Crossing Hope (Cross Creek Series Book 4)

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “Okay, sure,” Greyson said. He led the way back out into the yard, but they hadn’t even gotten four steps over the grass before Blue went from sixty to a hundred and sixty, nearly pulling his arm out of its socket and tipping him forward with a brutally exuberant tug on her leash.

  “Jeez, Blue! Easy! Sit.” Greyson locked down his muscles in an effort to hold the leash steady, and even though he’d firmed his voice pretty good over the command, Blue still went berserk. “Good Lord, dog. What’s got you so—”

  “Greyson.” Marley hitched to a halt beside him, her eyes as wide as dinner dishes, and he lasered his stare across the yard to follow hers.

  Right to the spot where Sierra Beckett stood just inside the gate on the far side of the fence.

  “You didn’t lock it,” the girl said, pointing to the latch. “I don’t mean to trespass. The sign says I shouldn’t, I know, but I heard you talking when I was hanging the laundry, and…I’m sorry. I don’t want to get in any trouble.”

  “No.” Marley shook her head, adamant. “It’s okay. You can come in, if you want.”

  Sierra hesitated, her gaze not on Marley, but on him, and Greyson lifted one hand in a small wave.

  “This is my friend, Greyson,” Marley said. “And I’m Marley. We haven’t officially met. You’re Sierra, right?”

  She nodded, taking a few tentative steps into the yard, and God, the kid really was skinny, all arms and legs, like a scarecrow. “Yes. Is that your dog?” she asked, looking at Gypsy with the sort of hope that made Greyson’s chest twist.

  “No. I’m taking care of her, though. Greyson and I are doing community service here at the animal shelter.” Reaching down, Marley gave Gypsy a pat on the head, while Blue strained at his leash in a bid for equal attention.

  “Okay, Blue. I see you, buddy,” Greyson murmured, kneeling down to pet the dog, but only after he’d followed his command to settle somewhat. “Do you want to come and pet them?” he asked Sierra. “I know Blue here seems a little crazy, but he just gets real happy around most people. You could start out with Gypsy, there, if you’d like.”

  Sierra squinted through the sunlight at Marley, who nodded. Sierra tiptoed over, bending down to place a gentle pat on the dog’s head. But Gypsy was an attention hog, the sweet old girl, and she turned to enthusiastically lick Sierra’s hand before flopping over onto her back in a blatant request for belly rubs.

  “Hey, look at that. She likes you,” Marley said, smiling.

  Sierra let out a giggle and sat on the grass beside the dog. “She’s really soft. And kind of silly.”

  Blue renewed his full-body wiggle, and Greyson led him over to the door of the newly minted run. “One dog at a time, now. You’ll get your turn soon enough. For now, go on. Run it out.”

  Finally, a command he’d follow with ease. The dog scampered off, sniffing his way through the dog run and chasing the dappled shadows thrown down by the leaves of the oak tree overhead. When he returned to Marley and Sierra, the little girl’s expression sobered.

  “You’ve been leaving groceries on our back step, haven’t you?” she asked, making his heart pump faster and Marley’s chin come whipping up.

  “Yes,” Marley said, and wasn’t it just like her to go for the full-frontal truth. “We have.”

  Sierra nodded, petting Gypsy. “My mom didn’t want to take them at first. She said we shouldn’t, because we didn’t know who they were from, and that we shouldn’t be taking handouts even if we did. But I told her it was okay. The things were all cans, like from the grocery store or the food pantry in Camden Valley. I said…” She paused to let Gypsy lick her hand again, and damn, Greyson’s rib cage felt far too tight for the nameless emotion filling it up right now. “Maybe it was a guardian angel who had left the food. I knew it was you, though. I saw you walking one of the dogs a couple weeks ago, and then the food showed up that night, so I figured it out.”

  “It’s not a handout in a bad way,” Marley said, sitting down beside Sierra. “We just wanted to help.”

  Sierra nodded. “I know. I just wish I could help you back. You’re so nice to me and my mom.”

  Marley tilted her head, her expression wistful. No, wait. Calculating. What was she…

  “You know, there might be a way you could help us back,” she said, and both he and Sierra looked at her with equal doses of huh?

  “There is?” Sierra asked. “How?”

  Marley pointed down at Gypsy. “Most of these dogs can’t get enough belly rubs, and there are cats inside, too. We sure could use someone to play with them a little extra while Greyson and I clean out their pens. As long as your mom says it’s okay,” she added.

  Shock pushed Greyson’s brows higher on his sweat-damp forehead. Louis was probably going to pitch a hissy fit at the idea of letting Sierra come play with the animals. But it really was a great idea, not only because Marley was spot-on about the animals benefiting from the human interaction, but because it would give the girl a sense of belonging and community. Even Louis would be able to see that, and there was no denying the guy could use all the extra help he could get.

  “Really?” Sierra’s face lit up like a summer sunrise, and she swung her gaze from Greyson to Marley, then back again. “I could help you? And you’d both be here, together?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Greyson said, dipping his chin at her and kneeling down low to look her in the eye before transferring his gaze to Marley’s and letting it hold. “Marley and I will be here together.”

  She blushed something furious, but her nod was even. Sure. “We will. We’d love to have you come help.”

  Sierra jumped up and threw her arms around Marley. Marley tensed in surprise, freezing to her spot on the grass for a drawn-out heartbeat. But then she hugged the girl back, her face softening and her eyes drifting shut as Sierra thanked her and promised to take the very best care of the animals, and something Greyson couldn’t quite identify moved through him. It ended with the hug, and everything slid pretty much back to normal, with Sierra giving Gypsy a few last belly rubs, then going back through the gate to finish her chores. Marley bent back down to praise the dog, looking perfectly at-home in her cutoffs and T-shirt under the blazing sun and the country backdrop, and Greyson’s gut panged in realization.

  She might not have intended it, and she might not be staying.

  But she still fit in.

  He watched Marley lead Gypsy over to the run they’d built and encourage her to check it out, waiting until the dog was securely inside before shifting back to look at her.

  “That was a right nice thing to do, asking Sierra to come help us out.”

  She lifted a shoulder beneath her bright red T-shirt, but her smile nullified any nothing-to-see-here the gesture might’ve otherwise conveyed. “It was no big deal. She just wants to feel like she’s doing her part. Plus, the animals will love the extra attention.”

  “Louis is gonna fuss,” Greyson said, and Marley rolled her eyes, but didn’t lose her smile.

  “I’ll talk to him on Tuesday.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Marley blinked, and okay, so maybe he’d work on his delivery a little. Greyson straightened, smoothing his palms over the front of his jeans. “What I mean is, I can do it. I’ll explain that Sierra saw us walking the dogs and that she wants to help. And no”—he let a half-smile sneak through—“I won’t push when he gets uppity. But I will convince him it’s a good idea.”

  “Okay,” Marley said. She didn’t seem to think twice about it, and the quiet trust filled his chest.

  “So, I’ve been thinking.”

  “That’s dangerous,” she replied with a laugh, but nope. Not even her sexy little grin was going to sway him. Not in this.

  “About this whole showing you how great small town living thing is,” Greyson continued, just as easy as you please.

  “Mmmm.” Marley adjusted the red bandana that had been keeping most of her hair at bay, one dark wisp making a jail break to frame her damp c
heek. “Definitely dangerous.”

  He lifted a brow, but kept going. “You’ve seen the farmers’ market, the fireworks, and I know you’ve been to Town Street. So I’m thinking now, all that’s really left to see is the grand finale. The very best thing Millhaven has to offer.”

  “And what exactly is that?”

  Greyson’s heart beat faster, but this was right. She was right. “Whittaker Hollow.”

  The sound that crossed her lips was pure, sweet surprise. “You want me to come to your farm?”

  “I do.” He moved over the grass until they were face to face, close enough to touch. He knew this was risky, and not a little bit. She wasn’t even big on her own family’s farm, and no Cross had set foot on Whittaker property since Christ was a corporal.

  And yet, he didn’t care, nor did he hesitate. “I know you’re used to a different lifestyle, and that you think we’re all backwards out here in the sticks. To be truthful, we might be. But there’s a lot of good to be had out here. You’ve just got to let yourself see it. So, what do you say?”

  Marley smiled and pressed up to her toes, kissing him just once before answering, “I say yes, on one condition.”

  “And that is…?”

  “You send me home with peaches when we’re done. After all, if I’m going to make a decent pie, I’ll need the very best ingredients.”

  21

  Marley was getting far too used to sitting in the front seat of Greyson’s truck. The fact floated through her mind with way less concern than it should’ve, but honestly, between the perfectly broken-in comfort of the well-cushioned leather to the gorgeous summer breeze flying in through the open windows, she didn’t know a soul alive who’d blame her. She could practically taste the sunshine, she thought with a laugh. Don’t even get her started on the way she’d never believe the landscape wasn’t entirely Photoshopped if she wasn’t sitting here, taking it all in with her own two eyes.

  Millhaven might seem totally foreign to her sometimes, with its quirks and slowed-down pace and lack of a Starbucks within a thirty-mile radius, but Marley couldn’t deny that the town and its surroundings were truly beautiful.

  “What’s so funny?” Greyson asked, and Marley realized belatedly that not only had her laugh been out loud, but it had come directly from her belly.

  “Nothing’s funny,” she said, and ugh, no matter how she framed this, he was going to give her a river of shit. Might as well just pop out with it. “It’s just that I was thinking about how pretty it is out here. That’s all.”

  His smirk was instantaneous. Annnnd here we go. “Pretty, huh? As in, majestic, wide-open spaces, fresh air like you won’t find anywhere else on the planet, rolling fields and blue skies, with stunning mountains off in the distance? That kind of pretty?”

  “Yes.” Marley’s laugh stayed put, which only egged Greyson on, of course.

  “Or did you mean the kind of pretty that includes underground caverns and Civil War history and a national park with over a hundred miles of nature trails? Because out here in the Shenandoah Valley, we have that, too.”

  “Okay, okay!” she cried, lifting her hands in surrender that wasn’t hard to give, considering he was right. “I get it. Yes, it’s that pretty out here.”

  “Yeah, I sorta like it, myself.”

  Greyson slowed the truck down, turning onto a narrow lane marked by a plain, neatly printed sign reading Whittaker Hollow Farm, est. 1949 in glossy black letters. Marley’s pulse whooshed faster, and she swiveled her gaze over the grassy fields on either side of the lane.

  “So, tell me about your farm,” she said, and although his chin lifted in surprise just the slightest bit, he didn’t skip even half a beat with his answer.

  “The land has been in my family for four generations, like a lot of folks around Millhaven who have larger farms. We actually settled here around the same time as your old man’s family.”

  Marley had heard Eli say more than once that Cross Creek and Whittaker Hollow were the two oldest farms in Millhaven, usually followed by a few grade-A swear words applied to either Greyson or his father.

  Brushing the thought aside, she asked, “How big is the place?”

  “Six hundred acres, give or take.” Greyson followed a branch of the lane that forked off to the right, with small groups of lazily grazing black cows behind the perimeter of wire fencing lining either side. “We have cattle up here on the front half of the property, and the crops in the back. Mostly feed corn, grain, and hay, although we do our fair share of produce and pick-your-own for things like strawberries, peaches, and apples.”

  “It’s so peaceful,” Marley said. Bracing her palms on the window frame of the passenger door, she leaned out, squinting against the early-evening sunlight so she could take in the fields of bright emerald corn stalks in the distance, the fundamental, earthy scent of the breeze swirling around her—God, all of it.

  “I think so,” Greyson said from over her shoulder, and even though she couldn’t see his slow, sexy smile, she could hear it in every inch of his voice. He pointed out a few things along the path so she could gain her bearings, like where they were in relation to the main house, the hay fields, and Whittaker Hollow’s apple orchard. The layout and smaller details were different than Cross Creek, of course. Not that Marley had spent enough time outside of the main house to know the lay of all the land there—Cross Creek had over a hundred acres on Whittaker Hollow, and the farm she was on right now was far from small. Cross Creek was pretty, too, she had to admit, offering the same sort of calming, pastoral quiet that made it easy to see why Tobias and each of her brothers loved the place in his own way.

  The thought hung in her mind, and since her brain-to-mouth filter had enough rust on it to qualify as an underwater relic à la The Titanic, she said, “There’s a lot of smack talk between our families, huh?”

  Greyson’s shoulders tightened against the driver’s seat. “That’s one way to put it.”

  “Okay, but do you know why, exactly?” Marley asked. “I mean, I get it. You’re the two biggest games in town, you’re naturally going to compete for business. It’s just that the tension seems to run really deep. Was there some kind of huge blowout argument, or something in particular that sparked all this bad blood?”

  “You know, that’s a good question,” Greyson said slowly. They got to a hand-painted sign promising Pick Your Own, This Way! and he maneuvered the truck over a pair of gravel-packed tire tracks leading off to the right, passing another sign that read Best Peaches in King County before shaking his head. “I can’t think of ever hearing anything specific. And I know Amber Cassidy, so…”

  Talk about a pairing Marley wasn’t expecting. “You’re friends with Amber?”

  “Friends is such a strong word.” Here, he gave up enough of a half-smile to take any true sting out of the claim. “But Billy Masterson, who works down at the co-op? He has a thing for her. Has since we were in high school. He and I get on pretty good, when he’s not running his mouth to my sisters about me being arrested. So, yeah, I know her alright.”

  “Those two sound like a match made in heaven,” Marley said wryly.

  Which is exactly how Greyson replied. “Right? They’re perfect for each other. Anyway, it’s kind of hard not to know Amber, and we’ve hung out enough. If there was a story there, she’d have told it. Hell, it’d be legend by now.”

  He pulled to a stop in a small side lot that was marked only by flatter patches of grass and the occasional stretch of bare earth, worn through from use. Marley tumbled around the possibilities for a minute, following him out of his truck and enduring his frown.

  “Sorry,” she said, looking back at the door she’d just slammed. Guess she wasn’t used to the whole Southern manners thing just yet. “So, if it’s not something specific, like an argument over land or some agreement gone sour, I wonder what’s behind it.”

  “I don’t know.” Greyson took her hand. Her belly flipped a little at the touch, but he ambled along, as
if he had not one care, and she felt too good to do anything other than lace her fingers through his and squeeze. “But the rivalry is definitely there, and it’s always been strong. My grandfather wasn’t exactly a kind man, either. My old man is a lot like him in that way. He might’ve gotten nastier about the rivalry after my uncle was killed, but…honestly, he got nastier about everything then.”

  Marley nodded. “Grief has a way of doing that to some people.”

  “To be fair, none of us are saints. Your family plays an even part,” Greyson said, his tone not confrontational, but damn sure not kind, either. And wasn’t that just like him? “Eli and I started brawlin’ in the third grade and pretty much never stopped. I might push a lot, but he pushes, too. I know they’re your brothers, but Owen, Hunter, and Eli have always been all too happy to talk shit about me and mine.”

  “My brothers do say you’re a jackass.”

  It was brutally direct—not that Marley knew any other way, really. Funny, not only did Greyson not bat so much as a single, ridiculously long lash, but he didn’t disagree. “That might be a fair assessment. I’m not a nice guy.”

  “I’m not sure I believe that entirely,” she argued. “You’re great with the animals at the shelter, and with Sierra. And you’re nice to me.”

  “Yeah, but getting along with you took a little doing.” The corners of his mouth quirked up, his boots whispering over the grass as he led her toward the edge of a field full of trees growing in winding rows. “And, for the record, I call your brothers jackasses right back, you know.”

  “I call them jackasses, too, when they’re acting like it.”

  “You don’t get along with your family, do you?”

  The question stuck into her, sharp and unexpected, making her pulse jump. “My brothers and I get along okay,” she hedged. “Things with Tobias are…”

  Okay, so they’d called a truce of sorts last night, and she’d gone to bed feeling happier than she had in recent memory. Still, she couldn’t explain this. Not even to Greyson, even though a part of her was tempted.