by Janet Dailey
Dana inclined her head. “That is a valid point, and one the Department of Transportation is still carefully weighing.”
“But our land would be safe.” Emmy smiled, hope lifting her features.
A sense of dread seeped into Mitch’s chest. He shifted closer to her side and placed a hand on her forearm. “Emmy, this is just a second option and not necessarily the approach that will be taken.”
“From what you know, Dana,” Iris said, leaning forward, “would you say the Department of Transportation is still more inclined to choose the bypass?”
Dana hesitated, her gaze skittering over the faces around the table. “Yes. For the moment, the bypass is the favored option.”
Charles, Bud, and Elena eased back in their seats with satisfied nods. Emmy’s smile faded.
“We’ll meet again on the first of July to gather final input from the committee, and the Department of Transportation will announce a decision shortly thereafter.” Dana smiled. “We thank you for attending tonight and look forward to seeing you again at the next meeting.”
The meeting officially adjourned, and everyone gathered their belongings, then lingered around the room, chatting in groups and casting guarded glances at others. Mitch helped Emmy stand and get her bearings.
“Well, that was promising,” Emmy declared, grinning and beckoning Sadie and Dylan over.
Mitch scoffed. “Which part, Emmy?”
“All of it. At least they’re throwing something other than a bypass in the mix now.”
“Emmy . . .” A frustrated breath left him, and he rolled his shoulders before continuing. “You saw how opposed the mayor is to the new suggestion, and you heard Dana say the bypass was still the favored option.”
“So?” Emmy shrugged. “It can fall out of favor just as fast. Especially once we dig into planting.” She frowned up at him. “Clouds were high and dry today, and winds were blowing in. Kristen’s field should be ready with one more day of sun, yeah?”
“I suppose, but—”
“Then that’s settled,” she said. “We’ll plan on Kristen planting her corn Wednesday, and once she gets the hang of it, she and I’ll split up and tackle the rest of the fields. We’ll have a couple months of nurturing, and then we’ll harvest quality crops so we can plead a better case at the next meeting.”
Mitch bit his tongue and turned away. Good Lord, the stubborn woman had no idea what she was up against.
“Can we go now?” Dylan asked, trudging up.
Sadie skipped behind him, clutching her doll to her chest.
“Nope. We got flyers to hang and strawberries to pass out.” Emmy ruffled Dylan’s hair, then took Sadie’s hand and walked to the door, announcing along the way, “Anyone interested in some fresh strawberries is welcome to swing by my truck on the way out. I brought a free bucketful for every member of the committee.”
Bud’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to bribe us, Mrs. Emmy?”
“Nah. Just thought your wife might like a sweet batch for the shortcake she makes. It’s about that time of year, ain’t it?”
Bud returned Emmy’s stare, his mouth twitching, as he rubbed his belly, and then he slowly followed her to the door. “I suppose I can’t argue with you on that. Highlight of my day is a good dessert.” He paused on the threshold. “But that’s got nothing to do with my decision on this bypass.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Emmy chided. “I’m just giving you a taste of what Hart’s Hollow Farm has to offer nowadays.”
She left, and the others soon followed. Mitch moved to the window and watched the group gather around Emmy’s truck. Dylan climbed in the bed and passed out buckets. Emmy’s smile grew wider with each thank-you.
Shaking his head, Mitch shoved his hands in his pockets. Why in hell had he let a few choice words from Ruth Ann shame him into staying? Why hadn’t he just left when he had the chance? All any of this would do—including his staying—would be to encourage Emmy’s hopes, then intensify her misery over the unavoidable outcome.
“What a mess,” he whispered. “What a depressing, dead-end mess.”
Something soft brushed his elbow, and a light, sweet fragrance drifted near.
“Not necessarily.” Kristen had joined him by the window and had adopted the same pose. “Nothing is ever certain.” A thread of pain laced her quiet tone.
Her gaze was fixed on the activity outside, but he couldn’t tear his attention away from the shadows dimming her bright eyes or the sad tilt of her lush mouth.
His palms ached to cradle her face, and his lips tingled with the need to drift light kisses along her smooth forehead and flushed cheeks. He longed to coax the soft corners of her pink lips up and hear her fleeting, cheerful laugh again. Taste the sweetness of her mouth with his own.
All of this reminded Mitch of exactly why he’d chosen to stay.
CHAPTER 6
“So, what do you think?”
Kristen tipped her head back farther and took in the large tractor in front of her. The soft early morning sunlight barely peeked above the flat land in front of them, casting a hazy glow through the clear windows of the spacious cab and highlighting the deep green body and yellow trim. Enormous black tires—eight of them maybe?—supported the massive piece of machinery and raised it high off the ground, and she’d have to climb five steps to reach the driver’s seat.
“What do I think?” Kristen shook her head and whistled low. “It’s a beast.”
A deep chuckle sounded at her back, and cheeks warming, she spun and faced Mitch. He stood a few feet away, propping his fists on his lean, jean-clad hips as he looked up at Lee’s tractor. The action raised his chin, exposing the strong column of his throat, and stretched his blue T-shirt across the ropy bulk of his shoulders and chest.
“A beast, huh?” His voice was still husky with the lingering effects of sleep, but his eyes brightened when he glanced at her. He smiled wider and dragged a hand through his hair, tousling the dark waves. “It looks that mean to you?”
Uh-uh. Her eyes clung to the sensual curves of his sculpted mouth. More like tender, charming, and . . . sexy.
Belly tightening deliciously, Kristen jerked her cap lower on her forehead and cleared her throat. Dear sweet heaven, the man was pure sin. “Not mean, exactly.”
She rolled her shoulders, glancing at Emmy and the kids, who stood nearby. Emmy grinned back at her. Sadie rubbed her eyes as she leaned against Emmy’s leg. Dylan sat on the grass, raised his knees, and propped his chin on them, seemingly uninterested and unimpressed. As usual.
“It’s just . . . intimidating,” Kristen added.
After the meeting on Monday night, they’d posted the strawberry flyers around town and returned home. Yesterday Kristen had picked strawberries and filled buckets for the strawberry stand with Emmy and the kids, while Mitch had finalized negotiations with Lee to rent the tractor, then had driven it back to Hart’s Hollow.
“You’ve never driven one before?” Mitch asked.
“No.” Seizing the distraction, she moved closer to the tractor and gripped the edge of one of the large tires. “Nothing like this. The Perrys used only old-school equipment. Simple, low to the ground. Mr. Perry preferred to do the field work himself, and they weren’t big on new technology.”
“Neither was I,” Emmy said, walking to Kristen’s side. “But once Lee showed me what this thing could do, I changed my mind pretty fast. This bad girl can even drive herself if you ask. People act like self-driving vehicles are something special, but we’ve had that technology on farms for years.” She placed her foot on the tractor’s bottom step, reached up toward the hand-grips, then frowned at Kristen. “Think you can give me a boost?”
“Oh, no.” Mitch strode over, cupped Emmy’s elbow and eased her back. “I don’t want you straining your knee climbing in and out of that thing.”
Emmy scowled. “I have to. At least for today. Someone’s gotta show Kristen how this thing works, so she can do it herself. Then I can get sta
rted on the other fields in our tractor. We got to have two tractors in the fields in order to get the corn and soybeans planted within the next two weeks.”
“Why two weeks?” Mitch swept his muscular arm out toward the farm’s back lots. “Kristen will start with her field, I’ll help her with the other cornfields, and then we’ll start soybeans around mid-May, like you usually do.”
“I told you before, I got a new plan. I’m shifting gears and going with early production to up my yields. And to pull it off, I have to get that indeterminate seed in the ground by the end of April.”
“That’s not a plan, Emmy. That’s a gamble. There are too many variables and risks with early planting. You’ll be harvesting the soybeans at the same time heavy rains usually tear through here. You’ll have only a ten-day to two-week window to harvest. Plus, you have to worry about stinkbugs, root-knot nematodes, extra monitoring . . .” He issued a sound of frustration. “Why don’t you just stick to the status quo? Do what you’ve always done? Especially since this is the last season you’ll—”
Regret in every line of his expression, he bit his lip and looked away. His eyes met Kristen’s.
“The last season I’ll what?” Emmy’s jaw hardened as she glared at Mitch. “Plant? Harvest? Or own this farm?”
Kristen touched Emmy’s arm. “Emmy, you told me yourself that Mitch has the magic touch out here. He’s giving us the heads-up on things to watch out for, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.” She raised her brows at Mitch. “He’s just trying to help. Right?”
Mitch sighed, then glanced hesitantly at Sadie and Dylan before saying, “I’m sorry, okay, Emmy? But I’m only being honest. You want me to lie to you?”
“Nope. I want you to tell me the plan’s amazing—and my plan is amazing.”
“It’s risky.”
“Amazing,” Emmy repeated. “And thirty years ago, when you were my sweet, handsome little boy, you’d have believed it, too.” A teasing light entered her eyes as she faced Kristen. “Why, when he was just a toddler, he’d stride out to the fields right after me. Chest out, shoulders proud, and diaper swishing. I could tell he was gonna be a heartbreaker even then.”
Mitch tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and groaned. “Good Lord.”
Kristen rolled her lips, stifling a smile.
Snickering, Dylan lifted his head, the second real hint of amusement Kristen had seen shining in his expression. “That right, Uncle Mitch? Diaper and all?”
Mitch opened his eyes, narrowed them at Dylan, then stalked off toward the back of the tractor. “All right. I’ll show Kristen how to work the tractor, while you handle the strawberry stand. When we finish, I’ll start on the rest of the fields with the other tractor.” He pointed at Dylan. “Up and over here. You’re gonna help load the planter.”
Dylan’s smile fell. “Why me?”
“For that crack earlier. And because I’d like your company.” Mitch headed for the shed behind them. “Come on.”
Emmy turned to Kristen and grinned. “Think I ticked him off?”
Kristen studied the tight set of Mitch’s broad shoulders as he walked toward the shed. He glanced back at them, and his handsome face flushed a deeper shade of red.
“Yeah,” she whispered, a laugh escaping her. “Embarrassed him, too, I think.”
“Good.” Emmy nodded, then called out toward his retreating back, “And he can just get happy in the same britches he got mad in, ’cuz this is gonna work.” She patted Kristen’s arm. “Bring him in for lunch. Ready to head back to the house, Sadie?”
Sadie hovered, wide awake now, watching Mitch and Dylan heft large seed bags out of the shed, her big blue eyes following their every move. Her shoulders slumped, and her heart-shaped mouth drooped. “Yes, ma’am.”
Just go about your business, a small voice whispered inside Kristen. No need to get involved.
Maybe. But she could be kind, couldn’t she? Could include the little girl just this once to make up for hurting her the other day. What harm could it do?
“Sadie?” Kristen picked at the hem of her jeans, then licked her lips. “Would you like to help us for a little while before you sell strawberries? The bags are too heavy for you to lift like Dylan, but I’m sure there’s something else you can do.”
Sadie blinked up at her, nibbling at her lips with a guarded expression.
“Of course there is.” Mitch tossed a bulky seed bag on the grass and lifted his chin at Sadie. “We’ll need someone to pull the bags off the hoppers after they’ve emptied. Make sure all the seeds made it in. You’d be perfect for the job.”
A broad smile broke out across Sadie’s face. One last quick glance up at Kristen, then she bounded toward Mitch, her long brown hair rippling out behind her.
Mitch’s gorgeous eyes lifted and met Kristen’s. He watched her for a moment, then mouthed, “Thank you,” and grinned. His warm, approving gaze teased a smile from her in return.
And that alone made getting involved, just this once, more than worth it.
Over the next hour, Mitch, Dylan, and Kristen hitched up the planter—a wide green and black frame with twelve yellow buckets and two large tanks—and dumped opened seed bags in each hopper as Sadie pulled the empty bags away, and then Mitch and Kristen filled the tanks with liquid fertilizer. When that was complete, they took a step back to catch their breath.
The sun had cleared the horizon, its rays beaming across the bare fields in the distance, drying the dew on the grass beneath their feet and seeping past Kristen’s clothes to heat her skin. Sweat trickled down her back, and a gnat stung the corner of her eye. She batted it away, then wiped the droplets of sweat from her upper lip with the scooped collar of her shirt.
“Good man, Dylan. You did a great job. Mind taking Sadie back to the house for me?” Mitch ruffled Dylan’s hair, then squatted and hugged Sadie. “What a big help you were, sweet Sadie.”
Beaming, Sadie wrapped her small arms around his neck, kissed his cheek, and skipped to Dylan’s side. “Thanks, Uncle Mitch.”
“Think I could drive the tractor some?” Dylan asked.
“Not this one,” Mitch said. “Tomorrow, once I get Emmy’s tractor ready, you can give it a whirl.”
Dylan nodded, something that looked very similar to excitement lighting his eyes. “Okay. Come on, Sadie.”
They left, Sadie clutching Dylan’s hand and humming.
“Time to hit the field.” Mitch blotted his flushed face with the tail of his T-shirt, flashing the toned expanse of his sculpted abs and a small sprinkling of dark hair that arrowed down toward his lean, jean-clad hips.
Skin heating even more, Kristen spun around and walked to the tractor’s steps.
“Hold up.”
She stopped, one foot on the bottom step.
“You’re gonna need this.” He stopped, grabbed an empty seed bag, and held it up. “Lee’s seeds and fields are different, and he just added a new receiver, so you’re going to have to reconfigure the equipment. Take a look and tell me how many seeds per pound.”
He tossed the bag to her, and she caught it, then turned it over a time or two until she found the information. “One thousand, six hundred and ninety-five.” A gnat tickled the corner of her mouth. She puffed out a breath to dislodge it. “What do we need that for?”
He smiled. “To set the vacuum.”
“Vacuum?”
“Yep. For pulling the seed.” He walked over and motioned for her to precede him up the steps. “Tear that bit off, chuck the bag, and I’ll show you a thing or two.”
A thing or two turned out to be about a thousand things. After they sat in each of the two leather seats inside the air-conditioned cab, Kristen in the driver’s position and Mitch by her side, there was a receiver and modem that needed attention, and two small monitors and one tablet mounted by Kristen’s seat. Information had to be entered, and measurements calculated, then confirmed once more outside the tractor with a measuring tape. Accuracy was critical.
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sp; “So the planter will know when to start and stop planting when it’s supposed to,” Mitch explained.
The GPS and maps had to be cleared and reset, and displays on the monitors had to be rechecked to ensure each field of data populated correctly.
“All right.” Mitch motioned toward a large panel with an assortment of buttons. “Let’s fire up the seed units and give ’em a turn or two.”
After being walked through another brief review of all the buttons’ functions, Kristen pressed one to turn the seed units, then jumped as a series of loud beeps filled the cab.
Mitch laughed. “Easy. It’s only doing what you asked it to.” He reached out, and his strong fingers moved over one of the monitor’s touch screens. “One measurement’s a bit off. Let’s work on that again.”
After making more adjustments to the equipment, Mitch led her through the steps to fold up the planter and put the tractor in transport mode. “When we get to your field, I’ll show you how to make sure the planter’s level. For now, let’s take a ride.” He gestured toward the dirt driveway on the right. “You remember how to get there from here?”
Kristen hesitated, her hands tightening around the steering wheel. “Yeah, but you trust me with this thing? Maybe you should get us there first, so I don’t . . . I don’t know . . .” She glanced at the wide road winding around Emmy’s front lawn and cringed. “Hit Emmy’s house.”
His deep chuckle reverberated in the cab. “You chickening out on me?”
“Heck no.” Grinning despite her racked nerves, she sat up straighter and moved the transmission knob forward. “I got this. You just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
He laughed harder, leaned back, and crossed his arms behind his head. “Well, hell. That I can handle.”
Maybe it was his suggestive tone and the devilish gleam in his eyes. Or maybe it was the bulge of his biceps; his strong, sprawling frame; and his spicy masculine scent. Whatever it was, it kicked her heart rate up a notch, set her cheeks aflame, and had her laughing just as hard.
A little while later, they arrived at Kristen’s field—safely and without bulldozing Emmy’s house, thank the Lord—and Mitch reviewed several steps before they lowered and unfolded the planter and turned on the seed units again.