by Janet Dailey
“Oh, the thrill,” Ruth Ann simpered, pressing a palm to her cheek. “Had I known that was the thanks I’d get, I’d have done it a long time ago, my dear handsome boy. What a shame I was born two generations too soon.” She narrowed her eyes and lifted one shoulder coquettishly at Kristen. “Otherwise, I’d give you a run for your money, Kristen.”
Mitch tossed his head back and laughed. His throaty chuckle took Kristen’s mind off the heat scorching her cheeks and gave her a thrill of her own.
“Did you get the swing, Ms. Kristen?” Sadie asked, tugging at Kristen’s jeans.
Kristen looked down and smiled. “We did. And we found the perfect cushion. It’s red with white stripes.”
Sadie’s eyes brightened. “And squishy?”
Kristen laughed. “Very.”
Sadie turned to Mitch. “Can we put the swing up today? With the cushion, too?”
“Sure we can.” Mitch motioned toward the crowd milling about the property. “But I need to help your nana out with these customers for a while, then check the fields.”
“I can do that,” Kristen said. “I’ll help you unload the porch swing and chairs, and then I’ll check for weeds while you help Emmy. That way, we’ll be able to tackle installing the swing before dark.”
Mitch tilted his head, his warm gaze roving from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
A slow grin spread across his face. After leaning close, he cupped her cheek with a broad hand and nuzzled the shell of her ear. “You’re a dream, you know that?”
She lit up on the inside, and her breath caught as she whispered back, “A good one, I hope?”
“Heaven.” His lips brushed her temple as he murmured her answer from yesterday, the hunger deepening his husky tone, making it all the sweeter. “Pure heaven.”
A throat cleared, and Kristen pulled back, returning Mitch’s grin.
“When you’re ready for introductions and small talk,” Ruth Ann said, mouth twitching, “just let me know, Mitch. In the meantime, I’m going to assist Emmy.”
With one last knowing look, Ruth Ann left to join Emmy. Sadie, however, hovered nearby. Her wide eyes moved slowly from Kristen to Mitch, then back, her expression lifting and her smile widening.
“Can I help you check the corn, Ms. Kristen?” she asked, blinking up at her.
“Sure. I’d like that.”
Blushing, Sadie hopped in place with excitement, then, hesitating, reached out and lifted her hand toward Kristen.
It wasn’t an easy gesture. Kristen knew that. Since the ride home from Peach Grove after Emmy’s episode, when the little girl had fallen asleep in her arms, they’d grown closer, but Sadie had continued to carefully keep her distance, and so had she. But now, looking into Sadie’s cute face, full of hope and happiness, she found herself unable to take a step back.
Instead, she took Sadie’s hand in hers. Sadie’s small fingers curled, the warm fingertips pressing snugly against Kristen’s skin, their gentle squeeze flooding her with so much warm comfort, it spilled over her lashes.
Kristen looked away, dragged her cheek over her shoulder, and glanced at Mitch. He was watching her closely, and the kind, admiring look in his eyes deepened. He walked to the other side of Sadie, took her other hand in his and led the way back toward Emmy’s truck. Sadie skipped between them, swinging their hands back and forth and humming a happy tune, and Mitch met Kristen’s eyes several times along the way.
I’ll make a place for you, Kristen.
“Heaven, indeed,” she whispered, heart swelling.
After unloading the porch swing, rocking chairs, and cushion, Kristen and Sadie climbed into the truck and left to check the fields. It took two hours to drive around and scout the soybeans. The small plants were thriving, the leaves green, healthy, and clear of pests. Light but frequent steady rains over the past couple of weeks had encouraged rapid growth in both the soybean plants and the cornstalks.
When Kristen reached her field and parked the truck, a small gasp escaped her.
“They’re getting bigger,” Sadie piped from the passenger seat, craning her neck to peer at the field.
“They certainly are.”
The midafternoon sun, a bright golden sphere, sat comfortably a few feet above the horizon. Rays of heat beamed over the three-foot-tall stalks, and Kristen could almost feel the powerful streams of light coaxing the strong green leaves out of the red earth, beckoning each tip to unfurl and lift itself higher to the flawless blue sky tinged with a blushing pink.
Kristen climbed out of the truck and walked to the field’s edge. She stood there, savoring the heat seeping into her skin, the light breeze that ruffled her hair, and the impressive green growth, which had transformed the once barren ground into a well-nourished cradle of new life.
She tipped her head back and smiled at the sky. “Gorgeous.”
Kristen walked each block of rows, carefully checking green leaves for pests, taking soil and leaf samples, and monitoring for weeds. Sadie stayed close by her side, and after a while, though Kristen’s legs, back, and shoulders ached, she followed Sadie’s energetic lead and skipped to the end of one row.
“Wanna race to the end of that one?” Sadie asked, pointing down the last row of corn, to where it met the tree line.
Kristen grinned. “You’re on.” After crouching into a runner’s position at the starting mark, she shot a sidelong glance at Sadie and waited as the little girl mimicked her posture. “Ready, set, go!”
Kristen took off, laughing, and slowed her strides so Sadie could catch up and eventually pass her. Specks of dirt flew up from Sadie’s stomping sneakers, the tang of clay rushed into Kristen’s lungs, and the breeze picked up, soothing their sweat-slicked skin and rustling leaves on the trees.
“I win,” Sadie shouted before doubling over by a tree and breathing hard.
“Woo,” Kristen laughed, dragging the back of her hand across her hot forehead. “You wiped the floor with me.”
“Hey, what’s that?”
Kristen followed the direction of Sadie’s outstretched arm and narrowed her gaze on a small clearing just visible between the trunks of several trees.
“I don’t know.” Kristen shielded her eyes and headed in that direction. “Let’s go poke around.”
They reached the clearing, a brief stretch of green ground that received a hefty dose of sunlight. An overturned rusty wheelbarrow rested on the grass by a small metal shed. High weeds grew around it, but there were a few broad leaves and small white flowers tangled within the thick growth. Beyond this, in a brown pile of litter, several rotten gourds slumped into the hard ground.
“Joe’s place,” Kristen said, smiling.
She walked to the shed, carefully sidestepping green vines and motioning for Sadie to do the same, then tugged on the dented metal door. It swung open with a squeak, revealing several wooden tables cluttered with leaves, debris, and . . . gourds. Dried brown gourds of all shapes and sizes, some peeling, some rotten, and some in absolutely perfect shape for an artistic hand.
Sadie edged over to a table and poked one brown shell with a fingertip. “What are they?”
“Gourds.” Kristen joined her, gently brushed aside a pile of twigs and leaves, then ran her palm over a particularly large one, admiring the dark markings. “Like the one hanging from your nana’s rack by the driveway.” She smiled wider. “A few of these are whole, cured, and in great shape.”
Sadie wound her hand around Kristen’s upper arm and leaned close, eyeing the gourd. “Great shape for what?”
“For painting.” She traced the natural markings with her thumb. “See these? They give each shell a life of its own. You can paint them, and once you hollow them out, they’re perfect for birds—especially purple martins.”
“You can make it into a birdhouse?”
“Yep. Native Americans used them that way to attract birds and keep insects down. And art . . . Oh, they m
ade beautiful art with them. Still do.” Kristen picked the gourd up, lifted it into the light streaming in through holes in the metal roof and examined it from different angles. “I think this one would make a perfect birdhouse.” She envisioned a combination of red, yellow, and blue paint filling in the natural markings to complete a solid image. An image she had seen in so many of Emmy’s photographs and could replicate—if Mitch was willing to help her secretly borrow a few of the pictures from Emmy’s shoebox. “And it’d make a perfect birthday gift for Emmy.”
“Can I make a birdhouse for Nana, too?” Sadie grabbed a gourd from the table and held it up. “Out of this one?”
Kristen nodded. “That’d be wonderful.”
“How will we do it?” Sadie asked. The tip of her tongue touched the corner of her mouth as she narrowed her eyes at the gourd.
“We’ll wash, scrub, and cut an entrance hole and a place for hanging it. Then we’ll scrape out the seeds and let it dry. We’ll soak it in a preservative, let it dry again, then paint it. After that, it’ll be ready to hang.”
“And the birds will come?”
“Yes.” She pointed to the center of Sadie’s gourd. “They’ll make a nest right there.”
“Once it’s empty?”
Kristen nodded.
Sadie’s eyes sparkled with glee. “For the baby birds?”
“That’s right.” The excited delight in Sadie’s expression mirrored her own. Kristen reached out and smoothed a hand over the little girl’s soft hair, the motion a practiced one from her past.
Something heavy returned inside her with the action. Something that had been replaced in recent days with Mitch’s kisses, Sadie’s and Dylan’s laughter, and Emmy’s approving comments. It surged forth with renewed vengeance, pricking at her conscience and welling in her eyes. It warred with the peace struggling to take root in her heart.
Kristen forced herself to speak past the thick feeling in her throat. “The hollow inside will be a perfect place for them to grow.”
CHAPTER 10
Mitch gripped the handle he’d just installed on the new screen door he’d purchased for Emmy’s porch, clicked the black push button latch several times to make sure it worked, then opened and shut the door to check the alignment.
“Works like a charm,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.
Kristen, standing on the front lawn, near the bottom porch step, shielded her eyes against the low-hanging sun, looked up at him and flashed a crooked smile. “And it only took you two and a half hours. Impressive.”
Mitch laughed. “All right, now. That included the trip to town to pick it up, haul it back, unbox it, and install it without directions and a missing part. I think that speaks volumes as to my handyman skills.” He looked pointedly at Dylan, who stood beside Kristen as she slid a hand-painted gourd onto the arm of a small gourd rack. “Let that be a lesson to you, Dylan. A Hart doesn’t need much to pull off great feats.”
Dylan shared an amused look with Kristen, then smirked. “Whatever you say, Uncle Mitch.” He handed a cotter pin over to Kristen, then watched as she used it to secure the gourd in place. “Is that one yours or Sadie’s?”
“Mine.” Kristen stepped back, then adjusted the gourd so it hung more evenly. “Sadie wants to hang her own.”
As if on cue, the front door opened and Sadie pressed her palms and face against the screen door. “Can we come out yet?”
Mitch chuckled, pressing a finger to her nose as it smooshed against the screen. The decorative white trim surrounding the screen provided a perfect frame for her small face. “Just you, little bit, so you can set up your present. Tell Nana to wait a few more minutes.”
As she shouted his request toward the interior of the house, he laughed harder and looked back at Kristen. Her attention was firmly focused on Sadie, and the carefree grin she’d sported minutes earlier had dimmed.
“Kristen?” He waited until those gorgeous green eyes met his. “Everything okay?”
She shrugged her shoulders slightly, her grin returning full force. “Yeah. Just anxious to get Emmy’s b-day started.”
Mitch tensed. B-day, at least today, had more than one connotation. Today might be the twenty-eighth of June and Emmy’s seventy-fourth birthday, but it could also be classified as a bad day—at least for Emmy.
It had started this morning. He had left early, prior to sunrise, had picked up a freshly baked batch of blueberry and cream cheese sweet rolls from the Dutch Restaurant, then had returned in what he’d thought would be plenty of time to get coffee started and greet Emmy when she woke up and made her way to the kitchen. Only, when he’d returned, Emmy had been pacing the house, wringing wet hands and frantically searching for soap. She had opened every cabinet in the kitchen, had pulled out every drawer in her bedroom dresser, and had left a trail of shoes throughout the house, having overturned every pair, apparently searching inside each one for what eluded her.
No one else had been up at the time, and he’d spent the better part of an hour calming her down and setting everything back in its rightful place. Over coffee and quiet contemplation as the sun began to rise outside the kitchen window, she’d eventually managed to regain her bearings.
Her cheeks had flushed, and she’d patted his hand awkwardly, pleading softly, “Please don’t tell Kristen. All of you have worked so hard preparing for my birthday. Let’s just go on as usual.”
At the time, he hadn’t been sure Emmy even knew the full extent of what she was asking him not to tell. And though he would’ve hated to burden Kristen, he’d desperately wanted to seek comfort in her arms to lighten the heavy pain that grew inside him at the confused, frightened look in Emmy’s eyes.
But Emmy’s wish had been too heartfelt for him to deny. Especially on her birthday.
So, he’d nodded in agreement, and they’d finished their coffee. When Kristen and the kids joined them in the kitchen shortly afterward, they’d returned to the normal morning routine.
Everything had continued as it had every day for the past month—except for the way Mitch had found his eyes returning to Emmy throughout the morning and well into early afternoon, studying her wary expression for any signs of renewed confusion or fear, until he’d finally had to drive to town to pick up the screen door.
The screen door burst open, the frame bumping into Mitch’s legs, as Sadie ran out onto the porch. “Whoa there, sweet Sadie.” He caught her elbow and steadied her when she stumbled. “That gourd of yours isn’t going anywhere.”
Bouncing with endless energy, she squeezed his forearms. “It turned out perfect, didn’t it? Just like Ms. Kristen said it would.”
His smile returned. “It sure did, baby.”
That, he had no trouble admitting without reservation. He watched Sadie skip down the front porch steps, join Kristen and Dylan by the gourd rack, and pick up her gourd from the ground. It was purple with big, colorful daisies adorning each side.
Over the past several weeks, Kristen had spent one hour with Sadie every night after dinner, guiding her hand across blank sheets of paper, helping her sketch flowers and color them in with colored pencils Kristen had picked up in town. When Sadie had asked Kristen for a more challenging practice, they’d moved on to oil-based paint, using several small canvases Mitch had ordered online and had shipped to the house.
Emmy had admired them from afar, usually seated at Mitch’s side, and had commented on how patient a teacher Kristen was. How caring and kind.
It had taken every ounce of restraint Mitch had not to divulge Kristen and Sadie’s secret project and let Emmy know that all the practice was for her benefit. Or that the hours Kristen spent on the front porch each night after Emmy went to bed had been used to piece together a scrapbook of Emmy’s favorite memories using photos he’d removed from her shoebox when she wasn’t around. All this effort on behalf of creating the perfect birthday.
And oh, man. Just watching Kristen—the gentle way she cradled Sadie’s hand in her own as she taught her
to paint, and the careful, precise way she pieced together Emmy’s photos, rubbing her tired eyes as she bent closer to the task at hand, her blond hair sliding over her shoulders—had melted his heart that much more.
“Can I hang mine now?” Sadie asked, stretching up on her toes and lifting her gourd toward one of the metal arms protruding from the rack.
“Of course.” Kristen walked around the fourteen-foot pole that supported a large rack, placed her hands at Sadie’s waist, then lifted her high enough so that she could reach the metal arm, which was lowered to half-mast. “Got it?”
Sadie giggled, wobbling in Kristen’s grasp, as she slid the gourd onto the metal arm. Dylan moved swiftly and tacked it in place with a cotter pin.
“Got it,” Sadie shouted, clapping her hands together.
Kristen lowered her back to the ground, and the trio stepped back and exchanged smiles as they admired their handiwork.
“Do you have your other present ready, Kristen?” Mitch asked.
She nodded. “It’s in the gift bag on the porch swing.”
“Dylan?” Mitch glanced at a small table on the porch. It was covered with a white tablecloth, and a chocolate cake sat on a plate in the center, sealed with plastic wrap. Surprisingly, Dylan, who’d asked for Ruth Ann’s help, had baked it himself. “You want to light the candles on that excellent cake of yours?”
A few minutes later, after Dylan had unwrapped the plastic and arranged candles on the cake, he lit the final one. “Can she come out now?”
Mitch glanced at Kristen, Sadie, and Dylan, all gathered on the porch, eyes shining with excitement and faces lit with smiles. He laughed. “Yeah. I think y’all will burst if we put it off any longer.”
He went inside. Emmy sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea and staring at the table.
“They’re ready, Emmy. Feel up to joining us?”
She glanced up at him, blinked a few times, then asked, “They’re ready for what?”
“For you.” He walked over, cupped her elbow, and leaned close. “It’s your big day, Emmy.”
