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He lifted his head and looked at me for a long time. In the dark, I could barely see his eyes, but I could see how much it cost him to step back.

He stepped back anyway.

“Go back to the fire,” he said. “Before somebody comes looking for you.”

He walked around to the driver’s side and got in and sat there with his hands on the wheel. He didn’t start the engine until I was walking back toward the fire.

Chapter Six

Shepherd

“You missed lunch.”

I’d been working on the platform behind the barn since breakfast, and I’d been doing a fine job of not thinking about her. Then she came across the yard with a thermos in one hand and my jacket in the other and wrecked the whole thing.

“Wasn’t hungry.”

“You’re also not wearing a coat, and it’s getting cold quick.” She held it out. “Put this on before you catch a cold or something.”

I put it on. It was easier than arguing, and she was right, of course.

That morning I’d told her the kiss wouldn’t happen again. She’d said okay as if I’d told her it might rain. I’d been out here ever since, building something that didn’t strictly need to be done today, because the other choice was standing ten feet from her in the shop and pretending I didn’t remember the sound she’d made when I had her wrapped in my arms behind my truck.

She poured cider into the thermos lid and set it on the sawhorse. “I warmed it on the hot plate. What is all this?”

“It’s the platform for the big pumpkin. I build it in sections so I can haul it down festival week.”

“Can I help?”

The right answer was no. I handed her the end of a two-by-six, and she held it square while I drove the screws.

We got through three frames like that. She was good at it. She had a feel for where to put her weight so the board stayed true, and she didn’t need telling twice. I was starting to think we might get through the whole afternoon without talking about it.

“Can I ask you something about this morning?” she said.

So much for that.

“You said okay,” I reminded her.

“I did say okay. I didn’t say I understood.” She kept both hands on the board. “You said I’m your intern.”

“You are.”

“Dr. Mills grades me, Shepherd. Not you. You show me what you do and sign off on my hours. That’s it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“You’re leaving soon.”

She was quiet long enough that I thought she’d let it go. I should have known better by now.

“So are the pumpkins,” she said. “You told me that’s the point.”

I had nothing. She’d been holding on to that since the day she asked me why pumpkins, and she’d waited for exactly the right moment to hand it back to me. I’d walked straight into it.

She smiled a little, like she knew she’d won. She had. Then, to her credit, she didn’t push it. Instead, she set down her end of the board and said, “I’ll be right back.”