Page 37 of Tackle

He stopped suddenly and she almost plowed into his side before catching herself. “I think we need to go this way.” He pointed to the right.

Emerson shook her head. “I think we’ve been that way before. That corn husk looks familiar.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

The problem was everything looked familiar because everything looked the same. “The good news is, if I’m going to be trapped, you’re the guy I’d want to be trapped with.”

He looked over at her and smiled. “Yeah?”

“Well, look at the size of you. I wouldn’t starve for at least a year.”

And… she lost his smile, but she cracked herself up.

“Wait a minute.” They took another turn and she grabbed Oz’s arm. “Look. That’s new.” She pointed to a large jack-o-lantern with a crooked smile and a winking eye.

“It’s mocking us.”

“Well, let’s face it, there’s quite a bit to mock.”

He threw her a look that told her he didn’t find her quite as amusing as she thought she was. “Hang on, I’ve got an idea.”

Before she could utter, “What?” he was lifting her from under the arms, holding her over the tall stalks of corn.

“What do you see?”

She scanned the area and pointed. “We need to go that way.”

He set her down and the next turn, they came upon a grinning jack-o-lantern, and the next, a scarecrow, pointing at the exit.

“That was quite the adventure,” Emerson said.

“Remind me next time to bring a bottle of water. I’m dying of thirst.”

“And maybe camping supplies.”

“You’re a regular comedian tonight,” Oz deadpanned.

“I aim to entertain.” She smirked up at him and then tugged on his hand. “Come on, let’s get a slushy, my treat. Oh, and maybe some nachos, I’m starved. Then we’ll go on a nice, relaxing hayride.”

That perked him up. The man did love his carbs.

Emerson sat, huddled with her arms hugging her knees. The temperature was dropping at an alarming rate the later it got, and the icy drink she was sipping wasn’t helping.

“You’re shivering. Come here and I’ll warm you up.” Oz leaned back against a bale of hay, arm outstretched.

Thanks to Oz slipping the driver some money, they were alone in the hay-piled wagon that was making a circuit of the fairgrounds. They also were the only ones taking that particular route.

Emerson set her cup down and crawled over to snuggle against Oz, her head hitting his shoulder and her arm hugging his waist. He covered her with his cape as his arm drew her close.

She sighed, content, enjoying Oz’s warmth, the peaceful rhythmic clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, and the gentle rocking of the wagon.

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

Oz’s words drifted to her from far away. She snapped her eyes open. “Of course not.” Never in a million years was she about to admit she was, in fact, dozing. “I’m looking at the sky. All the stars. So bright and beautiful.”

“They aren’t the only beautiful thing out here tonight.”

“Little ole me?”

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