Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

She broke from the dirt path and darted left into the cornfield she’d planted almost two months ago.

The ten-foot-tall stalks slapped her shoulders and neck as she sprinted past. Out of breath, she drew to a halt in the middle of the field; shoulders sagging, she dropped to her knees.

A high-pitched screech rang out and echoed across the field. She looked up, eyes drawn to the dark outline of a familiar red-tailed hawk. Wings spread wide and talons stretched, it swept across the gold-streaked sky on a strong current, then circled back, swooping low.

“You’re back,” she said, her breath puffing between dry lips. The bitter taste in her belly crept up her throat, and she forced a halfhearted smile, hoping to subdue it. “It’s been a while. Are you looking for dinner? ’Cuz I’m not it.”

Another cry, sharp dive on the current, then return glide.

“Though I will say, you’re seeing me hit a new low.” She pressed her palms to the ground and curled her fingers into the red soil. “Sitting in dirt, talking to some bird a hundred feet up who can’t hear what I’m saying, much less care or understand.”

The soaring movement of the hawk blended with the shadows, which loomed larger as the sun descended. She fixed her attention on the bird, her eyes and chest burning.

When I get better, we can go back home, can’t we, Mama?

“She won’t get better.” Her throat closed. “Emmy won’t get well. She’ll only get worse, like Ruth Ann said.”

Kristen squeezed her eyes shut, and hot tears rolled over her lashes. The thick leaves adorning the cornstalks rustled on the breeze, brushing her arms.

“She’ll have to leave here, and so will Mitch. He’ll take Sadie and Dylan with him. Then they’ll build the bypass, pave Hart’s Hollow over, and it’ll disappear.”

The wind picked up, lifting her hair from her neck in waves and drying the salty tears in tight patches on her cheeks.

“Or what’s left of it,” she said, mouth trembling. “There’s not much out here now as it is.”

Only there was. There were fertile fields stretching as far as the eye could see. Rich red soil that nourished and grew new life in places that had once been barren. There were honeysuckle breezes and enchantment in the land that birthed the healthiest berries and the sweetest dreams that could be imagined. There was the warm grip of Sadie’s trusting hand and the renewed hope reflected in Dylan’s smile. There was the comforting feel of Emmy’s approving words from days ago.

And there was Mitch. His soft kisses, gentle touch, and strong embrace. The intense want in his eyes whenever he looked at her since their trip to Peach Grove. An unspoken urging of sorts, as though he were silently asking her to voice what she was only now being forced to face. That Hart’s Hollow Farm itself had become the home and family she’d always hoped to find.

But she had to leave. And soon.

Kristen tilted her head back, watched the hawk glide away. “Because how can I love someone else I know I’m going to lose?”

CHAPTER 11

Funny how a plank of wood less than two inches thick could feel as insurmountable as a four-mile-high mountain range.

Mitch raised a balled fist and knocked on the door of the guest bedroom again. “Kristen? Are you awake?”

No answer. He shifted from one foot to the other, then pressed his ear to the door. There was no rustle of sheets or footsteps across the floor, just continued silence.

Yesterday, after Emmy had settled down for a nap and Kristen had driven off, he’d spent a few hours with Sadie and Dylan. They had eaten another slice of cake, had played a short game of baseball in the front yard, then had drunk sweet tea and chatted on the front porch before he ushered them off to bed. Emmy had got up once, had eaten what passed for a decent supper, then had retired to her bedroom for the night.

Mitch had returned to the front porch, had sat in the swing and watched the driveway, hoping for Kristen to drive back up in Emmy’s truck before dark. But the afternoon sun had come and gone, night had fallen, the stars had come out, and there had still been no sign of Kristen.

Around elev

en, he’d trudged inside and taken a shower. By the time he’d made it back to the front porch, Emmy’s truck was parked in its usual spot by the shed. Upstairs, there had been no light escaping from beneath the door of Kristen’s room, and only the low creak of the bed had let him know she’d made it safely inside.

He’d gone to bed himself then. After hours of tossing and turning, he had gotten up at five this morning and had worked his way through a few morning chores. By six, he hadn’t been able to concentrate any longer and had returned to Kristen’s bedroom door.

“Kristen? I’m worried about you.” He rattled the doorknob a bit. “I’m coming in. All right?”

No answer again. After opening the door, he glanced hesitantly at the bed. She was there, all right, lying on her left side, huddled beneath the sheet. Her blond hair had slid over her cheek during her sleep, and it gleamed beneath the tendrils of soft morning sunlight shining through the window at her back.

He walked quietly across the room, leaned over the bed, and brushed her hair over her shoulder with a knuckle. “Kristen.”

She stirred, a sigh escaping her, then opened her eyes. Sleep faded from her expression, and a smile appeared as she focused on his face.