Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

He smiled. The act stretched the tender flesh along his cheekbone, but her comforting weight pressed against his chest soothed him in this moment of discomfort. He lifted his hand, smoothed his palm over her soft blond hair, and studied the sprawling landscape surrounding them.

We’re going to bring it back to life.

And strangely enough, that was how he felt. His limbs, like his eyes, were light, filled with purpose and a renewed sense of energy. That gnawing ache in his gut had receded, a pleasant sense of calm having taken its place.

Pushing with one foot, he rocked back in the chair and eased it into a gentle rhythm. Each flex of his leg was met with a creak of weathered wood and the chipper calls of birds, the sounds an odd sort of comfort. The kind he’d never experienced at Hart’s Hollow and savored all the more for it.

“Mmm.” Kristen shifted against him, rubbing her cheek against his chest, and sighed. “We fell asleep?”

His smile grew. “Yeah.”

She placed one palm to his thigh and one to his chest, then straightened and looked up at him. Sunlight caressed her sleep-flushed cheek, highlighting her freckles, and brightened the tender, concerned look in her green eyes.

It was enough to bring a man to his knees.

“It bruised,” she whispered, trailing a fingertip across the sore flesh along his cheekbone. “Does it still hurt?”

“A bit.” He caught her hand in his, brought her fingers to his lips and kissed each one in turn, grinning. “But this helps.”

She smiled, all dimples, flirtatious expression and soft comfort, then cupped his jaw. Her thumb glided across the stubble lining his chin. “And this?”

A sweet ache stole through him, and he lowered his eyelids. “Yeah. That too.”

“And this?” She leaned closer. Her soft lips brushed his in the lightest of kisses, but it burned right through his skin, flooding him with heat and curling his toes.

He cupped the back of her head, covered her mouth with his, and answered her with restrained urgency in his kiss. Her pleased sigh awakened him even more, stirring his body and heightening his senses.

When he drew back, allowing them both to catch their breath, she murmured teasingly, “Better than Heather Andrews?”

A rusty chuckle escaped him, and he pulled her closer. “Hell, yes.” More than that. “Perfect.”

He’d give anything to hold her like this all day. Explore her body, mind, and heart. Uncover all her secrets, fears, and dreams and lay out his own. But there were more pressing matters at hand, and others to consider. So he’d have to wait. For now.

“Thank you for listening last night.” His voice was husky. Clearing his throat, he speared his hands through her hair and massaged the soft skin behind her ears. “And for . . .” Easing his mind? Taking away the pain? Giving him the first glimmer of hope he’d had in a long damn time? “Everything.”

She rubbed his forearms, her palms rasping over his rough hair. “I meant what I said. I’ll help however you need me to.”

He glanced around, eyed the rotting porch rails and the paint that was

peeling from the weather-beaten balusters. “We’ll need to make the rounds for several weeks, check the fields, scout for weeds and pests, but I want to fix this house up, too. Maybe start with the porch. Replace the railings and balusters. I could use your help painting them, if you’re willing?”

“Of course.” She squeezed his wrists, eased away, then stood.

Her body heat clung to his chest and thighs despite her absence, making him smile even more.

“I imagine Emmy will wake up soon.” She craned her neck and peered through the window behind him. “Would you like me to check on her?”

“Please.” Reluctantly, he stood. “I need to speak with her. Thought I’d get some coffee going, freshen up, then take her some.”

She nodded. “I’ll let her know.”

Mitch watched her walk into the house and allowed himself a small sigh of regret before following. He fixed a pot of coffee, then went upstairs and took a shower while it percolated. After shaving and dressing in clean jeans and a T-shirt, he made his way back downstairs and rummaged in several cabinets to find two ceramic mugs with delicate wildflower patterns—Emmy’s favorites—washed them, then poured coffee in each.

He carried them down the hallway to the back bedroom, then paused outside the door as Kristen exited. “How is she?”

“Better.” She glanced over her shoulder and said quietly, “A little embarrassed, though. She doesn’t remember all of it, but enough for it to hurt.” She sighed. “I thought I’d fix some breakfast. Emmy said Sadie and Dylan like pancakes. That okay with you?”

He nodded. “Thank you.”