Page 1 of Mountain Man’s Hayride Honey (Wildwood Valley Harvest #4)

CLAYTON

A spider was blocking my way into the festival parking lot.

I didn’t even know that was possible—to block the entrance to what was basically a canvas tent version of a ticket booth in a narrow driveway. And while a giant spider was on brand for a fall-themed farmers market, this spider appeared to be drivable.

I shifted the truck into park, cut the engine, and hopped out, scanning the area for signs of life. The only actual sign was in the driver’s seat of the spider mobile.

I blinked, sure what I was seeing must be a mirage. It was the face of the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, but it was framed by gigantic spider webs on each side of her jaw. They were earrings, apparently.

What the fuck?

I pointed toward her window and did a circular motion to indicate she should roll it down.

She looked to be in her twenties, so she probably wouldn’t even be aware that vehicles once had manual handles that you turned in a circle to lower the window.

I only knew because my dad collected classic cars when I was a kid.

She shook her head, then pointed to her steering wheel. I had no idea what any of that meant. Sighing, I reached for the handle and jerked her door open.

That was when I got a look at the rest of her. The big surprise was that she was dressed like a normal human being—blue jeans, an orange sweater, and a pair of sneakers. I’d definitely expected a costume.

But that wasn’t what really got my attention. No, I was suddenly rendered speechless at the sight of curves that stretched the confines of her clothing.

Fuck. How long had it been since I’d gotten laid?

Two years, maybe longer. And even then, it’d been wholly unsatisfying—a one-night stand that was followed by a morning where I decided I was done with casual flings.

It was all or nothing, and up in this mountain with very few single female residents around my age, it was nothing.

But this woman had things heating up again. And it made no sense. Sure, she was beautiful, but spiders and spider webs would normally have been a turn-off.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said as she stepped out of the vehicle, moving away from it like it might blow up. “I was starting to think I’d be trapped in here all night with just my spider friends for company.”

Spider friends? I glanced around the interior of her car and nearly jumped back. The entire dashboard was covered in plastic spiders. Fake spider webs draped from the rearview mirror. Even her gear shift had a fuzzy black spider perched on top of it.

“What the hell is this?” I gestured vaguely at the trick-or-treat nightmare that was her vehicle.

“It’s Halloween.” She shrugged like this was perfectly normal behavior. “I decorate it every October. I’m selling Halloween jewelry at the festival.”

She held up her hands. Her fingers were covered in rings that looked like tiny silver spiders. Jesus Christ.

“Look, lady?—“

“Calliope,” she said, extending one spider-ringed hand toward me. “And you are?”

“Trying to get past your broken-down Halloween costume,” I said, not taking her hand. “You’re blocking the entrance.”

Her smile faltered slightly. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I was trying to get to the vendor parking area, but my car just died right here. The engine won’t turn over at all.”

I looked behind me at the massive hay wagon I’d been pulling with my truck.

The festival organizers had somehow roped me into moving this thing tonight, promising it would be a simple job.

Drive it to the parking area, unhitch it, leave.

But simple jobs in Wildwood Valley had a way of becoming complicated fast.

“I need to get that trailer parked,” I said, pointing over my shoulder. “And you’re in my way.”

“Well, maybe if you helped me get my car started, we could both be on our way,” she said, her voice taking on a slightly sharper edge beneath all that perkiness.

“I’m not a mechanic.”

“But you’re clearly handy with vehicles.” She gestured toward my truck and the hay wagon. “And it’s probably something simple. Maybe the battery died.”

“Or maybe it finally gave up trying to haul around fifty pounds of plastic spiders.”

Her eyes flashed. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to rein in my irritation.

This was exactly why I was avoiding this harvest market. Too many people, too much chaos, and now I was stuck dealing with some Halloween-obsessed tourist who couldn’t keep her ridiculous car running.

She sighed. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is with my decorations, but?—“

“My problem is that you’re blocking the only entrance to these grounds, and I need to get this job done so I can go home.”

“And my problem is that my car won’t start, and instead of offering to help, you’re standing there being rude about my perfectly harmless Halloween decorations.” She crossed her arms over her chest, which did absolutely nothing to help my concentration. “I didn’t ask to break down here.”

“You didn’t ask, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” she repeated, her tone cooling by several degrees. “And unless you have a magical way to make my car disappear, we’re going to have to figure this out together.”

I stared at her for a long moment. She was right, damn it. As much as I wanted to just drive away and pretend this wasn’t my problem, I couldn’t exactly ram her car out of the way with a hay wagon.

“Fine,” I said. “Pop the hood.”

Her entire face lit up again, like I’d just offered to buy her a pony. “Really?”

“Don’t get excited. I’m only doing this so I can get past you.”

“Right. Of course.”

But she was still smiling as she leaned back into the car to pull the hood release.

The hood opened with a rusty screech, and I found myself face-to-face with an engine that looked like it hadn’t seen maintenance since the previous century.

Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust and what appeared to be glitter.

“When’s the last time you had this thing serviced?” I asked, trying not to inhale whatever was floating around in there.

“Um.” She bit her lower lip, and I tried not to notice how that made her look even more appealing. “Define ‘serviced.’”

“Oil changes. Tune-ups. Basic maintenance that keeps cars running.”

“I change the oil.”

“When?”

“When the light comes on.”

I closed my eyes and counted to ten before opening them again. “The light coming on means you’re already overdue.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?”

“It’s a car, not a houseplant. You can’t just ignore it and hope it keeps working.”

“I don’t ignore it. I put gas in it. I wash it. I decorate it seasonally.”

“You decorate it seasonally.”

“It’s very festive.”

I stared at her. She was standing there in her orange sweater and spider web earrings, defending her maintenance philosophy with the kind of conviction usually reserved for matters of life and death.

Despite everything—the broken-down car, the ridiculous decorations, the fact that she was keeping me from finishing this job—I felt the corner of my mouth twitch.

“Try starting it again,” I said.

She slid back into the driver’s seat, and I heard the engine turn over weakly a few times before giving up entirely. I spent another few minutes poking around under the hood, checking connections and looking for obvious problems.

“Well?” she asked when I finally straightened up.

“It’s not the battery,” I said, wiping my hands on a rag. “Something’s not right with the alternator. Maybe some loose connections.”

“Can you fix it?”

I looked at the engine again, trying to think through what else I could check. “Maybe. Let me try a few more things.”

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Don’t get excited. I’m only doing this so I can get past you and finish my job.”

But even as I said it, I was already leaning back under the hood, checking connections and looking for anything obvious that might get this piece of junk running.

The truth was, I knew enough about engines to be dangerous, but I wasn’t a mechanic.

Still, maybe there was something simple I was missing.

“You know a lot about cars,” she said, hovering nearby.

“I know enough to get by.” I jiggled a few wires and tightened what looked like a loose connection. “This thing’s a mess, but maybe we can get it to turn over.”

She watched me work, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Those spider earrings caught the light every time she moved, casting tiny shadows across her neck. I tried not to notice.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“Here. Born and raised.” I wiped some of the dust off what I thought might be important parts. “Left for the military, then came back.”

“What branch?”

“Navy.” I straightened up and looked at her. “Why all the questions?”

“Just trying to make conversation. You’re helping me, so I figure I should at least try to be friendly.”

“I’m not helping you. I’m helping myself get this trailer moved.”

“Right. Of course.” But she was smiling when she said it.

I bent back over the engine, trying to focus on the mechanical problem instead of the way her voice sounded when she smiled. This was exactly the kind of complication I’d been trying to avoid by staying away from the festival.

“Where are you staying?” I asked, more to fill the silence than because I actually cared.

“The Wildwood Inn. It’s about a mile down the road.”

“I know where it is.” I was quiet for a moment, having some kind of internal debate with myself. “I’ve got a buddy who’s a mechanic. Ayden. If I can’t get this thing running, he can take a look at it tomorrow.”

“I can’t afford major repairs right now.”

“Let’s worry about that after we see if I can get it started.” I gestured toward the driver’s seat. “Try it again. Maybe something I did helped.”

She slid back into the car, and I listened as the engine turned over weakly a few times before giving up entirely. The same pathetic sound as before.

“Damn,” I said under my breath.

“Still nothing?”

“Still nothing.” I stared at the engine, trying to think of what else I could check without proper tools. “Let me try one more thing.”

Because apparently, I wasn’t ready to give up yet. Which was stupid, because what did I care if some Halloween-obsessed tourist was stranded in a parking lot?

Except I was starting to realize that I did care. And that was a problem I wasn’t ready to deal with.