Hart's Hollow Farm

by Janet Dailey

  The thought was too painful to bear.

  “We should celebrate,” Emmy said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll call Ruth Ann, invite her over to see the gourds. Then we’ll bake something sweet again. Maybe a batch of cool lemon bars this time instead of shortcake. What do you say?”

  Glancing up beneath her lashes, Kristen winced at the look of excitement on Emmy’s face. “I’m sorry, Emmy,” she whispered, sliding her hand away. “I need to work on some plans for Mitch.”

  “But can’t that wait for a little while?” Emmy asked, confusion clouding her eyes. “I thought you enjoyed our last visit with Ruth Ann. We don’t have to cook. We could do something different, like—”

  “It’s not that, Emmy.” Kristen moved away, putting distance between them and pulling in a much-needed lungful of air. “I’ve been putting off finishing this for Mitch the last day or two, and it’ll take a while.”

  “One afternoon off won’t hurt,” Mitch said, stepping toward her, his mouth tightening.

  “It’s Friday, Mitch. Your nine-day deadline is in four days.” Steeling herself against the discomfort that appeared in his eyes at the reminder, she added, “You can’t walk in there empty-handed and expect a good result.”

  “You mean we, don’t you?” His intense gaze held hers. “We can’t walk in there empty-handed.”

  “Walk in where?” Emmy asked.

  Hesitating, Mitch continued watching Kristen for a moment, then answered Emmy. “The Citizens Advisory Committee meeting on Tuesday.”

  “About the bypass?” Emmy studied both of their faces. “Y’all are making a plan?”

  Mitch gave a reluctant nod. “I haven’t mentioned it, because we have no way of knowing how it’ll turn out.” He spoke gently. “It may go well, and the Department of Transportation may reconsider taking the farm. Or there’s a chance it’ll make no difference what we say and they’ll move forward in the same manner they’ve planned all along.”

  Emmy straightened, her fingers tightening around her cane and hope lighting her features. “But what you’re planning might work? There could be a chance they might change their minds?”

  Mitch glanced in Kristen’s direction, and the gentle urging in the depths of his blue eyes and on his handsome face made her long to reassure Emmy, even though she knew it was a long shot. He walked over to Emmy, cupped the back of her gray head, and kissed her forehead softly. “That’s one thing you’ve taught me well, Emmy. There’s always a chance.”

  A wistful smile appeared on Emmy’s face as she reached up and patted his cheek. “There’s the sweet boy I’ve always known.”

  Throat tightening, Kristen spun around and headed for the house. Each brisk step kicked up a stinging spray of red dirt against her calf muscles, but she continued on, forcing a brief smile at the children as she passed.

  Moments later, the familiar tread of heavy footsteps fell in behind hers. “Kristen, wait.”

  She closed her eyes and stifled a groan. “I’m sorry, Mitch, but I really need to get back to work in order to have the plans ready on time.”

  “I know, but there’s one more thing I need to ask you to do.”

  The throb of urgency in his tone slowed her steps. She stopped, waited until he drew close, then said softly, “I’ve followed your notes to the letter, and I’m finalizing the sketches now. Is there anything else you’d like me to add to the polished illustrations?”

  “Yes.” His hands settled on her shoulders, then slid down to curve around her upper arms. The tangy scent of his aftershave grew stronger as he dipped his head and kissed the curve of her neck softly. His lips moved against her skin, the warm puffs of his breath ruffling wisps of her hair. “I want you to envision Hart’s Hollow as your own. Imagine that Peach Grove is your town. And I want you to add all the things that would make it feel like home to you.”

  In spite of her best effort, a soft sob escaped her. She ducked her head, reached up and squeezed Mitch’s hands, then pulled out of his hold and walked away.

  There would be nothing to add to the final illustrations of Mitch’s plans for the property. Hart’s Hollow already felt like home exactly as it was, and walking away from it and the family she’d grown to love would be one of the hardest things she’d ever done. The painful act would be second only to letting go of Anna when fate had denied her the option to continue holding on.

  But she wasn’t a Hart, and this wasn’t her home. She’d lost her family years ago, and if she stayed, she’d eventually lose Emmy, then Mitch, Sadie, and Dylan. Her heart couldn’t survive another loss that big. She had to remember that and, when it was time, pack up and go.

  “I’m no one,” Kristen reminded herself quietly. She ducked under the oak trees’ low branches, crossed the front lawn, and ascended the front porch steps. “Just a hard worker who’ll soon be looking for a new job and place to stay.”

  CHAPTER 12

  There’s the sweet boy I’ve always known.

  Mitch grinned, tightened the towel around his hips, wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror, and stared at his reflection. The tan he’d acquired from weeks spent outside planting the fields, scouting for pests, and spraying weeds had shaded the small crow’s-feet beside his eyes. The thin grooves framing both sides of his mouth had lightened, and the extra ten pounds he’d picked up sitting in a cushy New York office chair over the past several years had fallen off, bringing a youthful definition to his cheekbones.

  But what was most noticeable of all was where he stood. Here at Hart’s Hollow, in Emmy’s house, without so much as a scratch on him, preparing a way to persuade a committee of fifteen Adams County residents to save his childhood home, a once abusive and painful place. Somehow, he’d grown to feel connected to the land in so many ways since he’d met and begun working with Kristen.

  He dragged his thumb and forefinger across the stubble on his jaw and smiled. “What I want you to understand is that I never thought a stretch of land in the middle of nowhere could end up mattering so much to me.”

  No. That wasn’t quite right. There was so much more to it than that.

  He shifted his stance, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Three months ago, I was as skeptical as you and believed Hart’s Hollow Farm was nothing more than land that needed to be sold and paved over in the interest of progress. But now I—”

  He what? Frowning, Mitch stared at the sink and rubbed his palm absently over his abs, where droplets of water from his recent shower clung to his skin.

  “Now it’s . . .”

  Impossible to imagine feeling as though he truly belonged anywhere else. Or uncovering the kind of hidden beauty—small pieces of heaven—that he’d found here, beneath painful memories and years of regretful neglect. Things like the unwavering devotion he’d found in Emmy; the untarnished hope Sadie and Dylan still possessed, despite the hardships they’d faced; and the quiet strength and endless comfort Kristen offered, despite the pain that obviously still lived inside her.

  “Need some help with your speech?”

  He started, his hip banging into the corner of the sink as he faced Kristen, who stood in the bathroom doorway.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her grin fading as her wide eyes drifted over his bare chest, then lingered on his right hip, where he rubbed the sore spot. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I was going to freshen up before the meeting and didn’t realize you were still in here.” Face red, she spun on her heel. “I’ll come back la—” “No.” He snagged the hem of her T-shirt and tugged. “There’s plenty of room. I’ll take one side of the sink, and you can have the other.” Smiling, he shrugged. “Besides, I think I could use some help in the speech department. My nerves tend to get the better of me, no matter how many presentations I’ve given.”

  Blushing a deeper red—if that was even possible—she glanced over her shoulder, met his eyes, then skirted carefully around him to the other side of the sink.

  “Here.” Mitch reached around her and scrubbed a second steam-free c
ircle in the mirror. “Have at it.”

  “Thanks.” Biting her lower lip, she tugged a drawer open, grabbed a ponytail holder, and pulled her long hair back. “Emmy and Dylan are ready. They’re waiting on the front porch. And I just helped Sadie fix her hair, so we should be able to head out whenever you’re ready.”

  “Sounds good.” He grabbed a toothbrush, applied toothpaste, then began brushing, pausing every so often to speak around the bristles. “I looked over your illustrations last night. They’re perfect. Thank you.”

  It was amazing what she’d accomplished in such a small amount of time. His bland black-and-white architectural sketches had been re-created on large canvases and given life with splashes of color and delicate details. But there’d been plenty of extra time for her to concentrate, considering she’d distanced herself from him, Emmy, and the kids more and more over the past four days.

  “You’re welcome.” She twisted the top off ajar of moisturizer, dipped her fingers in the white cream, then smoothed it into her cheeks with slow circular movements. “If you need something else, just let me know.”

  Finished brushing his teeth, he rinsed his toothbrush, then his mouth, all while watching her graceful fingers travel over her pink cheeks in the mirror. “You’re going to present the plan with me, aren’t you?”

  Her fingers stilled as she met his eyes in the mirror, then resumed their task with greater speed. “If you’d like me to. I don’t know what I’d bring to the table that you haven’t already covered. They’re lucky to have you in New York. You’re excellent at what you do.”

  “You had as much input as I did, if not more. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Holding his gaze in the mirror, she lowered her hands, her chest lifting on quick breaths. After a moment, she looked away, and her eyes focused on the other side of the sink.

  “Could you pass me that—”

  “Do you mind handing me—”

  Their outstretched arms bumped as they each reached for something on the opposite side of the vanity.

  Mitch stilled, savoring the sensation of her warm skin pressing against his. Her forearm slid away as she pulled back, and he followed, curling his palm loosely beneath her elbow and stepping closer. “You asked me if I needed anything else,” he said softly.

  She glanced down at his hand, then focused on his bare chest, her eyes darkening. “Yes?”

  He grinned. “I’m not above a good luck kiss if it’ll help us pull this off.”

  Us. Man, that felt good on his tongue and sounded even better out loud. If only he could make it feel and sound as good to her.

  Kristen looked up at him, a small smile forcing its way to her lips and a gleam of humor entering her eyes. “All right.” Her attention drifted down to his chest, and she jerked her eyes back up to his, her smile fading. “But just one.”

  “Just one,” he promised.

  Nodding, she lowered her arms to her sides, closed her eyes, then lifted her chin and pursed her mouth just a tad.

  A chuckle rose in his throat, but he stifled it, stepped closer, and cupped her jaw. Just one, he reminded himself, his laughter trailing away. Though he sensed she was pulling away from him, this was one of the few times she’d offered to let him in. He’d be damned if he wouldn’t make it a good one.

  He lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers. Nudging her lips apart, he swept the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip, savoring the taste of her and absorbing her soft cry of pleasure.

  Her arms encircled his waist, and her small hands slid over his bare back, her fingers trailing along each dip and rise of his muscles, until they reached the towel. Curving inward, they tugged him closer. Then she went on her toes, pressed tighter against him, and urged him to deepen the kiss.

  He complied, angling his head, touching his tongue to hers and sliding his hand around to cradle the back of her head. He walked her toward the wall slowly until the back of his hand and her bottom bumped it, and then he slid one leg between hers.

  She moaned and squeezed his lower back with her fingertips. The gentle pressure of her touch, the sensual movement of her mouth, and the soft press of her breasts against the hardness of his chest were incredible.

  His stubbled jaw rasped against her smooth, moisturized cheek, and the light scent of lotion mixed with the sweet smell of her shampoo as she hugged him closer.

  Lord, he wanted her. Wanted to touch her, hold her . . . make love to her. Show her how much he needed her. But this wasn’t the right time or place.

  Every inch of his body hardening, he groaned, then forced himself to pull his mouth from hers, lift his head, then step back. And there she stood, gazing back at him with heavy eyes, flushed cheeks, and plump, thoroughly kissed lips, every bit of which intensified the waves of pleasure moving through him.

  “I think that did the job,” he rasped.

  For now, but he wanted forever with her. He wanted the chance to wake up to her sleepy smile every morning, hear her throaty laugh in the fields while they worked every afternoon, and caress her soft, warm body every night, giving her pleasure, showing her love and proving every damn day what a rare gift this feeling was that she inspired in him—this unconditional, unwavering devotion to love her despite whatever challenges came their way.

  She touched her mouth, her fingertips lingering on the moist curve of her lower lip. “Yes.” Clearing her throat, she blinked rapidly, dropped her arm back to her side, and straightened. The eager, welcoming light left her eyes, and a blank, empty look took its place. “We should finish getting ready. It’ll be time to leave soon.”

  Thirty minutes later, they did. Mitch drove, and Emmy sat in the passenger seat, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. Sadie and Dylan sat in the back of the cab, with Kristen in between. Every couple of miles, her eyes would meet his in the rearview mirror for a moment before she looked away, and he’d voice a silent plea for fate to tip the scales in his favor for once.

  The fifteen members of the committee were already seated at the large table in the conference room of the community center when they arrived. Charles, Zach, and Iris smiled at them in greeting, as did fellow farm owners Al and Stephanie Jenkins and Jenny Yarrow, who sat in their usual places. Local mechanic Terrance Smith and teacher Elena Martinez had taken their seats beside the mayor, Bud Watson, and they gave a brief hello, as well. A few new faces were present, too. Two men and a woman Mitch didn’t recognize watched the group from their seated positions on chairs lining the wall.

  Dana Markham left the podium at the front of the room, walked over, and put out her hand. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hart.”

  A strong pleasant sensation unfurled inside Mitch at the greeting, and he smiled at Kristen as he shook Dana’s hand. His smile fell a little when Dana moved from him to Emmy and shook her hand, too.

  “Good to see you again,” Emmy said, laughing, “even though I wish we’d met you somewheres else.”

  Dana’s smile was full of kind regret. “I feel the same way, Mrs. Hart. But I’m very glad you’ve all joined us again tonight. I’ve been looking forward to this.” She glanced at Mitch. “Did the reports and aerial views you asked me to email help you?”

  “They did. Thank you,” Mitch said, lifting the bags he held and exchanging a glance with Kristen.

  After nodding, Dana stepped back, glanced at the group seated at the table, then rubbed her hands together briskly. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

  Over the next half hour, Dana introduced the new guests who had joined them—all three were project manager consultants for the Department of Transportation—then walked the committee through a slideshow presentation on the wide screen at the head of the room. Each slide presented detailed data regarding traffic patterns and survey results. When the slideshow ended, Dana picked up two rolled posters, slid the rubber bands off, and spread the posters across the center of the table.

  “These are the proposed plans for the bypass.” She leaned across the table and
pointed to the upper right section of one plan as everyone leaned in for a better look. “Construction would begin just north of the outskirts of Peach Grove on Highway 1, would extend several miles outside the city limits, then would reconnect with Highway 1 well beyond the southern outskirts of town.”

  Bud sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin and nodding. “That’s exactly as we discussed. Looks good.”

  The room grew quiet as everyone studied the plans silently; then Elena scooted closer to the table. “And this?” Her finger touched a large area toward the center of the proposed bypass. “Whose land would the road be next to here?”

  Dana shook her head. “Not next to but through.” She cast a sad smile at Emmy. “That’s where the bypass would cut through the center of Hart’s Hollow, a farm I believe belongs to Mrs. Hart.”

  Mitch tensed as Emmy stared down at the plan, her chin trembling. “It’s one thing to hear it,” she said, her voice breaking, “but it’s another to see it.”

  “What are they talking about, Nana?” Sadie, who’d left her seat beside Dylan and Zach, placed her hand on Emmy’s forearm and lifted to her tiptoes, straining for a glimpse of the papers on the table.

  “They’re talking about taking our house,” Dylan said, joining her, with Zach at his side. He frowned over Emmy’s head. “You’re not gonna let them, are you, Uncle Mitch?”

  Mitch hesitated, glancing at the faces around the table. The pleased look on Bud’s face had slowly receded, and Elena’s eyes glistened as she stared at Emmy.

  “That’s not my decision,” he said, standing and facing the DOT project managers. “But I’m hoping all of you will be willing to hear and consider an alternative.”

  The room fell silent. Al handed Stephanie two tissues from his shirt pocket. One she kept for herself; the other she handed to Jenny. Tears rolled down their cheeks.