Falling Inn Love: A Pumpkins and Proposals Novel (The Harvest Ranch Romance Series Book 3)

by Amberlee Day

  “Pretty big, then?”

  She laughed. “Sure, if you call two bedrooms, an all-purpose great room that’s small enough to pass the salt in, and a laundry ‘big.’”

  “It looks bigger on the outside.”

  “It is, really. Nothing to write home about, but it’s home.” And with a jolt, she realized it really was.

  He chuckled, and the awkwardness popped up again like some physical presence. Not even Pumpkin moved, though she did yawn.

  “So ... we got through the day,” Kate said to fill in the silence.

  “We did.”

  “It wasn’t so bad.”

  “No, not bad.” But then he must have remembered the same things she did, the uncomfortable accent and her nearly disastrous fall, because they both laughed.

  “Yeah, it was pretty bad.”

  “Definitely.”

  “And Brenda Lee is on her way, right?”

  “Yes, she’s coming.” Freddie scratched his head. “Hopefully.”

  Uh-oh. “I’m afraid to ask what that means,” she said in a more upbeat voice than she felt.

  “It sounded like she was getting close to finding ...” Light and shadow flitted over the cagey look he gave her. There was still something about all this he wasn’t telling her. “Finding what she needs to find before she can come.”

  “But she’ll find it by tomorrow?”

  “Oh, yeah. She said she’s getting close, so by tomorrow.”

  “Good.” Kate started walking toward the lobby doors.

  “Probably.”

  She spun slowly on her heel. “What’s that now?”

  “I’m guessing by tomorrow afternoon or evening, at least. She has a meet-and-greet scheduled at the festival grounds.”

  “Well, that’s good she’ll be there, then.”

  “Yes.”

  Kate swung her arms, wondering if she should just say good night and make a run for it, but she didn’t. “So, she had nothing else scheduled for tomorrow morning?”

  “Nothing important,” Freddie assured her with an absolutely gorgeous white smile. Still, her stomach turned a little, because she knew her town.

  “What non-important event was she scheduled for?”

  “She was just supposed to be a judge for something, a kids’ contest, I think. They’d had a whole list of things they wanted her to judge, and I told them no to a lot, but just to pick out the ...” Freddie’s eyes shifted so he was looking thoughtfully at the siding on the inn wall. “The most important ones.”

  “Right. It wasn’t the Ultimate Teen Pie Baking Contest, by any chance, was it?”

  His eyes met hers. “That sounds about right. Do you know it?”

  “Do I know it? I’m afraid I do.” She almost felt sorry for him, but a rising tide of nervousness rose up in her stomach. She was the one to feel sorry for, if she was tracking the trajectory of this conversation correctly. “It’s not an unimportant contest, not to Harvest Ranch. Kids prepare all year for this. There are rounds of bake-offs leading up to this, so that only the best of each type of pie is presented at the festival. The winning baker has his or her picture hung in the honorary spot outside the mayor’s office for a year. Plus there are cash prizes, pretty sizable ones for first and second place.”

  “Wow.”

  “And third place gets everything he can grab in the dollar store in sixty seconds.” She’d always wanted to win that one.

  “Harvest Ranch doesn’t fool around with their juvenile pie baking.”

  “You can say that again.” They both laughed, but as their voices died down, the question in the silence rose.

  “So ...” Freddie said. “I suppose I should see what’s happening with Brenda Lee before I cancel on the contest.”

  “You can’t cancel on the contest,” Kate quietly assured him with a smile.

  But Freddie just stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’s supposed to be at eleven.”

  “Can’t cancel,” she repeated softly, shining her sweetest smile at him.

  “Guess I’ll have to see where Brenda Lee is in the morning.”

  “Hm.” They didn’t say anymore, but she couldn’t tear her eyes off him. The evening lights sparkled in his eyes, and neither of them moved as the tension between them crackled. He had saved her, gone to great effort to dive forward and catch her. He’d held her close to his chest, like he’d suddenly decided she wasn’t just an annoying necessity, but someone he wanted to protect, someone of value to him. And he’d stayed at her side the rest of the day.

  And her feelings for him? He’d made her feel protected, special, in a way she’d never felt around a man. Probably she just had a crush on him. Who wouldn’t? He was Cary Grant gorgeous, after all. But yes, there were feelings there. They’d popped up at some point when she wasn’t looking, growing lickety-split like a just-add-water pet when he’d saved her and looked at her like it was for the first time.

  “Good night, then,” he said, and she followed his lead, stepping back toward the lobby.

  “Good night, then,” she repeated. It wasn’t until she’d said good night to Virgil and passed from the office into the residence that it occurred to her she should maybe have left the wig and costume in cabin eight again. After all, Brenda Lee would need them tomorrow.

  Aw, who was she fooling? She knew perfectly well who would be wearing this getup at the contest in the morning. If it meant spending more time with Freddie Prescott, maybe that was something she was interested in. Besides, how could anything be more embarrassing than dressing up as a celebrity and falling off a parade float?

  Chapter 8

  For the second morning in a row, Freddie popped up in bed trying to remember where he was. Fruit tapestry hanging on the wall? Right. He was at the Cornucopia.

  Pumpkin rising from the spot next to him confirmed it. But what had woken him up?

  Someone knocking on the door answered that question. Pumpkin, apparently not much of a watchdog, yawned and laid her fuzzy head back on the pillow, but Freddie dragged himself out of bed.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he told the dog. His brain was still hazy from sleep, and he couldn’t think who it might be at this hour—whatever the hour was—but he had a fleeting hope that it could be Brenda Lee.

  When he opened the door to find Kate there—no wig or makeup, just her silky brown hair framing her face, and leggings and a big eggplant-colored sweater that managed to make her dark eyes even larger and more velvety—a warm feeling rushed up his chest. Which she was staring at, her eyes growing even wider.

  “Oh, sorry.” He looked around for a shirt to put on, but everything was in the other room. Instead he folded his arms. “What’s up? I mean, good morning. Looks like it’s going to be a good morning, sunny. What’s up?” He sounded like an idiot.

  “I just wondered if you’d heard from Brenda Lee yet.” She accentuated the final T in yet. Cute.

  Brenda Lee. Judging that contest. Shoot. “Hold on.” He left her there on the doorstep while he found his phone in the bedroom. He walked back while checking for messages, pulling on his shirt from yesterday as he did. “Nope. Nothing. She definitely won’t be here for the contest this morning. They’ll just have to do without her.”

  “I’ll do it.” Kate smiled at him, though he knew she couldn’t really be happy about it.

  “Are you sure?” He’d already asked her to do so much. This was definitely more than she’d signed on for, and so far there’d been very little publicity for the inn.

  “Yes, I can fill in. I think we proved yesterday that we could fool people even when I have to talk, and when things go horribly wrong. Don’t you think?”

  He chuckled, admiring her pluck. There was more to Kate than met the eye. “You know, I don’t even know your last name.”

  “Well, isn’t that rude,” she teased, twisting his insides with that sparkle in her eye. “Here I am saving your bacon, and you don’t even know my name.”

  “I apologize. I defin
itely should have asked for your full name before asking you to save my bacon.”

  She nodded, accepting his apology, her long eyelashes dipping down like they were taking a bow. His stomach muscles squeezed. “Kate O’Halloran, at your service.”

  “Kate O’Halloran, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not of the Harvest Ranch O’Hallorans, are you? Because I hear they run this amazing inn.”

  She laughed. “Okay, you make fun, but it is an amazing inn. You’re just not seeing it in its glory.”

  “If this old place has a glory, I would love to see it.”

  A twinkle livened up her already beautiful eyes. “Would you?”

  Uh-oh. “Actually, I was only being polite. I’ve seen enough.”

  “What’s on Brenda Lee’s schedule after the Ultimate Teen Pie Baking Contest?”

  “Uh, well ...” He checked his phone. “There’s the meet-and-greet, but that’s not till hours later.”

  “Perfect. I don’t suppose you brought any work clothes with you?”

  Freddie started to sweat, not an easy thing to hide with his shirt still unbuttoned. “Work clothes?”

  “You know, work clothes? Something you could get dirty in. Typically something without pocket squares.”

  He arched an eyebrow, still nervous about whatever she was suggesting, but he could dish it back. “Now don’t go making fun of my pocket squares.”

  “Fair enough. Actually, my dad has a box of work clothes, if he hasn’t gotten rid of it yet.” She said that like there was a story there. “Something is sure to fit you. Let’s plan on two o’clock.”

  “And what will we be doing at two o’clock?”

  She smiled sweetly—a look he didn’t quite trust but was quickly becoming unable to resist. “Paying me back for putting on that wig again. And the eyelashes, the worst part. But don’t worry—if you collapse from experiencing actual physical work, I’ll be sure to ship your body back to New York. ‘The city.’”

  “Ha, ha,” he said, watching her walk away. She had an energy in her step. He’d noticed it before but hadn’t realized how attractive it was. “Do you need any help getting into character?”

  She waved without looking back, so she must think she had it. One thing was for sure: Miss Kate O’Halloran had something Freddie had not planned on—his interest.

  ***

  “Are you sure you can judge this contest without talking much?” he asked as they walked to the festival grounds. She was getting tired of him picking at her accent, no matter how cute he could be. It wasn’t that bad.

  “Of course I can. This is mostly about smiling, getting your picture taken, that kind of thing, right? Plus, I get to eat pie!” Even if she couldn’t see the event grounds right ahead, she’d know they were almost there by those delicious smells. The scents of churros, hot dogs, and spiced cider filled the air, but even with all those, she couldn’t wait to eat the town’s best-of-the-best pies.

  “I take it you like pie.”

  “Yes, I do. Who doesn’t? Uh-oh, don’t tell me you’re afraid of eating pie, too?”

  “Too ...? Oh, you mean like donuts. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m actually not afraid of eating donuts, or pie.”

  “I’ve known you three days and I’ve yet to see you put sugar in your mouth.” Which led her eyes directly to his lips, which made her gulp and look away quickly.

  “That’s only because I haven’t been around any sweets worth eating. Maybe something at this pie-making contest will tempt me.”

  She didn’t look at him to see if there was any double meaning in his words. Probably best, anyway.

  The contest venue was at the festival bandstand, same as every year. And just like she’d told Freddie, the event was well attended.

  “See? Aren’t you glad you didn’t try to sneak out of this one?” she asked, but before he could answer, they were spotted. Except for the parade where she was mostly separated from the public, she hadn’t been exposed much to Brenda Lee’s fans. Several hundred people had gathered here, and within a few seconds it seemed that most of them had turned to look at her. “Holy smokes,” Kate whispered just loud enough for Freddie to hear.

  “Chin up, star. They’re here to see you.”

  And Pumpkin, from the looks of things. Everyone knew that the town had gone mad for labradoodles ever since the Love at Home series had featured the fictional version of Pumpkin. What she hadn’t seen before was so many in one setting. It seemed like everyone and their dog—specifically, their labradoodle—had shown up for the pie-making contest.

  Pumpkin gave a greeting bark, in which Kate detected a note of superiority. Dogs surrounding the grandstand answered back, and the noise grew into a cacophony of human and canine voices.

  “Well, this should be fun,” she said, smiling and waving at Brenda Lee’s fans like she had on the parade float.

  Twenty minutes later, Kate had smiled for pictures next to dozens of strangers and almost as many people she knew, from her high school biology lab partner to one of the Cornucopia’s former housekeepers. If any of them recognized her, they hid it well. And through it all, Pumpkin had been at her side, though not voluntarily. She kept tugging at the leash, making sure Kate knew she wasn’t the dog’s favorite human. Fine. The feeling was mutual.

  Freddie was never far away, which did a lot to help her feel more comfortable but did just as much to distract her. Always aware of where he was, she realized quickly that she wasn’t the only woman in Harvest Ranch to notice Freddie’s good looks and city-boy charm. Barbie, a known town flirt who worked at the hardware store, seemed to take particular notice. Kate was tempted to send Freddie on an errand back to the inn just to throw Barbie off.

  When the event finally began, Kate sat at one end of the judges’ table with Pumpkin reluctantly positioned at her side. Her fellow judges occupied the remaining seats, a blend of city council members, retired teachers, and business owners.

  First up, the prize-winning locally grown peach pie. Kate couldn’t wait. She smiled at Freddie below, who gave her an encouraging nod. A flash drew her attention, and she turned to see McGee not far away. He took another picture—flash!—before grinning widely at her. Kate’s stomach flip-flopped. She’d forgotten about McGee. Did he recognize her from this distance? Had Freddie already worked out an interview time with him, and would it be for after Brenda Lee finally arrived? It had certainly better be.

  For now, she was ready to take her job as judge seriously. Kate made notes on how the pie looked as it was presented for the judges to view. Flaky crust, nice golden color, shiny decorative design. Perfect. She was starting to salivate just looking at it.

  But when the pie was plated and passed out to the judges, the servers had added a little something extra: big scoops of ice cream. Someone apparently thought the pie needed to be à la mode ... but why? Kate’s slice had an extra-large scoop.

  The former high school English teacher next to her cooed, “Doesn’t that look delicious? It’s cinnamon ice cream!”

  “Cinnamon ice cream,” Kate breathed out, trying to look excited. “Yum.”

  What was she going to do? She couldn’t eat ice cream. She was lactose intolerant, severely so. But no problem, she’d just have to tell someone and they would bring her another piece, sans ice cream. Her gaze landed on Freddie, who must have noticed her distress. He gave her a questioning look, but she gave him a smile and a thumbs-up before raising her hand to ask for a different piece. Hopefully, no one from the Harvest Ranch Ice Cream Council would be offended.

  But she didn’t have a chance.

  Audrey Capulet, ex-cheerleader for the San Francisco 49ers and the contest’s MC, strode over and stood next to Kate, microphone on. Not that she needed it with that booming voice. “If you’ve noticed that we’ve made an addition to this year’s pie competition, you’re right! We’ve added a bit of our famous Harvest Ranch Cinnamon Ice Cream—for sale at Harold’s Market, or straight from old Pat Newel’s
dairy, if you happen to be out for a tour. And if you’ve read Mrs. Mitford’s books, you won’t have to guess why. Everyone knows she’s a big fan of cinnamon ice cream, isn’t that right, Mrs. Mitford?”

  What? Brenda Lee Mitford was an ice cream fan? Kate’s smile popped up as if someone had pulled a string, but her teeth clenched so tight she thought for a minute she might chip one. Fortunately, Audrey had moved down the grandstand, but what in the world could Kate do? She picked up her fork, making moves to spear the pie without actually connecting. She said a silent prayer that she wouldn’t have to choose between making herself violently ill and saving Brenda Lee Mitford’s reputation.

  But suddenly Freddie was there on the stage, just as bold and confident as if he belonged there. Kate was so happy to see him, she grabbed his arm. He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “What’s the matter? You look like you’re sitting on a tack.”

  “I’m lactose intolerant,” she whispered back, still smiling the best she could.

  “How bad?” he whispered back. “Brenda Lee makes a big deal that cinnamon ice cream is her favorite treat.”

  “Bad. Trust me. Cramps, nausea, rolling on the floor, terrible diarrhea ...”

  “Okay, okay,” he stopped her. He stood up, and she could feel him behind her chair. What was he going to do, make her eat it and catch her when she got sick? Pumpkin, ever the traitor, scooted backward on her rump to be closer to Freddie. Down the table, the other judges were already offering compliments to the bakers, hinting at what their verdicts would be.

  Kate was really starting to panic. She reached behind her until she touched Freddie’s leg. She half turned. “Do something.”

  Suddenly, he whispered in her ear. “It’s okay. I’ll distract them.”

  Distract them for what, so she could make a run for it? But she didn’t have a lot of time to think. He rounded in front of the table, his hand outstretched, and he walked straight up to Audrey with such confidence that she handed the microphone over to Freddie.