious answer to that would be the grocery store.”

  Norm scoffs. “That your latest business scheme? Always the way with the Wood clan, isn’t it?”

  His comment lumps me in with my late uncle Howie, who was known around town as the guy trying to make a quick buck. Never held down a job, but always asking his friends to invest in his latest get-rich-quick scheme. Until he had no friends left.

  I know myself, and I could not be more different from Uncle Howie. That the townsfolk associate me with him doesn’t bother me, though. It’s a small town, and that’s what folks do. They define people by the imperfect people who raised them.

  “You might be a little confused, Norm. A corn maze and selling pumpkins is not going to make me rich unless I’m missing out on some secret society of billionaire pumpkin growers.”

  Norm’s scowl becomes a sneer as he crosses his arms across his concave chest. He never liked my jokes as a teenager and that sure has not changed. “Smells like a tourist trap to me.”

  Tourist traps are not illegal or even unethical by any measure, but I already know this argument is disingenuous on his part. Time to cut the crap.

  “It’s not a crazy new idea by any stretch. Look.” I pull out a slip of paper from my folder where I’m keeping my fliers. I have all my official paperwork with me because, well, people around here tend to think they have a good reason to question the legitimacy of my business. “See, here’s my business license…” I unfold the official certificate from the state and the county, and for good measure, I show him my certification from the county agricultural extension office that shows I’ve completed courses and been inspected and certified as an official local producer.

  “Now, come on, friend. Does that look like a get-rich-quick scheme to you?” I press.

  His mustache goes up on the side with a smirk.

  “OK, sure, but you still can’t post that. We’re competitors now. We sell pumpkins here.”

  I’m almost at a loss. “Never in my life have I seen a man fight so hard against something as simple and pure as a pumpkin patch.” I know if I could just get the attention of local families, they’d be coming out in droves to pick pumpkins, wander through the corn maze, and take family photos on the straw bales—all the crap I used to love to do as a kid.

  Of course, I didn’t go with my uncle who raised me, but with my best friend Jet and his grandma, who used to take us to pumpkin patches every fall. We’d pick out one pitifully small pie pumpkin each, then indulge in free apple cider. Afterward, we’d go back to her house, where she would help us carve jack o lanterns, and she’d bake a small pie with the flesh that she’d cut away from inside the rinds. Those are some of the best of my childhood memories.

  When I talked to that nice lady at the state fair, she seemed very interested in a pumpkin patch, and just so happened to live nearby. She was cute, too. Really cute. No ring on her finger. Her name was Jane. Cute kid, too. I had hoped her restless toddler, Sarah, would hold out long enough for me to get her number, but when I returned from helping out my buddy Jet with some behind-the-scenes pageant drama, she was nowhere to be found. Disappointing but understandable. Kids are unpredictable.

  I found out a few days after the fair that she’s best friends with Jet’s girlfriend, Rocket, which lifted my spirits even more, knowing that our paths will cross again, likely sooner rather than later. Rocket, however, refused to give me Jane’s number when I asked for it. “She needs space. She’s been hurt bad, and you need to let her come to you,” Rocket had said.

  So imagine my delighted surprise when, in the middle of this ridiculous dispute over the grocery store bulletin board, who should walk up but Jane and Sarah.

  Her face breaks into a huge smile at seeing me. I’m in heaven over the fact that she remembers me.

  Her long brown hair falls in waves past her shoulders and she’s wearing a subtle amount of makeup. When I’d met her at the fair, it was such a hot day and I remember her hair was up in a messy topknot and she wore no makeup. Very pretty both ways. Her long, funky dress, tiny nose ring, and huge, hippie-style mom purse lend her an earth-mama kind of vibe. She carries Sarah in a soft, stretchy wrap thingy attached to her body, and the kid squeals when she sees me.

  “Henry from the state fair! Your cult following has finally caught up with you,” she says, patting Sarah’s head.

  “Hey,” I say. “Wow. I…” form a complete sentence any day now, Henry. “How…how are you two? I mean, I’m sorry I missed you.”


  “I’m great, thanks,” she replies, then slaps the meat of her palm against her forehead. “I mean, I’m sorry I left so quick. Um, we’re good, thanks for asking.” Her nose crinkles and she closes her eyes when she’s embarrassed by her clumsiness, but she has nothing to apologize for. It’s maybe the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

  She turns to the grocery store manager and asks about the problem.

  Norm scrunches up his face and says, “I reserve the right to refuse anyone access to the bulletin board.”

  Jane’s befuddled face turns back to me to get my side of the story.

  That’s when I explain my current troubles with hanging fliers, while Norm squirms.

  On the rare moments when the universe decides to intervene on my behalf, it can’t possibly do any better than the adorable duo of Jane and Sarah.

  Chapter Three

  Jane

  Does this grocery store manager not understand that a broad-shouldered man advertising a corn maze and a pumpkin patch for kids is just about the sexiest thing that exists in four counties? Judging by Norm’s pocket protector and obstinate expression, I’d say no.

  I say to the manager, “I was just thinking, this town is in desperate need of things to do with little kids. You should let him post this flier. After all, people do depend on their local grocery store for a certain sense of community.” I’m really hamming it up now, but it’s working. “I mean, if I can’t depend on my local grocery store to have a reasonably well-rounded bulletin board, we may as well be shopping at a big box store on the edge of town am I right?