Page 133 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
“Not if I get it first,” I teased.
“What if we all got one? How many pumpkins will we need if we get one for all of us?” Hunter asked Coby through the rearview mirror.
“One,” Coby counted and pointing to us as he went. “Two. Three.”
“That’s right! Good job! You’re getting so good at counting.”
Coby beamed at Hunter’s praise.
Parking in the long gravel lot, Hunter did a quick survey of the farm. “This place is awesome. Do they do this every year?”
“Yep.” Howell Farm had always been one of my most favorite places. “When I was a kid, it was just the pumpkin patch and the maze, but they’ve expanded it over the years.”
The Howells had turned a mildly profitable farm into a wildly successful public venue. Each fall, families from all over Jamison County came to visit. Kids ran through the cornfield maze, adults sampled the hard apple cider, and everyone left with pumpkins. A huge attraction for local residents, it was even starting to pull visitors from out of town.
The Howells’ most recent expansion was into the wedding business. They’d cleaned up their barn behind the pumpkin patch and now rented it out for wedding receptions. It had been too small for Beau and Sabrina’s wedding party, but for something small and intimate, it would be perfect.
Maybe Hunter and I could get married here.
“What’s that smile for?” Hunter asked.
“Huh? Oh, nothing.” I unbuckled my seat belt and got out of the car before he could see my blush. Maybe it was presumptuous to think we’d get married, but I couldn’t imagine myself with any other man.
The seed had been planted, and as we walked toward the admissio
n booth, I couldn’t stop thinking of wedding stuff. My eyes were locked on that barn, mentally assessing its potential for a winter wedding. We could bring in heaters if it was too cold. The path could be lined with lanterns so guests could find their way in the dark. The rafters in the barn could be strung with twinkle lights to give the room a golden glow.
I was getting completely ahead of myself but couldn’t help it. I could see it all perfectly. Me in a long-sleeved lace dress. Coby in a little suit. Hunter looking gorgeous in a tux.
“Mommy!” Coby smacked my leg.
I snapped out of my wedding planning and looked down. “Yeah?”
“I said, it’s time to go in the maze.”
Hunter chuckled. “You’ve got stars in your eyes, Blondie. Is there something you want to share?”
“Nope!” I blurted, then cleared my throat to talk at a normal decibel. “No. Just, uh, thinking. Ready to go?”
Coby ran right for the entrance to the maze. Hunter just grinned and put his hand on the small of my back. Did he know what I had been thinking? I swear that grin was knowing.
“You need to wait for us!” I shouted as my son laughed and disappeared around a maze corner. “Coby!”
I jogged to catch him. The second I turned, he popped out and yelled, “Boo!”
I jumped, clutching my chest, then frowned at him kneeling on the straw walkway. “No scaring people today.”
Over the last month, Coby had discovered a new “fun” activity. Someone—dear Uncle Michael—had taught Coby how to scare people. I’d lost track of the times he’d scared me. For a little boy who talked incessantly, he had mastered silence and patience in his effort to make me scream. And no matter how many times I told him to stop, no matter how many minutes he spent in the time-out corner, he wouldn’t listen.
I was about two scares away from giving him a swat on the butt.
“Everything okay?” Hunter asked when he caught up.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Come on, Coby. Lead the way.”
“Okay!” Coby jumped up off the ground and started running through the maze.
And then more scaring commenced. My warning had been for nothing.
