Page 1 of Haunted Hayride with the Mountain Man

ONE

Nova

This can’t be the place.

Driving into Ashwood, New Hampshire, I’m charmed by the quiet streets and gorgeous mountain vistas but passing through Frost Peak Farm, past the flower stand selling mums and the apple cider cart, the air suddenly turns eerie.

Halloween has barfed all over the premises.

Everywhere I look it’s spooky. The corn maze might be for kids but the clown theme they’ve run with this year, it’s got my hackles raised. I can’t even imagine getting on the haunted hayride in the daytime, let alone after dark. The pumpkin patch is cute and whimsical, I wouldn’t mind petting every little baby at the petting zoo but I can’t get past the spookiness. Maybe it’s because it’s approaching dark, or because the leaves have turned from their bright crimsons and yellows to dusky shades of brown that barely cling to the branches. It’s hard to imagine this place in its spring outfit, they’ve done too good of a job decking it out for Halloween. My bride wouldn’t like this and come to think of it, neither would my groom.

I’ve been a wedding planner since birth. It’s kind of a profession I fell into considering my mother’s the premier wedding planner in all of Northern New England. If you’re planning your nuptials in Maine, New Hampshire or Vermont, chances are you at least considered hiring Adina Philips, that is, if you can afford her exorbitant fee. I like to do things a little differently than my mum, and that starts with the cost. Maybe Frost Peak Farm is under budget for a reason.

I look back at the road just in time to see a family of deer crossing in front of me, hitting the brakes hard enough to send the contents of my bag spilling all over the front seat. I swerve towards the side of the road, feeling the bump as I cross from pavement onto dirt and finally the tall, grassy weeds, their spooky long tendrils reaching out for me like fingers.

“I’m okay!” I call to no one in particular when I finally come to a stop in the ditch, clutching my chest like my lungs might spring from my body. “They’re okay. No harm done.”

Tell that to my car.

Stuck in a trench, the front bumper is dented in and there’s steam coming from under the hood. I’m really wedged into this hole and, what do you know, no cell reception this deep in the mountains. I guess walking it is.

I swear, if I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any at all. Dad said when I was born the doctor must have walked under a ladder to unsuccessfully avoid a black cat on Friday the 13th. I don’t know if I believe in any of those things but it’s safe to say that more than one of my outdoor weddings have been rained out this summer, even though the forecast called for nothing but sun.

I’m hoping to turn that luck around. So when the opportunity came to travel to the beautiful mountains of my home state, I couldn’t say no. I have a weird feeling though, like I’ve been here before, but I can’t put my finger on why. Maybe it’s the Halloween vibes but the hair on the back of my neck is standing on edge and it has nothing to do with the family of deer mean-mugging me for almost running them down while they were out for their evening walk.

I swear I’d never hurt a soul, though tell that to my ex-boyfriends and they might disagree. I’m a career girl. I’ve known what I wanted to do since I was old enough to cut up bridal magazines and make elaborate plans for future weddings, not mine though, no. I’m sure, if the time ever comes I’ll go for something untraditional. Definitely no white dress. No bridesmaids or rowdy groomsmen. No bouquet of perfect roses when I could clutch a handful of wildflowers instead.

I’ve always been an outdoor cat and the mountains feel like home for me, they have since we used to come here as kids, when Mum would shut off for a couple weeks at a time, take off her wedding planner hat (there was quite literally one of those in the mid-90s, don’t ask) and put on her mom hat.

We had so much fun; swimming in freezing cold mountain rivers, climbing the easy trails and visiting the roadside attractions a little further north in Lincoln. I always pretended we were locals and that we didn’t live a couple hours south in what many consider northern Massachusetts, even though it is most definitely still in the state of New Hampshire. We have the green and blue moose license plate to prove it. Well, at least I used to have one, now I’m pretty sure it’s a mangled heap in this treacherous ditch.

I freeze in my tracks when a large figure appears in the distance. Shrouded in shadows, I can’t make out their face, but by the sheer size alone it has to be one of the area’s famed bigfoot. Big feet? Big foots? Either way, not who I want to be running into at dusk, still, my feet traitorously keep walking in his direction.

“Hello?” I call out, cursing myself for taking the risk. What am I doing? I’m a city girl about to get swallowed whole by a lumbering creature of the woods.

A garbled holler comes up my throat when he turns around but since I don’t dare open my mouth to let it out, it’s nothing more than a silent scream. He has to be nearly seven feet tall and I can’t make out his features to save my life. Maybe literally.

He spots my car, gesturing between it and me as he makes his way over in two giant steps. It’s so dark I could almost swear he has no face, but that has to be the shadows playing tricks on me so deep in the mountains.

He points a giant mitt in my direction once again, raggedy clothes sending up alarm bells in my brain. Then his velvety voice catches me off guard, setting a swarm of bats free in my stomach. “You’re the wedding planner,” he accuses.

My eyebrows crinkle into the frown Mum’s always silently urging me to keep off my face. I swear, if I see her miming a smile in my direction at one more wedding, I’m going to scream. A real scream this time.

The giant takes a step closer, my pulse thrumming in my throat like a metal song. I don’t know if I should be scared or give in to the instincts that tell me he’s harmless. I decide to go with the latter. “And you’re… the headless horseman?”

Everything happens in fast forward, as if he just remembered that he looks the way he does. In no time at all, he’s got the top of the costume off and I’m just as stunned by his perfect granite features as I was the haunted hayride garb.

“Whoa.”

I’m suddenly face to face with the most glorious man I’ve ever seen.

Without his costume head he’s not quite as large but still an impressive six foot something. That’s not what gets me though, it’s those beautiful green eyes that look like they belong on a cat that hook me. Not to mention the crooked grin that plays at his full lips. He’s full of mischief and it sparkles all over his face.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?” I’m surprised my voice works to get the words out. I have to speak, or I’d still be standing there with my mouth open, picturing his six pack beneath the ripped and torn clothing. I want to run my fingers over him, find out what he’s hiding under that outfit.

“Yeah,” he croons, voice rich and baritone. I hope whatever part he’s playing is a speaking one because I might be reconsidering my desire to get on the back of that hay trailer.

My hands shoot to my hips. “Well, you seem to know me but I have no clue who you are.” But I’d sure like to.