Page 3 of Mountain Man’s Hayride Honey (Wildwood Valley Harvest #4)

CLAYTON

W hat the hell was I doing?

I’d shown up at the Harvest Market to meet Ayden and told him to bill me for the tow and any repairs.

After clearing them with me first, of course.

I knew he’d give us a good deal, though.

He was fair and honest. But if this clunker needed to be completely overhauled, it probably wouldn’t make much sense to pour money into repairing it.

And now I was heading toward her booth to give her the news. I should have handed it off to someone else. Any number of people could have given her the message. But I wanted to see Calliope again.

I had to see her.

“Clayton. Thank God. You can help.”

That came from Bobbi, the woman who ran the inn. She wore one of the Harvest Market Event Staff shirts that the inn had made to sell to all the damn tourists. I’d noticed yesterday the event workers were wearing black T-shirts, like people did at big festivals.

Fuck. This town was becoming a tourist destination, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

Somehow, I ended up following Bobbi to the food truck area, which was at the opposite end of the grounds from the vendor booths. That meant we didn’t even pass the section where I might catch a glimpse of Calliope.

Luca, who owned this property and was apparently a better mechanic than I, was standing in front of the hayride truck with the hood open, shaking his head. “We’ll call Ayden and have him tow this to the shop.”

“He just left.” I hitched my thumb toward the parking lot. “I’m sure he can call for another tow, though.”

Luca eyed me warily. I got the feeling he didn’t care for me much. But everyone got that feeling. Nobody knew why he’d allowed the inn to set up this festival on his property that otherwise just sat empty, aside from the month it operated as a Christmas tree lot.

“I’ll give Ayden a call,” I said.

I turned to head back toward the vendor booths. My heart was already racing at the thought of seeing Calliope again, even if it was just for a few minutes.

“Wait,” Bobbi called out. “Your truck has a hitch, doesn’t it?”

Uh-oh.

Those words slowed my heart rate down immediately. I turned.

Lots of people around here have hitches on their trucks. That was what I wanted to say. But instead, what I said was, “Yes, ma’am.”

I’d blame it on the military, but my sense of duty had always been as strong as my need to call older women and men “ma’am” and “sir.” I’d been raised by a strict military dad. These things were ingrained deep.

“Can we borrow it?” She glanced back over her shoulder at Luca before returning her attention to me. “We need someone to run the hayride this afternoon too. You got plans?”

Oh, hell no. I wasn’t driving this hay-covered trailer around all day.

I had plans. I needed to get back to my cabin and cut some trees down.

We’d been given the week off to help out with this festival, and somehow, I’d managed to escape the volunteer duties beyond pitching in a couple of hours every day.

If I’d noticed Calliope earlier, I probably would have found a reason to stick around.

But Bobbi just handed me a reason on a silver platter, and I was going to go home? Was I crazy?

“I’ll do it,” I said. “But I think we need a test run first. Maybe we could get some of the vendors to volunteer to ride around on this thing.”

I was crafty. I’d give myself that. Or maybe a better word for it was “ballsy.”

“Perfect.” Bobbi clapped her hands together. “I’ll go round up some volunteers.”

She hurried off toward the vendor booths, leaving me standing next to the broken-down truck with Luca, who was still giving me suspicious looks. But he wandered off to deal with something on his phone, leaving me to get down to business.

By the time Bobbi returned, I’d hooked up the trailer to my truck and left Luca to deal with getting the other truck towed off. I nearly fell over when I saw who was walking next to Bobbi.

Calliope.

“Everyone else is swamped getting ready for the afternoon rush,” Bobbi explained. “But Calliope here was happy to help test things out.”

Calliope smiled at me, and I felt that same jolt I’d experienced last night in the parking lot. She was wearing different earrings today—little pumpkins instead of spider webs—and a black sweater that hugged her curves in all the right places.

“Hey there, Clayton,” she said. “Ready to take me for a ride?”

The way she said it made my mouth go dry.

“Hop in the back,” I said. “That’s where the passengers sit.”

“Right.” She walked around to the hay-filled wagon. “Gotta test out the experience.”

I climbed into my truck and started the engine, trying to focus on anything other than the way she smelled—like vanilla and something floral that had lingered in the air when she walked past. I pulled out slowly, checking my mirrors to make sure she was settled safely in the hay wagon.

The first test run went smoothly enough.

I drove the designated route through the fields and back to the festival grounds, taking it easy on the turns and bumps.

When I stopped back at the starting point, Calliope hopped down from the wagon, brushing hay off her sweater.

“How was it?” I asked, rolling down my window.

“Perfect,” she said. “Smooth ride, great views. I think your passengers are going to love it.”

“Good.” I was about to suggest she head back to her booth when Bobbi appeared with a family of four in tow.

“Your first customers,” she announced. “They’re excited to try out the hayride.”

The family climbed into the hay-filled wagon, and I was preparing to drive off when Calliope appeared at my passenger door. “Mind if I ride up here this time? I can help point out scenic views and make sure everyone’s having a good time.”

Before I could respond, she was sliding into the passenger seat beside me. The cab of my truck suddenly felt much smaller.

“This is cozy,” she said, grinning at me.

The next few runs went smoothly enough. Families climbed into the hay-filled wagon, I drove them around the route, and Calliope chatted with the passengers through the rear window, pointing out scenic views and cracking jokes that had everyone laughing.

But she never moved back to the wagon. She stayed right there beside me, her hand occasionally brushing mine when she turned to talk, her laugh filling the cab every time I hit a bump.

After the third run, during a brief lull between passengers, she turned to face me fully. “You know,” she said, her voice taking on a playful tone, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to make out with someone in a pile of hay.”

I nearly drove my truck into a fence post. “Come again?”

“You know.” She gestured toward the hay-filled wagon behind us. “All that soft, sweet-smelling hay. Seems like it would be pretty romantic, don’t you think?”

She was looking at me with those big brown eyes, and there was no mistaking the invitation in them. My pulse kicked up about twenty notches.

“You thinking about anyone in particular for this hay-based make-out session?” I asked, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.

“Maybe.” She bit her lower lip, and I had to grip the steering wheel to keep from reaching for her right then and there. “Depends on whether he’s interested.”

Every rational thought in my head was screaming at me to back off. She was only passing through town. She’d be gone in two days. Getting involved with her was asking for trouble.

But apparently, my rational thoughts were no match for the way she was looking at me.

“Tell you what,” I said, turning to face her fully. “Stick around after the market closes tonight. I’ll give you a private hayride, just the two of us. We can test out your theory about the hay.”

Her eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t expected me to call her bluff. Then that smile spread across her face again, brighter than before.

“Is that a dare?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be.”

“Then it’s a date,” she said. “But fair warning—I never back down from a dare.”

“Good,” I said, starting up the truck as another group of customers approached. “Neither do I.”