Afterward, he rolled onto his back, tugging her with him, and cradled her close. His chest rose, deep and even, and eventually, he drifted off, his soft breaths stirring her hair.
Pleasure pulsed steady and slow within her, and the feeling spread through her limbs and swelled within her. She’d never felt this supported and loved . . . or more afraid.
Throat aching, Kristen rolled her head to the side and kissed his shoulder. Then her lips moved against his warm skin in a barely audible whisper. “I love you, Mitch.”
She waited awhile, listening to the steady fall of rain outside the window and half hoping that he’d wake up and that she’d give in and allow him to persuade her to stay. But he didn’t stir, and eventually, she slipped out of his hold.
It took ten minutes for her to gather her things quietly in the low light of the oil lamp. She pushed her jeans, T-shirts, underwear, and what few toiletries she’d arrived with into her bags. Hoisting one bag over each shoulder, she cast one last look at his sleeping form—his strong, tanned limbs sprawled across the white sheets, the strand of chestnut hair tousled over his forehead, and the relaxed, sensual curve of his mouth—before forcing herself to walk away.
Downstairs, she hovered in the hallway, right outside Sadie’s and Dylan’s closed doors. She wanted to slip inside the rooms, kiss their cheeks, and say good-bye, but she couldn’t bring herself to follow through.
Shoulders sagging, she shook as her bags slid down her arms and dropped onto the floor. Steady rain drummed on the roof, and she looked behind her toward the staircase leading to the upper floor, recalling Mitch’s strong, quiet love, then clenched her jaw.
“I’m not a coward,” she said out loud, holding on to the words and drawing strength from them. “Never have been.”
And she didn’t want to leave Hart’s Hollow or Mitch. She wanted to stay right here with Sadie, Dylan, and Emmy . . . even if it broke her heart.
Straightening, Kristen walked farther down the hall to Emmy’s room, but the lamplight slipping through the half-open door slowed her steps, and her heart tripped after a quick scan of the room revealed that Emmy was gone.
* * *
“Mitch.”
A hand shook his shoulder, and the sweet sound of Kristen’s voice came again.
“Mitch, wake up.”
He opened his eyes, and the sated sensation that had lingered in his limbs after making love to Kristen dissolved when he saw the panicked look on her face.
“Emmy’s gone,” she said, tugging on his biceps.
He sat up, slid his hands over her arms, then squeezed in an attempt to still her restless movements. “Wait, what do you mean? She was asleep in her room when I lef—”
“She’s not there. I just checked.” Voice shaking, she looked past him toward the window, her cheeks pale. “She was so confused during the party. Do you think she could’ve gone looking for Joe?”
The brief flash of lightning that lit up the room made him freeze. He shook off the clinging remains of sleep, nudged Kristen aside, and stood. “Did you check the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
He snatched his jeans off the floor, jerked them on and zipped them up. “The kids’ bedrooms?”
She nodded.
“The kitch—”
“Yes, I checked everywhere—even the porch and front yard.” She grabbed his shirt from the end of the bed, tossed it to him, then headed toward the door. “I’m going to walk the driveway, see if she wandered out there.”
“I’ll call Ruth Ann, ask her to come stay with the kids. I’ll be right behind you.” He slipped his shirt over his head. “Kristen?”
She paused on the threshold, expression anxious.
“Grab a raincoat out of the hall closet. There’s a flashlight on the top shelf.”
Thunder boomed, rattling the windowpanes and vibrating through the floor as he jogged down the stairs. He called Ruth Ann, who assured him she was on the way, and then he rummaged through several drawers in the kitchen for another flashlight. After finding one, he headed outside, grabbing the truck keys from the key rack by the front door on his way out.
The sharp scent of rain hit his nostrils, and the downpour pummeled the porch roof and the surrounding landscape. The thick branches on the oak trees on the front lawn clacked together with fierce intensity. He ran down the front steps to the sludgy driveway, his shoes slipping and the sheets of rain so heavy he could barely see farther than five feet in front of him.
Pausing to regain his balance, he stiffened as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky in a jagged arc, striking the dark field below with a vicious hiss.