Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

“Kristen’s corn should be showing right about now,” Mitch said, glancing her way.

“This soon?” Kristen leaned forward, rubbing the pads of her fingers together. “Could we take a look?”

He dragged his eyes away from the sexy tilt of her pink lips and nodded. “Tomorrow good enough? It’s too late to head out there tonight.”

And strolling around a starlit field with Kristen would only conjure up a million other indecent ways he’d rather spend the next couple of hours with her. Those were thoughts a gentleman had no business pondering.

“Will you wait till we get out of school tomorrow?” Dylan asked. “I want to go, too.”

“Me too.” Sadie scooted forward on Emmy’s lap and bounced excitedly. “Can I go with them, Nana?”

“Oh, heavens,” Emmy groaned, stilling Sadie’s movements. “Course you can, angel. We’ll all go. But you got to jump back in your chair now. My knee’s had about all it can take.”

Smiling, Sadie slid off of Emmy’s lap and walked toward the kitchen. “Can I help you put up the dishes?”

“Sure.” Emmy braced her palms on the table and winced as she struggled to rise.

“Oh, let me, Emmy.” Kristen stood, gathered up several dirty dishes, then placed them in the sink. The window above it was open, and the steady chirps of crickets drifted in on the cool breeze, along with the soft rumble of thunder in the distance. “Where’s the dishwashing liquid?”

Emmy gave a grateful smile and pointed at a cabinet. “Bottom shelf.”

Mitch eyed the white lines by Kristen’s pinched mouth, then nudged Dylan. “Help Kristen out with the dishes, please.”

He nodded, collected the rest of the plates and joined Kristen and Sadie at the sink. Mitch watched them for a few minutes, noting how Dylan’s smile lingered as he waited for Kristen to wash the first dish and hand it to him. When she did, her hands carefully dodging Dylan’s, he glanced up at her and blushed.

“Thank you, Ms. Kristen,” he whispered. “You know, for the phone.”

Her blond curls slid across her slim back as she turned and whispered back, “You’re welcome.”

Mitch smiled, glancing at Sadie, who hovered by the fridge, staring at Kristen. Her curious gaze clung to every movement of Kristen’s hands; skimmed her tall, graceful frame; then drifted up to study her face. Sadie stepped toward her once, then danced in a circle and returned to lean against the fridge.

Mitch’s mouth tightened, and a heavy feeling settled in his gut. Sadie was desperate for attention, love, and support. Not just the spring and summer kind, but a permanent, reliable presence that she wouldn’t hesitate to embrace. To trust. Something she and Dylan had never experienced and had no hope of securing on this farm.

“Here.” Emmy pushed a stack of pictures across the table. “Take a look at those. You’ve never seen this batch.”

Reluctantly, Mitch glanced at the glossy photos, then sifted through them. There were several more of Joe, a few of Emmy, and one of him and Carrie. They were young—he couldn’t have been more than nine at the time—and he was leaning against one of the oak trees in the front yard, while Carrie hung upside down from a low branch above, her long hair brushing his shoulders.

He touched his thumb to Carrie’s smile, a pricking sensation hitting the back of his eyes. Lord, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen her smile like that, but he couldn’t remember the particular day captured in the picture. He obviously hadn’t shared that moment of joy, because his own expression in the photo was stiff—not angry, just . . . resigned.

“And here’s one of me and Cindy Sue.” Emmy shoved another colorful picture in his hand. “Oh, she’d be so proud of what a wonderful man you’ve become. I’m in one of my favorite dresses—wore it all the time when I was young and slim like Kristen. Cindy Sue helped me make it, you know. She was so good with her hands.” She tapped the table and swiveled in Kristen’s direction. “We’ll have to swing by her shop soon, Kristen. I want to introduce you.”

Mitch’s fingers tightened around the picture.

Kristen glanced over her shoulder, head tilted. “Introduce me to who?”

“Cindy Sue.” Emmy smoothed her napkin.

Kristen frowned. “But I thought . . .” Her voice trailed away, and she looked at Mitch, the realization in her eyes adding to the heavy pull of pain within him.

“Emmy.” Mitch returned the photograph to the stack and watched the slow, repetitive movement of Emmy’s hand. “Cindy Sue’s shop isn’t open anymore.”

The movement stopped; then she patted the napkin. “Only on the weekend.”

“No, Emmy.” When he spoke again, Mitch softened his tone, his chest tightening at the confusion clouding her eyes. “It’s not open at all. Hasn’t been for years.”

Emmy blinked. “No. No, it’s not open.”

She said the words, but a thread of uncertainty still lingered in her voice.