Cross Creek: Crossing Hearts Part 18

"Oh, hey!" Emerson looked up, her blue eyes crinkling at the edges as her smile became a grin, and dammit, if Hunter couldn't manage an inhale soon, he was liable to keel over like a f.u.c.king idiot. "I was just showing your father how Twitter works."

Eli barked out a laugh from where he stood at the kitchen sink. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." She arched a brow with just enough and-I-mean-it to make Eli lift his soapy hands in concession, and her smile returned in full force. "He's a natural."

Their father's sandpaper laugh was more amus.e.m.e.nt than argument, but still, he said, "And you, darlin', have a way of spinning the truth to make it look pretty."

"No matter how I spin it, it's still the truth," Emerson said, squeezing the old man's shoulder. "But the four of you must be starving after working in all that heat today. Can I help with dinner?"

"Nope." Finally, Hunter found his wits. "In fact, if you two want to keep your tutorial going for a little while longer, you can go ahead and take a load off at the table there. Then I can just help Owen and Eli get the rest of the meal set."

Emerson opened her mouth, presumably to argue, but then her eyes flickered over the spot where his father stood beside her, and she nodded slowly. "Looks like you're not off the hook with hashtags and retweets quite yet, Mr. Cross."

"Well, then, by all means, let's get to it," his father said, moving toward the table and hooking a weathered hand beneath one of the ladder-back chairs to hold it out for her.

Hunter sent up a silent prayer of thanks that neither one of them had pushed back. After a quick wash and chop of the salad greens and a trip through the broiler for the loaf of garlic bread he'd grabbed that morning when he and Owen had manned Cross Creek's tent at the farmers' market, dinner was as ready as it was going to get, and after setting the table and gathering around it for grace, they were as ready as they were going to get to dig in.

Emerson smoothed a napkin over her lap, giving her stomach an appreciative rub over her dark-blue T-shirt. "Dinner smells fantastic, Owen. Spaghetti and meatb.a.l.l.s are my favorite," she said, prompting a pair of grins from Hunter's brothers that told him he'd never hear the end of making the special request.

"Oh really?" Owen asked, pa.s.sing her the oversized serving bowl full of pasta. "I didn't know that."

"Mmhmm," she said, smiling as she filled her plate. "I was just telling Hunter how I haven't had really good Italian food in ages. Kind of a lucky coincidence that you made it for dinner, actually."

"That is lucky," Eli said, covering his laughter with a poorly constructed cough, and truly, Hunter didn't know whether to laugh along with his brothers or murder the both of them in their sleep.

Thankfully, Emerson took their obvious back and forth in stride. "Well, thanks for letting me crash your dinner again."

Hunter's father handed over the salad, his smile easy despite the grueling week Hunter knew he'd had. "Ah, I told you last week, darlin'. You're always welcome at Cross Creek."

Unable to help himself, Hunter slid a covert wink in her direction, loving every second of the soft-pink flush the gesture sent over her cheeks.

"You do pretty the place up," Eli agreed, and Owen added his two cents with a nod.

"That's for sure. Plus, you're part of the crew now."

Hunter lifted a square of b.u.t.ter-gold garlic bread off the serving plate in front of him, a thread of excitement sparking in his belly at the mention of the work Emerson had done for Cross Creek. "Speaking of which, the four of us got fairly well caught up on operations when we were out in the south fields earlier today, so why don't you bring everyone up to speed on some of the marketing particulars you've turned up this week?"

"Okay, sure," she said. "The good news is, you've got a lot of free or low-cost options available that have virtually limitless reach. My friend turned me on to a couple of online webinars detailing the basics on how to use social media to make your business stand out, and she also suggested starting a monthly e-mail newsletter to let people know what's in season and what sort of on-site events you'll be offering, like pick-your-own crops in the summer or the corn maze in the fall."

Eli paused, a huge forkful of spaghetti halfway to his lips. "Hey, that's pretty smart. Like a regular reminder that we're out here."

"Exactly." Emerson nodded for emphasis, her hair shining red-gold in the evening sunlight still streaming in through the windows behind her. "There are services you can use to manage your lists and distribute the newsletters each month."

"The services are well within our marketing budget. I already checked," Hunter said, and Owen closed his halfway-open mouth in favor of a wry smile.

"Okay, then," he replied. "How about the webinar stuff?"

Emerson took the salad bowl from Eli, murmuring a soft "thank you" before tackling Owen's question. "The cla.s.s gave some great basics on advertising. Hunter and I have already put some generic posts on Cross Creek's social media accounts, and there was an increase in the number of both hits to your website and CSA orders this week. The ins and outs of each social media site differ, but they sure seem to get the word out once you tailor things to your target audience, and they're not too difficult to navigate once you get the hang of them."

"I'm livin' proof of that," Hunter's father said with a rusty chuckle, and d.a.m.n, it was good to see the worry in his old man's eyes replaced by something a h.e.l.l of a lot lighter.

"Another cool thing Emerson showed me was that there are ways to schedule posts in advance," Hunter added, taking a second to dig into the mountain of spaghetti on his plate. G.o.d d.a.m.n, Owen's recipe really should be declared a national treasure.

Said brother lifted his darkly stubbled chin, blinking at Emerson in obvious surprise. "So we don't have to stop during the middle of our day to go online or make the posts at weird hours?"

Emerson dipped the tines of her fork into her pasta, twirling up a small bite. "Nope. In fact, I already scheduled prime-time posts for Monday and Tuesday to advertise the pick-your-own blueberries. Now that all the kids are out of school, you might see some more people coming in from Camden Valley to take advantage of the chance to keep their little ones busy."

"d.a.m.n, you've thought of everything," Eli said, and even though Hunter agreed one hundred percent, Emerson shook her head to the contrary.

"Not everything, I'm afraid. While regular social media posts are a good start, they're really only the tip of the iceberg. I don't mind trying to come up with some catchy taglines and scheduling all the posts, but I'm not a writer or a photographer. Unfortunately, you might have to hire someone for both if you really want to impress folks enough to draw big crowds."

Hunter leaned back in his chair, his mind turning. "We might have enough wiggle room in the budget if we can snag more CSA shares. The freelancer who did all the copy for our website was reasonable. You know her, right, Eli?"

Eli lasered his focus on his plate. "Uh-huh."

"I don't mind reaching out to her if you want," Emerson offered. "I know you're really busy with day-to-day operations."

"Nah, it's cool. You've got a lot going on, too. I can do it."

Owen's eyes narrowed just enough to send Hunter's warning bells into a full clamor. "What's her name again?"

"Who?" Eli asked, and what was with his weird duck and cover all of a sudden?

"Your freelancer," Owen said, his tone making it crystal clear that Hunter wasn't the only one who'd noticed Eli's verbal evasion.

"Alex something or other." Eli sank the side of his fork into a meatball, the metal sounding off in a hard clink as it hit the plate beneath. "I'm sure I've got her card back at my place."

Rather than taking the information at face value, though, Owen dug in even harder. "And how do you know her, exactly?"

"Owen," their father started, worry lines creasing over his forehead, but Eli set his shoulders into a rigid line and dug right back.

"I met her at a thing in Camden Valley."

"A thing." Owen shook his head, and the chances that he and Eli would dial their s.h.i.t back started circling the drain. "Brilliant. That explains so much. Did you even ask for this woman's qualifications?"

"If Hunter had found her, would you be asking him the same question?" Eli shot back. "She did a decent job when we hired her before-Hunter even said so. Jesus, Owen, I'm not some screw up. I'm trying to help, just like you. Do you have to crawl down my throat every single time I turn around?"

Owen's knuckles went white over the fork in his grasp. "When you act all dodgy about something that impacts the farm? In a word, yes."

Hunter's pulse sent a steady rhythm of get this under control to his brain, but before he could intervene like usual, Emerson shocked the h.e.l.l out of him by quietly saying, "I don't mean to interfere, and if you'd prefer, I can b.u.t.t out. But you're both kind of right."

After a whole lot of raised brows and dropped jaws, Eli recovered first. "How's that?"

"Well, it's true that your freelance writer did a great job with the copy that's on your website," Emerson started, earning an aha! smile from Eli. "But," she continued, turning a glance toward Owen, "even though lots of freelancers work online with people they've never even met, it's still crucial to know who you're trusting your business to. So it doesn't seem unreasonable to ask about her credentials."

"We're paying her for a service, Eli," Owen said, although his voice had lost a lot of its edge. "We need to make sure she's legit."

Frustration resurfaced on Eli's face, sending another pang of unease through Hunter's gut. "I said she was. How come that's not good enough?"

Rather than shy away from his brothers' renewed bickering, Emerson dove right back in, swinging a look at Eli. "You know her, right? Personally?"

"Yeah."

"And you're sure she's qualified to do good work. That she'll come through, just like last time?"

Eli nodded. "Yeah."

Emerson's gaze traveled to Owen. "And you're happy with the work she did on the website?"

"Yes," Owen said. "I think we all are."

"Okay. So if Eli says she checks out, then you're okay with him reaching out to her again?"

Owen waited out the silence at the table for just a beat before turning toward Eli. "All this stuff Emerson's talking about has the potential to bring in a lot of business for the farm, and it's business we need. I just want to make sure we do everything by the book. That's all."

"I get it," Eli said, and Hunter could tell by his tone that he meant the words. "The freelance writer is solid. She's got a degree in English, okay? I'm sure she'd do more work for us. She's good for it, I swear."

"That's good enough for me," came their father's raspy reply, and Hunter nodded in agreement.

"Me, too," he said.

Emerson darted a tentative look at Owen, who gave up a slow nod. "Okay, then," she said, smiling first at Owen, then at Eli. "Here are a few things you might want to ask her to get the ball rolling."

They talked back and forth for the duration of the meal, the tension between Owen and Eli loosening with each pa.s.sing minute. Although things never got to the amicable stage, their interaction was a little easier than usual, and finally, once the dinner plates had been cleared to the dishwasher and everyone had parted ways for the rest of the weekend, Hunter looked at Emerson with a slow smile.

"So do you want to tell me exactly how you did that?" he asked, opening the pa.s.senger door to his truck so she could step up and slide in.

"What, the marketing?" Emerson laughed, although he didn't miss her deliberate movements or the twinge of tightness moving across her face as she gingerly stepped up to the F-250's running board. "You helped me figure that out all week long, remember?"

"No, although I don't think I helped you figure it out so much as watched you make it happen." Seriously, her savvy intuition for the marketing side of Cross Creek's business was borderline freakish. "I was talking about the magic you worked between my brothers to keep them from throttling each other over dinner."

Her answer came after Hunter moved to the driver's side of the truck. "I might've put a temporary Band-Aid on tonight's argument, but I hardly think I solved anything between them. You weren't kidding about the tension there."

Eli and Owen had been snapping at each other all week, more and more frequently within Emerson's earshot. Tonight had been the worst of it, though. At least, it had been until she'd stepped in.

"Okay, so I'm sure they're not ready to hold hands and sing 'k.u.mbaya,' " Hunter said, because as good as Emerson was, that would take nothing short of a saint-sized miracle. "But you totally defused the situation between them tonight, and that's more than I've been able to do for months."

She shrugged. "All I did was point out the truth. They really are both right."

"Yeah, but getting them to see that has been d.a.m.n near impossible, so thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, a smile taking over the tired shadows on her face. "I'm glad to help out any way I can. You've all been so nice to include me this week. It's definitely different from the family dynamic I'm used to."

The low rumble of the truck's engine formed a background for the blood rushing in Hunter's ears. "I take it you still haven't returned your mother's calls."

After Emerson's cell phone had blown up no fewer than four times in Hunter's presence this week-truly a notable feat considering how many cell phone dead zones there were in Millhaven-she'd finally admitted that her mother had been trying to call her ever since their nightmare dinner last weekend.

"Nope," Emerson said, her voice frosting over slightly as she turned to look out the window.

Hunter kept his words perfectly laid back, even though his gut was making him work overtime for the calm. "Hey, I was only asking. I'm not trying to give you a hard time."

She blew out a breath, shaking her head in apology. "I know, and I'm sorry. It's just . . . I knew coming back to Millhaven would be a challenge. But I thought maybe if I could get my parents to look past what they wanted and see what I'm good at, what I love, that they might finally understand why I chose physical therapy."

A thought p.r.i.c.ked at the back of Hunter's mind, and he put it to words before he could backpedal. "Maybe if they knew why you came home, their feelings would change." High expectations or not, he couldn't imagine her parents would pressure her to go to medical school if they knew the truth.

"No. Look." Emerson tugged at the hem of her T-shirt, tapping the heel of her sandal against the truck's floor mat with a rapid tat-tat-tat. "I know you're trying to fix this, but my family doesn't work like yours. Your dad is proud of all three of you, but whenever my parents look at me, all they see is the choice I didn't make, and all the ones they want to make in order to fix my 'mistake.' Telling them I have MS isn't going to change that. In fact, it'll only make me more broken in their eyes. Then they'll never stop trying to fix me."

Hunter pulled to a stop in front of the cottage, putting the truck into park before turning to look at her, steady and unyielding. "And what do you see?"

Her eyes widened, flashing crystal blue and totally beautiful in the setting sun. "What?"

"It's a pretty cut-and-dried question." He lifted one corner of his mouth into enough of a smile to get her past her surprise. "When you look at yourself, what do you see?"

"Oh." She paused. "I guess . . . I see a physical therapist who's devoted to her job and loves helping people."

"I see her, too. But do you want to know what else I see?"

Emerson shook her head. "Hunter-"

"Wait," he said, and okay, so there was a fifty-fifty shot his brash interruption would make her shut him out or knee him in the nuts. But when luck proved to be on his side, at least for the moment, he continued. "I see a woman who's smart." Hunter picked up her hand, tracing circles over the slender arc of her wrist with his thumb. "Kind. Beautiful," he added, even though the word didn't touch her. "And far from broken. You're strong, Em." At that one, she exhaled softly, and he leaned across the console to brush a kiss over her lips. "I just hate to see you hurting."

"I know you do. And I hate the way I left things with my parents, but telling them-telling anyone-will only make it worse."

Unease filled Hunter's chest like a sponge being drenched to maximum capacity. But if Emerson didn't want to budge, pushing her would only knock her down. "Okay."

"Anyway, I've got everything under control. Multiple sclerosis is chronic, but with the right meds, the periods of remission between my flare-ups can last for months or even years."

"I know," he said, and her lips parted with a tiny breath of surprise.

"You do?"

He nodded. "You're not the only one who's good at online research, you know."

"Why would you do that?" Emerson asked, and although her cheeks had gone significantly pink, her tone held more confusion than accusation.

"First of all, because I didn't know anything about the disease, and I wanted to be informed. Second, and more importantly, I did it because I care about you. Listen-" His heart knocked against his ribs with increasing speed, but f.u.c.k it. No matter how much this could rock the boat, it needed to be said. "I know you don't want to tell anyone you have MS, and that you want to move on. But I want you to know you don't have to do that alone. Okay?"

"You don't have to take care of me," she whispered. "I'm really fine."

Whether it was the determination in her voice or the completely vulnerable expression warring with it, Hunter had no clue. But all at once, his emotions barged right out of his mouth.

"And I'm not. I know we said head up, eyes forward, but when I look forward, all I see is you. You rehabbed my shoulder. You calmed the water between my brothers. You're spending your extra time on our family business. Come on, Em. I know you're tough, but let me help you back."

She dropped her chin to stare at their entwined fingers, and for one gut-twisting second, Hunter thought Emerson's stubborn toughness would win out.

Then she said, "I have to go into Lockridge on Wednesday. It's nothing major, just some blood tests and a check-in with my neurologist to see how the meds are working. But sometimes the drive wears me out."

"I'm still on restricted duty for another week," Hunter said, relief washing over him harder than he wanted to admit. "I'll have plenty of time to drive you to Lockridge."