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She made a small sound. Her foot went out from under her, and she came off the edge of the stack with her arms out.

I didn't think. I just moved.

She landed against my chest hard enough to knock the breath out of me. I had one arm under her and one around her back, and her hands were locked on my shoulders. For a second neither of us moved at all.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes." It came out shaky. "Yes. I'm okay."

I let her slide down slowly until her boots touched the ground. I should have let go then. My hands weren't listening. She didn't step back either.

Her hands had moved from my shoulders to my chest. She left them there, flat, and I could feel her breathing against me, fast and uneven. There was straw in her hair, and her face was close, closer than it had been on the courthouse lawn.

She tipped her face up to mine.

I knew I shouldn't. I lowered my head, and her eyes started to close.

"How's it going?" Walt called from across the barn. "If you want more, let me know. I've got plenty."

She jumped back like the ground had moved again. I dropped my arms.

Walt stood by the tractor with a wrench in his hand. He looked at me for a long moment. Then he went back to the engine without a word, and that was worse than if he'd said something.

"That was close," Hazel said. Her voice wasn't steady.

"I'll get the rest."

She brushed straw off her sweater and didn't look at me. I loaded the last six bales by myself.

We were both quiet on the way back to the shop. She sat with her hands in her lap, and I could see red scratches across her wrists where the straw had gotten past her gloves. I wanted to take her hand and look at them. I wanted to do a lot of things.

I gripped the wheel and kept my eyes on the road.

She was my intern. She was living over my shop, and she trusted me enough to climb a stack of hay bales because I was standing at the bottom. And I'd almost kissed her in the middle of Walt Pruett's barn.

The worst part was that I wasn't sorry.

Chapter Five

Hazel

“He’s not coming,” I told Harper.

“I didn’t say a word.” She filled two paper cups with hot cider and handed me one. “I’m just saying, you’ve been keeping a close eye on the parking lot.”

I took the cider and turned around to face the crowd.

The Search and Rescue team’s fall bonfire took up the whole ball field behind the elementary school. There was a fire as big as a car in the middle of the outfield. Folding chairs were set up all around it, and there were plenty of blankets on the ground. A donation jar sat on a card table next to the cider, with a hand-lettered sign about funds for a new rescue rope. It looked like half of Ridgewood Falls had shown up.

I’d asked Shepherd that afternoon. He’d been sanding the base of the big pumpkin, and he’d said no without even stopping. I told myself I hadn’t expected anything else.

Of course I had.

“He never comes to these,” Harper said gently. “It’s not you.”

“I know.”

“You don’t, though.” She bumped her shoulder against mine. “Come on. Dot saved us seats.”