Page 13 of Mountain Man's Flirty Farmgirl
Blade’s expression softened the way it always did when we talked about the kids. Emma was six, with wild curls and plenty of energy. Jake was four, quieter but just as determined, with my eyes and Blade’s serious way of studying the world.
“They’re at the petting zoo?” Ashe asked.
“With my parents,” I said. “Who are probably spoiling them rotten as we speak.”
When Mom and Dad sold their farm in Georgia and moved to Wildwood Valley two years ago, I worried it might be too much—having them so close after finding my independence. But it had been perfect. They’d bought a little house on the outskirts of town, and Dad had thrown himself into helping local farmers optimize their growing seasons while Mom became the unofficial grandmother to half the kids in town.
“We should probably go rescue them,” Blade said, but he was looking at me with that look. The one that said he had other ideas about how we could spend the next hour.
“We should,” I agreed, even though I was thinking the same thing he was.
“Or,” he said, stepping closer, “we could sneak off for twenty minutes. Your parents love watching the kids. They probably won’t even notice we’re gone.”
“Blade Osborn,” I said, trying to sound stern but failing completely. “We are not abandoning our children at the harvest festival so we can make out behind the equipment shed.”
“Who said anything about the equipment shed? I was thinking the honeysuckle grove by the creek.”
My stomach flipped. The honeysuckle grove was where he’d proposed on a blanket under the stars all those years ago.
“Tempting,” I said. “But you know Emma will notice if we’re gone. She’s got your attention to detail and my suspicious nature.”
“Dangerous combination.”
“The worst.”
He sighed dramatically. “Fine, kids first. But tonight, when they’re asleep…”
“Tonight you can have all the alone time you want.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
We started walking toward the petting zoo, Blade’s arm around my shoulders. The afternoon sun was starting to slant lower, casting everything in that golden light that made the valley look like something out of a painting.
“How’s the honky-tonk coming?” I asked.
“Ahead of schedule, if you can believe it. We should have the frame up by the end of next week.”
I could hear the pride in his voice. The project was his idea originally—something to bring life back to the town, give people a reason to stay instead of leaving for bigger cities. The town council had been skeptical at first, but Blade had presented plans, found investors, and somehow convinced everyone that Wildwood Valley could support live music and weekend tourism.
“And your farmers market empire?” he asked.
“Hardly an empire. But we had our best weekend yet. Sold out of everything by noon.”
What had started as me selling fruit from our own garden had grown into something bigger. I coordinated with five local farms now, selling their produce at the weekend farmers marketand splitting the proceeds. It wasn’t making us rich, but it was bringing people to town, supporting local growers, and giving me something that felt meaningful beyond keeping our own household running.
“Mrs. Upchurch said she’s thinking about expanding her tomato operation next season,” I said. “If the market keeps growing like this.”
“That’s because you’re good at what you do.”
“I’m good at talking to people. There’s a difference.”
“Same thing,” he said, echoing his earlier words.
We could hear the kids before we saw them—Emma’s delighted shriek followed by Jake’s more serious commentary on whatever farm animal had captured his attention.
“That’s definitely our children,” Blade said.
“Unfortunately.”
