Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

“Ah.” Lee leaned closer. “You’re my kind of girl.”

“Lee.” Dragging a hand across the back of his neck, Mitch edged between them. “We’re here because Emmy wants to talk to you.”

Lee cocked his head. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yep.” Emmy rounded the truck, with Sadie and Dylan trailing behind. “I want to talk business. Wanna see about renting your tractor, some buckets, and a piece of land.”

Lee gave a slow grin, then winked. “Ah, now, Mrs. Emmy. You sure are pretty, but I’ma need a little sweet talk before I go giving that up.”

Emmy guffawed. “You always were a rascal, Lee Hadden. If I was your mama, I’d—”

“Lee, who is it?”

Mitch shielded his eyes and peered up at the porch. An older woman, same age as Emmy, stood on the steps, her long skirt and lace blouse lying in neat pleats along her graceful frame, and her gray hair pulled back from her wrinkled cheeks in an elegant topknot. “Good morning, Mrs. Ruth Ann,” he called out. “Hope you don’t mind us stopping by this early.”

She shaded her eyes, too, then smiled and stepped carefully down the steps. “Is that you, Mitch? Oh, how wonderful to see you. You’re looking more and more like Joe.” Her eyes swept over the group. “And you brought the little ones. I’m always glad to have—”

Ruth Ann clamped her mouth shut and stopped on the bottom step. A hard glint entered her expression as she stared at Emmy.

Mitch tensed as Emmy faced her, put her shoulders back and said, “Morning, Ruth Ann.”

Chin trembling and nose twitching, Ruth Ann narrowed her eyes. “Good morning, Emmy. I don’t recall us arranging a visit.”

Lee walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Mama, Mrs. Emmy’s here to visit me, and I’m glad to have her. Plus, she brought Mitch and the kids with her. Be a shame not to use the front porch on a beautiful morning like this.”

Ruth Ann hesitated, eyes softening as they moved over Sadie and Dylan, then back to Mitch. “Well.” She sniffed. “I would like to visit with Mitch and the children.” Her smile, though strained, returned. “I have plenty of fresh pound cake and just made a pitcher of lemonade. You always loved my lemonade, didn’t you, Mitch?”

Eager to appease, Mitch nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“In that case . . .” Ruth Ann lifted one shoulder and lifted an eyebrow at Emmy. “You’re welcome to come up, Emmy.”

Emmy muttered under her breath but followed Ruth Ann as she turned and climbed back up the stairs. Sadie, Dylan, and Kristen fell in line behind her. Lee paused on the bottom step and exchanged a rueful look with Mitch.

“It’s been over fifty years, but they still haven’t let it go, have they?” Lee turned his attention to Kristen, watched her curvy figure ascend the stairs with a note of appreciation in his eyes, then studied Mitch. “Pretty guest you’ve got there. That your hat she’s wearing?”

Mitch nodded.

“You get a good look in those eyes?” Lee’s tone softened as he glanced toward her. “There’s an old soul in there. Maybe one that wouldn’t mind a man who had a few more years on him than her.” He smiled, tilting his head at Mitch. “Think history might repeat itself?”

Mitch stared at the slim line of Kristen’s back and didn’t answer.

Laughing, Lee strode up the steps and joined the others on the porch, leaving Mitch behind, hoping like hell Lee was wrong in more ways than one.

* * *

“Have another piece . . . Kristen, was it?” Ruth Ann nudged a ceramic plate of sliced pound cake across the table, then leaned back and tapped her polished nails against her wicker chair.

“Yes, no, thank you.” Kristen took one last sip of lemonade and smiled, pressing her palm against her middle. “I mean, yes, Kristen is correct, and thank you for the offer, but I’ll have to pass. It was delicious, but between this and the breakfast Emmy made, if I eat any more, I won’t be fit for anything but napping the rest of the day.”

Which she was afraid might already be the case.

Between brief introductions, idle small talk and a round of refreshments, Kristen’s stomach had grown fuller and her eyes drowsier with each passing second. The increasing heat of the late morning sun slipping beneath the porch eaves and the gentle spring breeze tickling her bare arms and neck hadn’t helped matters. Neither had the plush cushions of the wicker sofa she and Emmy lounged against.

“I want some more.” Sadie, seated on a porch swing, leaned over and reached toward the pile of

cake.

“Don’t forget your manners, Sadie,” Emmy said. “And not too much more, or you’ll get a tummy ache.”