CHAPTER 2
“Oh, my sweet Mitch, it’s about time you came home.”
Mitch stiffened as Emmy rushed over as fast as her tapping cane would allow, pushed past Kristen and wrapped her arms around his waist as she pressed her cheek to his chest. He glanced down, and errant strands of her gray hair tickled his nose.
“I’ve missed you,” she said.
He patted her shoulders awkwardly. His hands tangled in the strings of her long apron, his fingertips grazing the hard, angular bones of her back, where plump, cushiony flesh had once been. He gentled his touch, shivers chasing themselves up his spine at the evidence of how much her aging frame and strength had deteriorated.
As a child, he’d resisted when she’d cradled his flaming face—usually bruised or bleeding from one of his father’s rampages—against her neck, rocking him back and forth in her lap and whispering, “Cry, sweet boy. It’s okay to cry. I won’t let him hurt you again.”
But she had. Every time Emmy had kicked his father out, he would return months later, repentant, claiming to be sober, and she’d welcome him right back into their lives. Then, after a few weeks, his father would return to his old ways, and it would all begin again.
“Let go, Emmy.” Mitch tugged her arms from him, then nudged her back to a steady position.
The flash of hurt on her face conjured up guilt he normally ignored. He supposed she had tried her best to protect him and Carrie. As much as she could, considering her overly sympathetic view of his father. Her love for her son—and her desperate need to redeem him—had always been her biggest weakness.
“I’m cold and wet,” Mitch tacked on gently as moisture glinted in her eyes. “My car got stuck in the mud, and I had to walk through the rain. You’ll catch a chill.”
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, her fragile throat moving on a hard swallow, then grunted. “Well, I’d hug you harder, but I’m mad at you.”
Surprisingly, a small laugh bubbled up and escaped his lips, easing the tension in his limbs. “Good to see you, too, Emmy.”
Her dark scowl lightened a bit, and she straightened. “Did you send some suit out here to talk me into selling?”
“I—”
“ ’Cuz if you did, it didn’t work.” Emmy poked a finger at him. “And just so you know, it won’t ever work.” She spun around, then headed toward the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “That’s my new hire, Kristen, by the way. Introduce yourself. Then grab a towel, dry off, and join us at the kitchen table. We’ve held supper for over an hour, waiting on you to get here.”
Mitch sighed as she stomped around the corner. The swift breeze of her departure swept over his damp skin, and the soft light from the kitchen barely reached the dim foyer.
Same old Emmy. Same old dank, drafty house.
“She was worried.” Kristen shrugged, as if in apology. Her long hair slipped over her toned arms, brushing the curve of her breasts beneath a thin tank top. “She was staring out the window off and on while she cooked, watching for you.”
He ducked his head, an ache seeping into his chest at the thought. Causing Emmy discomfort wasn’t his end goal, but given the circumstances, there was no way it could have been avoided.
“I didn’t mean to make her worry,” he said.
But who was she to call him on it? A stranger with no knowledge of him, Emmy, or the history of this place?
Bristling, he raised his head and studied Kristen. Her calm demeanor and clear, steady gaze belied the grim atmosphere surrounding them. And her presence added more complications to an already difficult situation he was not looking forward to handling. Not to mention, the sensation of her soft touch still lingered on his sk—
“Why are you here?” One blond eyebrow rose at the abrasive sound of his voice. He rubbed his palm against his wet pant leg and tried for a more civil tone. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just . . . I don’t know what Emmy may have told you, but surely you can see the prospect of a job here is nonexistent.”
She slipped her hands in her pockets and glanced down at his bare feet.
He fought the urge to curl his toes and slide them away.
“Emmy explained that things are difficult for her right now, and I could see for myself just how difficult when your friend visited earlier.” Kristen’s lashes lifted as she shot him a brief disapproving look. “But she’s insistent that I consider staying and working for her. She says she needs help fixing up the house, planting crops and—”
“Have you accepted the position?”
She frowned. “I told her I don’t think I’m right for the job, but—”
“That’s good, then.” He blew out a heavy breath and reached into his back pocket. “I saw your license plate outside, and I imagine you had quite a drive out here. I’d be happy to pay you for your time.”
“That’s not necessary.”