Pumpkin King Read online

I don’t see how I’m losing in either of these scenarios unless he plans to cook me liver and lima beans.

  “No funny business, I promise,” he adds.

  I shake my head. “I’ll agree to those terms but without the promises and swears. Be careful what you promise me, Henry.”

  Chapter Six

  Jane

  The autumn afternoon sunshine casts a special light on a guy like Henry, especially when a guy like Henry decides to pull off his sweaty shirt and toss it aside while working close to me in the pumpkin patch. This, the sight of his glistening shoulders, chest—and yes, his just slightly soft middle—might be the thing that causes heat exhaustion. Not the sun.

  On one hand, I know it’s so unprofessional to keep sneaking glances at him. But the way his muscles tighten when he lifts a 50-pounder onto the hay wagon makes me feel lightheaded. I want to call him an asshole for teasing me, for making me think filthy thoughts about what I’d like him to do to me. Tops on my fantasy list: drop that chilled-out dude act, haul me into the barn, toss me onto a pile of hay, and split me in half.

  How can he be so calm? He knows he’s out here blessing my eyeballs with shoulders, biceps, and forearms sculpted in that special, rugged way that doesn’t come from hours at the gym. He’s not a gym rat; rather, he’s suntanned and strong like some kind of pumpkin god. Or a corn maze king.

  On the other hand, maybe I don’t care that it’s unprofessional. Maybe fate brought us together, in which case it’s totally fine to have a crush on one’s boss.

  Is it still unethical if it’s me pursuing him?

  My god, I can’t imagine this scenario ever happening where I used to work. Sure there were tons of hot people wearing suits and skirts, doing very important and stressful things with other people’s money. Any relationships had to be reported to human resources.

  As Henry said, there is no human resources office here in this two-person operation called Wood’s Pumpkin Patch.

  And I don’t hate it.

  We both knew what was going on when we first met. And we both know he gave me the job on the spot because he thinks I’m cute and he already likes my daughter.

  I knew it, and he knew it.

  I’ve known enough phonies in my life to know that Henry is not a phony.

  Sarah’s dad was a phony. Generous on the outside, impressive in the way he charmed people and threw money around. But I learned he was very different deep down than he was on the outside.

  Henry has simple needs. What you see is what you get. Not a conniving bone in his body.

  Spending the day with him, not just ogling his sweaty chest—or staring at the way the drips find their way down to the waistband of his jeans—but getting to know him, has given me no hints of forced charm or ulterior motives.

  By late afternoon, no amount of hydration could compensate for the way my body is reacting to him.

  Careful, Jane. You thought Carl was pretty special too, and look what happened. Don’t let good first impressions—or even wonderful, sweet, relaxed, warm-in-the-belly-like-apple-cider impressions—cloud your judgment.

  You’re still healing and you don’t need to jump into anything blindly.

  These are all the things I have to tell myself at the end of the day when I have to do the thing I don’t want to do.

  I have to quit my job.

  Chapter Seven

  Henry

  Jane politely turns down my offer of an iced tea on the porch to celebrate her first day.

  Both of us are dirty from head to toe, and she looks like she could use some pampering, but I don’t say that. I’ve learned not to ever tell a woman she looks tired.

  I’m preparing the list of things I will need to go out and buy or collect tonight to do the things she wants me to do before the pumpkin patch opens, when I see a certain look on her face. I don’t like it.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love her face. I could stare at that face for weeks, months, years, and never get bored of it. It’s the cutest and sweetest face I’ve ever seen. I want to kiss her on the nose.

  But she looks like she’s got something really bad to tell me. Her fingers fiddle with some chipping paint on the porch column.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  She’s getting cold feet about this job. She’s heard things about me and she’s having second thoughts.

  Can’t say I blame her.

  But when Jane speaks, it doesn’t reflect the body language I see.

  “I…I just wanted to thank you for the job. For taking a chance on me.”

  Relieved, I reply, “Oh. Sure. No problem.”

  No problem? That’s all you have to say?

  The rest comes tumbling out of her in a hurry. “I’m so sorry to do this to you, Henry, but I can’t work here.”

  “Because we kissed?”

  “No,” she says softly, averting her gaze.

  One thing I don’t stand for is lying, whether it’s to me, to other people, or people lying to themselves.

  I lean in to study her face, all but demanding she look at me. “Are you sure about that?”

  She nods resolutely. It’s cute how her chin juts out.

  “You’re not telling me the truth, Jane.”

  She blinks rapidly. “Is that so?”

  I grin. “You don’t want to work here because you’re afraid of your feelings for me. You can’t handle that you felt something when we kissed.”

  Her nose and forehead crinkle in disgust. “I was waiting for the ego to show up. That makes it easier.” With virtual storm clouds raging in her head, she brushes past me and scurries toward her car.

  “Whoa,” I say, turning to catch up to her. That wasn’t ego talking. I only said that because I felt it too.”

  She keeps walking down the rutted path to her car but slows when I catch up to her to explain myself.

  “I only meant we had a moment, we kissed. I felt things, you felt things.”

  She scoffs. “Unprofessional things. What if we have more feelings and more things happen, but then we drift apart and I’m stuck in a job that I love with a boss who’s my ex-boyfriend?”

  I can’t help it, the word boyfriend makes me very happy. “You want me to be your boyfriend?”

  “Ugh! What an ass!”

  I have to laugh; she’s not wrong. “It’s true. I’m a complete ass, just ask Jet.”

  When she arrives at her car, she stops. Turning to face me, she says, “Apparently I don’t need to ask. Everyone in town is ready at every turn to give me their Ted Talk about why I should avoid Henry Wood.”

  And there it is. Wow. OK, then.

  Well, fine.

  Her long hair falls into her face as she digs her keys out of her bag. With keys in hand, she tucks her locks behind one ear and I see a glint. A tear? No way. Nobody in their life has ever cried over me.

  Suddenly all kinds of things begin to happen in my body. My lungs still, my chest has that weird ache again from yesterday. Yesterday, she was leaving in her car, and today, she’s leaving again. You don’t want her to leave, idiot. And now I have the urge to hug her, but it comes out as me blocking the door with my body.

  Jane jerks back from me, white-knuckling her keys. “You’re blocking me from my car? That’s not a cool move when you’re alone with a female.”

  She’s right. I have to get control of myself. This is not in my nature to try to control people.

  I move my stupid body away from the car door. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course, you can go. Just…please come back tomorrow. I need you.”

  She glances up at me, wariness in her eyes.

  “We’ve established that I’m clueless when it comes to”—I wave my hand around aimlessly to indicate everywhere around the property—“stuff.”

  “Cutesy-wootsy autumn stuff and pumpkin spice everything?” she offers, smirking.

  “That’s not the words I would use but OK, sure.”

  Again, Jane nibbles her bottom lip, her eyebrows
pushed together in apprehension. After a moment of consideration, she says, “Look, I’m sorry I said what I said earlier about the town gossips. That was a low blow. And I’ll help you out tomorrow. But I can’t take money from you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we might end up kissing again.”

  I lean over the hood of her car and try to rub the stupid grin off my face. “When? When…uh…do you think we might do that again?”

  “How about let’s just be friends first and see where we go,” she says.

  I grab my stomach. “Friend zoned. Already. Ouch.”

  “Henry,” she says, “as much as I’d love to stand here and banter with you, I have to go get Sarah. Rocket and Jet are going to a movie tonight. And I’m desperate for a shower.”

  The words “desperate” and “shower” hit me in an interesting place. I think of water droplets, her long hair clinging to her bare shoulders, her eyes closed while the water drenches her face, soapy suds in sexy places, relaxing all of her muscles in the steamy stall built for two people just steps away inside the house.

  I tap the hood of her car while she gets in and shuts the door. What is the feeling I’m feeling, like I want to get into the passenger side for no reason other than I don’t want to be away from her? The feeling, the pull is so strong it’s overwhelming. I don’t understand where it’s coming from. The sex would be amazing with her, no doubt. The conversation is already fun, as long as we’re not misunderstanding each other. But the simple idea of her leaving my side to go do what she needs to do feels wrong. Feels painful. It’s preposterous how strongly I feel about her not wanting to leave. I’m not that guy. I’m not the guy who isolates a woman, bosses her around, claims her as property. I’ve never been that way.

  This feels so different, and it takes everything in me to be still and watch her leave.

  By standing here and watching her drive down the path away from me and toward the highway, I’m making it obvious. I’m watching her go. She can see me in her rear-view mirror and thinks I’m a fool. I’m too forward. A bad boss. A bad friend who is making her feel guilty for leaving when we have things to talk about. A desperate, silly boy.

  Wave back. I know you see me. Wave back. Please.

  But she doesn’t wave back. When she gets to the end of the driveway, she signals left (city driver through and through. Who are you signaling for? Nobody.) and cranks the wheel.

  She’s not going to wave.

  But I do get a sign in the form of a sputtering, choking sound coming from under the hood of her car.

  Thank you, universe.

  Chapter Eight

  Jane

  Great. This is all I need. My piece of junk car dying on me at the end of Henry’s driveway.

  And here he comes, jogging up to rescue me. Oh brother.

  At least he’s not looking smug about it. I hate guys who look smug when a woman is having car trouble.

  I roll down the window. “I’m not sure what happened. It just…”

  “No worries, I heard the whole thing. Pop the hood?”

  I do as he says and wait in the driver’s seat while he does his thing. A few seconds later he instructs me to start it up.

  I turn the key and it starts. I blow out the breath I’ve been holding.

  Henry’s tanned, sinewy forearms take up all the space in my driver’s side window as he leans in to explain the problem.

  “Fortunately, it’s a simple fix, but you’re gonna have to baby it. And I’m following you home.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I say.

  “It is if you don’t want to be stranded by the side of the road,” he replies.

  “I have Triple-A,” I retort.

  “Very smart. I have a truck full of tools and a tow rope. I’m following you, Jane.”

  I’d be lying if I said his commanding tone didn’t turn me on. At this point, I’d be lying if I said any part of him wasn’t turning me on right now.

  Dammit, what did I say just a minute ago? Jane, you are a badass, think-on-your-feet woman with a brain faster than a speeding bullet. You don’t have to lose your wits just because a hot guy fixes your car and demands to see you home.

  You’re right, I tell my conscience. I don’t have to lose my marbles. But I can deliberately choose to set them aside in a little compartment and allow my lady bits to have some fun for once.

  “What’s wrong?” His words interrupt my internal debate.

  I turn and look at Henry, who’s smirking. It’s then that I realize I’ve just shifted in my seat because my undies are getting damp.

  Jeezus, what is wrong with me?

  “Nothing,” I say. “I’m just anxious to go pick up Sarah.”

  “I’ll be right behind ya.”

  The hokey way he talks sometimes should make me cringe, but for some reason, it’s working for me.

  Henry follows me to Rocket’s trailer. I’m hoping he’ll park down the road a little bit so nobody asks any questions, but he’s right on my tail the entire way. I wince when I hear his pickup truck door shut. He shouts when Jet steps out of the trailer, already with two beers in his hand.

  He hands one to Henry, not even questioning what he’s doing here. Sarah bolts out of the trailer when she sees me but runs straight at Henry.

  “Hey, state fair buddy,” he says. There’s no stopping her when she wants up, and when she motions for “up,” Henry glances at me questioningly. I nod my head and he picks her up. She chatters, mostly in gibberish, but knowing the noises she makes as I do, it sounds like she’s telling him all about the unicorn he gave her.

  Rocket’s face is all questions when she sees Henry, and she finally levels me with her gaze when the guys step away to look under the hood of my car. Sarah goes with them, and I smile as I watch him point out and name things under the hood for her benefit.

  “Oh my gosh, he is so into you,” Rocket says when I tell her the entire story of today as we lean against the railing of the deck. “I knew this would happen. I was hoping for it.”

  I’m perplexed. “Excuse me. You knew?”

  Rocket smirks. “He’s been talking nonstop about you since the two of you met at the state fair. When he told Jet he ran into you and offered you a job out of the blue yesterday, I knew it was fate.”

  I shake my head at her and pick up Sarah’s car seat and diaper bag. As I head to my car, Henry sees me and immediately hands Sarah off to Jet, taking the bag and car seat off my hands. I have to stifle a laugh when it takes him a few minutes to lock the car seat into the base.

  I thank Rocket for watching Sarah and then dig through my purse for money.

  “Put that away. You’re my best friend—I won’t let you pay me.”

  I must be more tired than I realized because her generosity nearly has me crying. “Babies are so much work, though. I…”

  Rocket’s expression turns to concern as I crumple. I’m so tired. Hungry and tired. My eyes are leaking and I turn away from the men.

  “Honey,” she says, hugging me. “It’s fine. No offense, but this is your first day ever working a job involving actual physical labor. It’s no wonder you’re exhausted. And by the way, she’s not a baby. She’s a 14-month-old who can walk and talk. Not well, but she’s amazing and I love every minute with her.”

  I hug her goodbye and Jet hands me Sarah. While I’m buckling her in, I hear Rocket giving Henry some instructions, but I can’t hear it. I’m too tired to care.

  Rocket waves goodbye to me once I’m buckled in and says, “Bring her over whenever you need a break or alone time. Any kind of alone time.”

  She winks and I almost feel like hurling.

  “Is everyone invested in my personal life or…,” I start.

  Rocket and Jet together chant, “Yes. Yes, we are.”

  Henry looks super pleased with himself. Once again, I want to call him out for being an ass, but I just can’t. He likes me and he won’t hide it. And he’s extremely pleased I like him back. It’s
as simple as that.

  When I arrive at home, I expect Henry to turn around and head back to his farm. Instead, he carries Sarah’s diaper bag inside for me.

  I set my baby girl down on her play mat, but she’s already gunning for her building blocks and spreading them all over the rug and motioning for me to come and play with her. “Mama play!”

  How can I say no to that face when I haven’t seen her all day? I grin and squat down on the floor. “Guess Mama will get a shower after I feed you and wear you out,” I say.

  Henry squats down on the floor right in front of Sarah and she hands him the Q letter block. He considers it, then looks at her and says, “Are we making a castle or a beach house?”

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  “Letting you go take a shower?”

  “But what about you?” I ask.

  He comically sniffs his armpit. “I’m a dude who spends most of his days alone in a field. I’m used to being covered in grime from dawn ’til midnight. Go take a shower.”

  I don’t take orders from men. Never have, never will. But this order, I’m on board with.

  When I return from taking the most satisfying shower in a month—I’ve never worked so physically hard in my life apart from childbirth— Henry not only has Sarah strapped into her high chair and is feeding her cut up carrots, grapes, and noodles, but he even thought to find a bib.

  I’m towel drying my hair and watching the scene from the hallway with a huge grin on my face. “What about the chicken and noodles, Sarah? You need your protein if you’re gonna grow tall and smart like your mama. You’ve already got her eyes. I’ll bet mama ate her protein.”

  “Mama,” she repeats. “Shower.”

  “Very good. Mama’s taking a shower.”

  I step into the room just as the doorbell rings. I step forward, but Henry dashes for the door. “Wait,” I say. I don’t know why some irrational part of my brain thinks it could be an unwanted visitor. Don’t mince words with yourself, Jane. You’re worried it could be Carl.

  He ignores my outburst and answers the door, then returns to the kitchen with two bags in hand. “You said you liked Chinese. I wasn’t sure what, specifically, so I got a variety.”