Build Me Up (8 page)

“I didn’t say that,” Kristen instinctively objected.

“What
is
your scene, then?”

“My ‘scene’? I think those are dolls or something. But if you’re asking what I like to do for fun on my spare time, then, no, it’s not baking or cooking. I prefer eating out.”

“What foods?”

“Most. I tend to stay away from carbs if I can help it, though. I think I’ve gone up a cup size just from being out of L.A. for two or three months.” Kristen glanced down at her buttoned-up chest. Yup, her bras were definitely starting to feel a bit tight these days…

“I…”

Ford’s uttered grunt made Kristen look over, only to see his jaw clenching and unclenching and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Hard. She waited patiently for him to formulate himself.

“I thought that’s why women went to L.A. in the first place.”

It took Kristen a moment to figure out that a) he’d attempted to make a joke, and b) that he wasn’t shying away from the topic of her bra size even though it clearly bothered him.

“
Touché
.” The least she could do was let him off the hook. “So, what’s the record for number of pies consumed?”

“Uh… I’m not sure. I haven’t followed the contest.”

“What? You have an annual pie eating contest and you’re not watching it with the rest of the town, foam fingers and all?”

“No foam fingers. And I’m usually busy working.”

“Working? Mr. I Stop Working At Five Sharp?”

“I man the booth for Mary while she judges the contest.”

“What booth?”

“The best pumpkins in Massachusetts,” he said and grinned. “Well, at least if you ask the Crenshaws.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Kristen smiled. “Mind if I stop by?”

“And miss the pie eating contest? I could never ask that of you.” He was teasing, but it was still sweet of him to say.

“Okay, I’ll stop by before or after, unless you’re doing something else then?”

“I usually help out with the hayride, but I should be around. Greenport is not exactly L.A.”

“Wow… stuffed animal keeper, guardian of pumpkins, and now assistant hayride driver, as well? Today’s just been a day full of surprises.”

“Is your head spinning?”

“Like I just got off a merry-go-round,” Kristen smiled.

“We’ll have that at the Autumn Fest as well. Word of advice – don’t fill up on cotton candy before getting on it.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

“Well, here we are,” Ford said and put the car in park. “Have a good night, Kristen.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

SEVEN

It was like walking into a different world. Greenport had transformed overnight into a vibrant palette with people laughing and dogs barking. Warm cider was served out of barrels, and she could smell the cinnamon donuts a mile away.

As Kristen walked from booth to booth, exchanging pleasantries with local merchants showing off their produce or crafts, she was aware that she couldn’t help searching the milling crowd for Ford’s face. Why was she so obsessed with him?

Okay, so they worked together, sometimes in pretty close proximity. Okay, so he had his funny moments in amongst the surly bits. And okay, he was pretty easy on the eyes. But even so. She wasn’t supposed to be looking for him in a crowd.

Just when Kristen had decided to stop being ridiculous and start focusing on what was actually being displayed in the creatively crafted little booths, a familiar voice sounded behind her.

“If you want to make the pie eating contest in time, I’d stay clear of Captain Jensen.”

Kristen resisted the urge to spin around, determined to act like she’d seen him coming a mile away. The little flinch when he first started talking may have outed her, though.

“Why’s that?” she asked, picking up a miniature lighthouse crafted entirely in stone and eyeing it as if she were appraising jewels.

“He used to be a fisherman, as was his father and grandfather before him. He has fond memories of the lighthouse, and he’ll tell you all about it if you stand idly by for more than a minute.”

Kristen looked over to see an elderly man with a fisherman’s cap and a full, white beard talking animatedly with a woman and her young son. The freckled boy was pulling on his mother’s hand, apparently eager to get moving, possibly in search of cotton candy.

Kristen put down the miniature lighthouse and headed over to the produce stand. She didn’t check to see if Ford followed her, but she tried to hide the grin that spread across her face when he stepped up beside her and picked up a red apple.

“You think it’s poisoned?”

She looked over at him, her eyebrows raised. “Really? You see any little old ladies walking around scouting for people to put into an eternal sleep?”

Ford made a show of craning his neck and looking around. “Old lady Breezer is lurking around.”

“Trust me, if she wanted me dead, she’d have poisoned the cereal by now.”

“Who’s saying you’re the target? Maybe she’s working for Bankhead – wanting to do away with anyone who opposes his project?”

“You’re working for him, so I’d say you’re safe.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t make trouble for him any way I can,” Ford shrugged and handed over a couple of quarters to the fruit stand keeper in exchange for the hopefully non-toxic apple.

“What do you mean?” Kristen turned towards him, frowning. “You’re not going to sabotage the build, are you?”

“What do you take me for? No, I’ll do my job just as I would for anyone, but as a citizen and a member of this town, I intend on making my voice heard when it comes to how the land and buildings are used.”

“You won’t let him incorporate the old cottage into the new house, will you?” Kristen said, understanding dawning on her.

“Not if I can help it, no.”

“Why not? It’s an old house. One more storm raging in the bay and it’ll fall in on itself.”

“That house has withstood decades of storms. I wouldn’t count it out just yet.”

“Why do you care so much? Sure, I get that the lighthouse is a big part of the Greenport heritage and all, but the cottage? It’s just a house.”

“To you. To some of us it’s a part of our history.”

“But…”

“Pie eating contest is about to start. I need to get over to Mary’s booth to relieve her. See you around, Kristen,” Ford said and before she could object, he was gone. Kristen couldn’t help but wonder if he had a personal connection to the old cottage and, if so, why he wasn’t telling her about it. Not that he was an over-sharer by any means, but still…

She didn’t have much time to ponder the mystery that was Ford Hamm, as she was swept up in a tidal wave of people heading for the contest area. Clearly, pumpkin pies were all the rage in Greenport.

Kristen felt sick. The pies had smelled great for the first ten minutes or so, but the sight of the contestants treating their plates like troughs and making not so pleasant sounds while eating quickly dispersed all pleasantness of the event. When the losers caved and the consumed pies resurfaced in a different shape and smell, she’d had enough.

She didn’t mean to end up at Mary Crenshaw’s pumpkin booth – heaven knows she’d had enough of pumpkins for one day – but even so, there she was, finding Ford Hamm all by his lonesome. She was more relieved than she liked to admit when he smiled as she approached.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for pumpkins,” she shrugged.

“Want a taste? Mary made pumpkin cupcakes,” he said and picked up an orange pastry.

Kristen shook her head and instinctively took a step back. “I couldn’t. Not after…”

“Ah. Pie eating contest not as much fun as it looked on paper, huh?”

“It was… pretty disgusting, actually,” she pulled a face and he laughed. “Have you ever competed?”

“Me? Yeah, when I was a kid and didn’t know any better. Long time ago now.”

“Oh, you’re all wise and worldly now, are you?” she mocked.

“Yup.”

“So… when’s the hayride?” Kristen asked, picking up a miniature pumpkin to distract herself.

“All day long.”

“Oh. But you’re here.”

“I help out, I don’t run the show.”

“So, when does your shift start?”

“In an hour or so, when the sun starts to set.”

“How long is the Autumn Fest open for?”

“It starts to wind down after the pie eating contest and once the pet pageant winners are declared, so the evening hayrides are mostly for the teenagers and those that haven’t eaten so much they need to lie down.”

“I guess I should walk around before the booths close, then.”

“Yeah, you do that. See you around.”

Kristen waved goodbye and headed to another booth, this one selling home-grown herbs. She chatted with the locals about their products, and by the time dusk was starting to creep in, she made her way over to the hayride checkpoint.

Lanterns were showing the way – not entirely safe given all the hay strewn on the ground – and there was a bunch of teenagers already piled on top of the wagon. She was about to turn back around and head home for the night, but then she spotted Ford, who was waving her over. Not one to back out of a challenge, she walked over to him.

“Hey, you made it. We were just about to take off.”

“Looks kind of full…” Kristen said, eyeing the cart.

“You could probably squeeze in… but you’re welcome to sit with me in the tractor.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s not a lot of leg room, but…”

“Sure. I’ve never been on a tractor before.”

“All right, then,” Ford smiled. “This way, Ma’am,” he said and gestured for her to go first. “Climb on up.”

“Uh… no. I know this trick,” Kristen said, placing her hands on her hips. “You just want to look at my ass.”

Ford laughed. “Fine. I’ll go first.”

One foot on the metal step, one hand on the handle to the side of the cabin and one hand on the door, and he was swinging himself up and inside. Kristen didn’t get much time to enjoy the view before it was gone and he was firmly planted in his seat.

“Come on, we don’t wanna keep the kids waiting much longer,” he urged her on and Kristen attempted to mimic his graceful ascent. Her spiked boots slipped between the metal bars on the steps and she hauled herself up with less grace than an elephant, but she made it.

“Where’s my seat?” she asked, looking around the small cabin that fit Ford like a glove.

He reached behind him to get out a cushion, pulled a lever to lower his left side armrest and put the cushion over it so that it formed a makeshift seat between him and the window. She wanted to object that she’d practically be sitting in his lap but the teenagers were getting rowdy in the back and she complied without discussion.

As the engine revved and a cloud of black smoke puffed out of the tall, slim chimney-thing in front, Kristen grabbed onto the side with one hand and the back of Ford’s seat with the other. She was acutely aware of how her jean-clad leg was tucked against Ford’s much wider thigh, which flexed as he pushed down on the clutch to shift gears. Powerful legs controlling a powerful machine… Kristen looked around to see if there was a window that opened, and discovered they were already open as wide as they’d go. D’oh!

“You okay?” Ford glanced over at her.

“Um… yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look a little flushed. You’re not allergic to hay, right?”

“Not that I know of.” Although, that
would
explain a lot. Like that itchy feeling all over her body and the warm dew down where… never mind. She shifted a little and managed to cross her legs, thereby creating some space between herself and Ford’s muscular body… darn it! She needed to get her head in the game.

“Just let me know if you need to get off, and I’ll…”

Kristen almost choked.
What
did he just say? “Excuse me?”

“If you need to leave,” he said slowly as though he was talking to a crazy person. Then again, he wasn’t far off. “I’ll pull over and you can get off.”

“Right. I’m fine. Really. Just… drive on.”

Ford shrugged and turned his full attention back onto the road again while Kristen tried to figure out the million ways in which she could wipe this afternoon out of existence. None of them were in the realm of possibility. She was so screwed.

Inviting Kristen along to ride with him in the tractor had been a big mistake. Come to think of it, this whole day had been a mistake. He knew plenty of people in Greenport, so why would he seek out Kristen’s company?

Because she was fun, temperamental, argumentative, bossy, sweet, and drop dead gorgeous, maybe? All good reasons why he shouldn’t be hanging around her. He was starting to feel things around Kristen that were better left unfelt. She was a stranger, an outsider, and in less than a year, she’d be going back to her real life in California. Anyone could see she was a bad investment. So why couldn’t he?

The whoosh of relief he felt when the hayride came to an end surprised even him. Having a beautiful woman tucked against him sounded great on paper, but when that woman was Kristen Barnes and they were in a tractor, it was downright painful.

“End of the road,” he said as cheerfully as he could muster. There was a slight jolt as the tractor came to a stop and Kristen grabbed on to his arm. She quickly let go, but not without leaving some of her warmth behind.

“Thanks for the ride,” Kristen said and wasted no time in climbing out of the tractor. Was she as affected as he was by their proximity? Ford wiped his hands on his jeans before climbing out himself.

“So now you’ve experienced a genuine Greenport hayride,” he said as he jumped onto the ground, which was strewn with hay and made for a soft landing spot.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Kristen said distractedly and he noticed she was squirming. Looking down, he saw that one of her heels had sunk into the ground and caught, and she was now struggling to pull it loose.

“Need some help?” he offered.

“Oh. No, it’s fine, I’m just…” she said, pulling more aggressively. In a split second, she’d lost her balance and was falling. He managed to catch her, but gravity set in and they both fell to the ground, landing butts down on the ground, which under the thin layer of hay was rather muddy from the tractor driving through the field all day.

“Ah!” Kristen gasped in horror. “My Stitch’s!”

”What?” She pulled stitches? When did she have surgery? Ford reached over to get a feel for what was hurting her, but she slapped his hand away.

“My jeans, you doofus! They were designer.”

Ford felt like slapping himself over the head, but remembering his hands were dirty, he refrained.

“I haven’t met a washer-dryer yet who couldn’t take care of a pair of jeans,” he said instead and hauled himself up, offering her a hand in assistance. She ignored it and instead managed to get herself even dirtier as she scrambled to get up.

“Yeah, well, Mrs. Breezer is going to have a fit. I doubt she’ll let me in the house looking like this. I’ll have to strip on the porch, and you just know Frank Sinatra is a peeping tomcat.”

“Come on, I’ll drive us to my place and you can wash your clothes there. I have to put mine in the washer anyway, and I don’t mind a bit of mud in my hallway.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” she muttered.