Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

The group of bystanders fell silent, and Sadie’s cries echoed across the parking lot, mingling with the heavy rush of traffic on the road behind them.

Vision blurring, Kristen swallowed past the tight knot in her throat, then held out a shaky hand. “Come with me, Sadie.”

The little girl lifted her head and looked up at Mitch, her breath coming in ragged bursts.

“Go with Kristen,” Mitch said, staring straight ahead, his voice unrecognizable.

Sadie let go of him and turned. Red rimmed her eyes, and she had a look of desperation on her face as her gaze darted around the crowd of strangers who surro

unded them and stared.

Kristen dropped to her knees, spread her arms, and whispered, “Over here, sweet Sadie.”

Relief flashed through her expression, and she ran into Kristen’s arms, small hands clutching her neck and legs winding around her waist. Kristen stood, holding Sadie, and walked back to the truck. She stopped to grab Dylan’s hand along the way.

They climbed into the backseat of the truck, and Kristen hugged Sadie close to her side, watching through the windshield as Mitch slowly walked Emmy back. When they reached the truck, Mitch opened the passenger door and waited while Emmy put a hand on the seat and stared.

“You need some help, Mitch?” a male onlooker asked quietly.

Mitch didn’t turn around, just shook his head, his eyes averted toward the truck’s floorboard. “No. She just needs a minute.”

Eventually, Emmy climbed in. Mitch shut the door and rounded the truck, got in and drove past the onlookers out of the parking lot.

The first few miles were silent except for Sadie’s muffled sobs against Kristen’s shirt and the slow drum of light rain against the hood of the truck. Dylan slumped against the closed window, fists balled on his knees. And Mitch stared straight ahead, his strong jaw clenched, the bright red mark spreading across his cheekbone.

“What did I do?”

Kristen froze as the sound of Emmy’s shaking voice filled the quiet cab.

The passenger seat creaked as Emmy turned to study Mitch, her mouth trembling and eyes wide. She glanced at the backseat, and her gaze moved over Dylan, then Kristen, and stilled on Sadie.

Her face crumpled. Her voice breaking, she asked, “Oh, what did I do?”

Mitch shifted gears, slowing the truck, then pulled off to the side of the road.

Kristen straightened. Her breath quickened at the tense, angry set of his mouth. “Mitch . . .”

“I’m sorry,” Emmy said, looking at him in frightened confusion, tears pouring from her eyes. Her chest lifted and lowered in jerks, and her hands moved aimlessly over the sides of her seat. “I’m so sorr—”

“Shh.” Mitch leaned toward her, his big hands cupping her face, his broad thumbs sweeping over her wrinkled cheeks. “You have nothing to apologize for. You hear me, Emmy? Not a thing.” He kissed Emmy’s forehead, wet lashes and hands, cradling them in his own. “Not a thing.”

Shoulders sagging, Emmy closed her eyes. “I—I want to go home.”

Mitch kissed her forehead once more, whispering against her skin, “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

He started the truck, pulled back onto the worn highway, and continued driving. The windshield wipers squeaked in a steady rhythm for the rest of the ride. Kristen studied Mitch’s reflection in the rearview mirror along the way. She knew that the stoic strength he exhibited masked his real feelings, as it was so reminiscent of the brave face she’d struggled to maintain years ago, while sitting at Anna’s bedside after yet another new treatment, listening to the words of a tight-lipped doctor with skeptical eyes.

Hope for the best, but nothing is certain.

They were halfway up the farm’s driveway before Kristen realized that she’d rested her damp cheek against the top of Sadie’s head and that the little girl had fallen asleep in her arms.

* * *

Slow afternoon rain intensified as night fell. Fat raindrops pummeled the roof of the farmhouse and slapped against the window in Dylan’s room. The heavy sound did nothing to drown out Mitch’s thoughts or distract him from the throbbing pain in the tender flesh along his cheekbone. And it didn’t stop Dylan from insisting on answers to his questions—ones Mitch was not prepared to provide.

“But what’s wrong with her?” Dylan sat up in his bed, the sheet slipping down his bare chest.

When they’d returned to the farm a couple of hours ago, Dylan had hovered by Mitch’s side as he’d helped Emmy to her room, and then the boy had stood by silently as Mitch had asked Kristen to help Emmy change and get settled in bed for the night. He had followed Mitch to the kitchen, had eaten the sandwich and chips Mitch managed to pull together for supper, then had taken a shower and crawled into bed early without protest as Mitch had gotten Sadie settled, too. But now he demanded attention.