Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

“I wish Joe were here.”

Kristen tensed, and her hands faltered around the rope for a moment at Emmy’s words. The rack rattled, and Mitch’s hands covered hers, then helped pull the slack from the rope. The heat radiating from his muscular frame at her back made her long to turn, lay her head on his chest, and wrap her arms around him.

Kristen took a step forward and renewed her strong pulls on the rope.

“He would’ve loved the view.” Emmy walked from the center of the driveway to the grassy edge beside Mitch, leaning on her cane, and ran a frail, thin-veined hand along the rack. “You did a wonderful job, Kristen.”

With Mitch holding the rope along the rack, Kristen began knotting the end around the pole’s anchor. She focused on the coarse rub of the weathered nylon against her fingers and the musty scent it released as she worked it into a secure position. “It wasn’t me. All I did was pick up some paint, cut a few holes, then give y’all some pointers. You did the rest.”

“No. You and I are both wrong.” Emmy’s voice, hesitant and affectionate, drew closer. She reached out, her arm brushing the front of Mitch’s shirt as she stretched across him, and placed her soft palm over the back of Kristen’s hand, stilling her movements. “We all did it. Together.”

Kristen glanced down, and the sight of Emmy’s pale hand resting over her

own and Mitch’s towering strength positioned by her side filled her eyes with wet heat.

After the painful incident that had occurred on Emmy’s birthday, she’d kept a careful distance from Emmy for a couple of days. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to spend time with Emmy—it was, in fact, the opposite.

She’d longed to take Emmy’s elbow and assist her across the front lawn, listen to her stories of Joe, Cindy Sue, and life as it had been when Emmy was younger. She had even found herself missing Emmy’s quick bites of sarcastic humor when Mitch was around. She’d hoped to collect a few more pleasant moments with Emmy, which she could carry with her down lonely roads when it was time to leave.

Despite wanting those things, Kristen had taken to leaving the house especially early in the morning over the past few days. She’d worked the fields alone save for the few hours Sadie had managed to persevere through the summer heat to trail after her. Every evening at dinner, she’d eaten slowly and methodically, spoken quietly, and maintained a humble, predictable presence in hopes of creating a calm atmosphere for Emmy.

Her actions hadn’t had the effect she’d hoped for. Emmy, who had no recollection of her prior outburst, had cast wounded looks in her direction across the kitchen table during dinner and on the front porch, as they’d painted gourds each night. To Emmy, things were as they’d always been between them, and though Kristen knew in her head they still were, her heart had difficulty understanding.

She never knew, at any given moment, if she was speaking to the woman who’d welcomed her into her home, admired her hard work and dedication, and encouraged her to take charge of the family farm or if she was about to be confronted by a woman who thought she was a stranger, a thief, and a liar.

All things Kristen knew were untrue, but yet . . . they weren’t. Not really. Because one day, Emmy wouldn’t remember her at all, and in Emmy’s mind at least, that was exactly who Kristen would become.

That realization had hit her Sunday, while she and Mitch had shined up that stained-glass window. The knowledge that no matter how beautiful, strong, or vibrant someone might be, they could slowly disappear, as though they’d never been. Like Cindy Sue, Emmy’s cherished sister-in-law and best friend. Like Emmy when her mind failed her for the final time. And like Anna—a young, energetic, and once healthy daughter who should have long outlived her mother.

The thought was too painful to bear.

“We should celebrate,” Emmy said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll call Ruth Ann, invite her over to see the gourds. Then we’ll bake something sweet again. Maybe a batch of cool lemon bars this time instead of shortcake. What do you say?”

Glancing up beneath her lashes, Kristen winced at the look of excitement on Emmy’s face. “I’m sorry, Emmy,” she whispered, sliding her hand away. “I need to work on some plans for Mitch.”

“But can’t that wait for a little while?” Emmy asked, confusion clouding her eyes. “I thought you enjoyed our last visit with Ruth Ann. We don’t have to cook. We could do something different, like—”

“It’s not that, Emmy.” Kristen moved away, putting distance between them and pulling in a much-needed lungful of air. “I’ve been putting off finishing this for Mitch the last day or two, and it’ll take a while.”

“One afternoon off won’t hurt,” Mitch said, stepping toward her, his mouth tightening.

“It’s Friday, Mitch. Your nine-day deadline is in four days.” Steeling herself against the discomfort that appeared in his eyes at the reminder, she added, “You can’t walk in there empty-handed and expect a good result.”

“You mean we, don’t you?” His intense gaze held hers. “We can’t walk in there empty-handed.”

“Walk in where?” Emmy asked.

Hesitating, Mitch continued watching Kristen for a moment, then answered Emmy. “The Citizens Advisory Committee meeting on Tuesday.”

“About the bypass?” Emmy studied both of their faces. “Y’all are making a plan?”

Mitch gave a reluctant nod. “I haven’t mentioned it, because we have no way of knowing how it’ll turn out.” He spoke gently. “It may go well, and the Department of Transportation may reconsider taking the farm. Or there’s a chance it’ll make no difference what we say and they’ll move forward in the same manner they’ve planned all along.”

Emmy straightened, her fingers tightening around her cane and hope lighting her features. “But what you’re planning might work? There could be a chance they might change their minds?”

Mitch glanced in Kristen’s direction, and the gentle urging in the depths of his blue eyes and on his handsome face made her long to reassure Emmy, even though she knew it was a long shot. He walked over to Emmy, cupped the back of her gray head, and kissed her forehead softly. “That’s one thing you’ve taught me well, Emmy. There’s always a chance.”

A wistful smile appeared on Emmy’s face as she reached up and patted his cheek. “There’s the sweet boy I’ve always known.”