Hart's Hollow Farm

by Janet Dailey

  “I’ll go in as soon as Sadie and I finish this.” After turning to the side, she sifted through the flowers and snagged several silk ribbons from the bottom of the basket. “We’ll need three different colors of bows. Would you like to pick them, Sadie?”

  Mitch watched them for a few moments, a strained smile appearing as Sadie chatted about which bows to use with which flowers. “I’m gonna take a shower and change. Then I’ll help Charles direct everyone in to park. You okay with things here?”

  Kristen nodded, then glanced up to smile at him once before he walked away. Her eyes followed his movements toward the house, and her belly fluttered at the strong line of his shoulders, lean waist, and slim hips. And the thought of his quiet intelligence, unending patience, and tender touch made it even more difficult to pull away from him. Mitch was as magnificent on the inside as he was on the outside, and it had become increasingly harder for her to dodge his intense gaze and searching questions.

  But it wouldn’t be fair to him for her to open up and take their relationship to a deeper level when she knew she’d be leaving soon. Only how in the world was she going to look him in the eyes and tell him?

  “How ’bout this, Ms. Kristen?”

  She blinked, then focused on Sadie’s small hands, which clutched a crooked arrangement of hydrangeas tied with a lopsided bow. “I think . . .” Her attention drifted up to Sadie’s big, happy smile, and a rush of affection swept through her. “I think it’s perfect,” she whispered. “Just perfect.”

  If possible, Sadie’s smile grew bigger, and she leaned across the table and kissed Kristen’s cheek. The peck of Sadie’s lips, the sweet chime of her laughter, and the sharp scent of freshly cut flower stems brought tears to Kristen’s eyes.

  Choking back a sob, she wrapped her arms around Sadie and hugged her close, wondering how she’d manage to walk away from Sadie and Dylan. And if she’d be able to find a way in her heart to ever truly let go of them.

  Twenty minutes later, after the final bows had been tied and the floral arrangement had been set up on a small porch table by the swing, Kristen and Sadie joined Emmy and Ruth Ann in the kitchen.

  “Something smells wonderful,” Kristen said, standing on the threshold of the kitchen and watching the two women work.

  Ruth Ann patted hamburger meat between her hands and smiled. “Garlic, oregano, and oni—”

  “Onion powder,” Emmy chimed in, smacking an even hamburger patty on a tray covered in wax paper and full of dozens more like it. “The secret to anything on a grill is onion powder.”

  Kristen laughed. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  Emmy’s expression dimmed, and she muttered, “Won’t we all.”

  Wincing, Kristen smoothed a hand over Sadie’s hair. “Sadie did an excellent job setting up the floral arrangements. If you have anything you need taken outside to the grill, I’m sure she’d be happy to help.”

  “Now, that’s a plan.” Ruth Ann clapped her hands together and waved Sadie over. “Come here, hon, and we’ll get this first round of hamburgers and buns out to the gentleman manning the grill.”

  Emmy held up a hand. “And I’d like you to come with me, Kristen, if you have a moment?”

  After washing her hands in the kitchen sink, Emmy led the way down the hall to her bedroom, opened the door, and went into the walk-in closet. Kristen hovered nearby, admiring the blue handwoven afghan folded on the foot of Emmy’s bed.

  “This afghan is beautiful, Emmy.”

  “Keeps my feet warm at night,” Emmy called out from inside the closet.

  Kristen fingered the soft edges. “Did you make it?”

  “Nope. Ruth Ann did. She brought it by yesterday. These hands of mine haven’t touched a needle and yarn in years. As a matter of fact, I can’t do most things I did years ago, but there is one thing I can still manage to do, and that’s shop. When Ruth Ann took me into town yesterday to pick up food for the party, we stopped by the dress shop.” Emmy reemerged from the closet, holding a pretty off-the-shoulder denim shift dress. “What do you think?”

  Kristen moved closer, ran a hand over the soft fabric, and inspected the elegant neckline. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s yours.”

  “What?”

  “I bought it for you to wear today, if you’d like.” Emmy flipped the dress around, pressed it against Kristen’s shoulders, then smoothed it across her middle. “It’s not real fancy, but it’s a good style for a Fourth of July party, and you’ve done nothing else but work for months now, so I thought it was high time you had something nice to enjoy. I had to guess your size, but it looks like it’ll be a perfect fit. And I could curl your hair. All that blond will look just gorgeous against this deep blue. That is”—she shrugged meekly—“if you want to wear it.”

  “If I want to . . . ?” Throat thickening, Kristen shook her head and smiled. “I’d love to wear it. Thank you, Emmy.”

  Emmy smiled back, her face flushing. Then she crossed to the window, pushed the curtain to one side, and peered out at the sky. “Looks like rain’s a-coming. It’ll do the corn good. Just hope Joe doesn’t get stuck in it.”

  Kristen’s hands stilled on the dress hem as she smoothed it against her thighs. She studied the rigid line of Emmy’s back. The way her hands twisted tight against her middle.

  “The truck gets trapped in the mud a lot on account of the rain soaking the clay roads between the fields,” she continued. “If those clouds will just hold off for a while. At least until the morning. Give him time to get back home.”

  Kristen’s hands clenched around the soft denim, the warm, pleasing glow of moments before fading.

  * * *

  “I have to hand it to you, Mitch. You sure know how to throw a party.”

  Mitch eased onto the porch swing next to Emmy and smiled at Charles. “Can’t take all the credit. Everyone’s chipped in, and Kristen has been a godsend. None of this would’ve been possible without her.”

  He glanced to his right, where Kristen sat in a rocking chair, Sadie perched on her lap and Dylan seated in the chair beside her. The soft glow of the porch light highlighted her blond curls, caressed her flushed cheeks, and bathed her bare shoulders above her flirty neckline. Heaven help him, he’d had no idea denim could be so damned sexy.

  “It took all of us,” she said softly.

  Us. There was that word again—the sweetest syllable he’d ever heard when it was on Kristen’s tongue.

  “When are the fireworks starting?” Sadie licked the ice cream cone she held, then rubbed her eyes with a grubby hand, smearing dirt across her forehead. “Is it dark enough now?”

  Mitch chuckled. “Yeah, sweetheart. Though I’m beginning to think you might not manage to stay awake through ’em.”

  Or Dylan, either, for that matter. They both blinked heavy eyelids, sported ruddy cheeks and tousled hair, and slouched in their seats with a general look of summer-fun exhaustion. And Emmy looked equally exhausted, despite the fact that she’d refused to call it a night and insisted on staying outside with them for the fireworks. She kept nodding off beside Mitch as he nudged the swing slowly back and forth, her chin bumping her chest occasionally.

  None of that was surprising considering the way the afternoon had worked out. After showering and dressing hours ago, he had returned outside and had been greeted by a line of cars already forming at the end of the driveway. Guests had arrived in a steady stream from one o’clock to three, and by that time, the empty fields Mitch and Lee had quartered off for parking and fireworks watching had been busting at the seams with cars, pick-up trucks, and SUVs.

  Over the next five and a half hours, a constant hum of exuberant conversation, sporadic laughter, and the low beat of country music had pulsed on the humid summer breeze. Lee had done a jam-up job on the grill, having chosen good ole charcoal instead of gas to cook seasoned hamburger meat and hot dogs, and he’d even thrown about five pounds of sliced Vidalia onions on the rack, too. The mouth-watering scents
had traveled for what seemed like miles, had hovered over the children’s games of tag, water balloons, and baseball on the front lawn, and had wafted over the strawberry fields, where guests picked the last of the strawberries still hanging on the vine, begging to be eaten.

  The sun had beaten down on the milling crowd the hardest between five and seven, which had lured several groups to the front porch to lounge on the steps, rock in the chairs, or fan themselves on the swing. As night approached, tall tales, humorous gossip, and a wealth of treasured stories birthed during the early days of Peach Grove’s establishment had peppered the air, echoing against the walls of the farmhouse, mingling with the rattle of cicadas and passing from one group catching their breath to the next.

  And even now, the distant bursts of small orange flames in the dark, the subsequent sweet smell of tobacco, and the deep chuckles mingling with the curls of smoke conjured up one of the few pleasant memories Mitch had of his dad. The one night Mitch could recall his being sober, holding a poker game with the boys and inviting Mitch to sit by his side as he smoked Joe’s old pipe.

  Strange that this was the most comforting memory he had of his father, but the fact that he’d managed to recall one at all was worth the discovery.

  “I think Dylan and Sadie can find another ten minutes of energy if it involves fireworks.” Kristen reached over and ruffled Dylan’s hair. “Whatcha think, little man?”

  The boy grinned. “Definitely.”

  Charles checked his watch. “Lee and Zach should be finished packing up the grill by now. I’ll let him know we’re ready for the big show.”

  “Y’all need some help?” Mitch made to rise.

  “No, no.” Charles held up a hand and headed down the steps, calling over his shoulder, “Put your feet up and spend some time with your family. We’ll take it from here.”

  Mitch sat back in the swing and met Kristen’s eyes. A small spark of pleasure and want moved through her gaze; then she looked away, shuttering her expression.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Hart are?”

  Catching the tail end of the question over the distant murmur of the crowd, Mitch peered through the dark toward the bottom of the porch steps. Footsteps ascended, and then Dana Markham entered the circle of the porch light.

  “Oh, there you are,” she said, smiling widely. “I was hoping I’d catch you at a good time.”

  Mitch rose, keeping a careful hand on Emmy’s forearm to steady her as the swing rocked. “Glad you made it, Mrs. Markham.”

  “Oh, I made it quite some time ago, but I’ve been so caught up in the celebrations, I haven’t had a chance to stop by your way.” She laughed and rubbed her belly. “I think the good food and great company slowed me down.”

  Mitch smiled. “That I can understand.”

  Bending, Dana held out her hand to Emmy. “I wanted to thank you for the pleasant afternoon, Mrs. Hart. I really enjoyed myself, as did a whole lot of other people.”

  “You’re very welcome.” Emmy squeezed Dana’s hand, then patted it, her eyes tired. “I’m glad you joined us.”

  Dana straightened. “I wanted to share some good news with all of you, if I might?”

  “Of course.” Mitch waved a hand toward the empty cushion beside Emmy.

  “Oh, no thank you. This won’t take but a second.” She flashed an excited smile in Kristen’s direction. “All three project managers stopped by earlier this afternoon. I bumped into them when I arrived. They were on their way out.”

  Dylan stomped his feet on the porch floor, halting his rocking chair with a thump. “What’d they say? They still gonna take our house?”

  Emmy sat up, a small cry escaping her as she eyed Dana.

  “Dylan.” Wincing at the worried look on Emmy’s face, Mitch leveled a look at him. “Give Mrs. Markham a chance to speak, please.”

  Dylan frowned. “Sorry. But are they?”

  “Well, the official word won’t be released publicly until late next week, but . . .” Dana shook her head and smiled wider at Mitch. “They loved the alternate plans you and Kristen presented at the meeting and were even more impressed with today’s turnout and activities. They saw so much potential.” She reached out and squeezed Emmy’s hand again. “Hart’s Hollow Farm is going to stay right where it belongs. With you, Mrs. Hart.”

  Emmy closed her eyes and released a heavy breath, a soft smile appearing. “Thank you, Dana. Thank you so much.”

  Dana shook her head again. “The real thanks goes to all of you. The Hart family saved Hart’s Hollow Farm, not me.”

  The sheer look of happiness on Emmy’s face and the shouts of joy from Sadie and Dylan were worth every backbreaking hour of work.

  Mitch slipped his hand along Kristen’s forearm that rested on the chair’s armrest, and wound his fingers with hers. She looked up at him and smiled, but there was a heaviness behind her look of pleasure. An emotion he couldn’t pin down and identify.

  “I hate to run, but I need to head out,” Dana said. “There’s a lot of work to be done to prep for the new project.” She paused on her way back down the steps and glanced over her shoulder. “It was a wonderful day.”

  “The best,” Mitch said. When she left, he returned to Emmy’s side on the porch swing, his heart turning over at the happy tears in her eyes. “You don’t have to worry anymore, Emmy. You’re home for good.”

  She dabbed her wet cheeks with her fingertips. “We have to tell Joe. He’ll be so happy.”

  Mitch froze, the exhilarating joy lifting his spirits moments before now faltering.

  “Kristen”—Emmy craned her neck, looking past Mitch—“I want you with me when we tell him, okay?” Her hands moved restlessly in her lap, plucking at the seam of her skirt. “We’ll have to catch him as soon as he comes in tonight. He’ll be tired, but it’ll be worth keeping him up awhile to tell him.”

  The helpless look on Kristen’s face made Mitch’s hands tense against his knees. “Emmy.” He eased closer on the swing, sifting through words in his mind, weighing the options. “Joe won’t be with us tonight.”

  A flash of panic appeared in her eyes; then she firmed her mouth. “Of course he will. He’s just late, is all. Stays out too long lately, if you ask me.” She turned her head, brow creasing, and stared at the porch rail. “Probably just got held up in one of the fields, or he might be at his thinking place, you know?” A faint smile appeared. “He likes to mull things over. Joe’s always been careful about making decisions.”

  “Em—”

  Several loud pops reverberated across the grounds, and a collective whoop rose up from the crowds gathered on the front lawn and several yards out in the empty stretch of field. Bright bursts of color streaked the night sky, and thick trails of smoke curled up behind them.

  Emmy jumped, her hands clutching around his arms and her nails digging into his skin. “Mitch! The thunder . . . Joe won’t make it back.”

  “It’s okay,” he said softly, leaning close and cupping her elbows. “There’s no thunder. The fireworks have started, that’s all.”

  The sharp pops continued, then transitioned into slow booms as the larger pyrotechnics exploded high above the fields, the dazzling sparkles cascading downward in a glittery array of light. Emmy shook in his hold, her fingers curling tighter around his flesh.

  “Is she okay?” Dylan left his chair and walked over, his chin trembling.

  “Come with me, Emmy.” Mitch stood slowly, helping her rise with him. “It’s getting late, and I could use some rest. I’d really like it if you’d keep me company. Dylan, head inside and get the lights on in Emmy’s room, okay?”

  “Yes, sir.” Brow creased with worry, Dylan turned and went inside.

  Mitch walked with Emmy across the porch, cradling her closer to his chest each time a firework exploded overhead.

  Kristen set Sadie on her feet, got up and opened the front door, watching as they approached. “What can I do to help?”

  Mitch forced a smile, the frightened whimpers escaping Em
my sending waves of pain through him. “Could you wrap things up here and get Sadie and Dylan in bed for the night? I’m going to stay with Emmy until she falls asleep.”

  “I’d be happy to.” Kristen hesitated as they passed, then touched Emmy’s arm. “Good night, Emmy.”

  She didn’t respond, just huddled closer into Mitch’s supportive embrace.

  “Stop by her room and sit with us for a while when you finish here,” he said, meeting Kristen’s eyes over Emmy’s head. “She’ll be settled then.”

  Kristen shook her head and looked away, the bright flashes of color in the sky glinting over the wet sheen of tears hovering on her lashes. “Thank you, but it’s probably better I don’t disturb her.”

  Mitch helped Emmy across the threshold, then glanced over his shoulder at Kristen as she closed the door behind them, muffling the sound of the festive explosions outside. The party was ending, Hart’s Hollow Farm was safe, and Emmy could sleep soundly in her own bed every night without fear she’d lose her home.

  Those thoughts alone should bring him comfort. Only, after settling in a lounge chair by Emmy’s bed, his mind kept returning to Emmy’s rapid decline over the past few days. She was becoming more and more confused and afraid, and every day of memory loss would continue to be a struggle for her. But it was the distant look in Kristen’s eyes that stayed with him long after Emmy had settled for the night.

  CHAPTER 14

  Kristen slipped a thin nightshirt over her head, smoothed it over her thighs, then picked up the denim dress Emmy had given her hours earlier. She held it out, tilted it from one side to the other beneath the soft light spilling from the old-fashioned oil lamp on the nightstand.

  It was plain but beautiful. Much like Hart’s Hollow and Emmy.

  She hugged the dress to her chest and slowly looked around the room. The hours and hours of hard work she and Mitch had put into renovating the house, including this room, had more than paid off. The room was a far cry from what it had been when she’d first arrived.

  Worn wallpaper, peeling at the edges, had been stripped from the walls, and in its place, Mitch had painted the walls eggshell white. The hardwood floor had been scrubbed gently with water and vinegar until the dark natural grain gleamed. Framed photos of the fields and streams had been hung on each side of the room, and the long lace curtains covering the open wide window had been carefully cleaned, dried, and reinstalled, allowing the trailing ends to billow out as the summer night breeze blew in from outside. And Mitch had painstakingly restored the overhead light, a circular farmhouse-style chandelier crafted out of wood and iron, so that it gave off an aesthetically pleasing glow when lit.