Crossing the Line (The Cross Creek Series Book 2)

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “You do.” Her reply was little bit question and a lot more disbelief, but he looked her in the eye to cancel out both.

  “I do.”

  “Then take a leap of faith and trust me to do my job. Let me film you in a video segment. Nice and easy, just an introduction to you and Cross Creek. What do you say?”

  Ah. There was the Scarlett he knew, brash and bold and right goddamn to it. But the more Eli tumbled her request around in his head, the less he could make his refusal stick. The truth was, he needed more than hard work to get ahead of this bet. He needed a risk.

  He needed Scarlett.

  “If we do this”—he crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her through the overbright sunlight spilling in through the kitchen windows—“then I have a couple of conditions.”

  “Name them,” she said, knotting her own arms without so much as a blink even though, considering her recent injury, the move had to hurt.

  Hell if that didn’t make Eli’s respect for her double. “I get that you want a connection to the farm, but I’m not talking about anything really personal. If it doesn’t have to do with Cross Creek at least a little, my answer is ‘No comment.’”

  “Fair enough,” she said, and although he got the feeling she’d probably push the envelope right up to the seal on that one, he’d fight the specific battles as they came. “Next?”

  His heart gave up a yank, good and deep, but still, he didn’t stand down. “I want to keep my old man’s health scare out of the spotlight. He’s made a full recovery, and he takes precautions to stay safe in the heat. No reason to remind anyone he wasn’t less than a hundred percent.”

  “Oh.” Scarlett’s brows tugged in for a brief second before she answered with noticeably less moxie. “Of course. Anything else?”

  Eli paused, but fuck it. If she could go all in, so could he. “Just one more thing. I’m not talking about this bet. Not on video, not in articles. Not on the record in any way.”

  Her white-blond brows shot up high enough to disappear beneath the long swoop of her bangs. “Oh, come on! We don’t have to make it into a cheesy throwdown or anything, but two rival farms going head-to-head? It’s click-me catnip.”

  Which was precisely why Eli refused to give it airtime. Bad enough that between Amber Cassidy and Billy Masterson, everyone in Millhaven already knew about the bet. But hanging the specifics out there for the whole Internet to see? Eli might need the win—more than a little bit, even—but he was going to get it fair and freaking square. No sensationalism. No cheating.

  “The bet doesn’t have anything to do with the farm, proper. You’ll have to find your blockbuster someplace else.”

  “And you’re going to let me?” Scarlett challenged.

  Unease crept into Eli’s chest, but only for a breath. Being in front of the camera, talking about a livelihood he didn’t love and a farm where he didn’t belong, wasn’t ideal—or hell, even something he wanted a little bit. But he’d been hiding in plain sight at Cross Creek for years. Shit, he was the high lord of the dodge and deflect.

  He was also fresh out of other options. Fall Fling was three weeks and one day away, and he needed to draw people’s attention to the farm so they could sell as much produce as humanly possible and out-earn Whittaker Hollow. He needed to win this bet.

  So Eli did the only thing he could.

  With his very best cocky smile perfectly in place, he said, “Absolutely, darlin’. In fact, why don’t we go ahead and knock the first one out right now? If we’re gonna scratch each other’s backs, there’s really no time like the present.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Thankfully, Scarlett’s second trip to Cross Creek’s apple grove was less eventful than her first—at least in terms of bodily harm. Her back might not have stopped throbbing out a steady beat of ow-ow-ow on the drive back up the lane, and yeah, her pride was still riding shotgun right there next to it. But she’d finally gotten somewhere with Eli. No way was she going to scale back for a little thing like pain now.

  Although holy hell in a handbasket, yellow jacket stings hurt.

  “So, a couple of things about shooting video,” Scarlett said, chasing the prickle on her cheeks with an all-business smile as her shoes shushed through the grass. “Baby here is a multitasker, so we don’t need a different camera for recording.”

  Eli squinted through the sunlight, ambling to a stop in front of a row of apple trees, which—Scarlett fought the urge to do a full-on fist pump as she sight-measured the ratio of shadows to natural light—provided just as perfect of a backdrop now as they had half an hour ago. “You named your camera Baby?”

  Nope. Not skipping a beat. Not even for that smooth, sexy, aw-shucks grin.

  Mmmkay, maybe half a beat. But seriously, Eli’s mouth should come with some kind of disclaimer. Full, firm lips framed by the barest hint of honey-blond stubble. A hard indent at the top for a touch of rugged appeal. The lift at the corners that was as sinful and delicious as warm butterscotch over ice cream . . .

  Work. Video. Focus. Right this second, you great big hormone casserole! “Yes,” she managed, sucking in a deep breath and lowering her backpack to the swath of grass between the first two rows of apple trees. Her stings and scrapes burned at the movement, and the pain set her determination in granite and her brain into “go” mode. “I named my camera Baby. Anyhow, even though we’ll use the same equipment for video and stills, the process for shooting is actually quite different. In order to film as much useable footage as possible, we’ll do most if not all of each video segment in one fixed place.”

  “You want me to sit still in front of the camera like we’re doing an interview?” His smile grew instantly dubious, and at least here, she could reassure him.

  “Yes, but don’t worry. The videos will still be candid and casual, and Mallory will edit everything so only the very best of what we film goes online. It’s just that action video—the kind where a camera person moves with the subject as he or she does something—can be tough to shoot well with only one camera, especially for someone who’s more accustomed to taking stills, like me. So in the interest of not making the folks at home either watch your back for half the segment or feel like they’re on the Coney Island Cyclone . . .”

  “I’ll need to park it while you record the videos.”

  “Exactly,” Scarlett said. “Another added bonus of stationary shooting is that we get to pick the best lighting and background. And unlike action video, that is something in which I’m definitely well versed.” Looking at the grove around them, she scanned a couple of possibilities before nodding him closer. “What do you think of sitting on the stepladder in front of this tree right here?”

  Eli’s lips parted as he pulled back to pin her with a whole lot of whaaaa? “I get a say in that?”

  “Sure. I mean, I am the photographer, so I have to pick the spot I think will work best in terms of light and logistics. But I’m not the only expert. Cross Creek is your farm, Eli, and you’ve already shown you’ve got a great eye for framing things up. You should get a say in how people see the place.”

  “Oh.” Although the single syllable came out wrapped in surprise, he still walked over to glance at the display on the back of her camera as she aimed it at the spot in question. “Hey, that does look kinda pretty, with the way the sun is slanting down through the branches,” Eli said. “You can really see a lot of the apples from this angle, too. That’ll be good power of suggestion for when we open the grove next week for pick-your-own.”

  How about that—his eye was pretty sharp. His brain? Even sharper.

  Scarlett smiled. “Okay. Do me a favor and stand a couple of feet in front of the tree so I can frame up the shot and make sure everything works as well as we think it will.”

  She stepped back a handful of paces as Eli moved toward the low-hanging canopy of branches, adjusting Baby’s settings a little here, a little more there . . . annnnd gotcha. “Perfect! The colors look great through the glass. I think
we have a winner. Now all I have to do is get the camera attached to the portable tripod, and we’ll be ready to start.”

  Tugging the hardware from her backpack, she unfolded the aluminum tripod, locking the legs into place and anchoring Baby in with a snap while Eli grabbed the stepladder. The tree—this one yellow jacket-free, thank God—offered just enough shade to keep him from sweating or squinting, and honestly, Scarlett couldn’t have come up with a better background if she’d custom-ordered one from Photographers-R-Us.

  Didn’t hurt that her subject was drop-dead gorgeous, either.

  Her pulse sped, and sucker that she was, the rest of her went along for the breathy, tingly, well-hello-there ride. “So, ah, like I said before, if it makes you more comfortable, you can pretend you and I are just having a conversation. I’ll ask you a couple of open-ended questions to get the ball rolling, but Mallory will eventually edit them out.”

  “Won’t that make it seem like I’m talking to myself?” Eli asked, brows lifted.

  But Scarlett shook her head. “With how she’ll put the end product together, it’ll actually seem like you’re talking to the viewer, which is what we want. Speaking of which . . .” She stepped a few feet to the left of the camera, looking at Eli across the sun-strewn space that separated them rather than on the digital display. “You’re going to want to keep your focus right about here instead of looking directly at the camera while we talk. That will keep the segment engaging and personal—think more ‘casual back and forth’ than ‘job interview.’”

  His nod roughly translated to that makes sense. “So you want me to focus on you,” he said, leaning back against the bar serving as the stepladder’s handle.

  “Oh.” She paused. She’d only meant to stand in the spot long enough to give him a reference point, then slide back behind the camera—hello, comfort zone—while they actually filmed. But now that Baby was all locked and loaded, she didn’t technically have to be behind the glass once she hit “Record.” What’s more, she didn’t want to give Eli even the slightest reason to balk.

  So Scarlett kept her Converse planted firmly in the grass. “Sure. Since we’re really just having a low-key interaction, why not. You can focus on me. Are you ready?”

  “As I’m gonna be,” Eli drawled, and she had to admit it. With that mischief-maker smile and those rugged, all-American good looks, the camera was going to love him.

  The audience? They were going to eat him up with a spoon.

  “Alright. Then let’s get rolling.” Scooping in a deep breath, Scarlett tapped the button to start recording, then moved back to her spot beside the camera. “Why don’t you go ahead and introduce yourself and tell me a little bit about Cross Creek.”

  “Okay. My name’s Eli Cross, and I help my old man”—he paused just long enough for his shoulders to tighten beneath the red cotton of his T-shirt, his eyes flicking to the camera lens for a split second before returning to hers—“Tobias Cross, and my brothers, Owen and Hunter, operate our family’s farm out here in Millhaven, Virginia.”

  He went on with a few facts about the size of Cross Creek Farm and their location within the Shenandoah Valley. Although his smile was perfectly metered, his shoulders kept to their high-and-tight position around his neck, and his delivery all but hollered “infomercial!” and damn it, she needed something to put him at ease so he’d trot out all that charm of his.

  “You’ve lived here at Cross Creek your whole life,” Scarlett prompted, and Eli gave up a nod.

  “Yes, m—” He pressed his lips together, shifting his weight over the stepladder. “All twenty-eight years.”

  She paused in an effort to let him elaborate, but after a beat or two, the stillness drove her nuts. “And what’s it like to live on a family-run farm out here in the Shenandoah Valley?”

  “It’s right nice, I suppose.”

  Another pause, and Scarlett nudged again. “Can you tell me a little bit about daily life?”

  “Sure. Some seasons are busier than others. Right now, with the harvest coming, we’re expecting some long days and great fall produce.”

  Pause number three lasted longer than the other two combined, and gah. Maybe if she went for something more direct . . . “And how about your role here at Cross Creek?”

  Although she hadn’t thought it possible, Eli’s shoulders locked down even harder. “The daily work varies depending on what crops are in season and how many head of cattle we’ve got on the back half of the property, but I do whatever needs done, I guess.”

  Once again, the silence extended between them, with Eli looking at her expectantly for the next question and her unease churning faster by the second. He’d been fine right up until she’d started recording, and while he wouldn’t be nearly the first subject to go from zero to awkward in the click of a button, he was the one she had to put at ease in the here and (preferably right) now.

  Scarlett lifted a hand. “Okay, Eli. Let’s put a pin in these questions for a second. I know being in front of the camera can be a little overwhelming at first—”

  His suddenly genuine smile sent a ripple of shock through her belly. “Do you? And when was the last time you were on this side of the lens, huh, bumblebee?”

  Her laughter flew out in a hard, involuntary pop. “You did not just call me that.”

  “Oh yes, I did. You said no ‘ma’am,’ and I honored that one. Anyway, bumblebee suits you.” Eli paused to look directly at the camera, all mischief. “She buzzes all over the place. Y’all wouldn’t even believe it if you saw her. In fact . . .”

  He levered up from the stepladder, and oh no. No, no. What the hell was he doing?

  “Eli,” she started, but he squelched the protest with a ridiculously engaging grin—the exact one she’d been trying to coax out of him for the past five minutes straight.

  “C’mon, Scarlett. You just got done telling me how nice and easy this was gonna be. ‘Piece of cake,’ she said.” Another look at the camera, and sweet God in heaven, how could he break every single rule of filming and still be so freaking appealing? “Why don’t you come see for yourself how the spotlight feels? Then you and I can tell everyone at home what Cross Creek is like together.”

  The word no formed in her brain, hot and fast. This segment wasn’t about her being at Cross Creek; hell, of all the people in the galaxy, she probably belonged on the farm the least. But for the first time since they’d returned to the apple grove, Eli looked relaxed, his Caribbean-blue eyes crinkling at the edges and his dimples flashing in all their sexy glory, and oh, screw it.

  Scarlett needed him out of his shell. There were worse ways to get him there than hopping into a video frame for a few minutes, especially when Mallory would just edit her out later.

  “Okay, fine,” she said, ignoring the pull of the medical tape beneath her T-shirt as she lifted her hands in mock surrender and crossed the grass to the spot where Eli sat in front of the tree. He angled his body just enough to face her without turning too much of his shoulder to the camera, the solid foot of their height differential and the taller-than-average lift from the stepladder bringing them within a few inches of being face-to-face even though he’d settled back into place and she remained standing.

  “Happy now?” Scarlett asked, unable to keep the smile from either her face or her words as she gave up an exaggerated ta-da-style twirl in front of the camera.

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” Eli countered. “But I’ve got a head start on you in front of the camera, which doesn’t seem polite. You want to introduce yourself and tell everyone a little bit about why you’re here at Cross Creek?”

  Although he gestured to Baby with one hand, his flirty little grin stayed trained right on her, and Scarlett had to hand it to him. He was good.

  But sadly for him, so was she. “I’m Scarlett Edwards-Stewart, and I’m a photographer for FoodE magazine.” She paused just long enough to match his flirty little expression. “I’m here to give everyone their own personal taste of Cross Creek fa
rm life.”

  “That’s the truth,” Eli said, his laughter rumbling out, rich and smooth. “You’ve been giving everything ‘round here an honest go in order to get these articles just right. I know we had a little bit of a false start with the apples earlier, but I was thinking maybe now we could show everyone out there how easy apple picking is. Especially since our crop here is comin’ in so nicely this season.”

  Although Scarlett’s stomach did an aerial backflip at the reference to her epically stupid tree-climbing maneuver, Eli’s gaze remained wide open and steady on hers, so she gave up a nod. “Okay. I’m game.”

  He shifted slightly against the stepladder, reaching up for the nearest tree branch. “These here are Jonagold apples.” A quick turn of his wrist had one dropping right into his palm. “We also have Galas and Staymans, but the Jonagolds tend to come into season early and they’re real nice to eat out of hand.”

  “Isn’t Jonagold kind of a funny name for them since they’re red?” Scarlett asked, leaning in to trace a nearby apple with the pads of her fingers.

  Eli laughed. “Yeah, actually, I guess Jonagold is a bit of a misnomer when you think about it. But like a lot of the specialty produce we grow here at Cross Creek, these babies are actually hybrids. They’re a cross between Jonathan apples and Golden Delicious, so they’ve got a great sweet-tart flavor even though they inherited more red than gold on the outside. However”—reaching just over her shoulder, he plucked another apple from the branches with a soft pop—“they did get something from the golden delicious side of things.”

  “And that is . . . ?”

  Curling the fingers of his free hand around her wrist, Eli turned her palm face up, delivering one of the apples in his grasp while holding onto the other. “Go on and give it a smell.”

  Whether it was the spark in his gaze or the hot hint of a dare in his words, Scarlett couldn’t be certain. But something made her cup the apple between both hands and raise it to the spot just below her lips.

  “Ohhhh.” She closed her eyes, inhaling until her lungs tapped out. “It smells like . . .”