“Huck!” she calls after him. “You’ve got company!”
The other boy—her son, I’m guessing—looks up, grins, and waves TJ over.
Thirty seconds later, they’re running trucks through the corn like they’ve been friends their whole lives.
“Guess I don’t have to worry about keeping him entertained,” I say, chuckling. “He’s been talking my ear off about this place all week. Pretty sure this is heaven for a six-year-old.”
“That works out well.” She smiles, and damn if it doesn’t make something in my chest skip. “I’ll show you around so you can get a sense of the layout before the festival.”
“Lead the way.”
I fall into step beside her, boots crunching over gravel. She’s all business, walking fast, talking faster. She knows every inch of this place, from the hay maze to the zipline. Along the way, she rattles off safety details and volunteer schedules like she’s memorized the playbook.
Hell, she probably wrote the damn thing.
When we stop near the maze, the sun catches on her hair. For a second, it looks like it’s spun from copper. I refocus on the map she’s given me.
“So,” she says briskly, pointing to a few marked exits. “If there’s an emergency, we’ll have volunteers stationed here and here.”
“Who do you have volunteering?”
“A couple of sororities and fraternities at the nearby college.”
I lean in to look, catching a faint whiff of vanilla and coffee on her skin.
“Looks good,” I say, keeping my voice even. “You’re thorough.”
“I try.”
When she glances up, our eyes meet. The air between us shifts—small but noticeable. She clears her throat and steps away, flipping to another page.
“We can check out the food-truck row next.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She shoots me a look over her shoulder. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. It makes me feel old.”
“Pretty sure that’s impossible.”
Her mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile. I wonder what it would take to have her give me one.
By the time we make it back to the picnic area, it’s quieter than I expected. It takes me a moment to realize why.
The laughter and made-up truck sounds are gone.
I look around. The corn box is empty.
“TJ?” My voice sharpens.
Noticing the same thing, Lanie pales.
“Huck?” she calls.
There’s no reply. Nothing.
“They were just here,” she says, panic starting to edge into her voice.
“They couldn’t have gone far.” I tap the radio clipped to my belt. “McKenna to Carver team—two kids missing from the corn box, names Huck Carver and TJ McKenna. Starting a search.”
