Page 3 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

He smacked the side of his truck affectionately. The truck immediately responded with a concerning rattle. I laughed.

“That thing was old when dinosaurs were walkin’ around.”

“It ain’t old.”

“Pops, the truck is held together by duct tape, stubbornness, and prayer.”

“Still runs, don’t it?”

“Barely.”

He pointed a finger at me. “When you start making all that fancy rodeo money, you can buy me a new one.”

I grinned. “Deal.”

His brows shot up. “Deal?”

“Yep. Soon as I win my way through the circuit and go pro, I’m buying you the nicest truck in Georgia.”

Pops barked out a laugh. “The nicest truck in Georgia?”

“The whole state.”

“You’re dreamin’ girl. Now about these pumpkins, they ain’t gonna carve themselves.”

“I’ll help you when I get home Sunday night, I need to head to the rodeo, I heard there’s rain in Tennessee and I want to take it slow.”

He nodded, putting the pumpkin down at the edge of the barn as I whistled. Blueberry lifted her head from the pasture.

“Come on, girl.”

She trotted toward the gate, ears perked forward. Pops followed behind me toward the trailer. I reached for Blueberry’s lead rope and loaded her into the trailer while Pops double-checked every latch like he always did.

Meme hugged me twice before I climbed into the driver’s seat of the red Ford F-150 Pops bought for me when I turned sixteen.

I rolled down the window. “You two behave while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” Pops called.

I laughed and shook my head. As I shifted the truck into gear, Pops rested his forearms on the open window. For just a second, his expression softened.

“Don’t forget where home is, Sunshine.”

My chest tightened at the silly nickname, one that I had found embarrassing at one point in my life, but now loved. “You know I could never.”

“I know, just reminding you.”

Then I pulled out of Marigold Ranch and headed toward Tennessee.

Driving through town meant I got to see all the decorations put up last night, each carved pumpkin and black cat sent a thrill of excitement through me at the thought of all the wonderful moments to come this fall.

The last pumpkin-lined storefront disappeared in my rearview mirror as I headed toward Tennessee. Blueberry shifted quietly in the trailer behind me. The radio played low. Ella Langley’s voice a soft melody that always soothed my nerves.

The first hour of the drive passed in a blur of country roads and daydreams.

I imagined the finals that were so close I could almost grasp them in my fingers.

I imagined going pro.