Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

Kristen smiled again. Bigger than when she’d met him at the door. She had dimples, cute indentations, which Mitch managed to catch a momentary glimpse of before she took the dishrag from Emmy, then faced the sink and turned on the tap, presenting her slender back to him.

“Would you show Kristen to the upstairs guest room?”

Mitch returned his attention to Emmy, who was looking at him expectantly. “I’m sorry. What?”

“I asked if you’d show Kristen to one of the rooms upstairs when she finishes,” Emmy said. “I started cooking when she arrived, and haven’t had a chance to show her around yet. Use the back bedrooms. Those are the only ones with clean sheets on the beds.”

He glanced at Kristen, the mention of a bed so near the sight of her long hair and shapely hips stirring warm thoughts, which he struggled to quell. “Of course.”

Kristen looked over her shoulder, her mouth tightening and her eyes cooling as she watched his face. “I’ll need to grab my bags. They’re still in my car.”

Mitch cleared his throat. “I’ll bring them in, then help you clean up.”

By the time he had trudged through the mud and returned with the bags—dry this time, thanks to one of Emmy’s umbrellas—Kristen was alone in the kitchen, washing the last of the silverware. Mitch dried the dishes, then stowed them in their proper places, while Kristen wiped down the kitchen table. He was careful to keep his eyes on what he was doing, rather than let them linger on her graceful movements.

When they finished, he hefted her bags in his hands, but she immediately tugged at them.

“I’ll get those,” she said.

“I don’t mind.”

“I appreciate your bringing them in, but I can manage from here.”

The determined set of her jaw made it clear she intended to do just that, so he released them, grabbed his own bag from the hallway, then led the way upstairs. Each step creaked with their footfalls until they reached the upper landing, where he stopped in front of a bedroom on the left.

“This will be yours for the night.” Mitch pointed to a closed door to his right. “Bathroom’s there, and I’ll be across the hall if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

She entered the bedroom, set her bags on the wood floor, then flipped on the overhead light. The shiny strands of her hair rippled across her back as she turned her head, taking in the bare walls, empty nightstand, and queen-size bed.

“Kristen.” He waited until she turned and faced him. A bulb flickered in the fixture, crackling with an electrical hiss and casting a shadow over her pretty features. “I’m sorry for the unpleasant scene earlier, but what Dylan said was true. There’s nothing out here. Certainly no chance of a profitable future.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but . . .” She bit her lip. “Who’s Carrie?”

“My sister. And Sadie and Dylan’s mother. She passed away two months ago.”

He waited, abs clenching, for the inevitable churn of anger, disgust, and pain to resume in his gut. The kind he always felt at a reminder

of Carrie’s death, her wasted future and the childhood of fear they’d lived on this farm.

There was no way in hell he’d allow Sadie or Dylan to experience the same. Hart’s Hollow had never been a real home for him or Carrie, nor would it ever be a suitable one for the kids. It wasn’t the place for them. It wasn’t a place for anyone.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kristen whispered.

“After I talk some sense into Emmy,” Mitch bit out, “I plan to leave and return home as soon as possible. You’d be better off doing the same.”

A haunted look entered her eyes, her words so quiet he almost missed them.

“If I had one.” She lowered her head, the shadows beneath the hollows of her cheeks deepening, as she closed the door between them. “Good night, Mitch.”

* * *

Soft light touched Kristen’s face, glowing gently behind her closed eyelids and tugging her into awareness.

“Mmm.” Sighing softly, she stretched her arms overhead, curled her fingers into the cool sheets, then opened her eyes.

A single tendril of rosy sunlight slipped through the lace curtains lining the double-hung window opposite the bed. It moved slowly across the dark bedroom floor, then up over the white bedding, warming her chest and neck.