Part 14 (2/2)
”Oh my G.o.d, that barn is still there,” she said, and the smile spreading over her face was contagious.
”Sure is. Come to think of it, that's actually where I busted up my shoulder.”
The irony tagged Hunter right in the sternum. In high school, he and Emerson had snuck off to the hayloft in that barn with a blanket and a whole lot of bad intentions more times than he could count. ”I could give you a tour later. You know, for old time's sake. The view of the moon from the hayloft is still pretty great.”
”The view.” She laughed, a tart, s.e.xy sound. ”Do women really fall for that?”
Too easy. Hunter tried on his best grin as he pulled in front of the main house and parked his truck between Eli's and Owen's. ”You did.”
But instead of getting indignant, Emerson shocked the h.e.l.l out of him by leaning over the console and putting those perfect, peach-colored lips on his. ”And so did you. Or did you really think I went up there with you all those nights expecting an astronomy lesson?”
”Touche,” he said, holding up his hands in concession. Of course she'd been smart enough to see through his flimsy line. Just like of course he'd never told her she'd been the only woman he'd ever taken to the hayloft, before or since.
”Don't you mean 'cliche'?” she asked, laughing as she brushed her mouth over his one more time.
Hunter kissed her back-he wasn't a dolt, for G.o.d's sake-but only for a minute before pulling back to slide out of the driver's seat. Ducking around the back of the truck to open Emerson's door, he surrept.i.tiously swiped a hand over his mouth to remove the evidence of their kiss. His brothers would give him a boulder-sized ration of s.h.i.+t if he walked into Sat.u.r.day supper with sparkly pink lip gloss on his face, no matter that the prettiest woman in the county had put it there.
Not that the ear-to-ear grin on his face wasn't going to be a dead freaking giveaway that he and Emerson had done a whole lot more than kiss.
”Are you sure this is really okay?” she murmured as he guided her out of the pa.s.senger seat, the quick hit of uncertainty in her voice delivering Hunter back to the here and now of the farm.
”Absolutely. I just hope you're hungry.”
Their footsteps echoed softly on the neatly kept path between the driveway and the main house, then the sun-warmed porch boards on the threshold. Hunter's heart thumped a little faster (oh, who was he kidding? A h.e.l.l of a lot faster) as he turned the doork.n.o.b, but he tacked a business-as-usual smile to his kisser and led the way into the house.
”Hey. Sorry I'm a little late,” Hunter called out, walking a path from the foyer toward the back of the house. The clatter of kitchen noise-combined with the rumble of voices and the hearty scents of meatloaf and gravy-told him he'd missed most of supper prep, and the c.o.c.ky smile Eli delivered from behind the butcher-block island as Hunter put the hallway behind him served as confirmation.
”It's about time!” Eli said, pointing the wooden salad spoon in his hand to the spot where Hunter stood in the kitchen's entryway. ”Did you get lost, you slack-a.s.s, or did you-whoa.”
The spoon hit the counter with a wood-on-wood clack. His brother gaped like a largemouth ba.s.s coming fresh off the line, which would've been Facebook material if it hadn't made Emerson stiffen next to Hunter on the floorboards. Thankfully, Eli was slicker than owl snot, and he recovered his grin in short order.
”Hey, Emerson! 'Scuse my language. I didn't know you'd be joining us for dinner, or I'd have minded a little better.”
”That's okay,” she said, the sound of her voice making Hunter's father pause halfway through was.h.i.+ng his hands and Owen's head snap up from where he stood in front of the old white enamel cooktop. ”I know I'm joining you last minute. I don't mean to intrude.”
”No such thing.” Eli got the protest out before Hunter could, and he made a mental note to buy his brother a round at The Bar next Friday night. ”There's always enough to feed a platoon around here. Plus, Owen's meatloaf will be a whole lot more bearable with you at the table.”
Owen rolled his eyes, although whether it was at Eli's insult or his sweet-talking charm, Hunter couldn't be sure. Still, he smiled at Emerson as he said, ”We've always got room for an extra at supper. It's nice to see you, Emerson.”
His old man turned off the faucet, gesturing her into the kitchen with a tilt of his salt-and-pepper head. ”Come on in, darlin'. You're always welcome here.”
”Thanks.” She smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing even though she shot Hunter a covert, sa.s.sy look when he murmured a teasing I-told-you-so under his breath. ”How can I help with dinner?”
”You're a guest,” Owen said, but she shook her head, a headstrong glint flas.h.i.+ng in her eyes even though she kept her genuine smile in place.
”And I came to eat. I don't mind putting in a little work for it.”
His father's rusty chuckle filled the kitchen from over by the sink. ”You've got us there. Guess we've gotta put you to work, then.”
”I've got tomatoes and peppers that could use chopping for this salad,” Eli offered, gesturing to the butcher block.
”Done.” Emerson moved to the sink to wash her hands, fitting in just as seamlessly as Hunter had promised she would. Funny, seeing her there laughing and starting to chop vegetables at the counter next to Eli sent a ripple through Hunter's gut, anyway.
Ignoring both the weird feeling and the knowing stares both of his brothers winged at him over Emerson's head, he said, ”Guess I'll set the table, then.”
Hunter stepped his way to the cupboard by the oven, counting off five blue-and-white plates before grabbing silverware from the drawer below to match. They all moved around one another with ease, alternating between putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches on supper and talking about Cross Creek's operations for the week. His father and brothers hadn't made nearly as much progress as they'd wanted on the farm due to the stifling heat, and a solid fifteen days had pa.s.sed since any part of the Valley had seen a single drop of rain. Dammit, if this heat wave kept up, the next two weeks were going to drag on even slower than the first two Hunter had spent on the sidelines.
”I should be able to take care of getting the CSA orders filled and ready for pickup this week,” he offered as soon as they'd gathered around the table and his father had finished saying grace. The task might not require a lot of physical effort or expertise, but at least it was something.
Owen let out a breath, slow and heavy. ”There aren't too many, unfortunately. We've been way low on orders, especially for June. Thank G.o.d for the Watermelon Festival last week, or I'd have ended up with crates worth of produce from the greenhouse that went to rot.”
”Really?” Emerson sent an apologetic look first to Owen, then to Hunter before adding, ”I'm sorry. It's just that the food is so pretty, not to mention delicious. I guess I'm just surprised to hear you say you'd have to toss so much.”
”We have more leeway with crops like corn and soybeans-feed corn in particular. But moving perishables is a lot tougher. It's literally feast or famine sometimes, depending on supply and demand,” Hunter said, pa.s.sing the platter of meatloaf in her direction.
Owen filled his water gla.s.s to the brim, nodding in agreement. ”We sell some of our produce to Clementine's Diner, and even more to the Corner Market every week, but the timing is tricky. Even a couple of days can make or break summer produce, and sometimes things just don't make it to the farmers' market or the CSA. This heat sure isn't doing us any favors in keeping things from spoiling fast, either.”
His father lifted his chin. ”Haven't seen a June this hot since you boys were in school,” he said. ”Weather like this'll make even the best of things go pear shaped.”
Fatigue carved deeper wrinkles than usual at the corners of his old man's eyes as he spoke, sending yet another jab of worry deep between Hunter's ribs.
If the concern in Emerson's gaze was anything to go by, he wasn't the only one who noticed, either. ”So what you need is to bring in more people to buy direct on a daily basis,” she said, and Eli's laugh carried a whole lot less humor than usual.
”That plus a break in the weather, a dozen extra farmhands, and a million bucks in revenue to build something better than a roadside stand for those daily visitors ought to be a good start.”
In an instant, Hunter's spine snapped to full attention against the ladder back of his chair. ”Eli.”
The warning rumbled from his throat, half growl and all p.i.s.sed off, and Owen fixed their younger brother with a subarctic stare to match. Even their father sent a frown of disapproval in Eli's direction, but Emerson put one hand on Hunter's forearm, waving off the tension in the room with the other.
”No, it's okay. I can understand Eli's frustration. You all care about Cross Creek. Struggling to do a job you love is . . .” She paused, lining up her silverware with surgical precision. ”Well, I'd imagine that's difficult.”
Ah h.e.l.l. Of course Emerson knew firsthand how hard it was to resuscitate a career she was pa.s.sionate about. Not that he was going to out her in the middle of his father's kitchen-or anywhere else, for that matter.
Eli nodded at her in quiet apology, and Hunter let go of his irritation. For now. ”It's not easy on any of us, no,” he admitted.
Emerson put a big scoop of salad on her plate, her head tipped in thought. ”I know having a roadside stand is less than ideal, but it's better than nothing, right?”
”If we could move enough inventory to justify paying someone to rotate stock and take money, it would be,” Owen said. ”Farm to table has been one of our biggest goals ever since we built the greenhouses, but we don't even get enough folks in the pick-your-own fields to open those more than a day or two a week, even at the height of the season.”
”Back to bringing in more people, then. Hmmm.” She tapped a finger against her lips, a deep V forming in the center of her brow. ”This might be a stupid question, but have you thought about using social media to increase your reach?”
”In theory, sure. In practice . . .” Hunter paused, looking around the table at his father and brothers before admitting, ”Not really. I mean, we've got a website and a Facebook page just like every other business on the planet, but other than that, we've been juggling so many bigger things with day-to-day operations that finding the time to expand our marketing has been kind of tough.”
”And digging up the cash to hire someone with the know-how is even harder,” Owen said.
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