Page 9 of Cider Kissed By the Mountain Man
CHAPTER FOUR
Abby
Some girls had a type. Mine came with apple trees and attitude.
I showed up to the orchard the next day after school with a thermos of coffee and a dozen of pumpkin spice bars I’d baked last night—because I couldn’t sleep. Not after that kiss.
One stupid kiss and everything I thought I had locked down cracked wide open. My track record with men was lousy—bad choices, worse endings. I was good at building walls and even better at convincing myself I was fine behind them.
But Trent Lawson… he’d bulldozed right through those walls with one kiss. And worse? I’d let him.
Because this wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t just hormones or the end of a dry spell. This was me, actually falling for the grumpiest, most frustrating, emotionally barricaded man I’d ever met.
And I knew it because every step closer to that shed made my chest ache and my stomach flip.
Trent was working himself into the ground trying to hold this place together. Yesterday’s irrigation disaster had shown me just how much weight he carried on those broad, stubborn shoulders. And no matter how sharp his words were, I’d seen the truth under them—glimpses of a man who cared too deeply, who fought too hard, who didn’t know how to let anyone in.
And damn me, I wanted to be the one he let in.
He was already in the shed when I arrived, bent over a piece of equipment that was clearly giving him trouble. His flannel shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing those distracting forearms and stretching against those biceps. I shivered, remembering what it felt like to have those arms wrapped around me.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I said cheerfully, setting the coffee and treats on his workbench. I probably should’ve opened with something cooler, sexier. But no, I went full kindergarten-teacher-on-a-caffeine-high. Because apparently his snarly attitude did it for me.
He looked up, his dark hair falling across his forehead. My fingers itched to push it back. To stand on my tiptoes and kiss away the frown lines.
“What’s this?” He gestured at the coffee and plastic container like they might explode.
“It’s called a treat for a hardworking man.” I winched internally at the cheesy words but kept the smile on my face.
“I don’t need you bringing me food.”
That was such a lie. Every man needed something warm and sweet. I just hadn’t decided if I meant the coffee... or myself.
“Of course you don’t. You probably survive on pure stubbornness and bad attitude.” I opened the container and selected a bar. I had frosted them with cream cheese icing. I looked at him as I took a bite. “These are really good, even if I baked them myself.”
“There’s a bakery in town.”
I nodded my head as I took another bite. “Quinn’s Bakery. I’ve been there. She makes some delicious things, but I felt like baking last night.” I didn’t add that I baked when I was stressed—or evidently horny.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want any,” he muttered, wiping off his hands.
“Well, aren’t you gracious.” But I pushed the bars toward him. I looked around and found a stack of paper coffee cups. I poured a cup for each of us. “So what’s the disaster today? More irrigation problems?”
“Apple washer is acting up.” He took a bite of the dessert, and I tried not to notice the way his lips closed around it. “Won’t cycle properly, which means I can’t process yesterday’s harvest.”
I peered over his shoulder at the machine, inhaling that clean soap scent that seemed to follow him around. “What happens if you can’t wash the apples?”
“Can’t sell them. Health department regulations.” His jaw was tight with frustration. “I’ve got two hundred bushels sitting in cold storage that need to be processed today, and this piece of junk decides now is a good time to break down.”
The stress in his voice made something twist in my chest. Without thinking, I reached out and touched his arm.
“Hey,” I said softly. “We’ll figure it out.”
He went very still under my touch, his dark eyes finding mine. “We?”
Oh.I hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to include myself in his problems. But looking at him—really looking at him—I could see the exhaustion he was trying to hide, the way his shoulders carried the weight of keeping this place running all by himself.
“I meant you’ll figure it out,” I said, but I didn’t move my hand. “You always do, right?”
