Page 93 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

But if I do that, he might figure out I have billboard fears. Then he’ll show up, and he’s already proven he’s ready to punch someone, no questions asked.

Sometimes he might benefit from asking a few questions first.

“You all right?” Randy asks. “Penny for your thoughts.”

Oh, hell no. These are $10,000 thoughts, minimum, if the tabloids pair them with the right photo of Zachery.

I peer up at the towering forest. “What kind of trees are these?”

“Mostly you’re seeing aspens, but we’ll go through frasers, grand firs, and blue spruce.”

“Which ones are the best for turning into Christmas trees?”

“I’m partial to the firs because they have that holiday pine smell. But a lot of people like blue spruce because the limbs can handle heavy ornaments and pets don’t tend to eat the needles.”

He’s clearly asked this a lot in his line of business. “I think the smell might be important. I don’t have any pets.”

“Not a pet person?”

Should I be?

“I can’t have pets where I live.”

He tilts his head. “In Alabama?”

Oh, I’m going to dig myself a hole. “Apartment lease. At the dairy, the animals all had a job. Mousing. Herding. You get it.” That’s all true.

“I reckon you’re pretty handy, growing up on a farm. We have quite a few dogs roaming the grounds, but they all end up in someone’s bed come evening time.”

“Lucky dogs.” Only after I say it do I realize it sounds like a come-on.

Randy grins. “Ol’ Blue is my favorite, even though technically she belongs to Jack. She’ll sniff me out in a hurry once we hit the retail portion of the tree farm.”

It isn’t long before the trees become sparse, then orderly, and soon, there are rows of them in varying sizes, from the seedlings in box beds to the towering ones near the forest.

A square, rough-hewn wood building squats near the center of the rows. On either side, red tents are in the process of being erected, the sides flapping in the breeze, not yet tethered to the ground.

“We’re here?” I ask.

“We are. The hayride will start at the main building. We’ll have a food tent and a Christmas tent.” Randy shakes his head. “I’m not sure what we’re selling in that one since we don’t have new stock in. Mom’s in charge of that.”

“It’s so organized!”

As we ride along a more traveled path between rows, heading for the building, a blue-gray heeler breaks away from a trio of dogs and runs straight for us.

“Is that Ol’ Blue?” I ask. The dog is seriously strong and bounds at us like demons are chasing her.

“Sure is.” Randy stands. “Come on, baby girl. Get on up here.” He slows the horses.

Blue doesn’t miss a step, but leaps straight onto the seat and into Randy’s lap. She eyes me warily, like I’m encroaching on her man.

I reach over to pet her, but she growls. I pull my hand back.

Randy shifts the reins to one hand and rests his palm on the dog’s head. “Now, Blue, don’t be jealous. This is Kelsey. She’s all right.”

Blue drops her head on Randy’s thigh, but she keeps her eye on me.

That part would never make the love story. The dog has to love me!

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