by Janet Dailey
The room was gorgeous, as was the rest of the house. It was this bedroom she and Mitch had spent hours in, stretched out on the floor, poring over plans and sketches, analyzing and examining, reassessing and improving. It was as though Mitch’s hands had breathed new life into the heart of the home, then had guided hers into coaxing it to beat again.
All the hard work and exhaustion had been worth the smile on Emmy’s face that night at the meeting, when she’d seen the plans for Hart’s Hollow Farm for the first time. And the words she’d spoken had stayed with Kristen every night since, whispering through her mind as she fell asleep and tugging bittersweet tears from her eyes onto the pillow every morning.
I couldn’t be more proud of you if you were my own daughter.
Kristen squeezed her eyes shut, her hands tightening on the dress pressed against her chest. She had wanted to hug Emmy so tight earlier this evening. Had wanted to whisper how grateful she was to have seen Emmy’s ad and come to Hart’s Hollow. To have met Emmy, worked with her, learned from her . . . and loved her as she imagined a daughter would love her mother. As Anna had loved her.
She bit her lip, the sharp pinch of her teeth digging into tender flesh momentarily distracting her from the pain spreading inside her.
“Kristen?”
She started, her eyes springing open and focusing toward the low rumble of Mitch’s voice.
He stood on the threshold of the guest bedroom, one broad hand nudging the half-opened door farther aside, his brow creased with concern as he studied her face. “Are you all right?”
Lowering her hands, she clutched the dress at her side, then forced a weak smile. “I was just . . .” Her throat tightened. She cleared it and tried again. “I was getting ready for bed.” She walked to the small dresser on the opposite wall, placed the dress on its smooth surface, and began folding it with slow, methodical motions. “How’s Emmy?”
“Better,” he said softly. “She fell asleep a couple of hours ago.”
Kristen nodded, pressing the dress flat and paying particular attention to smoothing out a crease. “That’s good. I was worried all the noise of packing up the picnic tables outside and the cars leaving would wake her.”
It was silent for a few moments. Then the door clicked shut and Mitch’s heavy tread moved slowly across the floor, the sporadic squeak of the floorboards mingling with the distant low rumble of thunder outside.
“Did you have any trouble getting Sadie and Dylan in bed for the night?” He was so close, his soft breaths ruffled her hair against the back of her neck.
“Not at all. They helped clean up after the fireworks and were so tired by the time they came inside, they fell asleep almost before their heads hit the pillow.”
Another roll of thunder, closer this time, echoed outside, momentarily drowning out the rattle of cicadas and the chirps of crickets.
“They got it right this time,” Kristen whispered, her chin trembling. “It’s almost midnight. The afternoon forecast said there’d be a storm right about now.”
Big hands covered her fingers, which still fidgeted with the dress, the gentle pressure stilling their movements. “Yeah. I guess sometimes things do work out as predicted.” His palms left her hands, drifted up her forearms, then gently tugged her around. “I should’ve recognized it the second I saw you. The moment I touched you. But I couldn’t see it then.”
His thumb and forefinger nudged her chin, and as she lifted her head, her eyes met his.
“I don’t know how a feeling this big could hide the way it did, but it managed to.” His hand slid around and cupped the back of her head, and the pad of his thumb swept gently over her jaw. “You asked me once if I’d ever fallen in love. I can say with absolute certainty I have now.”
Her breath caught as the intensity of his gaze and his warm, adoring expression sent a wave of pleasure through her.
He moved closer and dipped his head. The heat of his broad chest and sculpted frame beckoned her to lean against him as he brushed his mouth softly across hers, whispering, “I love you, Kristen. More than I ever thought it was possible to love someone.”
A sob broke past her lips, and she rose to her tiptoes, wound her arms around his muscular back and kissed him with every bit of love she wanted to confess out loud but couldn’t.
He kissed her back, his tongue parting her lips, his familiar taste and masculine scent enveloping her. Then he raised his head and examined her expression. “Ever since Emmy’s birthday, you’ve been pulling away. You’re thinking about leaving, aren’t you?”
The curtains billowed on a strong gust of wind, and it swept over them, chilling her skin and making her shudder against him. She looked past him to the darkness that lay outside the window. A faint pulse of heat lightning flashed above the winding dirt driveway, illuminating the fields beyond.
For the past three years, roads had never looked cold or lonely. Instead, they’d been a welcome relief from the grief and loss she’d left behind. But now the thought of leaving the comforting strength of Mitch’s embrace and putting her feet on another impersonal, neglected road made her tighten her grip on his solid warmth.
“I don’t want to,” she forced out past stiff lips. “But I can’t go ba—”
When I get better, we can go back home, can’t we, Mama?
Kristen pressed her face against the warm skin at the base of his throat, tears seeping from her eyes onto her lashes. How could she make a home here, have a new family, when Anna never could? And how could she stay and watch Emmy fade more each day, with no hope of her recovering?
She swallowed hard and tried to steady her voice. “I’m afraid.”
His hands moved in slow circles over her back. “Afraid of what?”
Losing Emmy, Sadie, and Dylan. Losing you.
At her silence, he released a heavy breath. “I understand if you’re not ready to tell me, and I’ll wait however long it takes.” His deep tone vibrated in his chest beneath her cheek. “But I want you to know I’ve decided to stay. I want to make Hart’s Hollow my home again—a real one. And I want to be close to Emmy, the kids and, hopefully, you. You’re a Hart, Kristen—in every way that counts. This is your home, too, and whenever you’re ready to return, I’ll be waiting.”
She hugged him harder, then pulled back and looked up, winced at the pain in his eyes and the strain on his face. Oh, God, she wanted to stay and support him the way he supported her. Wished she were as strong and certain as he. Wished she could lay this guilt and grief down for good and not be afraid of loving and losing again. But if she left now, the good memories would outweigh the bad, and her heart couldn’t carry any more pain.
“I’m sorry, Mitch.”
His eyes darkened, and he cupped her face. “I’m sorry, too. Because the truth is, I love you so damned much, I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give. Even if it’s just good-bye.”
Heart breaking, she reached up and tugged his mouth back down to hers, wanting to show him what she couldn’t manage to voice in words.
He groaned, his arms wrapping tight around her, his hands sweeping over her back, cupping her buttocks, then traveling up to tangle gently in her hair. She kissed him more deeply, absorbing the heat of his hard frame and splaying her palms across the solid wall of his chest, before he trailed kisses down the sensitive curve of her neck.
“Love me,” she whispered.
With a low moan, he complied, sliding his calloused palms along her smooth thighs and lifting the hem of her shirt above her head. The tender caresses of his mouth and hands traveled everywhere—the curve of her breasts, the gentle swell of her hips, even the sensitive skin behind her knees—leaving a trail of pulsing desire in their wake.
He removed his clothes, and she explored the hard swells of his toned chest, biceps, and thighs, the flat plane of his abs until, breathless, he eased her onto the bed, settled into her welcoming embrace, and made them one.
Outside, the storm intensified, but the flashes of lightning a
nd the cracks of thunder faded beneath the heavy beat of his heart against hers, the urgent need in his sensual movements and the powerful emotion in his kiss, which eventually overtook them both.
Afterward, he rolled onto his back, tugging her with him, and cradled her close. His chest rose, deep and even, and eventually, he drifted off, his soft breaths stirring her hair.
Pleasure pulsed steady and slow within her, and the feeling spread through her limbs and swelled within her. She’d never felt this supported and loved . . . or more afraid.
Throat aching, Kristen rolled her head to the side and kissed his shoulder. Then her lips moved against his warm skin in a barely audible whisper. “I love you, Mitch.”
She waited awhile, listening to the steady fall of rain outside the window and half hoping that he’d wake up and that she’d give in and allow him to persuade her to stay. But he didn’t stir, and eventually, she slipped out of his hold.
It took ten minutes for her to gather her things quietly in the low light of the oil lamp. She pushed her jeans, T-shirts, underwear, and what few toiletries she’d arrived with into her bags. Hoisting one bag over each shoulder, she cast one last look at his sleeping form—his strong, tanned limbs sprawled across the white sheets, the strand of chestnut hair tousled over his forehead, and the relaxed, sensual curve of his mouth—before forcing herself to walk away.
Downstairs, she hovered in the hallway, right outside Sadie’s and Dylan’s closed doors. She wanted to slip inside the rooms, kiss their cheeks, and say good-bye, but she couldn’t bring herself to follow through.
Shoulders sagging, she shook as her bags slid down her arms and dropped onto the floor. Steady rain drummed on the roof, and she looked behind her toward the staircase leading to the upper floor, recalling Mitch’s strong, quiet love, then clenched her jaw.
“I’m not a coward,” she said out loud, holding on to the words and drawing strength from them. “Never have been.”
And she didn’t want to leave Hart’s Hollow or Mitch. She wanted to stay right here with Sadie, Dylan, and Emmy . . . even if it broke her heart.
Straightening, Kristen walked farther down the hall to Emmy’s room, but the lamplight slipping through the half-open door slowed her steps, and her heart tripped after a quick scan of the room revealed that Emmy was gone.
* * *
“Mitch.”
A hand shook his shoulder, and the sweet sound of Kristen’s voice came again.
“Mitch, wake up.”
He opened his eyes, and the sated sensation that had lingered in his limbs after making love to Kristen dissolved when he saw the panicked look on her face.
“Emmy’s gone,” she said, tugging on his biceps.
He sat up, slid his hands over her arms, then squeezed in an attempt to still her restless movements. “Wait, what do you mean? She was asleep in her room when I lef—”
“She’s not there. I just checked.” Voice shaking, she looked past him toward the window, her cheeks pale. “She was so confused during the party. Do you think she could’ve gone looking for Joe?”
The brief flash of lightning that lit up the room made him freeze. He shook off the clinging remains of sleep, nudged Kristen aside, and stood. “Did you check the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
He snatched his jeans off the floor, jerked them on and zipped them up. “The kids’ bedrooms?”
She nodded.
“The kitch—”
“Yes, I checked everywhere—even the porch and front yard.” She grabbed his shirt from the end of the bed, tossed it to him, then headed toward the door. “I’m going to walk the driveway, see if she wandered out there.”
“I’ll call Ruth Ann, ask her to come stay with the kids. I’ll be right behind you.” He slipped his shirt over his head. “Kristen?”
She paused on the threshold, expression anxious.
“Grab a raincoat out of the hall closet. There’s a flashlight on the top shelf.”
Thunder boomed, rattling the windowpanes and vibrating through the floor as he jogged down the stairs. He called Ruth Ann, who assured him she was on the way, and then he rummaged through several drawers in the kitchen for another flashlight. After finding one, he headed outside, grabbing the truck keys from the key rack by the front door on his way out.
The sharp scent of rain hit his nostrils, and the downpour pummeled the porch roof and the surrounding landscape. The thick branches on the oak trees on the front lawn clacked together with fierce intensity. He ran down the front steps to the sludgy driveway, his shoes slipping and the sheets of rain so heavy he could barely see farther than five feet in front of him.
Pausing to regain his balance, he stiffened as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky in a jagged arc, striking the dark field below with a vicious hiss.
“Dear God, Emmy.” His chest burned. “Please don’t be out here.”
His thighs clenched, then surged forward, propelling him up the slippery clay driveway. The flashlight’s glow barely cut through the thick downpour, and the shaky illumination didn’t help much.
“Emmy!” Fat drops of rain spat against his face, stinging his eyes and drowning his voice.
Mitch pressed on. Dense red mud sucked at his heels, and the wind picked up, the powerful bursts knocking into his chest and shoving him backward. He reached the first curve of the driveway with no sign of Emmy and shouted once more, hoping for a faint call in response.
Instead, there was nothing but the steady pound of rain, the deep boom of thunder, and fierce flashes of lightning.
Gritting his teeth, he glared up at the storm clouds looming above. “Don’t take her from me.” He licked the tangy raindrops from his lips. “Not now, and not like this.”
A small orb of light bounced sporadically in the distance, fading behind the thick curtain of rain, then reappearing. Moments later, Kristen emerged from the darkness, her flashlight jerking as she jogged toward him.
He strained for a glimpse of Emmy behind her, though he knew there was no one there. “Did you find her?”
Breathing heavily, Kristen stopped by his side and shook her head. “I went all the way to the end of the driveway and back. I didn’t see her in the front fields, either.”
He reached out and pushed her wet hair out of her eyes, leaned close and spoke loud enough to be heard over the rain. “She must’ve wandered farther off. We’ll take the truck.” After grabbing her hand, he pulled her with him as he jogged toward the front lawn. “Ruth Ann should be here soon. We can’t wait for her. If Emmy’s out here, we need to find her now. And I’ll need your eyes on the other side of the cab, looking for her, too.”
Minutes later, they were in the truck, heading down the dirt track behind the house, the bright headlights cutting through the downpour and illuminating the edges of the fields. Kristen drove at a slow pace, and Mitch shined his flashlight outside.
There was still no sign of Emmy.
“Half a mile,” Kristen said, eyeing the odometer on the dashboard.
Mitch leaned closer to the window and peered harder into the dimly lit darkness beyond. Could Emmy have made it this far? On foot in the rain?
“Maybe we missed her.” Kristen’s voice shook. “Should we turn around and go back? Or should I keep going?”
Gut churning, he blinked hard and continued sweeping the flashlight across the landscape as it slowly passed.
“Mitch? What should I do?”
“Keep driving.” Keep looking. Keep trying. God help him, what else could they do? Any other alternative was unthinkable. “She’s out here somewhere. I know it.” He pressed the flashlight closer to the passenger-side window. “Emmy, where the hell are you?”
His throat thickened and his lungs stalled, a pain he’d never felt before ripping through his chest. What if this was the hand fate had decided to deal? What if Emmy stood by the road fifty yards back, waiting for them in plain sight, and they’d failed to see her? Failed to save her?
He’d
never forgive himself.
“Just keep looking,” he rasped. “We’re not giving up.”
Kristen kept driving. He kept moving his flashlight through the darkness.
“One mile.” She glanced at him, her green eyes dark with fear.
“She’s strong,” he forced out. “She may have made it this fa—”
“There!” Kristen slammed on the brakes, jerking them forward in the cab. “In the field.”
And there Emmy was, huddled low into a ball between two rows of tall cornstalks that rippled and waved in the wind like wide green hands, sheltering her gray head and embracing her shivering form.
He thrust the door open, jumped out, and ran over. After squatting beside her, he ran his hands over her soaked shoulders. “Emmy.”
She looked up, rain pouring in streams down her face, collecting on her chin and dripping down her chest. Her eyes gazed around blankly for a moment, then narrowed on his face. A wave of relief passed over her expression. “Mitch? I can’t find Joe.”
Chest clenching, he leaned closer and sheltered her the best he could from the rain. “Come with me, Emmy. Let’s get out of this.”
Her face crumpled, and her gnarled fingers shook as they reached for her leg. “I—I can’t. My knee . . .”
“Hold on to me.”
Mitch slid one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back, waited for her to grasp his neck weakly, then lifted her in his arms. Even soaked to the bone, she was so light he barely felt her weight in his hold.
She pressed her cheek to his, her fingers pressing against the back of his neck and her weak sobs in his ear. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .” Her tone was lost, disoriented. “I hurt, but I don’t know why.”
