Huckleberry Harvest by Jennifer Beckstrand

His teeth were bound to disintegrate to dust. “I’m going to have to carry you, you know.”
    “You don’t know anything. I can manage.”
    He shook his head, folded his arms, and pretended to study her closely. “Nope. You can’t manage.”
    “I’m going to sit and scoot all the way on my bottom,” she said, with all the dignity she could muster.
    He squeezed his lips together to keep from grinning at her stubborn independence. If she weren’t so irritating in every way, she’d be sort of cute. “Much as I’d like to see that, you’d never make it, and you’d get slivers in places you don’t want slivers.” He shouldn’t have said that. What would his mamm say?
    Mandy’s face glowed a bright shade of pink. “You just pulled me out of the river. You’re as spent as I am.”
    “Nope, I’m not.”
    She took another step and nearly toppled over. He took hold of her wrist. She squinted as if trying to figure out an eighth-grade math problem and massaged a spot just above her eyebrow. “I’m the one who helps people. I don’t like to be helped. Ach . I suppose I’ll have to let you carry me.”
    “It’s not as bad as all that,” he said.
    “But I don’t like you.”
    If she didn’t like him, then she should quit spying on him. He frowned. “I don’t like you either, but I’m not asking for your hand in marriage. We’ve got to get you back to the buggy, and this is the only way I can think to do it unless you want them to bring in a stretcher and wheel you straight to the hospital.”
    “No hospital,” she said, clutching a long strand of her hair.
    “Okay then.” In one swift movement, he scooped her into his arms, almost dropping her when her momentum sent her tumbling backward. She weighed less than a sack of flour. She caught her breath and threw her arms around his neck.
    “I know you dislike me,” she said, “but try not to kill me.”
    He merely grunted and frowned harder. Even for as low an opinion as she had of him, she should know he would make sure she came to no harm. He worked hard to be a credit to the mamm who raised him.
    It wasn’t far, and even after his exertion in the river, Noah found it relatively easy to carry her. She didn’t weigh much, and he was used to hefting bales of hay.
    She must have been exhausted. Her eyes fluttered, and even though she couldn’t stand the sight of him, she rested her head against his chest, her warm cheek against his wet shirt.
    He clenched his teeth as a strange longing attacked him like a punch to the gut. Mandy Helmuth felt oddly comfortable in his arms, like a warm blanket on a frosty evening or a mug of Mamm’s hot wassail with cinnamon sprinkled on top.
    He didn’t like the feeling. Not one little bit.
    So he talked himself out of it.
    He’d just saved her life, so of course he felt naturally protective of her, drawn to her even though she was as immature and irritating as Kristina Beachy. Fixing things gave him a great sense of accomplishment. That was what he was feeling, merely the satisfaction of knowing he’d helped someone out by keeping her from drowning. Besides, she was a pretty girl. He’d have to be blind not to notice that.
    If only she were as pretty on the inside.
    He rejoiced when, after a long ten minutes, he crossed over the bridge. The Coblentz’s corn grew tall to his left and the river flowed to his right. Once he’d cleared the row of cornstalks, Jethro, Alvin, Kristina, and the flashing police car came into view. They had their backs to Noah, looking downriver.
    Mandy lifted her head. “You can put me down now.”
    “You suddenly found the strength to walk?”
    “Kristina will have a heart attack if she sees me in your arms.”
    “We wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt Kristina’s feelings,” he said dryly.
    He expected her to scowl at him. Instead she furrowed her brow and frowned.
    He set her on her feet, and she limped unsteadily toward the police car, wincing with every movement. Maybe