Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

There were no sounds of movement in the hallway or from downstairs, just the rhythmic chirps of crickets and the low croaks of frogs from outside. Judging from the weakness of the light trickling in, she thought the sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but the storm had ended.

She smiled as a vibrancy she hadn’t felt in ages hummed in her veins. Seemed a full belly, a soft bed, and utter exhaustion had been the perfect combination for a peaceful night’s rest.

Emmy had been right. Turning in early made for getting up before sunrise. Kristen had crawled into bed around nine last night, and if she had to guess, she’d say it was around six in the morning now. Pretty close to the same schedule she’d stuck to at the Perrys’ family farm in Adel.

Her smile slipped, and she turned her head on the pillow to stare at the closed door. Only, there had been very little family drama on the Perrys’ farm, no children . . . and no estranged grandson sleeping in a bedroom across the hall from her. A magnificent male with clear blue eyes, thick brown hair, and a sculpted chest, which her fingers still itched to—

Enough.

After flinging back the sheet, Kristen rolled out of bed, then turned on the overhead light and picked through one of her bags for clean jeans and a T-shirt. It was time to shower and dress, thank Emmy for the great meal and a good night’s sleep, and move on. Whatever issues existed between Emmy and Mitch were their own—and certainly none of her business. And though her heart hurt for both of the kids at having lost their mother, she had no desire to be around them. After last night, she didn’t particularly care to become any more embroiled in the sticky situation at Hart’s Hollow than she already was—no matter how sympathetic she felt toward those children. . . or how attractive Mitch might be to her lonely libido.

She left the bedroom, leaving the door cracked to allow a bit of light into the hallway, then crept into the neighboring bathroom. The bathroom was large by anyone’s standards, though it was actually two smaller rooms. The room closest to the door featured a wide vanity with a deep sink, and the adjoining room had another vanity, a toilet, and a shower.

After slipping into the adjoining room, she shut the door, then retrieved a clean towel and a bar of soap from the vanity. She frowned, her hand hovering on the cabinet door. There were many economy-sized packages of bar soap—so many, they filled over half the storage space—all still sealed and stacked neatly in rows. It would take a family of four years to make it through all that.

Kristen shook her head and proceeded to shower. Twenty minutes later, clean and dressed, she slipped out of the bathroom and headed for the bedroom, only to stop abruptly in the hallway.

The sun was up, but its bright light struggled to penetrate a dingy window at the opposite end of the hallway. Grime caked the glass panes so thickly that the bare walls and the hardwood floor of the landing remained dark and gloomy.

Kristen moved to the smudged window, tossing her dirty clothes in the bedroom along the way. After locating the locks on the window, she snapped them open, then pulled up on the sash. But it didn’t budge. She tried again, pressing her shoulder to the glass and putting her back into it. Her arms strained with the renewed effort, and just when she was about to give up, the window creaked, groaned, then swooshed upward.

A cool breeze rushed in, weaving through her damp hair and sweeping through the hallway at her back. She inhaled, held the air down deep in her lungs, and closed her eyes. Her face warmed beneath the sun’s rays, and birds’ happy chirps peppered the clean air around her.

Opening her eyes, she looked down at the scenery below. The driveway, still damp from last night’s rain, wrapped around the green front lawn in a ribbon of red. Dew glistened on the thick grass and the leaves of the large oak trees, and the fields beyond were darker than yesterday, the soil rich with moisture.

Kristen’s smile returned. “Beautiful.”

Whatever its faults, Hart’s Hollow Farm still showed signs of life. They lingered on the fragrant sweetness of the air and were strong enough to penetrate the heavy atmosphere inside the house. Though it’d take a monumental effort to revive the place.

But Emmy had spirit and drive. The kind Kristen couldn’t help but admire. And despite the odds, if the situation here was less complicated, she’d be almost tempted to consider—

“Good morning.”

Startled, she opened her eyes and spun around.

Mitch stood outside his bedroom door, as tall, broad shouldered, and handsome as she remembered. He wore the same blue button-down shirt and khakis from last night. His chestnut-toned hair was slightly mussed, dark stubble lined his jaw, and a morning huskiness tinged his voice, stirring a delicious sensation low in her belly.

“G-good morning.” She shrugged slightly and gestured over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. The view . . . I wanted to get a better look. I hope I didn’t wake you, prying the window open.”

“No.” He shook his head. A wavy lock of hair tumbled over his forehead, and he pushed it back with a tanned hand. “I’m an early riser. Thought I’d get a head start on dragging my car out of the mud.”

Nodding, she shifted awkwardly on her feet. “I suppose I should—”

“How long do you plan to—”

They both stopped. Remaining silent, Kristen smiled and gestured for him to continue.

He mirrored the motion, the sensual curves of his mouth lifting in a grin. The action brightened his eyes, but a hint of sadness still hovered in the blue depths. Enough that a strange sensation moved through her arms, making her long to reach out, cradle him close and offer comfort.

“You and Kristen both up, Mitch?” Emmy’s call echoed up the wide staircase.

Mitch turned his head and looked down. “Yeah.”

“Then y’all come out to the porch,” Emmy said. “I got something to show you.”

Kristen left the window, gripped the dusty staircase rail and looked down, too. She caught a glimpse of Emmy’s back as she left, the screen door creaking open, then shut, on her departure.

“We’ve been summoned.” Smile wry, Mitch sighed, then stepped back, sweeping his arm toward the stairs. “After you.”