by Janet Dailey
“I’m cold and wet,” Mitch tacked on gently as moisture glinted in her eyes. “My car got stuck in the mud, and I had to walk through the rain. You’ll catch a chill.”
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, her fragile throat moving on a hard swallow, then grunted. “Well, I’d hug you harder, but I’m mad at you.”
Surprisingly, a small laugh bubbled up and escaped his lips, easing the tension in his limbs. “Good to see you, too, Emmy.”
Her dark scowl lightened a bit, and she straightened. “Did you send some suit out here to talk me into selling?”
“I—”
“ ’Cuz if you did, it didn’t work.” Emmy poked a finger at him. “And just so you know, it won’t ever work.” She spun around, then headed toward the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “That’s my new hire, Kristen, by the way. Introduce yourself. Then grab a towel, dry off, and join us at the kitchen table. We’ve held supper for over an hour, waiting on you to get here.”
Mitch sighed as she stomped around the corner. The swift breeze of her departure swept over his damp skin, and the soft light from the kitchen barely reached the dim foyer.
Same old Emmy. Same old dank, drafty house.
“She was worried.” Kristen shrugged, as if in apology. Her long hair slipped over her toned arms, brushing the curve of her breasts beneath a thin tank top. “She was staring out the window off and on while she cooked, watching for you.”
He ducked his head, an ache seeping into his chest at the thought. Causing Emmy discomfort wasn’t his end goal, but given the circumstances, there was no way it could have been avoided.
“I didn’t mean to make her worry,” he said.
But who was she to call him on it? A stranger with no knowledge of him, Emmy, or the history of this place?
Bristling, he raised his head and studied Kristen. Her calm demeanor and clear, steady gaze belied the grim atmosphere surrounding them. And her presence added more complications to an already difficult situation he was not looking forward to handling. Not to mention, the sensation of her soft touch still lingered on his sk—
“Why are you here?” One blond eyebrow rose at the abrasive sound of his voice. He rubbed his palm against his wet pant leg and tried for a more civil tone. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just . . . I don’t know what Emmy may have told you, but surely you can see the prospect of a job here is nonexistent.”
She slipped her hands in her pockets and glanced down at his bare feet.
He fought the urge to curl his toes and slide them away.
“Emmy explained that things are difficult for her right now, and I could see for myself just how difficult when your friend visited earlier.” Kristen’s lashes lifted as she shot him a brief disapproving look. “But she’s insistent that I consider staying and working for her. She says she needs help fixing up the house, planting crops and—”
“Have you accepted the position?”
She frowned. “I told her I don’t think I’m right for the job, but—”
“That’s good, then.” He blew out a heavy breath and reached into his back pocket. “I saw your license plate outside, and I imagine you had quite a drive out here. I’d be happy to pay you for your time.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Her look of affront made his fingers freeze around his wallet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend y—”
“I’m not offended.” A muscle ticked in her delicate jaw as she studied him. “Emmy invited me to dinner and offered me a room for the night. That’s payment enough.”
She stared at him for a moment, the guarded look in those beautiful green eyes making him long for the hint of warmth that had entered them upon her initial greeting.
“I told Emmy I’d help her set the table.” With that, she turned and left.
Mitch dragged a hand through his wet hair. Lord, wasn’t this just his luck? The first woman he’d met in months who stirred his interest seemed more impressed with his grandmother than with him. And deservedly so, since here he stood, a soaked, uncouth jerk being everything but gallant.
Grimacing, he retrieved his bag from the porch and shut the front door. After changing into a dry oxford dress shirt and khakis in the downstairs bathroom, he stowed his bag in the hallway and joined them in the kitchen.
It was the same as he remembered. Rich wood paneling lined the walls. Dark hardwood floors, scuffed and worn, contrasted sharply with the worn white cabinets and countertops. A large wood table took center stage, draped with a lacy tablecloth and loaded with deep dishes of fried chicken, cabbage, creamed corn, and lacy corn bread. The only pleasurable aspect of Hart’s Hollow Farm had always been Emmy’s cooking, and judging from the decadent aromas, it seemed that hadn’t changed.
Emmy moved from seat to seat, folding cloth napkins by each place setting, and Kristen followed, arranging gleaming silverware in appropriate places and shooting him glances. Ice clinked inside a glass pitcher, and then a small girl with curly brown hair and a furrowed brow carried it slowly toward the table, tea sloshing over her small hands.
“Oh, gracious!” Emmy scrambled around the table and took the pitcher. “Thank you for helping, baby, but I think this is a mite too heavy for you.”
The little girl’s expression fell. She looked down and picked at the hem of her shorts.
Mitch’s heart clenched. After squatting on his haunches, he held out his arms and asked softly, “Is that my sweet Sadie?”
She perked up, her head lifting and her blue eyes widening as she smiled. “Uncle Mitch!”
Sadie barreled against his chest, rocking him back on his heels. He laughed and squeezed her tight. She was taller than he remembered from two months ago, and, man, it was good to hear her voice again. “I believe you’ve grown a few inches since I last saw you.”
“I have,” she piped, pulling back and brushing her bangs away from her eyes. “And one of my tooths is loose.” She touched a fingertip to her lower baby teeth and rocked one back and forth. “See? Nana says when it comes out, the tooth fairy will visit.”
“I’m sure she will. So be sure to put it under your pillow, okay?”
She nodded.
Her cheerful chatter was a welcome relief. For weeks after Carrie’s death, Sadie had barely spoken, and eventually, Emmy had stopped handing her the phone when Mitch called to see how she was doing. There was no hope of conversation when the other party remained mute.
Smoothing a hand over Sadie’s hair, Mitch stood and glanced around. “Where’s Dylan?”
Emmy motioned toward the hall. “Washing up. He’ll be here in a minute.” She leaned over the table and nodded, seemingly satisfied that all was ready, then waved a hand in the air. “Y’all grab a seat.”
They did, Sadie climbing into the chair beside Mitch, Emmy sitting at the head of the table, and Kristen taking a seat in the empty chair by Emmy’s side.
“Come on, Dylan,” Emmy called. “Everyone’s waiting on you.”
Slow footsteps approached down the hallway, and then Dylan entered the room. He stood motionless in the doorway, darting glances at each of them. His shoulders hunched, and he made no move to join them.
Mitch rose from his seat. “Hi, Dylan.”
He looked up but didn’t speak, his mouth tightening into a thin line.
“It’s good to see you again,” Mitch added gently, though the boy still looked as lost and withdrawn as he had at Carrie’s funeral two months ago. “How’ve you b—”
“I’m not hungry.” Dylan jerked his chin in Emmy’s direction. “I’m going to my room.”
“No.” Emmy spoke low but firm. “You’ll join us at the table, please. You need to eat, but even if you choose not to, we’d like your company all the same.”
“What company?” Dylan’s chin trembled. “There’s nothing to talk about, and there’s nothing to do. There’s nothing out here but dirt and weeds.”
“I’d like to introduce you to our guest, Ms. Kristen,” Emmy sa
id. “I know you’re lonely out here, son. That’s why I want you to—”
“I’m not your son.” Dylan returned her stare, the amount of anger and pain flashing in the depths of his blue eyes more than any child of ten should bear.
Throat tightening, Mitch shook his head. “Let him go to his room if he wants, Emmy. He doesn’t have to stay on my account.”
“Who said it’s just on your account?” Emmy frowned at him. “There are three other people besides you at this table, and when we break bread, we do it together. Whether you like it or not, this is still my house. My house, my table, my rules, Mitch.”
“Yes. I’m well aware of your rules,” Mitch said quietly. “But he’s been through a hard enough time as it is. Surely you can make an exception just this once?”
“There are no exceptions in this family.” She balled her fists beside her plate. “When one of us hurts, we all hurt. Together. We stick together no matter what. We don’t leave each other behind. That’s how it should work. Not that I expect you to understand, seeing as how you don’t abide by that rule—especially considering the stunt you pulled today.”
Mitch glanced at Sadie, then Kristen, and their red cheeks and uncomfortable posture made him cringe. “Emmy, for God’s sake,” he whispered, “let’s not do this now.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t you use His name in vain in my house. And you’re right. We won’t do this now.” She jerked a hand toward the empty seat beside Kristen. “Dylan, sit down. I’m here, Mitch is here, and Carrie’s here. We’re eating supper together. As a family should.”
Mitch closed his eyes, the stricken look on Dylan’s face staying with him anyway. “Sadie.” He leveled a look at Emmy. “Her name is Sadie.”
“What?” Emmy’s hands jerked around her place setting. They smoothed her napkin, straightened her silverware, slid her glass two inches to the left.
“Sadie is the one who’s here.” He struggled to keep his voice level. “Carrie is not.”
Emmy stilled. A deep flush blotched her neck, then rose to her face, her mouth opening and closing silently.
The air grew thick around the table, the only sounds the steady drum of rain on the roof and the torrents of water splashing down the large window pane above the sink.
Sadie slid out of her chair, then walked to Emmy’s side, her bare feet padding across the hardwood floor. “It’s okay, Nana.” Tears in her eyes, she lifted to her toes and kissed Emmy’s cheek. Then she crossed the room, took Dylan’s hand, and blinked up at him. “Isn’t it okay?”
Dylan looked down at her, nodded jerkily and let Sadie lead him to the chair beside Kristen. He sat, and Emmy’s clenched fists unfurled.
“I’m sorry, Dylan,” Emmy said, her voice thick.
He slumped farther down in his chair and didn’t respond.
Emmy picked up the pitcher of tea and moved it toward Dylan’s glass. Her hand shook, splashing tea onto the white tablecloth, and a renewed surge of guilt hit Mitch.
“Here,” he said. “Let me.”
He eased the pitcher away from Emmy with a steady touch and returned her hesitant smile with one of his own. A truce reached. At least for the moment.
Mitch stretched across the table and filled each glass in turn. When he reached Kristen’s, she lifted it closer.
“Thank you,” she said.
He looked up briefly from his task and met her eyes. Some of the warmth from their initial meeting had returned to her expression. It moved over him and lightened the stifling weight pressing on his chest. “You’re welcome.”
Emmy said the blessing, and then the meal commenced in silence, save for forks clinking against plates, cups thumping periodically to the table, and an occasional cough from Sadie. Every so often, Dylan and Sadie would stare curiously at Kristen, but other than a slight stiffening of her shoulders, Kristen didn’t seem to react. Instead, she ate slowly, a noticeable tremor in her hand as she gripped the fork subsiding toward the end of the meal.
Afterward, they dumped the scraps from their plates in the trash and set the dishes in the sink.
“Can I be excused now?” Dylan asked.
Emmy nodded, and he left, not sparing anyone a second glance.
Mitch sighed. “It was a long drive down from the Atlanta airport. Think I’ll call it a night. Are the kids still using the bedrooms on the first floor?”
“Them and me,” Emmy said. “Since my knee started acting up, I can’t make it up and down that staircase as easy as I used to.” She grabbed a dishcloth from a drawer, then looked at Kristen. “We tend to turn in early here, since we start the day at sunrise. We can talk shop in the morning. Why don’t you go grab your pajamas, Sadie? Soon as I wash up these dishes, I’ll run your bath.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sadie took off, too.
“Oh, I’ll take care of the dishes,” Kristen said. “It’s the least I can do after such a delicious meal. I enjoyed it, Emmy. Thank you.”
Kristen smiled again. Bigger than when she’d met him at the door. She had dimples, cute indentations, which Mitch managed to catch a momentary glimpse of before she took the dishrag from Emmy, then faced the sink and turned on the tap, presenting her slender back to him.
“Would you show Kristen to the upstairs guest room?”
Mitch returned his attention to Emmy, who was looking at him expectantly. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I asked if you’d show Kristen to one of the rooms upstairs when she finishes,” Emmy said. “I started cooking when she arrived, and haven’t had a chance to show her around yet. Use the back bedrooms. Those are the only ones with clean sheets on the beds.”
He glanced at Kristen, the mention of a bed so near the sight of her long hair and shapely hips stirring warm thoughts, which he struggled to quell. “Of course.”
Kristen looked over her shoulder, her mouth tightening and her eyes cooling as she watched his face. “I’ll need to grab my bags. They’re still in my car.”
Mitch cleared his throat. “I’ll bring them in, then help you clean up.”
By the time he had trudged through the mud and returned with the bags—dry this time, thanks to one of Emmy’s umbrellas—Kristen was alone in the kitchen, washing the last of the silverware. Mitch dried the dishes, then stowed them in their proper places, while Kristen wiped down the kitchen table. He was careful to keep his eyes on what he was doing, rather than let them linger on her graceful movements.
When they finished, he hefted her bags in his hands, but she immediately tugged at them.
“I’ll get those,” she said.
“I don’t mind.”
“I appreciate your bringing them in, but I can manage from here.”
The determined set of her jaw made it clear she intended to do just that, so he released them, grabbed his own bag from the hallway, then led the way upstairs. Each step creaked with their footfalls until they reached the upper landing, where he stopped in front of a bedroom on the left.
“This will be yours for the night.” Mitch pointed to a closed door to his right. “Bathroom’s there, and I’ll be across the hall if you need anything.”
“Thank you.”
She entered the bedroom, set her bags on the wood floor, then flipped on the overhead light. The shiny strands of her hair rippled across her back as she turned her head, taking in the bare walls, empty nightstand, and queen-size bed.
“Kristen.” He waited until she turned and faced him. A bulb flickered in the fixture, crackling with an electrical hiss and casting a shadow over her pretty features. “I’m sorry for the unpleasant scene earlier, but what Dylan said was true. There’s nothing out here. Certainly no chance of a profitable future.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but . . .” She bit her lip. “Who’s Carrie?”
“My sister. And Sadie and Dylan’s mother. She passed away two months ago.”
He waited, abs clenching, for the inevitable churn of anger, disgust, and pain to resume in his gut. The kind he always felt at a reminder
of Carrie’s death, her wasted future and the childhood of fear they’d lived on this farm.
There was no way in hell he’d allow Sadie or Dylan to experience the same. Hart’s Hollow had never been a real home for him or Carrie, nor would it ever be a suitable one for the kids. It wasn’t the place for them. It wasn’t a place for anyone.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kristen whispered.
“After I talk some sense into Emmy,” Mitch bit out, “I plan to leave and return home as soon as possible. You’d be better off doing the same.”
A haunted look entered her eyes, her words so quiet he almost missed them.
“If I had one.” She lowered her head, the shadows beneath the hollows of her cheeks deepening, as she closed the door between them. “Good night, Mitch.”
* * *
Soft light touched Kristen’s face, glowing gently behind her closed eyelids and tugging her into awareness.
“Mmm.” Sighing softly, she stretched her arms overhead, curled her fingers into the cool sheets, then opened her eyes.
A single tendril of rosy sunlight slipped through the lace curtains lining the double-hung window opposite the bed. It moved slowly across the dark bedroom floor, then up over the white bedding, warming her chest and neck.
There were no sounds of movement in the hallway or from downstairs, just the rhythmic chirps of crickets and the low croaks of frogs from outside. Judging from the weakness of the light trickling in, she thought the sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but the storm had ended.
She smiled as a vibrancy she hadn’t felt in ages hummed in her veins. Seemed a full belly, a soft bed, and utter exhaustion had been the perfect combination for a peaceful night’s rest.
Emmy had been right. Turning in early made for getting up before sunrise. Kristen had crawled into bed around nine last night, and if she had to guess, she’d say it was around six in the morning now. Pretty close to the same schedule she’d stuck to at the Perrys’ family farm in Adel.
Her smile slipped, and she turned her head on the pillow to stare at the closed door. Only, there had been very little family drama on the Perrys’ farm, no children . . . and no estranged grandson sleeping in a bedroom across the hall from her. A magnificent male with clear blue eyes, thick brown hair, and a sculpted chest, which her fingers still itched to—