Page 6 of Mountain Man’s Flirty Farmgirl (Wildwood Valley Harvest #1)

BLADE

S he ruined me under the stars, and now I couldn’t even look at her.

I threw another crate onto the back of the flatbed and wiped the sweat from my brow, though the morning air was still cool. The sun had barely cleared the ridge, but vendors were already setting up, and festival-goers were trickling in early.

And she was there. Sienna. Smiling like nothing had changed. Like we hadn’t given ourselves to each other just hours ago. Like I hadn’t spent half the night replaying the sound of her moans in my head and the other half telling myself to forget them.

After our session under the stars, I drove her back to the lodge and dropped her off at the door. We’d held hands on the short drive, but we’d barely spoken. When she kissed my cheek and hopped out of the truck, she clearly had a skip in her step.

She was happy. Being with me had made her happy. It had terrified me to the core.

I didn’t belong with a woman like her. She was sunshine and fall flowers and hope. I was none of those things.

So I stayed away. I kept my head down, hauling tables, directing parking, rerouting electrical cords—anything that let me avoid her booth. I told myself I was doing her a favor. That she needed a clean break. That this town was just a stop on her way to somewhere better.

But every time I heard her laugh or caught sight of her hair swaying behind the booth, something inside me clenched. Like I was walking around half-alive.

I was dropping off a box of hand-painted signs at the entry tent when I heard it. A gasp. A thud.

Then someone shouted, “She fell! Somebody help!”

My heart stopped. I dropped the box, didn’t care that the corner split open and wooden signs scattered across the grass. I was already running.

By the time I reached Sienna’s booth, she was slumped on the ground, one hand gripping the table leg. Her eyes were half-closed. Someone knelt beside her, waving a paper fan, but no one was doing a damn thing that was useful.

I pushed through the crowd. “Move.”

They moved. I dropped to my knees, lifted her into my arms like she weighed nothing, and stood. Her head lolled gently against my chest.

“What happened?” I barked at no one in particular.

“She was fine one second and then—she just collapsed,” someone said. “Maybe the heat?”

I didn’t answer. Just turned and walked. Fast. The shaded break tent was only fifty yards away, and by the time I reached it, a volunteer had sprinted ahead to get a fan going. Another handed me a cold bottle of water and an ice pack.

I set her on the padded bench, knelt beside her, and gently pressed the ice pack to her neck. “Sienna. Hey, look at me. Come on.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “Blade?”

Relief hit me like a sledgehammer.

“You fainted,” I said. “Try to stay still.”

“I—” Her lips parted. “I didn’t eat. Just coffee. I didn’t want to be late.”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

Her brows pulled together, like that confused her more than anything. I sat on the bench beside her and leaned forward, elbows on my knees, trying to steady my breath.

“I told myself to stay away,” I said quietly. “Told myself you were too good for me. That I wasn’t built for whatever this is between us.”

She turned her head to look at me. Her cheeks were still pale, but her eyes were clear now, focused.

“But then someone said you fell, and I realized I’d rather go through hell with you than heaven without you.”

She didn’t say anything at first, then she reached for my hand. “I was wondering when you were going to stop being stubborn.”

My chest ached. I laughed once, rough and low.

She squeezed my hand. “I don’t want perfect, Blade. I just want real.”

“I’m real, all right. Real messed up. Real bad at talking about my feelings. Real grumpy.”

“Real hot.”

That got a smile out of me.

She sat up straighter, moving slowly, and I reached out to steady her. She looked better already.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Getting there. I think I need real food.” But then her eyes met mine again, and the lightheartedness faltered just a little. “I thought you regretted it. This morning…the way you avoided me. You didn’t even look my way.”

Guilt hit hard and fast. I shook my head. “No. God, no, I didn’t regret it.”

She looked down at our joined hands. “I wasn’t going to chase you.

I told myself it was one night, and if that’s all it was, I could live with it.

But…” Her voice wavered slightly. “But it would’ve hurt.

It already did. I woke up feeling like I’d handed you something important and you just—walked away.

I told myself not to expect anything, that you were probably just being nice.

But I kept hoping. And then you didn’t even say hi. ”

I reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t walk away. I ran. Because I was scared. Because you mean more than I was ready to admit.”

Her eyes filled, not quite tears, but close. “Then stop running.”

“I already have.”

We sat in silence for a moment, fingers still intertwined. It was the kind of quiet that felt full instead of empty.

Finally, she let out a slow breath and leaned her shoulder against mine. “I thought last night was the start of something. Not just a one-time thing. And the thought that it meant more to me than it did to you was worse than I expected.”

I turned to her and cupped her face in my hand. “It meant everything to me. I just didn’t know what to do with that. I’ve never had a woman like you before. Never felt what I feel when I look at you.”

Her lip trembled. “I don’t need you to be anything but yourself. You don’t have to prove anything. Just…don’t push me away. I don’t want this to be temporary.”

I nodded, words sticking in my throat. “It’s not.”

She laughed. “You better be sure, Blade Osborn. Because I fall hard.”

“So do I.”

We sat a little longer, her head resting against my shoulder, the ice pack forgotten beside us. Finally, she straightened.

“Okay,” she said with a determined breath. “I’m starving. And I’m not passing out again.”

I stood and held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat and a seat in the shade.”

She stood with me, her hand still in mine. We stepped out of the break tent, and I didn’t let go.

People watched us, whispering. I didn’t care.

Sienna looked up at me, beaming. “So, should I get you a vendor badge for next year?”

I leaned down, brushing my lips against hers. “Only if it comes with a girlfriend pass.”

She grinned. “I think I can make that happen.”

And just like that, under a sky full of fall sunshine instead of stars, I knew I wasn’t lost anymore.

I’d found home.

Her name was Sienna.