Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

Earlier, after hanging the sign by the driveway, she’d climbed back in Emmy’s truck and waited for Mitch to finish a phone call. He had joined her shortly, then had driven them back to the house, asking along the way if she minded following him into town in Emmy’s truck. He said he had spoken to a colleague and had taken an extended vacation from work, which meant he needed to return the rental car to a local dealership this afternoon. She’d agreed. After they made it inside, Mitch had informed Emmy that he planned to stay for a little while and had asked whether she minded if he attended the county meeting with her.

To say Emmy had been overjoyed would be an understatement. And she was still on cloud nine as they drove to the dealership.

“Glory be, it’s a miracle.” Emmy clapped her hands together and chuckled, almost bouncing in her seat. “I still can’t believe Mitch changed his mind and decided to stay. Oh, it’ll be like old times. I’ll have a chance to talk to him again. Really talk. And we’ll have help, Kristen. Lots of it. Mitch has always had the magic touch when it comes to planting. He takes after Joe in that respect. And we can—”

“He’s only staying through the summer,” Dylan grumbled from the backseat. “It’s not for good.”

Kristen glanced in the rearview mirror. Dylan, still grieving the loss of his cell phone, scowled out the window at the passing scenery. Sadie, who had yet to make eye contact with Kristen since yesterday’s inc

ident, brushed a pink comb through her doll’s hair silently.

“Aw, fiddlesticks.” Emmy shrugged. “He’ll change his mind once he gets settled back in. I’ll make him feel right at home again.” She tossed a look over her shoulder at Dylan. “We’ll have family dinners and evening chats on the porch.” She smiled at Kristen. “You’ll see. It’ll be great having Mitch around. Fun. Cozy.”

Not too cozy. Kristen shifted in her seat, braking at a traffic light. Or cozy at all, for that matter. The very last thing she needed to do was become embroiled in Mitch’s drama with Emmy. She was here to work, not flirt with a handsome, charismatic man who was related to her boss.

Or . . . hurt a tenderhearted little girl with her selfish emotional outbursts.

A wave of remorse rolled through her as she glanced at Sadie again. She’d lost at least two hours of sleep last night replaying the unpleasant incident and felt more and more like a heel. It would not, she’d promised herself, happen again. Regardless of the circumstances.

And what had occurred with Mitch this afternoon was a slip—albeit a big one—but one she didn’t plan on allowing to happen again, either. Not wanting to be rude, she’d agreed to be civil to Mitch, even friendly. But that was it. No more talks of attraction or whispers of comparing kisses, and no more slow, delicious tingles—especially considering he slept in a bed right across the hall from hers.

Kristen frowned, the thought of his tanned, muscular limbs entangled with hers, his dark blue eyes smoldering down at her with hunger, and his calloused palms sweeping tender caresses over her skin shooting a wave of heat through her middle.

Oh, gracious. Get ahold of yourself, girl. She blew out a slow breath. It was necessary to keep her distance. But, if she was being honest with herself, it was a downright shame, too.

“Something wrong?” Emmy peered at her.

“No.” She tightened her hands around the steering wheel and accelerated when the light turned green. “Just taking in the view.”

And that wasn’t altogether a lie. The small town of Peach Grove bustled much more than Kristen had anticipated for such a rural area. It was after five, and a steady rush of cars, trucks, and large tractor trailers poured down each side of the narrow two-lane road.

“Well, allow me to show you the highlights,” Emmy said. “That right there”—she pointed to a cluster of small brick buildings with colorful cloth awnings on the left—“is the hottest shopping strip in town. The makings of a perfect Saturday are to be had there. You start at the Dutch Restaurant and Bakery. People come from miles around for their blueberry and cream cheese sweet rolls. Then you skip next door to Essie’s Odds and Ends and browse the antiques for a hefty flowerpot. Now, I don’t care for babble mouth Bertha’s salon in the middle—she gabs more than she cuts—but a lot of people do. Then you round it off with a stop at Jake’s Hardware, pick out some hot pink petunias, take ’em home, plant ’em, then kick back on the porch and wait for the hummingbirds to come dance around.”

Kristen grinned. “Do you do that often?”

“Once every June to break in the summer.” Her smile slipped and she grew quiet before saying, “Only there’s one store missing.” She nodded toward the other side of the road. “Used to be Joe’s older sister ran a one-stop shop over yonder, behind the ice cream parlor. Inherited it from her parents.”

An abandoned building slumped in the back of an empty parking lot overrun with weeds. The only remaining brick wall still standing had a faded soft drink emblem on it and ragged window frames housing jagged shards of broken glass. Several piles of broken bricks and blocks of concrete stood haphazardly around it, and a young boy—around Dylan’s age maybe?—circled the debris on a skateboard.

“Cindy Sue had just about anything a body could want in that store,” Emmy said, her voice shaking. “Groceries, toys, a bit of this and that. She sold her crafts there, too. Had wind chimes, pottery, and the most beautiful birdhouses I’ve ever seen. Made ’em out of gourds Joe grew and gave to her.” She turned her head and strained for another glimpse of the ruins through the back windshield. “Cindy Sue was a great neighbor. Gave several families free groceries during tough winters, when they had to choose between food and heat. And she was a good sister-in-law and an even better friend to me. That was decades ago, though. She had a heart attack at thirty-nine. Never saw forty.” Her voice broke, and she sniffed. “Store closed down, and that was that.”

“I’m sorry,” Kristen whispered.

Emmy faced the road again and gazed sightlessly at the traffic ahead. A tear seeped out of the corner of her eye and rolled down her wrinkled cheek.

Chest constricting, Kristen said, “I remember seeing a gourd rack on your farm when I first arrived. By the driveway, I think. Do you use it anymore?”

Emmy didn’t answer. Just kept staring. A second tear joined the first and settled in the corner of her mouth.

“Emmy?” Kristen followed Mitch’s sedan into a turning lane and flipped on her left blinker when his started flashing. “I asked if you still use the gourd rack at the farm.”

No response.

When the traffic cleared, Mitch turned into a dealership parking lot, and after making sure the road was still clear, Kristen did the same.

“Emmy, are you oka—”

A transfer truck barreled around the sharp curve and laid on the horn, forcing her to slam on her brakes.