Hart's Hollow Farm

by Janet Dailey

  “Sadie and Dylan, however . . .” He cleared the tightness from his throat. “They’re precious to me, and I’d never do anything I didn’t think was in their best interest. I’m only trying to make sure that bad history doesn’t repeat itself. From the little you know of me, can we agree on that in good faith, too?”

  He flinched. There was that word again. The one he hadn’t uttered a single time in the fourteen years since he’d left this place. That blind, gullible term Emmy applied to every challenging circumstance regardless of common sense or reality.

  Maybe it’s not the land you lack faith in but me.

  “I may not agree with Emmy,” he tacked on, “but I want only what’s best for her, as well.”

  She remained motionless, peering at him as the rumble of a semitruck approached along the worn highway at their backs and then faded in the distance. She released a slow breath. “All right.”

  A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck and seeped into the collar of his shirt. He returned to his crouched position behind the car and gripped the bumper. “Guide it toward the grass while I shove.”

  “I really think we should give that plank a—”

  “All I need is for you to give it gas and steer.” His face heated. Damn. Why did he have this inane tendency to act like an ass around her? He inclined his head. “Please.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but after a moment, she slipped into the driver’s seat and shut the door, cranked the engine, and hit the gas. The tires spun erratically, flinging thick clay across his pant legs, and the exhaust pipe puffed fumes in his face. Coughing, he pushed, rocked, and slammed his shoulder into the unyielding metal for what seemed like ten minutes, to no avail, then slumped against the trunk to catch his breath.

  The engine stopped, and a window rolled down on a smooth whisper. He propped his sweaty forearms against the trunk and leaned to the side.

  Kristen’s gleaming eyes and wide smile stared back at him. “Want me to give that plank a kick now?”

  He batted away a gnat, then grunted, “Yeah.”

  She hopped out, walked to the front of the car and kicked the plank wedged against the left tire twice. After returning to the driver’s seat, she accelerated while he shoved. With slick suction, the tire lurched from the mud, propelling the car off the driveway and onto the grassy shoulder.

  Grinning, Kristen reemerged, spun toward him, then bowed.

  He laughed. “You were right. I was wrong. Thanks.”

  “Never hurts for a man to tell a woman that. And you’re welcome.”

  Those green eyes of hers lit up, and her expression lifted with her teasing tone, dispelling the dark shadows. Her whole demeanor brightened, conjuring up a warm welling sensation within his chest.

  “Y’all ’bout ready?” Emmy stood several feet ahead on the grassy stretch between the oak trees, Sadie leaning against her hip and Dylan slouched behind her. “The kids are up and raring to go.” She glanced down and smiled. “Aren’t you?”

  Sadie yawned. Dylan rolled his eyes.

  It took Mitch five minutes to bring the truck around, four minutes to get everyone settled inside the extended cab, and one second of driving up the driveway before the trouble started.

  “It’s spring break,” Dylan muttered. “We shouldn’t have to get up at the butt crack of dawn when we’re out of school.”

  Mitch frowned and glanced in the rearview mirror. Dylan sat in the middle of the backseat, wedged between Sadie and Kristen, attention glued to the cell phone in his hand. “Language, Dylan.”

  He scowled. “Butt isn’t a cussword.”

  Sadie gasped. “He said it again, Uncle Mitch.”

  “Hush up, you tattletale,” Dylan spat.

  “I’m not a tattletale—”

  “Oh, I’ve heard a lot worse in my time,” Emmy said, twisting in her seat to eye Dylan. “But I’d rather not hear it from you, and I’d especially rather not hear it in my sweet Joe’s truck. Put that phone up.” She flicked a hand toward the truck door. “And, Mitch, open the windows. The sun’s shining, the birds are chirping, and the fresh air will blow the grump right off him.”

  Mitch pressed the button on the door, and the windows squeaked open halfway.

  “All the way, please,” Emmy added, then nodded when he complied.

  A strong breeze flooded the car, ruffling the gray hair at Emmy’s temples and scattering dust particles around the cab. Sadie batted at her nose, then started sneezing.

  “You all right, baby?” Mitch asked.

  “Ye . . .” Another sneeze. “Sir.”

  “Move to the left a little, Mitch,” Emmy directed. “That big hole’s coming up on the right, and it’ll knock the truck out of alignment.”

  He did so, palming the steering wheel and shifting the truck’s path toward the left.

  “Watch out for the drop at the end of the driveway. It’ll be steeper after all that rain.” Emmy flapped a thin hand at the worn highway as they approached. “Keep your ears open for those big trucks, too. They’re few and far between, but they’ll run you right over, given the chance.”

  He gritted his teeth and accelerated.

  “And keep an eye out for deer. They—”

  “Would you like to drive, Emmy?”

  “Nope.” She reached out and patted his forearm. “You’re doing just fine.”

  Sighing, he glanced in the side mirror and caught Kristen’s eyes on him. Her lips twitched and her shoulders shook as she turned away, lifting her face toward the swift breeze.

  By the time he turned the truck onto the paved highway, a small smile had fought its way to his own lips.

  Ten minutes later, Mitch took a left, then guided the truck over rain-filled potholes up a straight dirt driveway. Cornstalks about three feet tall stood in proud rows along large fields on both sides of the road. Green leaves glistened with dew above the saturated red soil and stretched toward the horizon, where the morning sun had emerged, warming the land.

  “I didn’t think you were in the habit of paying Mrs. Ruth Ann visits anymore.” Mitch lowered his visor to block the sharp rays of the sun, then glanced at Emmy. “You sure this is a good idea? Thought the two of you had decided to keep your distance from each other.”

  Emmy’s mouth twisted. “Wasn’t my decision. I’ve never been nothing but polite to her.” Her hands moved restlessly in her lap. “Well . . . except on the occasions she’s forced me to behave otherwise. With any luck, she won’t be there. Either way, it’ll be fine. Right, Kristen?” she prompted, looking in the backseat.

  He glanced in the side mirror.

  Kristen hesitated before answering, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “And besides,” Emmy added, “I’m not going to see Ruth Ann. I’m going to see Lee.”

  He smiled. “Lee? He’s back?”

  That hadn’t been the plan. Seven years older than Mitch and an admired high school quarterback, Lee Hadden had left Stellaville for the University of Georgia twenty years ago on a full-ride scholarship. He was a good guy with a good head on his shoulders, and getting out of Stellaville had been as high a priority for him as it had been for Mitch.

  “Yep. Has been for nine years now, ever since Daryl died.” Emmy sniffed. “Ruth Ann needed him, and he was happy to come back.”

  Mitch’s cheeks heated. He avoided looking in the side mirror and changed the subject as he drew the truck to a halt in front of a large white house, its green metal roof glinting under the sunlight. “I see Ruth Ann’s been keeping up the flower beds Daryl planted.”

  And not only those but also the entire estate itself. No rotting porch rails, battered shutters, or barren land here. Just a lush lawn manicured to perfection; wide, sparkling windows; and pristine wicker furniture adorning the front porch. Genteel, stately, and Southern—just like Ruth Ann.

  Emmy harrumphed. “She hired some landscaping company. Never was one to get her nails dirty. That’s why Lee came back. Widowed or not, she wasn’t gonna dig in the
dirt and plant crops herself.”

  Shoulders stiffening, Mitch cut the engine. “Emmy, this isn’t a good idea.”

  “I know, I know,” she huffed, thrusting open her door. “I’m not here to stir up any trouble. I just need to talk to Lee, and he’s never turned me away, so come on.”

  He assisted Emmy out of the truck, then helped Sadie and Dylan climb down. By the time he reached her side, Kristen already stood in the driveway, squinting up at the house. A deep flush stained her cheeks, and a blond tendril of hair clung to her sweaty forehead.

  After pausing, Mitch moved to the truck bed, pried the rusty built-in toolbox open, and sifted through various items before catching the flash of a red brim in the corner of the toolbox. He grinned, tugged the hat out, then beat it against his pant leg to knock off the dust.

  “Here.” He lifted it in Kristen’s direction. “It’s a bit worn, but it’ll keep the sun out of your eyes.”

  She turned, glanced at the hat and smiled. That sweet tilt of her mouth was a replica of the one she’d presented when he first arrived—warm, inviting. It tugged at something deep in his middle. A small whirl of sensation. Equal parts excitement, desire, and anticipation. Something he hadn’t felt since his teenage years.

  “May I?” he asked, holding up the hat and stepping closer.

  She hesitated briefly, then nodded and looked up at him. Her green eyes followed his hands as they settled the hat in place, tucked her bangs beneath the brim, and smoothed a moist curl from her temple.

  His thumb—broad against her delicate bone structure—lingered on her cheek. “Better?”

  The pink tip of her tongue touched the corner of her mouth and her chest lifted on a deep breath before she refocused on his face. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Mitch!” Lee strode across the front lawn from the direction of the fields, smiling and waving a hand in their direction. “Good to see you, man. What’s it been? Ten, fifteen years since I last saw you?”

  “Thereabouts.” Mitch stepped back from Kristen, then shook Lee’s hand when he arrived. At just over six feet, he reached the same height as Mitch, and other than a smattering of gray in his hair, he looked the same as ever, his brawny frame still strong. “Looks like you’re doing good.”

  “For an old man?” Lee joked, propping his hands on his hips. “I’m doing all right.” He looked at Kristen and smiled wider. “I see you made it the night.”

  Mitch frowned and glanced at Kristen.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry . . . Have we met?”

  “Yesterday.” Lee gestured toward the highway. “Right up that stretch of road. You were looking for Emmy’s place.”

  Kristen’s head drew back as she looked Lee over. “Oh. I . . . didn’t recognize you.”

  “Nah. Didn’t expect you to.” He shrugged. “First impressions can be deceiving. I’d just come out of the fields, hadn’t shaved in days and was driving Old Beaut.”

  “Old Beaut?” she asked.

  Lee pointed to the far side of the lawn at a beat-up truck overcome with rust. “Old Beaut. She’s my farming girl. Might have some years on her, but she’s strong and solid.”

  Nodding, Kristen smiled. “That’s the best kind.”

  “You know it.” Lee held out his hand and gripped Kristen’s, his fingers squeezing hers a bit too long for Mitch’s liking. “Seems you didn’t take my advice about the storm.”

  “About getting out?” Kristen raised her brows. “I like a challenge.”

  “Ah.” Lee leaned closer. “You’re my kind of girl.”

  “Lee.” Dragging a hand across the back of his neck, Mitch edged between them. “We’re here because Emmy wants to talk to you.”

  Lee cocked his head. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yep.” Emmy rounded the truck, with Sadie and Dylan trailing behind. “I want to talk business. Wanna see about renting your tractor, some buckets, and a piece of land.”

  Lee gave a slow grin, then winked. “Ah, now, Mrs. Emmy. You sure are pretty, but I’ma need a little sweet talk before I go giving that up.”

  Emmy guffawed. “You always were a rascal, Lee Hadden. If I was your mama, I’d—”

  “Lee, who is it?”

  Mitch shielded his eyes and peered up at the porch. An older woman, same age as Emmy, stood on the steps, her long skirt and lace blouse lying in neat pleats along her graceful frame, and her gray hair pulled back from her wrinkled cheeks in an elegant topknot. “Good morning, Mrs. Ruth Ann,” he called out. “Hope you don’t mind us stopping by this early.”

  She shaded her eyes, too, then smiled and stepped carefully down the steps. “Is that you, Mitch? Oh, how wonderful to see you. You’re looking more and more like Joe.” Her eyes swept over the group. “And you brought the little ones. I’m always glad to have—”

  Ruth Ann clamped her mouth shut and stopped on the bottom step. A hard glint entered her expression as she stared at Emmy.

  Mitch tensed as Emmy faced her, put her shoulders back and said, “Morning, Ruth Ann.”

  Chin trembling and nose twitching, Ruth Ann narrowed her eyes. “Good morning, Emmy. I don’t recall us arranging a visit.”

  Lee walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Mama, Mrs. Emmy’s here to visit me, and I’m glad to have her. Plus, she brought Mitch and the kids with her. Be a shame not to use the front porch on a beautiful morning like this.”

  Ruth Ann hesitated, eyes softening as they moved over Sadie and Dylan, then back to Mitch. “Well.” She sniffed. “I would like to visit with Mitch and the children.” Her smile, though strained, returned. “I have plenty of fresh pound cake and just made a pitcher of lemonade. You always loved my lemonade, didn’t you, Mitch?”

  Eager to appease, Mitch nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  “In that case . . .” Ruth Ann lifted one shoulder and lifted an eyebrow at Emmy. “You’re welcome to come up, Emmy.”

  Emmy muttered under her breath but followed Ruth Ann as she turned and climbed back up the stairs. Sadie, Dylan, and Kristen fell in line behind her. Lee paused on the bottom step and exchanged a rueful look with Mitch.

  “It’s been over fifty years, but they still haven’t let it go, have they?” Lee turned his attention to Kristen, watched her curvy figure ascend the stairs with a note of appreciation in his eyes, then studied Mitch. “Pretty guest you’ve got there. That your hat she’s wearing?”

  Mitch nodded.

  “You get a good look in those eyes?” Lee’s tone softened as he glanced toward her. “There’s an old soul in there. Maybe one that wouldn’t mind a man who had a few more years on him than her.” He smiled, tilting his head at Mitch. “Think history might repeat itself?”

  Mitch stared at the slim line of Kristen’s back and didn’t answer.

  Laughing, Lee strode up the steps and joined the others on the porch, leaving Mitch behind, hoping like hell Lee was wrong in more ways than one.

  * * *

  “Have another piece . . . Kristen, was it?” Ruth Ann nudged a ceramic plate of sliced pound cake across the table, then leaned back and tapped her polished nails against her wicker chair.

  “Yes, no, thank you.” Kristen took one last sip of lemonade and smiled, pressing her palm against her middle. “I mean, yes, Kristen is correct, and thank you for the offer, but I’ll have to pass. It was delicious, but between this and the breakfast Emmy made, if I eat any more, I won’t be fit for anything but napping the rest of the day.”

  Which she was afraid might already be the case.

  Between brief introductions, idle small talk and a round of refreshments, Kristen’s stomach had grown fuller and her eyes drowsier with each passing second. The increasing heat of the late morning sun slipping beneath the porch eaves and the gentle spring breeze tickling her bare arms and neck hadn’t helped matters. Neither had the plush cushions of the wicker sofa she and Emmy lounged against.

  “I want some more.” Sadie, seated on a porch swing, leaned over and reached toward the pile of
cake.

  “Don’t forget your manners, Sadie,” Emmy said. “And not too much more, or you’ll get a tummy ache.”

  Sadie blushed and glanced at Ruth Ann. “May I please have some more?”

  Ruth Ann beamed. “You certainly may, sweetheart. Take as much as you’d like. Gentlemen, can I get you anything else?”

  Dylan, lounging at Sadie’s side on the porch swing, shook his head and returned his attention to his cell phone. Mitch and Lee offered polite declines from their lounge chairs.

  Folding her hands in her lap, Ruth Ann pursed her lips, then slowly lifted her lashes and looked across the table. “Emmy?”

  Kristen clutched her glass tighter, cold condensation seeping into her palm. Despite being in each other’s company for just over fifteen minutes, the two women hadn’t exchanged words with each other directly yet. And the tension had been easy to pick up on—even for a newcomer. But despite Mitch’s misgivings about the visit, so far, it seemed to be going well.

  “No, thank you.” Emmy set her still-full glass of lemonade on the small table. “It’s kind of you to have us.”

  Ruth Ann issued a small smile, then gestured toward Mitch. “I hadn’t heard you were coming home, Mitch. How long do you plan on staying?”

  “Just until Monday.” The thin material of his shirt stretched across his broad chest as he eased back in his chair. A hoarse note entered his voice, and his big hands curved around the sides of the wicker armrests. “I came back only for the weekend, primarily to check on Emmy and see how Sadie and Dylan were doing.”

  Kristen studied his polite expression. The only change was a slight tightening of his strong jaw, but it was enough to stir an ache within her. She looked away, straightening his hat on her head, her fingertips drifting to her temple, where the touch of his calloused thumb still lingered.

  “I was so sorry to hear about Carrie,” Ruth Ann said, glancing at the children.

  “Thank you.” Mitch reached out, squeezed Dylan’s shoulder and smiled at Sadie, then deftly changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to spending some time with these two while I’m here.”