He should’ve come back sooner. Should’ve talked to Emmy long before now—should’ve listened. Should’ve tried to understand.
Instead, time had slipped away, and he was alone now. Alone in deciding Emmy’s, Dylan’s, and Sadie’s futures. Left with the challenge of salvaging what little absolution he could for himself and Emmy from the remnants of her fading memory. From what was left of her weakened heart.
“Mitch?”
He tensed at the sound of Kristen’s voice. Then a broken sound parted his lips, and shame heated his face. “In all my life,” he said, “Emmy’s never lifted a hand against me—not even to spank me when I cut up as a kid.”
Her footsteps drew close, and he could feel the warmth emanating from her slender frame.
“I can’t remember the first time my dad hit me—” His throat closed. “Seemed like that’s just how it always was. But I remember every time Emmy threw him out of this house because of it, and I remember every time she let him right back in. Mine
and Carrie’s childhood was nothing but pain, blood, and fear. I’ve never been able to accept that or find peace with it.” The splintered wood of the porch rail cut into the soft flesh of his palms. “I don’t care if Emmy forgets this damn place or my father. He was a rotten bastard, and we’d all be better for it. But for her to forget Sadie or Dylan . . .” His eyes burned. “For her to forget me . . .”
Kristen’s hands were on him, smoothing over his back, gripping his shoulders, then tugging him toward her.
Giving in, he drew back from the fall of rain and buried his wet face in the curve of her neck and shoulder. Her smooth skin was warm and dry against his cold, soaked cheek, and he moved his mouth along the pulse fluttering beneath her jaw, up over her delicate chin, then hovered above her lips, their breaths mingling.
“One day she may not know me anymore.” Droplets of water clung to his mouth, mixing with his tears, shaking with his heavy inhale. He focused on the pink curve of her bottom lip. It trembled. “She won’t know my name. Won’t know Sadie’s or Dylan’s.”
A tear rolled over her cheek, settled in the corner of her mouth. He traced its path with the tip of his finger.
“After losing Carrie, how can I look those kids in the eyes and tell them they’re going to lose someone else they love, too? How can I explain that they’ll have to leave the only home—the only family—they’ve known because it’s empty and dead?” He raised his eyes to hers, and the pain in their green depths pulled the knot in his chest tighter. “How do I say it without breaking down?”
Something moved through her expression, something dark and heavy; then a fiery determination lit her eyes as she speared her fingers through his wet hair and cupped the back of his head. “You won’t.”
She lifted to her toes and pressed her lips to his.
Her soft kiss swept through him on a rush of comforting warmth. Groaning, he slid his arms around her slim back, curled his hands into her shirt, leaned into her. He parted her lips with his tongue, delved deep and collected her sweet taste. Salty tears and the crisp flavor of rain mingled together on their tongues, and he deepened the kiss, absorbing her soft cry of pleasure.
The welcoming feel and delicious taste of her joined the pounding of the storm, and for a moment, the painful memories embedded in the land around them faded.
Mitch raised his head and dragged in a deep breath, a strong bolt of need shooting through him as her chest lifted against his, her soft breasts pressing tight to him, and as one slim leg slipped between his.
She looked up at him, her fingers sliding down the back of his neck, kneading his shoulders. Pink flushed her cheeks, and her mouth moved the smallest fraction of an inch closer to his before she stepped back, trailed her soft palm down his arm. She took his hand. “Come with me?”
He should stop this now. Should thank her for her help, apologize for taking advantage of a weak moment, then climb the stairs to his room. Avoid complicating matters further by saying good night, shutting the door between them, and grieving in private.
But his arms longed to hold her close, and his heart ached for her to hold him back.
He brushed a blond curl away from her forehead, then nodded.
Kristen led him across the porch to the lone chair around the corner, then eased him into a seated position. She sat on his knee, wrapped her arms around him, and tucked her head beneath his chin. He pulled her close and breathed her in, her soft hair tickling his nose, as they watched the heavy curtain of rain, dimly lit by the porch light’s glow, lower over the front lawn.
“This place isn’t empty or dead,” she whispered.
Rain pounded the roof harder above their heads, and water cascaded in swift currents around them. The air grew cooler, and she snuggled closer, wrapping her arms around his biceps, her strong heartbeat heavy against his chest.
“It’s spacious,” she continued, “with plenty of room to grow. It’s trying to now, right out there in that beautiful field we planted. The good that’s left in this place is trying to push its way through the ground, and we’re going to help Emmy make it strong.”
Mitch closed his eyes, her reassuring words, delivered in a firm tone, washing over him.
“We’re going to bring it back to life,” she vowed.
CHAPTER 8
Orange, glowing heat seeped through Mitch’s closed eyelids and stirred him awake. He blinked, then inhaled, and the aroma of honeysuckle and fresh dew swept through his nose and filled his lungs.
The sun was up, the bright eye rising slowly above the horizon. Its rays cut through the rain-induced mist that still lingered over the fields, and cast crystal-like shimmers across the deep puddles scattered along the red driveway. Stronger shafts of light reached the steps of the front porch, stretched over the broad floor beneath his boots, then trailed lazily over the smooth skin of Kristen’s bare arm that rested against the arm of the rocking chair.