Cross Creek: Crossing Hearts Part 15

"Don't even get me started on finding someone with decent enough skills to write the copy for things like newsletters and ads," Hunter added. "Although the freelance writer Eli found to do the stuff for the website wasn't bad."

Eli shrugged and remained weirdly quiet, but at least he wasn't getting mouthy again. G.o.d, he'd been so hot and cold lately.

"I used to hang out with one of the marketing directors for the Lightning," Emerson said slowly, as if her thoughts were forming out loud. "She was in charge of getting the word out for their outreach programs-updating social media pages and growing digital newsletter lists for their sports camps, things like that. I helped her with some of the basics from time to time when she'd get slammed. If you want, I could take a look at what you've got in place."

Jaw, meet floor. "You want to help with Cross Creek's marketing?"

"I don't really know how much help I'd be, but business is kind of light down at the PT center right now." Sadness flickered through her gaze, so fast that if Hunter hadn't known the circ.u.mstances, he'd have dismissed it. "I have the time, and I don't mind looking to see if any of what I learned from my friend might work for Cross Creek."

Owen hesitated, his expression caught between excitement and apology. "We don't really have the budget right now to pay you like we would a freelancer."

"Oh." Emerson got through three saucer-wide blinks before her words caught up with the rest of her. "Oh. G.o.d, that's okay. I wouldn't expect you to pay me at all. I have a little experience, but I'm not a marketing expert by any means."

Hunter's father didn't go the stubborn route too often, but when he did, it was an all-in affair. "Work's work," he said, both his tone and his stare brooking no argument. "It deserves fair pay."

Emerson answered by gesturing to the plate in front of her. "How about we barter?"

"Barter," his father repeated with a lift of his salt-and-pepper brows, and she nodded, spearing a fat, juicy wedge of tomato with the tines of her fork.

"Yes, sir. See, I'm not sure if Hunter told you this or not, but I've got a particular fondness for these tomatoes. Oh, and your strawberries. And I might also have a tiny addiction to your b.u.t.ter lettuce." She held up her thumb and her forefinger to measure less than an inch of daylight, her sheepish smile completely genuine and even more beautiful. "Since I'm willing to bet the rest of your produce is just as good, I'd like to make a deal with you. I'll do a little marketing recon for Cross Creek, and in exchange, you can compensate me with surplus from your greenhouse. Does that sound fair?"

Oh, she's good. What's more, Emerson's offer to help was a d.a.m.ned good idea.

"Gotta admit, it wouldn't hurt to have someone with fresh eyes take a look at things," Hunter said, a glimmer of hope pumping through his veins.

"Anything's better than the nothing we're doing now," Eli chimed in, ignoring Owen's glare in response. "I think having Emerson help is a great plan."

"Your call, Dad," Owen said, but despite his obvious irritation at Eli's words, his tone made it clear that he was on board with Emerson's offer.

For a minute, their old man said nothing. Then a slow smile broke over his face. "Well, then. I suppose that settles that. But I hope you like your vegetables, darlin', because we'll make sure you've got your share and then some."

Emerson extended her hand, her own smile turning into a grin. "You've got yourself a deal, Mr. Cross."

They spent the rest of the meal talking about marketing, with Emerson asking all sorts of questions that proved why having her help was a top-shelf idea. Finally, after their brains were full of ideas and their stomachs were full of food, Emerson and his brothers tidied the kitchen as much as their old man would allow. Eli ducked out with a c.o.c.ky "see y'all later," although he'd been unusually reserved during their supper conversation with Emerson. Better than him picking a fight with Owen, Hunter supposed, and the rest of them exchanged quick pleasantries before parting ways on the dusk-covered porch.

"It's really nice of you to offer to help around here," Hunter said, lacing his fingers through hers as he led the way to the pa.s.senger side of his truck.

Her squeeze in return felt better than it should. "It's really nice of you to let me. My workload is starting to pick up a little at the PT center now that Mrs. Ellersby and one or two other clients have scheduled appointments, but I want to stay as busy as possible."

"You really do hate the sidelines, huh?" His boots crunched to a stop over the gravel, the low hum of cricket song floating through the air in its place, and Emerson leaned back against the door of his truck with her skirt swishing around her ankles.

"Head up, eyes forward," she reminded him. Her fingers tightened around his, the softness of her skin belying the strength he knew she was capable of. h.e.l.l if there weren't two sides to her, one fierce and full of mettle, the other vulnerable, hiding behind the shadows in her eyes.

And as much as he knew it would send his smooth-sailing reality into uncharted territory, Hunter wanted both.

"Don't go home tonight," he said, stepping in to slide his lips over hers.

Emerson kissed him back, melting against his touch even as she gripped him tight. "Pretty bold words for a man who likes things simple."

"I don't stand on a whole lot of pretense, remember?" He shifted back, but only far enough to capture her gaze in the waning daylight. "The only time I've ever been impulsive was when I asked you to marry me, Em. With how that turned out, I'd always thought not taking the slow-and-steady road was just a bad idea, but I was wrong."

She froze beneath his touch, cinnamon-stick lashes framing her wide-eyed stare, and Hunter barreled on before she could protest-or worse yet, pull away. "I'm not saying I want to dive into something serious. We're different now, I get that. But being with you feels good, and impulsive or not, I don't want you to go just yet."

For a breath, then two, the only thing he could hear was the press of his pulse against his eardrums. Then Emerson's mouth was back on his, and his heart beat faster for a whole new set of reasons.

"I don't want to go, either. After all, I never did get that bath I came for. Now let's head back to your place and find out if there's room in your tub for two."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Emerson dropped her bag on the Lego-sized threshold of her apartment, her joints as rusty as forty-year-old barbed wire, but her smile making up for it in spades. Spending the night (and the morning. And lunchtime. And the better part of the afternoon) in Hunter's bed hadn't yielded much by way of rest. Still, she couldn't deny that it had yielded something even better, something she hadn't felt in far too long.

For the first time since she'd been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis nearly two months ago, Emerson felt normal.

No, strike that. Despite the weariness in her body and the stiffness in her bones, she felt freaking spectacular.

Kicking off her sandals, she padded over the threadbare carpet, heading toward her bathroom. She had less than an hour to get ready for the Sunday dinner she'd promised to attend at her parents' house, and the reminder took a swipe at her blissed-out mood. While Emerson could think of approximately sixteen thousand things she'd rather do than offer herself up for an evening of tag-team parental disdain, she also knew she couldn't avoid her mother and father indefinitely. Certainly, the dinner would sting. But Emerson had known that coming back to Millhaven would mean facing their chagrin from time to time. Just because she didn't like that reality didn't mean she couldn't handle it. She wasn't the same scared teenager she'd been twelve years ago.

At least her parents were in the dark about the real reason she'd left Las Vegas. Knowing their already-imperfect daughter had MS would only send their desire to control her life into a tailspin, not to mention deepen their belief that she'd never live up to their standards. After all, she'd already disappointed them by following her heart into physical therapy, then again by leaving her job with the Lightning. If they discovered her body was spoiled goods on top of that?

The letdown might just break her.

Emerson inhaled, slowly and deeply, bracing her hands on the cool faux-marble vanity top. She'd spent the last twenty-four hours moving on with her life, happy for the first time in G.o.d knew how long. She couldn't let the thought of her parents' disappointment put a wrecking ball to her good mood.

As long as no one found out she had MS, she could deal with the rest, just like she'd planned. She'd work as hard as she could, fill her extra time helping Daisy with her business and Hunter at Cross Creek, and everything would be fine.

She would be fine. Head up, eyes forward.

Secret buried. No matter how heavy the truth was.

Pulling back the flimsy shower curtain, she turned the water as hot as she could bear before peeling off yesterday's skirt and sleeveless blouse. Her tired muscles screamed in protest when she stepped into the spray a minute later, but still, Emerson smiled at the cause of her fatigue. On the surface, she knew the fact that she'd spent so much time with Hunter should make her wary. h.e.l.l, she hadn't even intended to let her body betray her into falling asleep next to him for that highly embarra.s.sing post-coital nap, let alone staying at Cross Creek for the better part of the weekend. But Emerson's knee-jerk caution had fallen silent in the face of Hunter's nothing-doing calm, to the point that she couldn't deny the truth.

She liked him. She trusted him. And she'd wanted to stay with him last night, even before he'd asked. A weekend full of hot s.e.x (oh G.o.d, the s.e.x had been so. Very. Hot) was a whole lot different from picking out china patterns-and Hunter seemed as happy as she was to stick with the former.

And he'd broken in his bathtub with her to prove it.

"Oh." Her throaty murmur escaped before she even knew it would form. Hypnotic heat flooded her belly at the memory, and Emerson let it spill all the way through her before giving the shower k.n.o.b a heavy nudge toward the cold side. As tempting as it might be to let her thoughts drift back to her steamy night with Hunter, she was going to need every bit of her game face for this dinner.

With efficient movements, she finished her shower and dried off. A Sunday meal at the Montgomery estate was nothing less than a formal affair, and even though she hadn't attended one in over a decade, Emerson still knew exactly how to dress the part. A tasteful black sheath dress, a single strand of ribbon-bound pearls, and a pair of kitten heels later, she was nearly presentable by Bitsy's standards.

Wrangling her riotous curls into a sleek knot at her nape took more time and energy than Emerson had to spare, but she finally managed to put the finishing touches on her hair and makeup and hustle herself out the door. The drive to her parents' house was as short as it was scenic, and she made it all the way to the winding drive of the sprawling two-story colonial before her dread made a comeback.

Head up. Eyes forward. In a couple of hours, you'll be home in bed with a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

Leaving the comfort of her air-conditioned car behind, she slid out of the driver's seat and set her sights on the house where she'd grown up. Stepping precisely over the stamped stone walkway, she reached for the doorbell, letting her gaze travel over the expanse of the flawlessly swept threshold. A pair of large, regal-looking urn planters flanked the front door, overflowing with cla.s.sic red and white geraniums and professionally placed foliage annuals, pretty in a don't touch sort of way. They were a perfect match for the rest of the landscaping, along with the glossy white trim and gleaming bra.s.s accents adorning the bricks on the front of the house. Although small updates had been made here and there in her absence, everything about the scene in front of her was just as magazine worthy as Emerson had expected it would be.

Including her mother.

"Sweetheart." Bitsy's sweeping head-to-toe appraisal held enough scrutiny to rival most police investigations. "Do come in out of that awful heat. Look, you've already begun to glow."

"It was ninety-five degrees today." Emerson slipped the words past her clenched smile. It'd be a h.e.l.l of a lot more troubling if she didn't sweat a little in weather like this.

Her mother lifted her brows in a nonverbal translation of I fail to see your point. "Yes, well. You know where the powder room is."

"I'm fine, Mom," she said, her feet purposely not budging over the foyer's marble floor. The trip up the sycamore-shaded walkway hadn't been a triathlon, for G.o.d's sake, and as hot as today had been, the sun was already halfway to setting.

Of course, the tiny defiance encouraged her mother to swoop in for another pa.s.s. "I see. You must be anxious to have a good dinner, then. Haven't you been eating over at that apartment of yours? You look practically anemic, darling."

Now that one made a direct hit. Despite last night's delicious meal at Cross Creek, Emerson's new meds were messing with her system enough to render her appet.i.te useless. On the rare occasion she did work up any actual hunger, she was full after four bites. The drugs had clearly managed to pale her face enough to outline the fatigue beneath her eyes like a beacon, though, and dammit, she was going to have to buy some better concealer.

"Thanks, Mom. You look lovely."

To her surprise, her mother's graceful posture hitched. "I didn't mean . . ." Her mouth pressed into the slightest frown before her expression defaulted back to chilly neutrality. "Why don't we join your father in the living room for a drink? I know he's anxious to see you."

For the life of her, Emerson couldn't picture her iron-fisted father anxious even if the world were about to implode, but the sooner they started this charade, the better. "Sounds great," she said.

Her mother's spine was so straight, her gait so poised and polished, that by the time Emerson had followed her down the hall to the formal living room, she was convinced the hiccup had been a figment of her imagination. Barely anything in the living room had changed, from the elaborate crown molding and the built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves to the matching Queen Anne sofa and love seat. Her father sat by the fireplace in his favorite wingback chair, and the sight loosened a memory from deep in Emerson's brain.

"Daddy, I can't remember all the bones in the wrist." The nine-year-old version of herself frowned in her mind's eye, sticking her arm out with a sigh. "The names are too long. I'll never learn them."

Her father took off his reading gla.s.ses and closed the medical journal he'd been reading, setting both aside. "What's this word, 'never'? You can do anything, my smart girl. Come on over here. Your daddy will get you all sorted out . . ."

". . . Emerson?" The lift of her mother's voice that clearly indicated a question brought her tumbling back to reality, and Emerson did her best to cover her racing heartbeat at the long-forgotten memory.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I must not have heard you." Lame, but considering the circ.u.mstances, it was all she had.

"I asked what you'd like to drink." Her mother gestured to the fully stocked side bar in the living room, and G.o.d, she couldn't afford not to pay attention to everything her parents said tonight. How could she have lost her focus so easily?

And more importantly, where the h.e.l.l had that memory come from?

"Just water for me, please. I've got to work tomorrow."

Her mother poured a highball gla.s.s full of ice water and a tumbler with just enough of her father's favorite single malt Scotch to be socially acceptable, delivering both drinks before sitting primly on the sofa. Emerson took the love seat, grateful for the opportunity to give her legs and back a much-needed rest, but her father barely waited until she was settled before cutting right to the chase.

"Your mother and I are certainly glad you managed to find the time to join us. Now that all three of us are finally together, we've got several things to discuss."

Emerson's palms grew slick, and she tightened her fingers on the crystal in her grasp in a supreme effort not to fidget. "Such as?"

Although his voice remained low, her father's icy-blue stare offered no quarter. "I believe we can all stop pretending here, Emerson. For some reason you're refusing to disclose, you've taken it upon yourself to upend both your personal life and your career."

"I still have friends. And a job," she added, punctuating the words with a stare of her own. Stay cool. Stand your ground. "I may have made some changes, but nothing's been upended."

Her mother's exasperated exhale was dangerously close to unladylike. "Darling, please. Think about how this looks. Your position with the Lightning. Your move across the country. Your father and I simply want-"

Emerson lifted her free hand, needing to put an end to this conversation before it got any worse. "I know what you want, Mom."

"I'm not certain you do," her father said, the slow finality of his tone rippling down her spine. "These changes of yours have got your mother and me deeply concerned. We think it's time to consider alternate plans."

Just like that, Emerson's warning sensors. .h.i.t DEFCON One. "Alternate to what?"

"To your current job, of course." Her father straightened against the back of his chair, clearly gaining steam. "I've spoken to Dr. Norris about your qualifications and your experience with the Lightning, and he's agreed to consider making a position available for you on his staff. Of course, there would be an expectation that eventually you'd further your training to become a physician's a.s.sistant at the very least. But truly, even though you've lost some time, medical school is by no means out of the question. Becoming an MD would be a process, to be sure, but that's something Dr. Norris fully understands."

No way. No way could she have heard any of this properly. "You . . . you already spoke to Dr. Norris about this?"

Her father placed his gla.s.s on the side table at his elbow, straightening his dark-gray suit jacket with authority. "Shifting careers is a delicate process. Getting Dr. Norris's support was the first step."

"I'm sorry," Emerson said, even though she was far from apologetic, "but isn't the first step getting my support?"

"I asked you to accompany me to the hospital last weekend." Her mother sniffed, obviously still stung at Emerson's bob and weave on the day of the Watermelon Festival. "It would have been the perfect opportunity for you to see reason."

She sc.r.a.ped in a breath, her pulse beating fast enough to press against her ears in a whoosh of dark anger and white noise. "You mean it would've been the perfect opportunity for you to blindside me in front of Dr. Norris."

"The man is the head of one of the most renowned orthopedics departments in the state," her father said, censure lacing over every word. "Considering your current circ.u.mstances, one would think you'd be thrilled he'd even consider taking you on."

Brilliant. The hard-earned career that she loved had just been reduced to a pity f.u.c.k. "And what about my 'current circ.u.mstances,'" Emerson asked, slashing air quotes around the phrase. "Did you ever stop to think I might be perfectly happy working here in Millhaven? Did it even cross your mind to ask me how my job with Doc Sanders was going before you made plans on my behalf?"

"Despite your mother's and my efforts, you haven't been here to ask."

"I'm thirty, not thirteen," she shot back, her voice pitching dangerously high. She wasn't the same wide-eyed daughter they'd bullied all the way through adolescence. "You don't get to interfere with my career just because I moved back to town."

A muscle in her father's jaw twitched, a ma.s.sive show of emotion despite the barely-there move. "Getting you out of this mess you've created is hardly interfering. The chance to fix this won't last forever, Emerson, and contrary to what you seem to believe, there's nothing wrong with a father trying to help his daughter make smart decisions."

Emerson's hands trembled along with her breath, and she lost the battle to steady both. Of course her father wanted to edge his way in and try to fix her, to make her right according to his own standards without any regard for her own.

Damage control for the damaged. How f.u.c.king appropriate.

And wasn't that all the more reason for her to sweep her brittle, broken pieces under the rug and move the h.e.l.l on.

Emerson straightened her shoulders, mirroring her father's demeanor right down to the tightly folded fingers resting squarely in his lap. "Going behind my back to engineer a career change I have no interest in making isn't help. I don't want to work for Dr. Norris, and I definitely don't want to go to medical school. I'm fine exactly where I am."

But taking no for an answer had been part of her father's repertoire only once, and he looked anything but eager to go for a repeat.

"I don't understand why you're so intent on being unreasonable," he said, each word more covered in disdain than the one before it. "Consider your training, your pedigree-your legacy, for G.o.d's sake. We didn't send you to Swarington just to see you end up in the back room of Ellen Sanders's two-bit practice, taking the sc.r.a.ps from her appointment books. That's simply not good enough."

Emerson's heart pounded in earnest now, so hard she felt nearly dizzy. Anger collided with the deeper pang of sadness in her veins, but still, she managed to cover them both as she lifted her chin and pushed to her feet.

"Maybe not for you, but as far as I'm concerned, it's G.o.dd.a.m.n perfect. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be heading home early. Somehow I managed to lose my appet.i.te."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.