Only 05 - Autumn Lover

Them.”
    Elyssa looked at the pumpkin seeds as though they had just grown in the sink. The creamy, slightly pointed ovals were plump, obviously ripe.
    “Save them for next year’s garden,” Elyssa said.
    If there is one .
    For a moment Elyssa was afraid she had spoken her doubts aloud. When no cool retort came from Hunter, she let out a silent breath of relief.
    Behind Elyssa, Hunter set one rack of full jars in a huge kettle, then put the other in a similar kettle. He added more wood to the stove. Afterward he went back to scrubbing potatoes as though he had never breathed Elyssa’s scent and felt pure fire in his veins.
    Sonny came up to the kitchen door. Leafy stalks of dill overflowed his arms. Beets dangled from his fingers, which were clenched around the red-streaked green of the tops.
    “Miss Elyssa?” he called out.
    She sighed and stretched her back subtly. But she was smiling when she turned toward Sonny.
    “Come in,” Elyssa said. “Set the dill on the table and the beets in the sink.”
    Sonny approached her slowly. He was so busy looking at the orchid silk of her dress and the tendrils of flaxen hair that had escaped her chignon that he ran right into Hunter.
    “Uh, sorry, sir.”
    Hunter gave Sonny a look that was both impatient and sardonically amused.
    “That’s all right,” Hunter said, “but I’d take it as a personal favor if you would stand on your own feet from now on. Mine have their work cut out as it is.”
    Sonny looked down, saw that he was indeed standing on one of Hunter’s big feet, and backed off hastily.
    “Uh, sorry. Truly am,” Sonny said.
    Hunter sighed.
    Hurriedly Sonny put the beets in the sink and the herbs on the table. He stumbled several times because he was looking at Elyssa when he should have been watching where he was going.
    “How are the cucumbers coming?” Elyssa asked.
    “Three bushels so far,” Sonny said eagerly. “Maybe four in all. Little fellers, all of ’em.”
    “Good,” Elyssa said. She smiled wearily as she thought of the long hours stretching ahead. “Everyone likes pickles.”
    Sonny smiled as though he had been given a month’s pay. Then he just stood and watched Elyssa, who had turned back to gutting pumpkins.
    “Sonny,” Hunter said.
    It was all he had to say. Sonny jumped and left the kitchen as though his heels were on fire.
    Elyssa cleaned pumpkins and scooped out pulp and tried not to think of Hunter. She was fairly successful until Hunter came and stood alongside her at the sink. With swift, strong motions he worked the pump. Water gushed out over the mound of pumpkin fiber and seeds in the sink.
    From the corner of her eye, Elyssa watched while Hunter separated seeds and pulp with surprising deftness.
    “You’re good at that,” she said.
    “You sound surprised.”
    Wisely, Elyssa changed the subject.
    “We already have more than enough seeds for next year,” she said. “You don’t need to bother with the rest.”
    “Why let the ripe ones go to waste?” Hunter asked. “They’re good eating.”
    Elyssa blinked.
    “I beg your pardon?” Penny asked, turning to Hunter.
    “I learned to eat pepitos when I was in Texas,” he said.
    “What’s that?” Elyssa asked.
    “Roasted, salted pumpkin seeds,” Hunter said. “My vaqueros loved them.”
    Elyssa looked at the mess in the sink with new interest.
    “Truly?” she asked.
    Hunter nodded. Then he smiled.
    “Of course,” he added, “they put enough chili powder in with the salt to set fire to the baking tin.”
    “We have chiles,” Elyssa said.
    “Saw them.”
    “You didn’t pick any.”
    “You don’t like chiles?” Penny asked.
    “Love ’em.”
    Elyssa looked at Hunter, lured by the laughter buried in his voice.
    He was still smiling. It gentled the lines of his face, making Hunter so handsome to Elyssa that she couldn’t help staring at him.
    “Then why didn’t you pick the peppers?” Penny asked.
    “Only have one set of gloves,” he said succinctly.
    “Oh. The juices,” Elyssa said, frowning. “They burn.”
    “Hotter than the devil’s breath,” Hunter agreed. “Darned shame that Mickey drove off your vaqueros and the Hereras are too busy to garden.”
    “I have quite a few gloves,” Elyssa said. “I’ll pick them.”
    “No need,” Hunter said easily.
    “I don’t want them to go to waste.”
    “They won’t. Mickey is harvesting the little devils.”
    Elyssa tried not to smile.
    It didn’t work. She knew that Hunter was