Cross Creek: Crossing Hearts Part 19

"My appointment is at three forty-five. I'd love the company, but only if you promise we'll have our daily marketing session on the way there."

Hunter huffed out a laugh. "You drive a hard bargain. I'll tell you what. We can have our marketing session on the way to Lockridge if you promise to close your eyes and rest on the way back."

Now it was Emerson's turn to laugh. "Are you bargaining with me?"

He lasered his gaze on her perfect, peach-colored mouth. "I believe I am, Miss Montgomery."

The kiss she pressed over his mouth tasted flawless, and felt even better.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood," she said, and he kissed her back with just enough suggestion to make her tremble under his touch.

"You think you're in a good mood now? Just you wait."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Emerson turned over, wrapped in the comfort of warm bedsheets. The woodsy scent of cedar filled her lungs, and she breathed deeper, wanting to hold on to every ounce of the intoxicating smell. Her body felt unnaturally light, as if she were being held close and weightlessly carried. A deep sigh drifted up from her chest, soothing her mind upon release, and she clung to the strong, solid arms curled around her.

Haven't you ever wondered what if . . . what if . . . what if . . .

Emerson jerked upright with a gasp. Pain and confusion dug in hard, fighting for the attention of her senses, and she tried desperately to take in her surroundings.

Soft, rhythmic thump-thump of windshield wipers. Diffused gray daylight draped over the otherwise scenic Shenandoah countryside. Unrelenting stiffness vise-gripping her back and both legs.

Right. She and Hunter were on the way back from her neurologist's office.

"Hey, easy there." Hunter's voice delivered the calm, cool steadiness she'd been coming to rely on lately, mixed with a splash of concern. "You fell asleep a little while ago. It's been a long day, so I figured you could probably use the breather."

Emerson blinked, swiping a hand over her face in an effort to clear her groggy head. "How long was I out?"

"About an hour," Hunter said, making her already achy muscles tighten.

"Really?" Dammit, they had to be nearly home by now. "I wanted to talk to you about that article I read on advertising trends in specialty food markets."

"Nope," he replied, and okay, that snagged her attention.

"What do you mean, 'nope'?" she asked, unable to stifle a laugh at the ear-to-ear grin spreading over his handsome face.

"Just that. We have a ton of solid marketing ideas, some of which are already working, it's been steadily raining for the last three hours, and I've got my follow-up appointment with Dr. Norris tomorrow, where I fully expect to get the green light to get back to work at full steam. So yeah, we are officially putting work on the shelf until tomorrow."

The light, carefree feeling from her dream filled Emerson's mind, and she couldn't deny that it came pretty d.a.m.ned close to matching her reality right now. "Okay, you win. What should we do to celebrate this fantastic turn of events?"

"Funny you should ask." Hunter lifted his brows in an exaggerated waggle, which only made her laugh go for round two. "Eli sent out a group text while you were asleep and it popped up on the dashboard. He wanted to know if we were all in for a drink. His message was, and I quote, 'Get your a.s.ses to The Bar. Owen's buying!'"

"I'll bet Owen had a thing or two to say about that," Emerson replied. His brothers had managed a bit of a truce this week according to Hunter, and even though the camaraderie was caught up in a weird, testosterone-fueled force field she was sure she'd never quite understand, it was still nice to see.

"Yeah, his response was not PG-13," Hunter confirmed, amus.e.m.e.nt sparking in his gray-blue stare. "So do you want to go have a beer or two? I wasn't sure if you'd be beat after all the hauling around you've done today."

Ugh. Emerson's stomach soured at the thought of liquor, but the celebration? Now that would make up for her killjoy of an appet.i.te. "No, I'm up for it. Can I invite Daisy, too?"

"I don't see why not. The more the merrier." Hunter waited out Emerson's quick text message to Daisy before adding, "There aren't a whole lot of dinner options at The Bar, unless you count hot wings or nachos. We can stop at the cottage before we go out, though. There's some leftover chicken in the fridge from last night."

"Oh, I'm good." At least, she would be if she didn't think of food. Everything she'd eaten lately had tasted like a sawdust special, not to mention wreaking havoc on her stomach once it got there.

"Not to go all PSA on you, but you really should eat something," Hunter said.

Emerson's gut churned for an entirely new reason. Of course he would notice she'd been pushing her food from one end of her plate to the other this week. He'd been right next to her at every single meal.

"The preventive medication is just making me queasy," she admitted. Although part of her was tempted to clam up or change the subject-h.e.l.lo, unglamorous and oh-so-unattractive body betrayals-the look of pure calm on Hunter's face made it all too easy to let the truth fly. "My neurologist said it could take awhile for my body to get used to the treatment. He's hopeful the side effects will lessen over time, and obviously, if the meds keep my symptoms from turning into episodes, they're worth it."

Hunter nodded in slow agreement. "True. But it's still kind of a crummy thing to have to get used to," Hunter said, and even though his tone was completely judgment free, Emerson's pulse flared all the same.

This is still your new normal. Head up, eyes forward.

"Well, hopefully I won't have to get used to it for long," she said, putting a nail in the topic.

Thankfully, Hunter let her. "So what were you dreaming about a couple minutes ago?"

Emerson's face burned with all the heat of being flat out busted. Still, a girl (hopefully. Oh G.o.d) had her pride, so she selected her words with caution. "What makes you think I was dreaming?"

"I'm a.s.suming you mean aside from the fact that your cheeks are the color of the strawberries I put in the CSA orders this week." He broke out enough of a grin for his dimple to make an appearance, and great G.o.d in heaven, would she ever find an antidote to that thing?

"Yes," she said, giving in with a wry smile. "Aside from that."

"You were kind of sighing in your sleep. I figured your head might be full of thoughts of a mile-long client list or a bushel of heirloom tomatoes or something."

Emerson's heart thumped in her ears along with the steady rhythm of the windshield wipers, but she didn't hold back the truth. "Actually, I was dreaming about you."

"Why, Miss Montgomery, you're going to make me blush," Hunter said, pausing for only a minute before her lack of a tart response seemed to register. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Mmhmm." Three weeks ago, the words would have terrified her. But somehow, sitting here in the protected comfort of Hunter's truck with the rain and her neurologist and the rest of the world outside, copping to her dream didn't seem like such a big deal.

"I dreamt that we were together and you were carrying me. Not because I was hurt or anything," Emerson rushed to add. She might be okay with fessing up to the images her unintentional snooze fest had yielded, but the last thing she needed was for him to think she was weak, especially after today's haul into Lockridge. "You were just holding me close, with one arm around my shoulders and the other behind my knees. I'm sure it sounds pretty silly." Now that she heard the whole thing out loud, she sounded like one of those sappy greeting cards gone horribly wrong.

But Hunter just looked at her with that wide-open blue stare that told her everything was going to be just fine no matter what, and she believed him before he even said a word.

"That doesn't sound silly at all."

Quiet filled the truck, interrupted only by the steady patter of rain on the windshield and the increasing press of Emerson's heart against her rib cage. They spent the rest of the ride in silence as comfortable as a warm quilt, and by the time they pulled up to The Bar and made a dash for the front entrance, everyone else had arrived and gotten comfortable.

"Hey! There you two are," Daisy called out over the din of the jukebox, lifting her nearly empty pint gla.s.s in happy salute. "We've already had a round and ordered up some wings. Where on earth have you been? Owen said you cut out from Cross Creek hours ago."

"Um." c.r.a.p. c.r.a.p. Emerson scrambled for a pa.s.sably believable answer, but Hunter just fixed Daisy with an easy, nothing-doing smile.

"Emerson and I had some marketing stuff to take care of for Cross Creek," he said, moving around the tall rectangular table the group had taken over to do the handshake/shoulder b.u.mp thing with both of his brothers.

"Marketing stuff." Eli laughed and pushed himself back up to the padded leather seat of his barstool. "Is that what you kids are calling it these days?"

"Knock it off, Eli," Owen said, although a tiny smile poked at the corners of his mouth. "You're just jealous you didn't get to spend your afternoon with a pretty girl, too."

Eli held up his hands in concession, his blue eyes twinkling in the low light of the bar. "Too right, brother. While I love old Clarabelle, working in the barn definitely doesn't compare."

The mention of Cross Creek tickled something in the back of Emerson's brain, and she sent her gaze past their table and all the way around the moderately populated bar. "Oh. Your dad decided not to come?"

"Yeah, where is Dad?" Hunter asked, his brows furrowing just slightly in concern.

Owen tipped his head, taking a long draw off the amber-colored bottle between his fingers. "I asked him if he wanted to join us, but he said he was gonna catch up on a few things and turn in early. He said to be sure we threw one back for him, though."

Emerson exhaled a silent breath of relief. She always liked Mr. Cross's company, but it took one to know one in the exhaustion department, and while he thankfully wasn't duking it out with an illness like MS, he'd looked all too tired to her this week.

"Guess it wouldn't be polite to say no to the old man, now would it?" Hunter asked, a slow smile moving over his face. "I'm going to grab a beer. Anyone need another round?"

"With you buying?" Eli asked, raising his gla.s.s to drain the last of its contents. "h.e.l.l yes. I'm with you."

"Me, too," Daisy chimed in, palming her empty gla.s.s and sliding off her barstool to follow Eli toward the bar.

Emerson shook her head. "Just soda for me." Hopefully the bubbles would call a truce to the epic game of I Hate Your Guts that her medication had waged against her stomach.

"Okay." Hunter pulled out a nearby barstool, his hand lingering on her lower back as he ushered her onto the seat. "O, you straight?"

"I'm good for now," Owen said, holding up his half-empty beer. "Don't worry, I'll keep Emerson company."

After Hunter followed Daisy and Eli over the boot-scuffed floorboards to the bar, Owen leaned a forearm over the table across from her, piquing the h.e.l.l out of her curiosity. "You know, we're really grateful for all the work you've done at Cross Creek."

"I'm happy to help," Emerson said, and meant it. "Being part of things at the farm has gone a long way toward making me feel at home. Believe me, the grat.i.tude goes both ways."

"Still, it's an awful lot of work. Are you sure we're not keeping you from anything down at Doc Sanders's?"

"Not at all, although my schedule has been a lot busier this week." Her lips folded together over a smile that felt far too good to suppress at the thought of the three new clients she'd booked, plus two more she'd consulted with during their appointments with Doc Sanders. "Maybe something to do with someone down at the co-op, talking about . . . what was it? Oh right. The best hand ma.s.sage this side of the Mississippi."

Owen rolled his eyes but managed a laugh all the same. "That's Eli for you, although I'm sure you're great at your job."

Surprise rippled up her spine, straightening her creaky back as it went. "But you've never seen me work."

"Don't have to," Owen said, lifting a shoulder beneath the plaid b.u.t.ton-down he'd slung over his T-shirt. "Hunter might be more laid back than most, but I know how he feels about Cross Creek. I'm betting he wasn't exactly a prince about rehabbing his shoulder for four weeks. You got him fixed up good as new, which makes you alright in my book."

"Thanks." Emerson had been around the Cross men enough over the last few weeks to know the guy-speak version of high praise when she heard it.

"Just tellin' you what I see." Owen sent her a covert wink just as Hunter, Eli, and Daisy returned, and huh, who knew the serious brother had a flirty side?

"One soda, coming right up," Hunter said. Placing the gla.s.s in front of her, he situated himself on the barstool to her left, giving her enough breathing room to be comfortable but staying just close enough for his proximity to warm her blood. The conversation flowed as easily as the laughter and the beer, and even when Amber Ca.s.sidy came in with Kelsey and Mollie Mae to take advantage of the two-for-one ladies' night drink specials, their obvious whispers and pointed looks at Hunter's very visible closeness didn't dampen her mood.

Emerson managed to baby sip most of her soda without too much protest from her stomach, although she hadn't needed to think twice about making the I-had-a-big-lunch excuse when their server brought a giant platter of atomic hot wings to the table. All too soon, though, the drink took its toll on her mouse-sized bladder, and she carefully pushed to her feet to excuse herself.

"Oh, I'll go with you," Daisy said, looping her arm through Emerson's. Eli made the obligatory girls-going-to-the-bathroom-in-packs joke, and Daisy playfully pinched his ear as they headed toward the ladies' room at the back of the bar.

"I know there's safety in numbers," Emerson joked, ignoring her aching legs in favor of smiling at her friend. "But I'm pretty sure I've got this covered."

Daisy made a borderline impolite noise and a face to match. "Please. If anyone can handle herself, it's you." Her expression slid into something else, however, after they moved past Amber and the gossip squad, heading toward the alcove housing the restrooms and the emergency exit. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you in private."

Emerson's steps slowed, worry peppering tiny holes in her already unthrilled stomach. "Is everything okay?"

The unease whisking through Daisy's olive-green stare was a surefire precursor to nothing good. "I'm not trying to poke my nose into your business, but your mother has stopped by your place twice in the last few days."

Just like that, Emerson's good mood flatlined. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." Daisy led her to the back of the alcove, dropping her voice to a soft murmur as the bar noise faded into the background. "I've been making a lot of extra bath scrub and aromatherapy body spritz for next weekend's craft fair, and my kitchen window faces your front door, so I just happened to see her both times. I know you said things between you and your parents have been strained lately, and I wasn't even sure if I should bring it up, but . . ."

"But?" Emerson managed, and even the single syllable trembled. G.o.d, how stupid she'd been to think her parents would let this whole career change thing go after just one no from her.

"Well, she looked pretty upset," Daisy said, biting her lip. "The first time was on Friday afternoon, then she came by again this evening, right before I left to come here. I figured you'd want to know in case something's wrong."

Emerson inhaled on a five count before doubling the number for her breath out. "Thank you for telling me, but no. Nothing's wrong."

"Are you sure?"

She paused, her heart squeezing tight in her chest. While she was still too angry to speak to her parents, she had drafted a polite e-mail to Dr. Norris a few days after the dinner nightmare. He'd been nice enough to consider her for a position at his practice, and just because she didn't want said position didn't mean the man should get caught in the shrapnel of her family blowout. But she wasn't going to change her mind, and her parents weren't going to change theirs, no matter how many times they revisited the subject.

Now it was time to move on.

"Yes," Emerson said, capping the word with a nod. "I'm sure."

By the time she had used the ladies' room and made her way back to the table with Daisy, the wings were mostly gone and the beer along with it. For the first time since she'd started spending the night at Hunter's cottage, Emerson found herself grateful that the workday at Cross Creek started early enough to make everyone head for home after two beers. Between the ride to Lockridge and the news that her parents didn't seem to be through with their full-court press, she just wanted to fall into bed next to Hunter and turn her dream from the truck into reality.

Haven't you ever wondered what if . . .

"Hey. You've been awfully quiet over there," Hunter said, the tires crunching over the gravel drive as he pulled up to the cottage and turned off the engine. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I . . ." A humorless laugh puffed past her lips. "No. Daisy told me my mother has been to my apartment twice this week, looking for me."

His gaze winged toward hers in the near dark. "s.h.i.t, Em. Did Daisy talk to her?"

Emerson shook her head. "She saw her through the window. I can't believe I thought my parents would actually trust me to live my own life. I don't know how else to make them understand that working for Doc Sanders is what I want."

Hunter's hesitation lasted long enough to send her warning flags into a full wave. "Have you given any more thought to telling them you have MS?"

"We've been through this," she said, frustration snapping in her veins. "Telling them will do more harm than help."

"I know you think so." His voice hardened ever so slightly over the words, outlining frustration of his own. "But isn't it possible that, despite the fact that they have a c.r.a.ppy way of showing it, they really do want what's best for you?"

Emerson's brain sent an unexpected litany of science fair exhibits, piano recitals, homecoming floats, and graduations through her mind's eye. Although they'd chosen all of those things for her, her parents had been front and center for each one. She'd always a.s.sumed their presence had been for show, the same way her father had felt obligated to attend the Watermelon Festival. Appearances were everything when you were a Montgomery. The only thing good enough for her parents was perfection.

She missed the mark now more than ever.