Sharyn Kopf
MaryEllen Faraday took a deep breath, savoring that county fair aroma of livestock, funnel cake, and dust. Three days into her favorite week of the year and her daughter, Emory, was once again set to take home Best in Show with her prized hog, Honest Abe.
And once again they’d teach those Carver boys that girls know a thing or ten about raising pigs.
She leaned against the railing circling the Ferris wheel, munching on a walking taco while she waited for Emory to bring her a lemon shakeup. But instead of her only child, Thomas Carver appeared in the crowd of adventure-loving teens, laughing parents, and sticky children. And he didn’t look happy.
“Have you seen Charlie?”
MaryEllen savored a bite of chili, cheese, and corn chips and smiled. “Did you lose your son? Again?”
His dark brows came together over gold-dipped hazel eyes. Thomas Carver may be her sworn enemy, but he was a good-looking man. “He said he was going to get lemon shakeups half an hour ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”
Lemon shakeups? Just a coincidence, right? “Give him time. The line is probably a mile long.”
“Yeah, well—” He froze mid-eye roll, his gaze on the sky behind MaryEllen.
She turned and looked up. There, suspended over the fairgrounds, her daughter sat in a Ferris wheel bucket, laughing and wrapped in the arms of…Charlie Carver.
Emory saw her staring and, instead of seeming remotely worried, smiled and waved, her blonde curls dancing in the heated July breeze. “Hi, Mom!”
MaryEllen’s jaw dropped. Why was her daughter snuggled up against Charlie? They hated each other.
Didn’t they?
She glanced at Thomas, who seemed equally dumbfounded. “Did you know about this?” she asked, just as he mumbled, “Well, isn’t that a thing.”
“It’s not ‘a thing,’ it’s a problem.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. They look happy.”
MaryEllen squared her shoulders. “We’ll see about that.”
But as she waited for the ride to end, the loudspeaker over the fair screeched on.
“Emory Faraday, please return to the hog barn.”
Great. They only ever had one reason for such a request. She hollered up at her daughter, “Let’s go, kiddo. Abe’s out again.”
Groans from the kids and Thomas reflected her own frustration. That darn pig. And they had a pretty good idea where he’d gone.
Thomas was halfway down the fairway when MaryEllen caught up to him, two laughing teens at her heels. She pulled a collapsible prod out of her bag. Good old Abe was as stubborn as they come and sometimes needed extra motivation.
They all reached the barn and, sure enough, Abe was at a stall near the end of the row, grunting and rooting and pig-flirting with the Carver’s black-and-white sweetheart, Maisie Dae. And she was flirting right back.
Good grief. Em and Charlie. Abe and Maisie Dae. Since when did the fair become a couples’ retreat?
She didn’t have time for this. But before she could speak, Thomas took control, starting with his son. “Charlie, take care of Maisie. You’re the only one she listens to. Emory, you—”
“We can handle our own pig.” MaryEllen brushed past him and circled Abe while her daughter broke right. They both moved in as Emory held out a handful of carrots, Abe’s favorite.
Emory barely had time to coax, “Who wants a treat?” before the chubby porker charged.
MaryEllen squealed and jumped back, slamming into Thomas, who was standing a bit too close. He grabbed her arms, she dropped the prod on his foot, and they both tumbled to the dirt-covered floor.
The impact knocked the breath clean out of her. MaryEllen lay on her back, waiting for a chance to get some air. Suddenly, Thomas’s face loomed over her, and the look of concern and something else she couldn’t quite name seemed to drain the rest of the oxygen from her lungs. Since when did he care?
He studied her, then whispered, “Breathe, MaryEllen. Nice and slow.”
Good idea. Finally, she gasped and gulped and tried to sit up. For some reason, that sweet and pungent livestock scent had more potency on the ground.
“Give it another moment,” Thomas said, holding her shoulders down.
“I’m okay. Just in desperate need of fresh air.”
He had the chutzpah to grin. “Well, isn’t this a thing.”
“No”—she pushed herself up—“this isn’t a thing either.”
He turned toward Charlie and Emory, who leaned close to each other over the pen separating their animals. MaryEllen had to admit they looked happy.
“Don’t you think they actually might have the right idea?” He watched her with such hope and longing she felt herself teeter on the edge of falling for him, something she hadn’t experienced in far too long.
“We’ve spent all these years as rivals,” Thomas continued. “That feels like a lot of wasted time.”
“What, you have a better idea?”
“I might.” But his grin said he definitely did.
MaryEllen leaned back on her hands, her fingers scratching through the dirt and straw. She couldn’t deny the idea had crossed her mind once or twice, though his timing stunk. Literally. Still, the more she stared into those hazel eyes, the more she…
No. Ridiculous. She started to rise, and Thomas jumped to his feet and held out a hand. Her gaze met his. She reached up. When their hands touched it sparked all the way to her toes.
Well, maybe.
Maybe it was a thing.
She lives in Bellefontaine, Ohio.
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