Sally: Autumn Storms (F&L Story #4)

Sally: Part 2

Chapter 2

Wilson hunkered down beside her forest green Dodge, mentally shaking his head at seeing that little slip of a woman trying to change this tire when he pulled up in her pumpkin field.  The damn tire was as big as she was.  Oh, she wasn't overly short or skinny -- yet she only came up to his chin -- and he pretty much gathered that there was more muscle to the lady farmer than cushion.  But still, the padding she did have, rounded out a very nice package, even for a woman clinging to her last years in her thirties.  At least, that's what Old Man Riley told him.

            Frankly, Sally Sanborn looked no older than him, and he was pushing thirty-six.  Her wild, blond hair framed a delicate face drawn lightly with laugh lines around her luminous eyes and a mouth that didn't know how to frown.  She told him she liked to play jokes on others.  He could believe it.  There was an impish quality to her, not just in her whiskey colored eyes, but in her every movement.  It had been a long time since he enjoyed just the presence of a woman.  This one will keep him on his toes.  She had a little fire in her...some sweetness, too.  Then there was that bossy attitude she tried on him, almost like she was playing dress-up in her granny's attic.  If he wasn't so dead set on proving that he respected her as his new employer, he might actually crack a smile at her.  But he didn't want her getting the wrong idea and accusing him of sexual harassment.  He already paid enough debts to society. 

            He tackled the remaining lug nuts and fluidly removed the flattened tire from the spokes.  Sally stood next to him, in his peripheral vision, and chatted nonstop about her farm.  He only listened with half an ear, content with hearing the sound of her voice over the words she said.  How much different could a pumpkin farm be from any other kind of farm or ranch?

            “The public side of the pumpkin patch is only open Thursday through Sunday,” she explained, “and thankfully this year, one of the church youth groups – from the Methodist Church down the road – is working the booths for me, so I’m able to get some work done around the rest of the farm.  I give them a portion of the proceeds for their efforts.  It cuts into my profit, but they’re a good group of kids and they need the extra funds for their camping trip next summer.  I’ve just got to go down in the mornings and unlock everything, and then go back in the afternoon to lock everything up again and collect the money.  If you’re still around by next Thursday, I’ll let you go on over and do all that a couple of times.  With there only being two more weekends until Halloween, this’ll be over soon, and we can concentrate on other jobs…”

            He had half a mind to tell her that she shouldn't just let anyone handle her money, even collecting a few hundred dollars from a group of church kids, but if that was the way she wanted to run her business, then who was he to argue about it?  Also, he thought that if the pumpkin patch was such a headache and she had to pay all those people to help her out, why didn’t she just sell her pumpkins or plant something else?

            As though she read his mind, she continued talking to the top of his head.  “Most of my money this time of year is made from harvesting the gourds and selling them to various stores, but I just can’t not have a pumpkin patch.  Where’s the fun in that?  On Halloween, I turn the pumpkin field into party central for a lot of the teenagers in the area.  There’ll be jack-o-lantern contests and costume contests, dancing and barbeque, and a haunted hay ride.  Their parents know they’ll be safe here, and it’s a lot of fun.  I won’t hold you accountable for any of it.  It’s my own personal project…”

            Wilson hefted the spare tire onto the rim, thinking she either needed to slow down and take a few deep breaths or she’ll start turning blue.  Damn, this woman can talk the ears off a donkey.