Cross Creek: Crossing Hearts Part 12

Her pulse tripped in surprise. "You think they won't be able to fix this?"

Hunter's pause extended into silence for a handful of heartbeats. "Here lately, I wouldn't be surprised."

Realization hit Emerson with all the subtlety of a Mack Truck on a downhill grade, her words flying on a nonstop trip from her heart to her mouth. "And that's why you don't want to push them to air everything out. Because you think if whatever this is comes to a head, your brothers will shut down instead of making amends."

Hunter stopped pedaling, his body rigid against the black vinyl seat rest of the arm bike. His face was as serious as she'd ever seen it, the tiny lines around his eyes etched deep in worry and sadness, and oh h.e.l.l, she'd said she would listen, not put a giant, shining spotlight on all the stress in his life.

"You know what, forget I said anything. We don't-"

"Yeah." His voice was just a low rumble of sound. "I am worried Owen and Eli won't get right with each other if they have it out. If it were just me worrying, I wouldn't care so much. But my old man . . . I can tell all the arguing is wearing on him. We're already tapped out at Cross Creek with money being tight, the weather being unpredictable, and me being sidelined. If my brothers have a blowout on top of that . . ."

The rest of Hunter's sentence hung in the air unfinished. Emerson took a step forward, moving before her neurons had fully gotten the message to go. Her heart begged her to comfort him, and not just to help his body heal. But offering up a bunch of canned plat.i.tudes about how things had a way of working out and everything would be okay seemed stupid-Emerson knew firsthand that they were bulls.h.i.t, and what's more, she knew Hunter wouldn't believe her even if she tried. So she said the only thing she could think of. The only thing that made sense.

"I'm so sorry, Hunter. I know how much you want to get back to the farm to try and get things back on track."

"Thanks." He lifted his eyes, his gaze holding tightly to hers. "I haven't really aired any of this out with anyone, so, yeah. Thanks."

"Sure." Emerson stood fixed to the floor tiles with her eyes on Hunter's and her heart in her windpipe for another second before forcing herself into a soft smile. "I know I promised to get you back in working order as soon as possible, but if you'd rather skip today's session, I understand. We can make it up tomorrow."

A slow half grin spread over Hunter's face, his shoulders beginning to loosen their vise grip around his neck. "Are you kidding? I came to work. Plus, I thought you said you weren't going to give me any preferential treatment."

The reminder of their kiss flooded back through her, lingering in all sorts of spots, and she turned to grab a small hand weight from the rack behind her, grateful for the opportunity to hide the sudden flush of heat on her face surely translating to a blush. Working up her best game face, Emerson moved back toward Hunter, dropping the weight into his palm.

"Just remember, you asked for it. Let's start with lateral raises, since I seem to remember how much you love them."

The rest of their session pa.s.sed with a healthy combination of hard work and casual conversation. Hunter gave her the highlights of things that had happened in Millhaven since she'd been gone-cla.s.smates who had gotten married, divorced, started local businesses, or in rare instances, moved away from town. A chill ran the length of Emerson's spine when he relayed the awful story of the car crash that had killed their cla.s.smate, Brian McAllister, and his nine-year-old daughter. Brian and his high school sweetheart, Cate, had been two years ahead of them in school, but Emerson remembered them both.

The story was thankfully Hunter's only sad piece of news. Although a few things surprised her (after thirty years of old-fashioned chicken farming, Pete Hitchc.o.c.k had gone into business with a high-end poultry integrator and made a mint), most didn't (Mollie Mae was on husband number three, Kelsey Lambert was on baby number three, and Amber Ca.s.sidy was on hair color number thirty-three.) By the time she and Hunter had done their last series of a.s.sisted stretches, Emerson felt as at ease as he looked.

"Okay. Let's get you two ibuprofen before your electrical stim therapy, since we stepped up your game a little today." She threw Hunter a grin before crossing to the far side of the room, bending to grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge so he could hydrate and swallow the pills. Her muscles seized as she tried to stand, pain knifing through her lower back in a hot twist, and her free hand shot out to cover the pain before she could stop herself.

"Emerson?" Hunter was beside her in less time than it took to exhale, and how the h.e.l.l had he moved so fast? "Are you okay?"

"I . . . of course. I'm fine." G.o.d, the lie slid out so easily, the words well-oiled and automatic.

But at the sound of them, he narrowed his stormy blue stare. "You don't look okay." His eyes dropped pointedly to the hand she'd splayed over her lower back, and dammit. How had she been so sloppy?

Emerson steeled both her resolve and her body. While she might be okay sharing her stilted family dynamic and even a few sizzling kisses with Hunter, a full-on personal reveal wasn't going to happen. It wasn't as if she could subtly come out with, oh, don't mind me and my inability to stay properly upright. What's a little MS-induced nerve damage among friends?

The truth was, they weren't just friends. She was his physical therapist. Charged with his care and his healing.

How could he expect her to be good enough to manage his pain if she couldn't even handle her own?

"Oh, this?" Emerson sent the briefest of glances over her shoulder, removing her fingers and offering up the bottle of water in her opposite hand. "It's nothing. Silly, actually. I was unpacking the last of the boxes in my apartment last night and I must've strained a muscle."

Although Hunter took the bottle of water, he kept his eyes locked on hers. "You look like you're in pain."

This is your new normal. Get used to it. "Just a little bit achy. That's all."

"Did you put any heat on it?"

"No," she admitted. "But really, it's not a big deal."

Between the frown bracketing his mouth and the crease in his forehead, Hunter's expression broadcast his disagreement in HD. "You're always telling me heat helps, right? Improved circulation to the site of the injury and all that?"

"Well, yes." Dammit. How come none of her other patients ever remembered their standards of care so well? "But this doesn't even qualify as an injury, and anyway, I didn't have any heat packs at home." Dammit again, why was she still talking about this?

"So why don't you take a bath to relax your muscles?" At the shock bursting over her face and parting her lips, Hunter added, "It's on one of those checklist sheets you gave me-you know, with all the suggestions for things you can try for alternative pain relief."

Emerson couldn't tell if she should be irritated or impressed. "Wow. You really are taking your therapy seriously."

"I promised you I would."

His lifted brows told her in no uncertain terms that she hadn't dodged the subject, and screw it. Just because she'd already copped to being a little sore didn't mean she had to go full disclosure over why. Plus, Hunter clearly wasn't going to let her off the hook until she a.s.sured him she was fine.

"I suppose a bath might help alleviate my soreness, but I don't have a tub at my place." Her stall shower was as fun sized as the rest of her apartment.

"I do," Hunter said, as easily as if he'd been remarking about a stick of gum and not a place where people typically got very, very naked.

Heat sparked, hard and insistent, between Emerson's legs, and great, she'd bypa.s.sed being a little hot and bothered and landed smack in the lap of stark raving h.o.r.n.y. "You do?"

"Mmhmm. It's one of those big claw-footed, cast-iron deals. When we were building my cottage, the contractor said the tub would add 'rustic charm' to the place, whatever that means. I'll be honest-I've never used the thing, myself. But you're more than welcome to give it a test run if you want."

Her laugh came out in a shocked chirp. "You want to loan me your bathtub?"

"Why not?" he asked. "You don't have one of your own, and a soak would make you feel better, right?"

"Yes." Emerson cursed her malfunctioning brain-to-mouth filter the second the word crossed her lips. Spending time with Hunter here at the PT center was one thing-h.e.l.l, even the time they'd shared at the Watermelon Festival was okay. But going to his house, to take a bath, of all things? That had no place in her new normal, no matter how much she wanted it.

Oh G.o.d, part of her really. Really. Wanted it.

"But I really couldn't," she said, her resolve waning even as the words slipped out.

"Sure you could." The corners of Hunter's mouth lifted in the slightest suggestion of a smile. "You just don't want to."

"I don't want to intrude," Emerson argued, but dammit, his laughter was contagious.

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Em."

Hunter's personal nickname for her-and the way it dropped so easily from his lips-sent a shot of something she couldn't quite name through her blood. "Oh, come on. Would you really be okay with me crashing your bathtub?"

He gave up half a shrug, the lift and release of his shoulder outlining his muscles beneath the snug navy-blue cotton of his T-shirt. "Why not? We're smart, sensible adults. I'd give you all the privacy you wanted, of course."

For a hot, dark second, Emerson was tempted to tell him she didn't want any privacy at all. That what she really wanted was him, wet and soap slicked and no holds barred.

But instead, she said, "I'll think about it," and he stepped in to meet the words.

"I really hope you do."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Emerson eyeballed the half-gallon bottle of vodka on Daisy's kitchen table with a little bit of curiosity and a whole lot of skepticism.

"You do know it's a Wednesday night, right?" she asked, but Daisy just laughed in return.

"It's not for drinking, although I guess we could snag a shot or two if the spirit moved us." She adjusted the blue-and-white bandana keeping her pair of braids at bay, pointing to the row of empty plastic containers next to the sink. "But most of the vodka will be sacrificed for the cause."

Emerson peered at the four-ounce tubs, her brows popping. "You're going to make vodka-scented bath scrub?"

"Facial mask," Daisy corrected with a grin. "But yep. I thought if I mixed the vodka with some other invigorating scents, then added sea salt as an exfoliator, the mask would make a great wake-up call. So far I've got peppermint and grapefruit on the agenda."

"Make it coffee and I'll be your customer for life." G.o.d, Emerson could use a good wake-up call. Seven thirty in the evening midweek and she was already fighting back exhaustion.

Daisy's green eyes lit up, her smile growing with excitement. "That is a great idea," she crowed, moving toward the notepad next to the keg of vodka to scribble down a few notes. "In the meantime, do you want to see if this new sage-and-jasmine body lotion makes you feel s.e.xy as it softens your skin? I want to use it as part of my sensual scents line, and aphrodisiacs sell like hotcakes, baby."

Without thinking, Emerson huffed out a laugh. "Pretty sure I've got all I can handle in that department."

The cold showers that had become a part of her daily routine were doing nothing for her back pain or her overactive libido. But no matter what she did, she couldn't erase the memory of Hunter's s.e.xy, suggestive smile from her mind, or the truth of the matter from her gut.

She wanted him, and not just for his bathtub.

Emerson registered Daisy's complete silence just a second too late, the brows-up surprise that went with it a second later, and dammit, she really needed to keep her lips on lockdown.

Before she could protest, Daisy's hands were on the vodka, pouring two neat shots into juice gla.s.ses, then pressing one into Emerson's palm. "That's a story."

But after that she didn't elaborate, didn't push with a bunch of nosy questions or stare at Emerson with that greedy, tell-all look Amber Ca.s.sidy always had glued to her face whenever Emerson walked within a fifty-foot radius of the Hair Lair, and G.o.d help her, the words just flew out.

"I'm not sure it's a story." She took a sip from her gla.s.s, the vodka burning a path of courage to her belly. "Hunter and I may have, um, kissed a little at the Watermelon Festival. For fifteen minutes. Without stopping."

Daisy's grin was all mischief. "Oh my G.o.d, how was it?"

"On a scale of one to ten?" Emerson asked, her own laughter blindsiding her as it escaped. "The whole thing was pretty much a twenty-seven."

"Girl, good for you!" Daisy toasted her with her juice gla.s.s, pausing to throw back the contents with a quick shiver. "So why is that more s.e.xiness than you can handle? It was just kissing, right?"

Emerson frowned. They'd been on a park bench. Not that it had stopped her from tasting him like a seven-course meal, complete with happy noises, but that was beside the point. Sort of. "Yes."

"And you like him?"

"Yes," Emerson said, because anything else would've been a raging lie.

"And you're both single, not to mention wildly attracted to each other," Daisy prompted.

"Yes." Heat crept over the back of Emerson's neck, but still, she added, "And yes."

She took a minute to relay the Reader's Digest version of the conversation she and Hunter had shared on Monday, complete with the offer to use his bathtub and her I'll-think-about-it reply, and Daisy gave up a knowing nod.

"I'd say that's a big yes in the attracted-to-each-other department. So what's holding you back, exactly?" she asked, her gaze going soft in the glare of the kitchen lights. "Are you worried it'll be weird because of the past?"

"I don't know. Not really," Emerson amended. She took another sip of vodka, even though the liquor twisted in her empty stomach. "It's just that I'm starting a brand-new physical therapy practice, and I'm still trying to deal with my overbearing parents." She'd finally had to bite the bullet and agree to Sunday dinner at their house after her mother had ambushed her with another drive-by yesterday. "I'm not sure starting a relationship on top of that is the best idea."

"Sweet pea." Daisy took the gla.s.s out of Emerson's hand, replacing it with a warm squeeze of her fingers. "While Hunter is definitely a stand-up guy, I'm not entirely certain a relationship is what's on his mind right now, if you know what I mean. But if you're into each other, a little non-relationship might not be the worst thing in the world."

Emerson's mouth went desert dry. The no-strings-attached route had flickered enticingly through her mind no fewer than a thousand times over the last two days. While she believed Hunter wouldn't push the invitation to use his bathtub if she declined, just like she knew he'd make good on his promise to give her privacy even if she did take him up on his offer, she was also certain that if she made a move, he'd make one back. Her mind was on board with that-after all, they were adults, and they weren't strangers-and her libido? Holy c.r.a.p, it wasn't so much on board as it was the commander of the whole d.a.m.n starfleet. But there was a third player in the equation, one that could cancel out her mind and even her amped-up libido in less than a blink.

Her body had failed her in so many ways. What if, despite what the rest of her might want, her body didn't let her forget she had MS?

And what if . . . what if for just one night, it did?

Emerson's pulse thrummed harder in her veins, but she squared her shoulders and said, "You know what, Daisy, I do know what you mean. And you're absolutely right."

"I am?" Her friend's lashes arced wide to frame the surprise in her eyes, but Emerson's certainty and her smile grew stronger with each pa.s.sing second.

"You are. In fact, I'd love to buy some of this sage-and-jasmine body lotion, along with some of your best foaming body wash. I've got a bath to take."

Hunter stood on the threshold to his cottage, half hard and half convinced he was out of his f.u.c.king mind. But after Emerson had told him at the end of yesterday's PT session that she'd like to take him up on the offer to borrow his bathtub, then let her eyes linger on his mouth for the span of at least three heartbeats before smiling and walking away, he couldn't deny the truth.

Business as usual was killing him. Despite the fact that he knew he should be calm and cool and rational, what he wanted was to recklessly turn business into pleasure with Emerson.

Hard. Fast. And right now.

Hunter ran a palm down the front of his freshly washed jeans, working up a smile as he reached for the doork.n.o.b. It was Sat.u.r.day afternoon, for Chrissake. Barely three o'clock. He could back up his perfectly innocent offer to let Emerson borrow his bathtub by acting like a gentleman and not a Neanderthal. No problem.

As soon as he opened the door, all bets for gallant behavior were unequivocally off.

"Hey," he managed, but only just. Emerson stood on his porch, her eyes shaded with one hand, the slim muscles in her shoulder flexing into a long, graceful line. The overabundance of June sunlight turned her long black-and-white skirt just sheer enough to outline the shape of her legs through the fabric, creating a silhouette that fueled both his quickening pulse and his wicked imagination. Her copper-colored hair spilled over her shoulders in a soft waterfall of waves, and her smile tumbled over her mouth just as easily.

Hunter swallowed. Then did it again for good measure.

Yeah. His status quo had been completely obliterated.

"Hey," she said, that smile that was already making him want to kiss her reaching all the way up to her eyes as she shifted her weight over the porch boards. "I really appreciate you letting me come over on a Sat.u.r.day. I hope I'm not taking you away from work."

She gestured over her shoulder, to the tidy bright-green rows of corn and soybeans flanking either side of his cottage past the fence lines, but Hunter shook his head to rea.s.sure her.

"Nah. I clocked my weekend hours this morning." At least being on restricted duty had one tiny perk. Everything he'd been physically able to accomplish had fit into the time span of about four hours. Normally Sat.u.r.days held a full workload of a good eight to ten, depending on the season. "Is your back feeling any better?

Emerson let him usher her over the threshold, out of the oppressive summer heat. "A little. I took some over-the-counter anti-inflammatories, and I've been careful not to mess with any more boxes. But I've got to admit, I'm looking forward to a good, long soak to get me all the way back to normal."

Images of Emerson, flushed pink from a steamy bath and oh-so naked, formed a naughty slideshow in his mind, and seriously, had every last rational part of his brain been on a leave of absence when he'd offered her his bathtub?

Pretty much, yeah. But d.a.m.n, asking her had felt good.