Cross Creek: Crossing Hearts Part 11

He hooked his hand beneath her chin to hold her close, returning his attention to her mouth. She kissed him back, slipping her tongue over his again and again, and, okay, yeah, his composure was pretty much a foregone conclusion.

"You feel good, too," Emerson murmured, edging her teeth along the sensitive skin of his lower lip just enough to make him want to scream. Hunter was vaguely aware that they were outside, and although the shaded, tree-lined footpath around Willow Park wasn't quite the same as the wide-open public of Town Street, they were still far from behind closed doors.

But right now, he was far from caring. Curling his fingertips into the soft angle where Emerson's jaw met her neck, he thrust again with his tongue, sucking and tasting and relearning every nuance of her mouth. He dove in deep, kissing her as if he'd die if he didn't, pulling her even closer against him with no regard for time or place, fully intent on leaving his mouth on hers until they both forgot their names . . .

And then a pair of voices, too close to be avoided, ricocheted him right back to reality.

Hunter and Emerson flew to opposite sides of the bench just as a young couple came chattering around the bend in the path, both of them seeming surprised at the sight of anyone nearby.

"Oh! This is kind of a lucky break," said the guy, his shock fading into a friendly smile in two blinks. "We're looking for Willow Park. We overheard some local folks talking about it and figured we'd have a picnic." He held up a bag printed with Harley's name and logo on the side, and Hunter nodded farther down the path, thanking G.o.d that his hard-on had done a cease and desist at the sound of company.

Company that had been the only thing keeping him from impulsively acting on said hard-on until he and Emerson were both good and sweaty and spent right here on a park bench, and holy s.h.i.+t, was he insane?

Hunter cleared his throat, forcing his voice to its most neutral setting. "You're not too far off. Just keep following the path here for another couple hundred yards. You'll end up at the east end of the park."

"Thanks," said the girl holding the guy's hand, and man, they couldn't be more than eighteen. She looked up at her boyfriend, her smile spanning ear to ear as they moved down the footpath. By the time they'd moved out of earshot, Hunter's calm had found its way back into place.

And apparently, so had Emerson's guard.

"I'm sorry," she said, smoothing a hand over the front of her T-s.h.i.+rt and straightening the already-straight hem. "I shouldn't have gotten so carried away."

"Why not?" Way to blurt it out there, Casanova. Hunter shook his head at his utter lack of finesse and tried again. "I mean, yeah, we got pretty caught up together, and a park bench in the middle of the day probably isn't the best place for that. But we are consenting adults. Why shouldn't we get a little carried away?"

Emerson blinked, her shoulders losing a fraction of the tension holding them tight. "Because I'm your physical therapist, for one.

Legit under the right circ.u.mstances, he supposed. Still . . . "That's temporary. Plus, we've known each other way longer than the week you've been my physical therapist, and we're not at the therapy center right now."

"No," she said slowly. "But we will be on Monday."

"And everything will be business as usual when we are. I know you're not going to treat me differently at the PT center just because we kissed." Hunter paused, nudging her gently with an elbow. "Are you?"

"Of course not." Emerson's chin hiked up, but the tiny smile winding over her mouth said she heard his teasing tone of voice loud and clear.

Hunter took the ball and ran like h.e.l.l. "I mean, it was a really good kiss," he said, fixing her with half a grin and all the charm he could work up. "Maybe you should go just a little easier on me with those resistance tube exercises."

"If I go easy on you, even a little, you won't heal as fast or as well," she pointed out, although her expression didn't match the sternness of the words. After a second, she added, "It was a really good kiss, wasn't it?"

"One of my best, if I do say so myself."

"Oh my G.o.d, you're terrible!" Emerson said over a peal of laughter, and Hunter arched a brow, unable to resist.

"Not according to you. Okay, okay!" He held up his hands in concession as she flashed him an indignant stare. Man, she was still feisty when she wanted to be. "But come on, Em. We kissed. There's no sense turning it into a headline."

She nodded, sending a wistful gaze to the thick canopy of leaves over their heads. "No one else has ever called me that, you know."

His chest panged with something that felt oddly proprietary. "Does it bother you?"

"No. I just . . . you need to know I'm not looking for anything serious. I really am here in Millhaven to focus on work."

Hunter opened his mouth, fully intent on asking her exactly why she'd come home when she had so much bad family history here. But the truth of it was, however understandable her motivations for leaving were now, Emerson had still hurt him in the past.

Trusting her completely was going to take time, and as s.e.xy as their kiss had been, he didn't want anything serious, either. Jumping into anything with her-including a conversation about why she'd suddenly come back to Millhaven-would only rock the boat.

"Tell you what," Hunter said, extending a hand in her direction. "How about we put everything else behind us and just go one day at a time?"

She smiled, wrapping her fingers around his for a handshake that meant business. "Head up, eyes forward sounds perfect to me."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Emerson's body might have been perched in the rickety old chair at the front desk of the physical therapy center, but her mind was no less than a billion miles away. Or maybe it was just twelve miles, up Town Street and past Pete Hitchc.o.c.k's poultry farm, on a sprawling lot of land she'd be able to find in the dark, even after all this time.

Less than two days had pa.s.sed since her unexpected, oh-so-steamy encounter with Hunter Cross, but one thing was for d.a.m.n sure. Despite her very best efforts-and maybe-probably-definitely a pair of very, very cold showers-ever since he'd walked her back to Daisy's tent at the Watermelon Festival on Sat.u.r.day, Emerson had been completely unable to get Hunter out of her brain.

Have you ever wondered what if . . .

She sat up straight, the desk chair giving up a hearty squeal of protest at her sudden s.h.i.+ft. She couldn't deny that their kiss had felt mind-scramblingly good, better even than all the other times Hunter had kissed her in the past. But she'd come back to Millhaven to work hard and move forward with her life. She had so many other things to worry about, namely the wide-open s.p.a.ces in her appointment book and the fact that, sooner or later, she was going to have to face her parents in a showdown she didn't want or need.

She couldn't afford a distraction. Not even one that came in a s.e.xy, Wrangler-wearing, sweet-talking, slow-kissing package.

Oh G.o.d, this morning's shower hadn't been cold enough.

"Excuse me. Emerson?" came a soft voice from the doorway leading back to Doc Sanders's waiting room. "I apologize for not having an appointment, but Nurse Kelley said I should come on back."

The heat in Emerson's veins turned to surprise in an instant, her brain whirling in an attempt to play catch-up with the reality around her. "Mrs. Ellersby?" The sweet old woman had lived in Millhaven since the day she'd been born there nearly seven decades ago. "Sure, of course. What can I do for you?"

"Well, it might be silly," she said, her bespectacled gaze growing wary. "I know you're used to working with all those famous football players. They must get hurt real serious all the time."

"Sometimes." Emerson nodded, proceeding with care. "But if you're having discomfort, that's not silly at all. Do you want to come in and tell me about it? I might be able to help."

Mrs. Ellersby crossed the threshold into the PT center, taking the seat Emerson offered beside her at the reception desk. "My hands have been giving me fits lately," the older woman said. "I've had arthritis for about ten years now, and sometimes I get the old aches and pains when snow's coming or I knit too much. But for the last few weeks, these babies have just been hurting something fierce."

She flexed her fingers, wincing slightly at the movement, and Emerson's heart gave up a tug at the same time her brain began to process.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Joint pain can be pretty debilitating." She sure had been cozying up with that reality lately. "Do you see a rheumatologist for your arthritis?"

The cluck of Mrs. Ellersby's tongue answered the question before she even spoke. "Oh, sugar. Seems a bit silly to haul my bones all the way to Camden Valley just to have the doctor there poke me and prod me and tell me I'm old as dirt. I used to go in the beginning, but Doc Sanders keeps me in good with my medicine now, and usually, the pain's not so bad."

"But lately that's changed," Emerson said, waiting until the woman nodded before adding, "Can you think of anything out of the ordinary that might have caused the increase in pain? Any kind of injury at all?"

"Not that I can think of, although I did crochet a whole bucketload of doilies to sell at the Watermelon Festival."

No wonder the poor woman's joints were hurting. "That would probably do it. Have you talked to Doc Sanders yet to see what she thinks?"

Mrs. Ellersby's head shake sent a ripple of surprise up Emerson's spine. "No. Mich.e.l.le Martin told me you were doing those hand ma.s.sages over at Daisy Halstead's tent at the Watermelon Festival, and then Hunter Cross was just bragging up a storm yesterday morning at Clementine's Diner, sayin' how much you've helped him with his shoulder. So I figured I'd come here first to ask you."

"Hunter told you about his physical therapy?" Shock knocked the question right out of her mouth. Maybe Emerson had misunderstood the woman. No way had she meant- "Why, yes he did, hand to G.o.d," Mrs. Ellersby said. "I went to Clementine's after church for some coffee and a slice of pie, and he was sitting in the next booth over, having breakfast with his brother Owen and Sheriff Atlee. I made mention of my pain to Cate McAllister-poor, sweet girl, she's waiting tables at the diner now-and wouldn't you know, Hunter overheard us. He was so sweet to tell me all about you two working together. Talked you right up, he did."

Emerson's face flushed all the way to her temples. "That was very nice of him." While she could think of a dozen different words to subst.i.tute for "nice," all of them would have to wait for now. "Here's what I'd like to do, Mrs. Ellersby. I think you should make an appointment with Doc Sanders just to make sure she thinks this is a flare-up of your arthritis and not something different causing your pain. If she does, I can put you on my schedule for some maintenance therapy as soon as you're ready, okay?"

"You make it sound so easy." The older woman smiled up at her, clearly relieved, and Emerson couldn't help but smile back.

"I don't know about easy. Maintenance therapy takes a lot of patience. But let's see if we can't get you feeling better."

Finding her feet, she ushered Mrs. Ellersby down the hall to Doc Sanders's waiting room to give Nurse Kelley the lowdown, and on a stroke of pure luck, the doctor had an opening later that morning.

"If Doc Sanders thinks you'll benefit from a few sessions on my side of the fence, feel free to have her bring you right on over here after your appointment. We can get started with your therapy today, if you'd like," Emerson said.

"Oh dear! Thank you so much. That's right nice of you to be so quick about it."

Emerson smiled, placing a gentle squeeze over the older woman's shoulder. "That's all part of my job, Mrs. Ellersby. The quicker we take care of that pain, the better, right?"

Emerson walked Mrs. Ellersby to the front door, retracing her steps back to the physical therapy office. She checked the clock on the wall, realizing with a start that she had about only sixty seconds before Hunter was due to arrive for their session. Her faithful Keurig Mini didn't need longer than that to crank out a ten-ounce cup of heaven, though, and her stomach did an up-and-at-'em beneath her light-gray swing pants at the thought.

"h.e.l.lo, coffee. Come to Momma."

Her knees made their displeasure known as she bent down to grab a coffee pod from the storage cabinet adjacent to her desk, sending streaks of pain up to her hips and down both legs. Ugh, with the exception of some gentle stretches and a handful of trips to her kitchen for what little food she'd found appetizing, she'd spent most of yesterday couch bound, trying to make a preemptive strike on any exhaustion the workweek might bring. Starting out in pain was far from a good sign.

Suck it up, girl. Head up, eyes forward.

The masculine rumble of a throat being cleared hooked Emerson on a straight path back to the present, and she swung around, her heart hopscotching all the way up her rib cage. "Oh jeez! I didn't see you there."

Of course, Hunter looked just as calm, cool, and gorgeous as ever, his dark-blue T-s.h.i.+rt hugging every hard plane and angle on his upper body. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt your breakfast."

He jutted his chin at the coffeemaker, which had just made its final gurgle and beeped out the doneness of this morning's nth cup of earthy, caffeinated goodness.

"You're not interrupting. You have an appointment," she reminded him. Scooping up her mug, she snuck a quick sip, letting the coffee soothe her jangling pulse.

"Right." He tipped his head at her with a slow smile that said he remembered their kiss just as much as she did, and yeah, so much for her pulse slowing down. "Before we get to business, I should probably give you these. After all, I owe you some tomatoes."

Emerson noticed, just a beat too late, the half-bushel basket slung over Hunter's tanned forearm. Satiny, fat tomatoes peeked from the brim, surrounded by an oversized bunch of brightly ruffled b.u.t.ter lettuce, and her mouth went from zero to watering in about three seconds flat.

"You don't owe me anything," she said, and oh my G.o.d, was that a pint of strawberries next to the lettuce?

"Okay." He handed over the basket in spite of her protest, as easy as a Sunday sunrise. "Then how about this. I really wanted to give you another good meal. So I'm afraid you're stuck with the whole lot of those tomatoes, and a few other extras, besides. Just think of it as helping Cross Creek out with a little quality control."

Emerson blew out a breath, but she knew when she'd been beat. Plus-h.e.l.lo-strawberries.

"Thank you." She smiled and tucked the basket safely onto her desk, waving Hunter back to the center of the therapy room and forcing her lady bits back to business as usual. No matter how s.e.xy their kisses had been, she and Hunter needed to stay on the level here at the therapy center.

Speaking of the therapy center . . . "Between growing these beautiful tomatoes and putting in a good word for me around town, you've been pretty busy since I last saw you," she said.

Hunter's cross-trainers squeaked to a stop on the linoleum, his dimple making an appearance to accent his sheepish grin. "I take it Mrs. Ellersby dropped by."

"Right before you got here," Emerson confirmed, gesturing to the arm bike. She waited until Hunter sat down and started to pedal his way through his warm-up before she added, "You told her about your physical therapy on purpose in order to boost my business, didn't you?"

"I overheard her telling Cate McAllister that her hands were bothering her. Seemed like it might fall under your umbrella of expertise, so I may have mentioned our sessions."

The glint in his eyes marked the words for the dial-down they were, and she raised a brow in answer.

"I believe the word Mrs. Ellersby used was 'bragged.'"

Although Hunter laughed, he didn't give in. "It's not my fault you're working wonders on my shoulder. You have no one to blame but yourself for being good at your job, you know."

"You're the one doing the work," Emerson pointed out, and she laughed back without realizing she would. "I suppose that makes us both to blame."

Hunter pedaled through a few revolutions on the arm bike, his shoulders loosening a fraction more with each move. "Fair enough. But for the record, I didn't tell her anything that wasn't one hundred percent true. I think you're a great physical therapist, Emerson."

Her heart squeezed in undisguised goodness, and she smiled in thanks. "And I think you're still great at trying to fix things."

"Not everything," he said, and just like that, both his expression and his shoulders filled with tension.

Whoa. "Is something wrong at the farm?"

"Not wrong, I guess, just . . . well, yeah. Maybe wrong is a good word for it."

The temptation to push pulsed through Emerson's brain. Hunter wouldn't heal with his muscles wound tighter than a Salvation Army drum, and he looked downright miserable at the mention of trouble at Cross Creek. But he'd given her breathing room the other day when she'd needed to talk. The least she could do now was return the favor.

"I don't mind listening, if you want an ear to bend." Despite the concern burning a hole in her belly and the questions burning a hole in her mind, Emerson simply took a step back. The arm bike clacked out a soft rhythm as Hunter pedaled, and after a minute, he looked up to meet her gaze.

"Do you remember the other day, when I told you my brothers are fixin' to throw down?" he asked, waiting out her nod before continuing. "Let's just say they get one step closer every day."

"I take it you didn't have a smooth morning at the farm," Emerson said. She might not have any siblings to use as a barometer for this kind of thing, but constant friction between brothers didn't seem normal. Especially for a family like the Crosses, who had always been so tight-knit in the past.

"This morning, the morning of the Watermelon Festival, every morning last week. Take your pick. They've all been rough." Hunter punctuated the words with a heavy exhale. "No matter what I do, I can't seem to get Owen and Eli to talk to each other without a bunch of s.h.i.+t slinging. Even the small stuff is a huge deal lately. It's like living with a pair of powder kegs."

Emerson turned the facts over in her mind, an idea swirling and taking root. "Are they only arguing about work? Or is there something deeper there?" Now that was the sort of family tension in which she was sadly well versed.

"At first, I thought it was just their personalities clas.h.i.+ng over how to get things done, and they'd learn to work around it," Hunter said, his muscles flexing and releasing as he continued his warm-up. "But now, I'm not so sure. They've been fighting like this for months, and they're both so p.i.s.sed off at each other all the time. The tension is wearing everyone thin."

That did sound pretty tedious. "What does your father have to say about the two of them arguing?" she asked.

"He's not really the sort to put his foot down and tell them to get over it. My mother was always the disciplinarian, wrangling us boys and getting us to act right." A flicker of emotion whisked through Hunter's stare, jabbing Emerson right in the breastbone, but the calmness didn't waver from his voice. "I don't know what started this mess. But whatever's going on between Owen and Eli feels a whole lot bigger than something they can fix by throwing a couple of punches and then dusting themselves off to shake hands."

Emerson bit back the urge to question the whole trial-by-testosterone method of problem-solving. She was more for the I-call-bulls.h.i.+t approach, herself. "So why don't you, then?"

"What, call them out on things? I'm not really the sort, either," Hunter said truthfully. "Plus, they've both got their heels dug in so hard, I don't think it would do any good. Owen is convinced that Eli doesn't take working at Cross Creek seriously, and I've gotta say, Eli earns the bad rap a lot of the time by blowing things off. But then Owen comes down on him like a pallet of bricks even when Eli does work hard, and no one wins."

"So they've got to figure out how to get their s.h.i.+t together on their own."

"Either that or one of them is liable to murder the other."

A small laugh tempted Emerson's lips, until she caught Hunter's expression. Eyes steely beneath the fringe of his lashes. Mouth pressed into a grim line. Muscles taut beneath his T-s.h.i.+rt.