Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

Smiling, she held on to his shoulder, placed her foot in his cupped palms, then shoved off and lifted herself onto the lowest branch. He waited until she had settled, then joined her, hoisting himself onto the same branch and scooting his way over beside her.

“You’re right,” she said, gazing at the landscape in front of them. “It is one of the best views.”

He followed her line of sight, taking in the lush green lawn, the long winding red driveway, lined on both sides with colorful gourds, and the fields full of thick, healthy soybean plants and tall cornstalks. The blue sky was flawless—there wasn’t a cloud to be found—and golden sunlight streamed in every direction.

He turned back to Kristen, took in the pink flush of her cheeks beneath the sun’s warmth, the graceful fall of her hair along her back, and the soft, welcoming curves of her lips.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “The most gorgeous sight in the world.”

She turned to face him, and her green eyes lingered on his smile. “You’re not even looking.”

“Yeah, I am.” Leaning forward, he cupped her face and dipped his head, then pressed soft kisses to her forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin. He smoothed his thumb over her lower lip, his arms straining to wrap around her and pull her close. “You know how I told you once before what I missed most about my childhood?”

She nodded.

“It’s this feeling you give me.” His hand slid down, took hers, and placed it on the upper left side of his chest, where his heartbeat was strong against her palm. “This love I’ve never felt before. I want that feeling forever. I want you forever.”

Her mouth parted, and a soft gasp of pleasure escaped her.

“And I want us to give Emmy, Sadie, Dylan, and the child I hope we’ll have someday the same kind of love. Limitless, unconditional.” He glanced at the house. “The same kind of love Emmy had fo

r Joe, for my father, for Carrie, and for me. The same kind of love you had for Anna.”

A brief flicker of sadness crossed her face. “You heard?”

“Yes.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I want to know everything about her and about you. And I want you to know me. Do you want the same? Do you want to make a life with me?”

Her smile returned. “I love you, Mitch.” She reached up, cradled his face in her hands, and whispered against his lips, “There’s nothing I want more.”

EPILOGUE

“Emmy! Get down from there.”

Kristen shaded her eyes, tilted her head back and looked up, smiling at the cute face laughing back at her from the oak tree. At five years old, Emmy was full of mischievous energy and could charm the hardest of hearts—just like her father.

“Aw, she’s just having fun,” Mitch said, ducking under the low branch and glancing up. “Aren’t you, baby?”

Emmy, hanging upside down, with her legs hooked over the branch, nodded, her long brown hair trailing over Mitch’s shoulder. “Just having fun, Mama,” she chimed, swinging back and forth and dangling her arms.

“Well, how about having fun down here, safe on the ground? Our first customers should be arriving soon, and I’ll need your help today.” Kristen tapped her toe, her mouth twitching, as Emmy made a face, then held her arms out for Mitch to help her down.

His broad hands gripped Emmy’s waist, lifted her from the limb, then lowered her safely to the ground.

“Can I help Dylan and Sadie?” Emmy asked, hopping from one foot to the other and watching her cousins wash strawberry buckets by the front porch.

“Yes, please,” Kristen said. “That’d be very nice of you, and I’m sure they’d appreciate your help.”

At eleven, Sadie had grown into a tall, intelligent, and pretty young lady with a reserved disposition. Dylan, on the other hand, couldn’t be more outspoken, flirtatious, and adventurous as a sixteen-year-old teenager. Both of them continued to do well inside and outside of school, Sadie having already mastered the piano and Dylan continuing to impress at every game the high school baseball team played.

Emmy—or Nana, as they’d always called her—would’ve been proud of them both. She would’ve been proud of Mitch, too.

Kristen’s belly warmed as he strode over, the sun at his back emphasizing the broad span of his shoulders, the lithe strength of his sinewy frame. It was a beautiful afternoon—one of Hart’s Hollow’s finest—and a perfect day to open the strawberry fields for the first day of picking.

Under Mitch’s magic touch, the farm had flourished. Emmy’s corn had grown sweeter each year, her early production soybeans had continued to break harvest records, and the strawberries . . . Oh, Hart’s Hollow Farm’s customers loved them best of all.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Mitch said, bending his head and nuzzling her neck. “What do you say we sneak back out here after the kids go to bed and watch the stars come out?”

She smiled, wove her fingers through his hair, and lifted her mouth for his kiss. “I think that’s a perfect plan.”