His father's chuckle was largely unapologetic. "Headed for ninety-six, according to the gal on the radio this mornin'. Looks like this season's gonna bring us all sorts of surprises."

"I think I've had all the surprises I need this season," Hunter said, pa.s.sing one of the water bottles over to his father before pouring the contents of the second into the bowl they'd brought from home for Lucy.

"Thanks," his father said after draining half the bottle in one go. "Guess I could've used that more than I thought."

A thread of worry uncurled in Hunter's gut, but he knew better than to state it flat out. Time to rely on his laid-back smile. "Yeah, well, take it easy, would you? You end up with heat exhaustion and you'll never hear the end of it from Owen."

"Bah. It's gonna take a h.e.l.luva lot more than a little heat to do me in." His father gave up a nothing-doing grin identical to Hunter's, just a slow flash of his teeth. "Now what do you say we get a little work done, here?"

His father took another long draw from his water bottle, and although Hunter knew it was probably more for his benefit than to quench the old man's thirst, he'd take whatever he could to get this day back to normal.

"I say that sounds like a d.a.m.n good plan."

CHAPTER NINE.

Emerson straightened the display of lilac body scrub six times in twenty minutes before Daisy flat out busted her.

"Girl. That is some righteous fidgeting you've got going on over there. If you're not careful, you're liable to rearrange a hole in the tablecloth."

"What? I'm not . . ." Oh h.e.l.l. Insulting the intelligence of the only friend she had right now was an epically bad plan. "Sorry," Emerson said, dropping her hands to her sides. "Guess I've got a little nervous energy to burn."

Daisy's blond brows snapped together in obvious confusion. "Over the body scrub?"

A laugh barged past Emerson's lips, scattering her nerves on exit. "No. I told Hunter I'd meet him on my lunch break."

"The lunch break you're taking in five minutes?" Daisy asked, mouthing the word "whoa" a second later. "Hunter and Eli headed back to their tent three hours ago. How come you didn't say anything?"

"I knew you had a lot on your mind with the festival. Plus, it's not a big deal."

Her friend sent a pointed glance at the containers of body scrub, all of them lined up with mathematical precision. "Pretty sure the tablecloth would say otherwise. So I take it you and the football guy are no longer a thing?" Daisy stopped short, her cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry. That was just about the nosiest question ever."

"No, it's okay," Emerson said. She might not want to fork over a complete tell-all of her personal life, but at least this she could freely admit. "Lance and I broke up when I decided to leave Las Vegas, yes. But it was amicable."

At least, as amicable as a breakup could be when one party was diagnosed with a debilitating disease and the other had a career that was taking off like the s.p.a.ce shuttle. The part of her that housed her pride had wanted to be furious when Lance had gently suggested they separate less than two weeks after her diagnosis. But, really, who was she kidding? Multiple sclerosis was forever, and even though she'd liked him well enough while they'd dated, she'd always known Lance wasn't forever.

"How about what's going on between you and Hunter?" Daisy asked, bringing Emerson back to the present with a small smile. "Is that amicable, too?"

Emerson's chin snapped up. "There's nothing going on between me and Hunter."

"But there could be, right?"

"I don't think so." First of all, she was his physical therapist-not that she could say that to Daisy, or would even if it didn't violate his privacy six ways to Sunday. Secondly, the last thing Emerson needed was a distraction, not even a blue-eyed, broad-shouldered, charming-as-h.e.l.l one.

She was here to work. To get on with her life. To forget.

And dammit, when Hunter had wrapped his fingers around hers, all she'd been able to do was remember.

"Y'all were once quite the thing. Are you sure?" Daisy asked gently. But Emerson's new normal couldn't include old pasts. Both her heart and her body would make d.a.m.n sure of that.

"Positive. I guess I'm just not used to being back in the town spotlight after twelve years. I'm sure it'll pa.s.s."

"Hmm." A flicker of doubt moved over Daisy's face, but thankfully, she didn't put it to words. "Well, lucky for you, those twelve years are in the rearview, and the only thing in front of you is today. Go. Have a nice lunch break. And don't come back for at least an hour, you hear?"

Emerson hesitated, sending a look around the tent and the steady stream of festivalgoers on Town Street beyond. "Promise you'll call me if things get busy?"

"Not on your life," Daisy said with a laugh. "Your cell phone's not too likely to do you much good around here, anyway. I'll give rain checks for your hand ma.s.sages, don't worry. Now scoot before I deliver you to the Cross Creek tent myself."

"Okay. Okay, okay!" Emerson added with a grin as Daisy waved her hands to shoo her from the tent. "I'll be back in an hour."

Tamping down the nerves still jangling in her belly, she kicked her feet into motion, moving up the street. So her conversation with Hunter this morning had been a little flirty. They were both adults, and while not a little bit of time had pa.s.sed since they'd been a couple, they certainly weren't total strangers. He'd taken her virginity, for G.o.d's sake-not that she hadn't been offering it up at the time. How difficult could a quick spin around the Watermelon Festival really be?

And then Emerson caught sight of him from across Town Street, and sweet baby Jesus, Hunter Cross was gorgeous.

Her breath slapped to a stop at the same time her pulse sped way up. Hunter was standing about fifteen feet away beneath Cross Creek's triple-wide vibrant red canopy tent, which all things considered, was normal enough. Turned to the side so his profile was showing, he focused his gaze first on the clipboard in his hands, then on the produce on the table next to him. Although the task seemed run of the mill, even boring, maybe, something about his movements spoke of pure ease, from the reverence in his eyes as he leaned in to check the wooden crates full of ripe green watermelons to the look on his face when he threw his head back and laughed at whatever his brother Owen had just said. The tension that had claimed Hunter's muscles all week in the PT center was nowhere to be found, replaced by a fluidity and calm that Emerson couldn't cultivate through any treatment or exercise, and oh G.o.d, he simply looked . . .

Like he belonged.

Emerson forced her feet forward at the same moment Hunter turned and saw her, his eyes going round with recognition and surprise.

But before either of them could speak, a fat, dark blur darted from beneath the canopy, beelining directly for Emerson and parking its big, wiggling self smack at her feet.

"Oh my G.o.d." Her brain raced, and her heart along with it, but no. It couldn't be. "Is this . . . ?" She met Hunter's stare for a fleeting second, catching his nod before kneeling down to greet the exuberant dog with a laugh. "Lucy, you pretty girl! The last time I saw you, you were only a puppy."

"She never did lose the mentality. Obviously," Hunter said, taking a few steps forward to lean one hip against a stack of st.u.r.dy wooden crates. A handful more seconds pa.s.sed while Emerson gave Lucy a healthy round of praise and scratches behind the ears-jeez, she was still the sweetest thing. Then a whistle sounded off from beneath the tent, sharp and quick, causing Lucy to stop mid-preen and hightail her way back under the shade.

"Oh." Emerson straightened and smoothed a hand over her T-shirt, her eyes following Lucy to the bustling activity beneath Cross Creek's oversized canopies. "I'm sorry," she said, taking a step toward Hunter. "You guys look really busy. If you need to stick around, I totally understand."

He opened his mouth, but before he could free a single word, an all-too-familiar time-roughened voice came from behind him to stop her argument.

"Emerson Montgomery. Is that you, darlin'?"

She blinked, an involuntary smile bubbling up from the bottom of her chest. Hunter's father might look a bit more worn around the edges than the last time she'd seen him, but Lord, his smile was still as warm and smooth as b.u.t.terscotch. "Yes, sir, it's me. How are you, Mr. Cross?"

He took the hand she extended and embraced it warmly in both of his. "As good as an old man can be. Sorry about Lucy here." He gestured down to the bona fide mutt sitting by his boots, still wagging her tail in a clear bid for attention. "I'd teach her some manners, but you know what they say about old dogs."

"Oh, no worries. I don't mind a bit," Emerson said, reaching down to give Lucy one more pat on the head.

Mr. Cross gestured to Hunter, who was still leaning against the crates and listening just as easy as he pleased. "Hunter mentioned you were back in town and workin' with the doc. Welcome home."

The warmth blooming behind her breastbone took her by complete surprise, but still she said, "Thank you. I'm happy to be working with Doc Sanders."

Mr. Cross tipped his timeworn Stetson at her. "We sure are grateful you're takin' good care of Hunter's shoulder."

"Thanks, but he deserves some credit, too. He's been working really hard."

Hunter's brows popped, outing his surprise. "You're the expert. All I'm doing is following the plan so I can get back to work."

Mr. Cross gave a rusty chuckle, lifting his chin toward the thoroughfare of Town Street. "Well, I won't keep you two from catchin' up. Hunt, you take your time. Emerson, it sure was nice to see you."

"You sure you're good here with Owen and Eli?" Hunter asked, sending a curl of guilt through Emerson's belly.

"I don't want to keep you from work," she said, but his father waved off her concern with a lift of one work-callused hand.

"Don't make me fire him, now." A wink slipped flawlessly over his warm gray gaze. "We'll be just fine here, don't you worry. And make sure you come up and see us in the strawberry fields, you hear? We'll see to it you get the best of the picking."

Emerson's stomach perked up and took notice, right along with her taste buds. Strawberries were her absolute favorite. She could probably eat a pound of them without so much as slowing down, maybe even two if they were fresh. "That's awfully kind. Thank you."

"Ah, it's my pleasure."

"I'll be back in an hour," Hunter said, waiting for his father to amble back under the tent with Lucy on his heels before gesturing toward the milling crowd on Town Street. "So what do you say? You ready to get back in the swing of things, small-town girl?"

Although keeping her laughter in check was a total no-go, she still wasn't about to cave completely. "Don't push your luck, hotshot."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Hunter said, although the smile tugging at his lips said otherwise.

Emerson blocked out the sudden shock of heat between her hips, forcing her feet to do the one-after-the-other thing while she inhaled to a count of five. Head up. Eyes forward. Focus. "Your father's still as nice as ever."

"He still flirts with all the pretty girls," Hunter corrected. "Believe me, you'd change your tune if you had to harvest corn with the man in the middle of August."

"You say that as if you hate harvesting corn. Somehow, I'm not sure I believe that."

He paused to squint at her through the overbright sunlight, finally lifting one shoulder beneath the white cotton of his T-shirt. "Fair enough. I love my job, even when it's tough. But you're not really a stranger to that concept, are you?"

She lifted her hands in concession. No point denying the obvious. "Guilty as charged."

"Nah," Hunter said, his boots keeping time with the soft clack-clack-clack of her sandals on the pavement. "If you're meant for something, the last thing you should feel about it is guilt."

"You think I'm meant for my job?" The urge to let her jaw drop in shock was strong, but he didn't skip so much as a step or a breath.

"Yeah. Don't you?"

"Oh, I know I'm meant for my job." That wasn't the no-brainer part of the equation. "I guess I'm just surprised that you think so. We've only been working together for a week."

"True," Hunter said slowly. "But this isn't my first rodeo with this shoulder. You know all sorts of exercises and tricks that I've never done before, and I'm already feeling worlds better. I guess I'm just calling it like I see it."

"b.u.t.tering me up won't get you out of working hard for the next three weeks, you know." She arched a brow at him, all show, and he laughed in return.

"Duly noted. So how are things going at the physical therapy center now that you've had a week to settle in?"

Ugh. Emerson tried to brazen her way through a smile, but the sudden pinch in her chest made it a tough go. "A little slow," she admitted, and screw it. She couldn't violate anyone's privacy when there was no one's privacy to violate. "You're kind of my only client right now."

"Really?" Hunter's chocolate-brown lashes fanned upward to frame his obvious shock.

Unable to resist, she pulled a page from his playbook. "Small town," she said. "In truth, I figured building a client base might be tough going at first. I ended up spending most of this week getting the center organized."

Not that that would last much longer. The place was only so big, and even with the supplemental equipment she and the doc had ordered this week, nearly everything had found a place to belong. Well, except for Emerson, anyway.

Hunter's brows gathered beneath the brim of his faded blue baseball hat, his eyes skimming the crowd around them. "With all the people doing manual labor on the farms out this way, I'm surprised you don't have more folks coming in for treatment."

"Doc Sanders and I have talked about me working with some of her patients on preventive care," Emerson said. "People with past injuries or chronic conditions like arthritis and degenerative joint damage can be a lot less likely to experience complications if they engage in regular therapeutic exercise."

"So you want to try to nip their pain in the bud, huh? Seems smart."

"In theory, sure." As far as Emerson was concerned, the only thing better than helping a client heal was keeping their pain from happening in the first place. "Concept and reality don't always play nicely, though. Everyone in Millhaven trusts Doc to take care of them."

Realization flared in Hunter's eyes as he finished her sentence. "But they don't trust you yet."

She nodded, forcing a breath past the tightness in her chest. "Exactly. Most people haven't even stopped staring when I stop at the Corner Market for coffee creamer. As far as they're concerned, I'm on the outside looking in."

Cutting her teeth as a brand-new therapist five years ago had been difficult enough, and she'd been part of a busy practice in New York at the time. Flying solo to gain the faith of the people in the small town she'd left behind?

Definitely more of an uphill battle than she'd expected, even with Doc Sanders's help.

For a minute, Hunter didn't say anything, just walked comfortably next to her as they moved past people browsing at nearby tents and waiting in line for everything from funnel cake to kettle corn. "You keep saying you're an outsider, but I'm not sure I'm convinced."

"And you keep saying I fit right in," Emerson pointed out. "But I'm not convinced of that, either."

"Okay." Hunter dished up a lazy smile, and G.o.d, how could one tiny dimple still be her Kryptonite after twelve freaking years? "Just remember, you asked for it."

Not waiting for her to answer, he scooped up her hand to guide her through the crowd. The gesture was so simple, so natural and easy, that by the time the surprise had slipped through her system, Emerson had already wrapped her fingers around his. Heat rippled up from the asphalt, and even though the temperature had to be close to record breaking, the buzz of excitement in the air relaxed her. Kids darted from tent to tent, their lips stained red from snow cones and their faces lit with sheer bliss, and even the adults running after them looked laid back and happy.

Emerson recognized a handful of people in the crowd, her smile coming easier and easier as many of them smiled first. Sure, a few folks (okay . . . most of them) went wide-eyed as she and Hunter pa.s.sed by, and yes, some eyebrows (specifically, Mollie Mae's and Kelsey Lambert's) winged upward at the sight of their interlaced fingers. But the sights and the sounds and the smells reminded Emerson of all the best parts of Millhaven, to the point that she couldn't deny the truth even as it surprised her.

She'd missed this town.

The unmistakably smoky scent of barbecue filled the air, sending a p.r.i.c.kle of antic.i.p.ation down Emerson's spine. "Oh, low blow," she said, although her laughter refused to let the sentiment stick. "You're going to entice me into feeling at home with Harley Martin's barbecue?"

Hunter looked at her as if she'd taken leave of every last one of her senses. "Uh, yeah. For starters. There's even a new addition to the menu that I think you're going to like."

He led the way from the main drag to the narrow stretch of gra.s.s in front of the firehouse, where a line of people at least ten deep stood waiting to be served. Harley's daughter Mich.e.l.le, who had been a year ahead of Emerson in school but looked as if she'd barely aged a nanosecond, stood next to her father. The two of them worked in tandem to serve up pulled-pork sandwiches along with heaping portions of coleslaw and cups of what appeared to be potato salad, and despite her aversion to all things mayonnaise, suddenly Emerson couldn't remember the last time she'd been so darn hungry.

"Hey, there, what can I . . . oh my word." Mich.e.l.le's tongs. .h.i.t the serving counter built into the food warmer in front of her with a metallic clack. "Emerson Montgomery! I heard you were back in town. And all the way from Las Vegas!"

A hard shot of heat swept over Emerson's cheeks at the attention, but she still managed a smile. "Hi, Mich.e.l.le. It's nice to see you."

"Aren't you still as polite as ever." Mich.e.l.le's genuine laugh marked the words as a compliment, and she turned toward her father, who was manning the gigantic steel drum smoker a few paces away. "Pop, look who's here."

Harley looked up, his silvery beard parting to accommodate his grin. "Well, I'll be! Emerson Montgomery. Last time we saw you, you weren't but fresh outta high school, girl. Glad to see you came to your senses and moved back home."

Nope. Not touching that one. "And I'm glad to see you're still making the best barbecue in the continental US," Emerson said, every breath of it the truth despite the dodge in topic. She'd traveled from coast to coast with the Lightning, sampling barbecue everywhere from the Carolinas to Kansas City to Texas. Harley's had always won the blue ribbon in her mind, hands down.

"Still smart." Harley pointed his tongs at her before tipping his graying head at Mich.e.l.le. "Make sure this girl gets extra servings, now. Gotta remind her we do things right 'round here."