“Not enough. Better get you fed, girl.”
Lacey says nothing, eyes scanning the fields like she’s devouring them.
I gesture to the rows sloping toward the barn. “Fall light hits here longer. Makes the greens sweeter, the carrots earthier. Most folks don’t know it, but the season writes the flavor.”
Admiration crosses her face. “Can I quote you on that?”
“Sure, but I didn’t come up with it.”
“Did one of the organic farmers you mentored with?” she asks.
“Actually, I’m self-taught. But I read it somewhere.”
A chorus of clucks drifts from the coop, and somewhere farther off, a horse nickers, the sound low and steady. The place feels alive in a way that makes my chest ache.
“Cabbage!” She laughs, admiring the huge red and green heads pushing out of the brown earth.
“Those got away from me,” I admit with a sheepish shrug. “Turns out cowboys only like so much coleslaw.”
“That’s a shame. Coleslaw is a gift from God. So is cabbage soup.”
Her laugh pulls me under. Damn, I’m falling harder by the second.
“That’s what I’m saying. Maybe we’ll whip up something before the end of your stay.”
She points to the oversized zucchini. “And something with these.”
“Not sure you want to. Think they cross-pollinated with my pumpkins or squash. Can’t vouch for what they actually are anymore.”
“Frankenfoods,” she snorts, then flushes, embarrassed.
But I love it—the unguarded sound, her walls dropping for a heartbeat. Lets me know I could make it happen again.
“Maybe you’re onto something. Organic Frankenzucchini. There a market for that?”
She giggles, tilts her head, studies the mystery vegetables. “Guess I see a hint of orange. We could try soup or bread.”
“I doubt it’ll be worth the effort.” My eyes catch hers. Lie. There isn’t a thing on this earth I wouldn’t try with her.
What the hell is happening to me?
“How about after I take a quick shower, we throw something together with fresh-picked produce? Your choice.” My throat tightens as sparks flicker behind her eyes. “Drinks and dinner at my place?” More rides on her answer than I care to admit.
She flushes. “I don’t know...” The words turn oddly cold. “I need to get back to town for the night. You know, scope out the inn where I’m staying.”
“Inn?” I furrow my brows. “There’s no place to stay in Forest Grove.”
“What do you mean? I have a reservation.” She digs through her purse while I stand there like a fool, chest aching just to look at her. Beauty like the ice-dusted Lone Grizzly Mountains.Too stunning to remember, too breathtaking to forget.
She hands me a folded paper.Forest Grove Inn.
No fucking way. I crumple it in my fist.
She gasps, hazel eyes going wide like a startled doe.
“This is for your own good,” I mutter. “That’s no place for a woman traveling alone.”
“I live in Seattle. Believe me, I know how to take care of myself.”
