Cross Creek: Crossing Hearts Part 23

Hunter swiveled a gaze over the picture-perfect scene in front of him, his gut filling with dread. Stupid, really, since the weather was at a steady eighty-three and sunny, his father had spent the entire weekend resting with barely any fuss, and he'd been out in Cross Creek's fields with his sleeves rolled up and his hands on the land all morning long. But despite all the good things Hunter knew should be setting his status quo at ease, his chest felt like an overused pincushion, p.r.i.c.ked full of tiny yet insidious holes.

His father might be on the mend, but Emerson sure wasn't. She was doing her d.a.m.ndest to cover up the dark circles and slow movements around everyone else, but he saw the skipped meals, the weary lines around her eyes, the exhaustion she lamely blamed on the heat when they both knew so much better. Watching her in pain was bad enough-f.u.c.k, seeing Emerson hurting made him want to beat the s.h.i.t out of something. But watching her deny that the pain even existed, hearing the lie in her voice every time she told him she was fine, that it would pa.s.s, that this was normal?

Now that was killing him.

"d.a.m.n, Hunt. I know I'm the handsome one, but that's a h.e.l.l of a face you're makin'."

Eli's voice winged him directly back to the hay field they'd been busting their a.s.ses all morning to harvest, and probably just as well. Christ, he was getting downright grim, and the day was barely half over.

"Sorry," Hunter said, tacking on a smile that was mostly for show. "Guess we can't all have no cares like you."

s.h.i.t. The muscle tightening across the angle of Eli's jaw told Hunter his jibe had missed the mark by about a country mile. "Ouch. Now you're starting to sound like Owen."

"I'm sorry," Hunter said, this time with the sincerity it deserved. "I s'pose this whole Dad thing still has me a little thrown." It was a h.e.l.l of a nutsh.e.l.l, but for now, the understatement would do.

Eli adjusted the brim of his dust-covered baseball hat, even though the thing was already perfectly straight. "No worries, brother. I get it."

Whether it was the what if that had been nagging him for the last four days or the odd emotion in Eli's stare that he couldn't quite tag, Hunter didn't know. But instead of turning back to the hay field and getting back to business as usual, he said, "Do you want to tell me what the h.e.l.l is going on between you and Owen?"

Eli's face flashed with pure surprise, and for a second, Hunter thought his brother might actually answer the question with a yes.

But then he lifted a shoulder in a standard-issue carefree shrug, the shadow cast by his baseball hat covering the look in his eyes. "There's nothing going on between me and Owen."

"Bulls.h.i.t. Y'all haven't been right for months," Hunter said, and huh. Looked like he was going all-in with shaking up the status quo today. Not that Eli seemed to be budging.

"Alright, fine. It's nothing I want to talk about. Look"-Eli let out a slow breath, skimming a long glance over the half-harvested field in front of them-"I get that you hate us fighting, and I appreciate you being the middleman to try and make things easier. It's just . . . f.u.c.king complicated, that's all."

Hunter's heart tapped harder in warning. "Complicated," he repeated, but in the same breath, Eli was waving him off with a c.o.c.ky grin.

"Yeah, it'll be fine. I'll figure it out, just probably not today."

"Eli, if you need-"

"I'm good," his brother said, the finality in his voice killing the topic. "Anyway, it looks like we're d.a.m.n near out of baling wire, and this was the last spool in the storage shed. I can jump into town to grab some from the co-op if you want to harvest the last few bales before we're tapped."

Eli turned toward the ATV they'd ridden down to the field from the main house, but Hunter stopped him with a shake of his head and a quick, "Nah. You go on and finish. I'll do the grunt job."

"You sure?" Eli's dark-blond brows popped in obvious surprise.

"Yeah," Hunter said. d.a.m.n, he was more than ready to kick this weird tension in his chest to the curb, once and for all. "You've done a month's worth of scut work along with the real stuff waiting for me to get back in the saddle, remember?"

Eli laughed, long and loud. "Your offer wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that the co-op is a stone's throw from a certain pretty redhead's physical therapy practice, would it?"

Cue up a guilty smile. Still, he had his pride (mostly . . . sort of), so he dished up a "screw you" to go along with it.

"That's a yes." Eli called after him, still laughing as Hunter aimed his boots toward the ATV and kicked himself into motion. Okay, yeah, the opportunity to stop in to see Emerson might have colored his offer just a little. But she'd spent fifteen hours in bed yesterday, and despite the fact that she'd tried like h.e.l.l to tackle the cottage stairs, she'd finally given in and let him bring her dinner in his bedroom.

He was in love with her-not that he was going to pop off at the mouth about it to his brother. Sue him for wanting to make sure she was okay.

You know her. You know she's not okay.

Hunter frowned at the voice in his head. He moved with added purpose, returning to the main house to swap out the ATV for his truck, then making the fastest trip on record to the co-op for a half-dozen spools of baling wire. He parked along the red-brick sidewalk of Town Street, tossing his hand up in an obligatory wave as Amber Ca.s.sidy poked her bottle-blond head out of the Hair Lair to greet him.

"Hi, Hunter! Goin' to see Emerson, I take it?"

"I was in town, so I figured I'd stop by," he said. Amber was essentially harmless, but Christ above, the woman could probably gossip about wheat toast.

Case in point. "Mmhmm. Aren't you two just cozy? It's like high school all over again."

Hunter threw her a smile but didn't stop walking. "Yep, that's us. Totally cozy. See you later, Amber."

He ducked into Doc Sanders's office with a covert exhale. To his surprise, the doc herself was behind the reception desk, flipping through a medical journal and eating a ham-and-cheese sandwich.

"Hey, Hunter. This is a nice surprise." Pushing her gla.s.ses over the bridge of her nose, she scanned the computer screen in front of her. "You don't have an appointment. Everything okay with your shoulder?"

"Oh, uh, yes ma'am." He rolled the joint in question beneath his T-shirt as proof. "Good as new. I actually stopped in to say hi to Emerson real quick, just as long as she's not busy."

"We're taking lunch breaks. Obviously." Doc Sanders held up her sandwich with a grin, but the gesture quickly faded as she continued. "As a matter of fact, I'm glad you're here to check on her."

The back of Hunter's neck p.r.i.c.kled, but he forced himself to stick to his nothing-doing expression. "You are?"

The doc nodded, her gray-blond brows lifting. "Yes. That bout of food poisoning seems to have done a number on her over the weekend."

He bit his tongue to keep his curse at bay. "Yeah," he finally managed, although even that was a stretch. Had Emerson's stomach really gotten that bad? And more to the point, if she was throwing up, how come she hadn't said anything? Dammit, he would've helped her.

Doc Sanders continued. "She said she feels well enough to work, but . . . well, frankly, she looks pretty wiped out. I was about to go check on her myself."

"No worries, Doc. I'll make sure she's all set."

Hunter pivoted toward the PT room, trying like h.e.l.l to temper his slamming heartbeat with each step down the hall. The door to the therapy room was open as usual, but what he saw as he crossed the threshold was far from normal. Emerson sat huddled over her desk, her face cast downward with her forehead resting in both palms, and Hunter's stomach clenched at the sight of how clearly vulnerable she looked.

"Em?"

The squeeze in his gut hit vise-grip status as her head whipped up in surprise. "Hunter?" she gasped, blinking rapidly. "Where . . . what are you doing here?"

Her gaze was just hazy enough to make it obvious that he'd woken her, the crescent-shaped shadows beneath her eyes broadcasting that the stolen nap hadn't been nearly long enough, and something broke loose from deep in his chest.

"I'm taking you home." Okay, so the answer came out a bit bossier than he'd intended. But come the f.u.c.k on. Her MS was getting the best of her today. She was weak and exhausted. She clearly needed to rest.

Of course, he should've known better than to think she'd actually admit either of those two realities. "Don't be ridiculous," Emerson said, her spine straightening as if it were suddenly reinforced with t.i.tanium. "I have three clients this afternoon, and they're all counting on me. Plus, I'm fine."

Nope. No way. He wasn't going to let her brazen her way out of this one, not even if it meant saying things she didn't want to hear. "You couldn't even make it down the steps for dinner last night, and you haven't eaten a proper meal in weeks. For G.o.d's sake, you had to tell Doc Sanders you had food poisoning to cover up the truth."

"Keep your voice down," she hissed, her face pinched with panic.

The need to erase her pain warred with the promise he'd made to keep her secret, and each one had a nasty uppercut. "I'm sorry," he said, pitching his voice lower without giving in. "But I know you, and I know what I see. You can try all you want to cover it up, but you are not fine."

Hurt glittered in her bright-blue stare, telling Hunter his words had struck true and deep. Still, Emerson hiked her chin and knotted her arms over her chest, resolute.

"Yes, I am." She notched her voice to a whisper, but what the words lacked in volume, they made up for in pure intensity. "It's true that yesterday was tough on my legs, and yes, the meds are still affecting my stomach. But I have MS, Hunter, and the disease is forever. Just because the symptoms suck doesn't mean I don't have to deal with them. They're never going away."

Just like that, the calm he'd relied on his entire life turned to dust. Something dark and fundamental and without a name forced him into motion, propelling him to cross the floor to kneel down beside her so the two of them were eye to eye.

"Then do it. Deal with your symptoms instead of pretending they don't exist."

Her shoulder blades. .h.i.t the back of her creaky old desk chair with a thump. "Believe me, I deal with them every day."

"No, you manage them," Hunter said. "Or at least, you do your best to. Either way, it's not the same. Tell me-what would've happened if you hadn't been there for my father when he collapsed last week?"

"What does that have to do with my fatigue or my leg pain?" Her auburn brows gathered over her stare, but he pressed, desperate to make his point.

"Humor me. What would've happened?"

"I . . . things could've been worse for him, I suppose."

Hunter's grip tightened on the arm of her desk chair. "Exactly. And what's going to happen if no one's there for you?"

Emerson's laugh was all disbelief. "I'm fine. I'm certainly not going to collapse."

"You don't know that." Fear skidded through him at the thought alone. "My father didn't think he'd collapse, and multiple sclerosis is far more serious than even heat exhaustion. Jesus, Em. You don't have to be so tough, and you sure as h.e.l.l don't have to hide. Not from me. I want to help you."

Hunter broke off, but dammit-dammit-he couldn't sit back any more. He'd done that with his father, and look where it had gotten them.

He couldn't take the risk. Not again. Not with Emerson.

"Please," he said, the word gruff with emotion. "Let me help you."

"I know you want to fix this," she whispered, her lips pressing together in a pale, unyielding line. "But there's nothing to fix. I just have to get used to how these new meds will affect my stomach, that's all. Plus, I'm fine."

Hunter's gut sank. She might never forgive him for what he was about to say, but he wouldn't forgive himself if he kept quiet again.

"Okay," he said, pushing to his feet and gesturing widely to the expanse of floor tiles in front of him. "Then go ahead and prove it."

Every inch of Emerson's body begged for mercy. She'd been duking it out with her exhaustion for days, not the run-of-the-mill kind of tired she'd grown accustomed to over the last six months, but the sort of debilitating fatigue that made her question the integrity of her bones. Her nausea had morphed into full-blown vomiting over the weekend, a fact that had taken a minor miracle to keep hidden from Hunter. She'd never had a relapse so severe or so painful-G.o.d, the fire in her legs bordered on savage just sitting here-but she couldn't let the worst of her MS show.

These episodes in which her symptoms got the best of her body were just something she had to tough out and get used to. They weren't going to go away. She wasn't going to magically heal. And she sure as h.e.l.l wasn't going to show anyone this new level of broken. Not even Hunter.

If people saw the reality of her MS firsthand-if her friends saw, her boss, G.o.d, her parents-then they'd all know how damaged she really was.

No one would trust her. No one would think she was good enough to do her job. She'd lose everything.

She had to get out of this chair.

"You want me to prove that I'm fine?" Emerson asked, looking up at him in disbelief.

Unfortunately, budging wasn't on his agenda. "Mmhmm. A quick back and forth over the floor here ought to do the trick, don't you think? If you're as fine as you say you are, it should be a piece of cake."

In that moment, she was tempted to hate him. But she needed every ounce of her energy for other things, namely rising to the Mount Everestsized gauntlet he'd just thrown down, so she stowed her irritation with a smile she didn't feel.

"Suit yourself." Flattening her palms over the desk in front of her, Emerson shifted her weight and pushed herself to standing. Her spine and legs joined forces to try to thwart her, but just as she had all morning, she forced them to do their job of supporting her despite the ripping pain. Hunter stood a few feet away, his hands jammed to his hips and his eyes missing nothing.

Make it good. Head up. Eyes forward.

Emerson focused on the far wall and started to walk. Hunter might be trying to prove a point, but she'd been proving herself for as long as she could remember.

She'd make it across the floor just fine. She had to.

She couldn't let anyone see how broken she was.

Although each step bordered on excruciating, she walked the eight-foot circuit, returning to her starting spot to look at Hunter. "See?" she said, her joints squealing and sticking like old hinges but her determination firm. "Totally fine."

"And you're going to stand by that." The lines around his eyes softened, but no. No, no. She couldn't give in.

"I know you don't understand, but . . ." Emerson paused. Dragged in a deep breath. "Yes."

"Then I guess I can't help you at all."

Hunter turned toward the door. For a second, she was paralyzed by the shock of it, her brain and her heart and her body all frozen in a state of confusion. Then everything rebooted at once, urging her into motion.

"Hunter, wait, I-"

The rest of Emerson's words jammed to a halt as her right leg went numb and buckled beneath her. Her pulse went haywire, her arms windmilling in a desperate attempt to salvage her balance. But they landed on nothing but empty s.p.a.ce, and the floor rushed up to greet her with a rude thud.

"Emerson!" The sound of footsteps clattered across the linoleum, followed less than a second later by Hunter's voice next to her ear. "Jesus, are you okay? Let me get Doc Sanders."

"No." She managed the word forcefully enough to make him pause, thank G.o.d, and she did a quick internal scan. No overt pain, which was good, although her hip throbbed like crazy at the point of impact and her leg had graduated from numbness to a pins-and-needles-type tingle. She shifted awkwardly against the dead weight, the coolness of the floor tiles pressing against her palms as she turned to sit on her bottom. "I'm fine."

Hunter's laugh lacked any trace of humor. "You just went a.s.s over teakettle onto a surface that's probably subfloor over concrete."

"Thanks for pointing that out." Emerson's face flushed with the full heat of her words, and fantastic. Were there seriously tears forming in her eyes?

"I'm sorry," he said, his genuine tone making her threat of crying that much more imminent. "Here, first thing's first. Let's get you off the floor, okay?"

Before she could open her mouth to answer, he'd slipped one arm beneath her knees, the other wrapping firmly around her upper body as he scooped her up in one fluid movement.

"Hunter, stop. You still need to be careful with your shoulder," she said, but the intensity glinting through his stare halted the rest of her protest in its tracks.

"I don't give a s.h.i.t about my shoulder."

By the time he made it the half-dozen steps to the portable ma.s.sage table and lowered her gently to the cushion, Emerson had wrestled her tears into submission. The high-powered slam of her heartbeat?

Not so much.

"Are you dizzy from not eating? Does anything hurt?" Hunter moved in front of her, his eyes traveling from her disheveled ponytail to her patent-leather ballet flats with growing scrutiny, and dammit, she needed to get a handle on this situation, stat.

"I told you, I'm completely fine." She straightened the hem of her blouse, smoothing a palm over the cotton before sliding her shoulder blades in tight around her mutinous spine.

"I'm pretty sure we're past that, Em."