Crossing the Line (The Cross Creek Series Book 2) Read online

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  PREVIOUS TITLES BY KIMBERLY KINCAID The Cross Creek Series Crossing Hearts

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Text copyright © 2017 Kimberly Kincaid All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle www.apub.com Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates. ISBN-13: 9781542046503 ISBN-10: 1542046505 Cover design by Jason Blackburn Cover photography by Regina Wamba of MaeIDesign.com

  This book is dedicated to my three daughters, who never say no when I ask if they want to go to the farmers’ market and (almost!) always eat their veggies.

  CONTENTS CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE Eli Cross was about to be in a shit-ton of trouble. But since he wasn’t exactly pioneering new territory by landing himself in hot water, he might as well take it like he usually did—with a shrug and a smile and great big steaming mug of here we go again. “Have you seriously not loaded any of these crates for tomorrow’s farmers’ market yet?” His brother Owen pinned him with a steely stare as he gestured to the six dozen wood-slatted crates stacked in neat columns against the barn wall. Kind of hard to believe Owen was only five years older than him, what with the whole thirty-two-going-on-grumpy-old-man thing the guy was rocking. For Chrissake, Owen bossed Eli over every last one of their 750 acres even more than their father did, and Tobias Cross had run the farm since his own father had left it to him more than three decades ago. Not that Eli actually listened to his brother much. He rolled a slow glance over the obviously empty crates, inhaling a lungful of humid, late-s

  CHAPTER TWO Scarlett Edwards-Stewart needed a shower. No, check that. What she really needed was a steamy, two-hour bubble bath followed by an equally long massage and enough sleep to make people wonder whether she was still breathing. She might love her job the way most people loved spouses or sports teams or anything else that could be invested in with a sheer ton of energy, sweat, and devotion, but even she had physical limits. Spending her day trekking through three different international airports and twice as many time zones with thirty pounds of photo gear slung over each shoulder after three weeks of nonstop of work? Apparently her ticket to finding them. At least temporarily. She lowered the duffel bag she’d been living out of for the better part of the month to the threshold of her Upper East Side apartment, following it with the gear case holding her lenses, rechargeable batteries, and portable tripods. Keeping the well-padded, bright-red bag holding her primary camera (aka

  CHAPTER THREE Eli walked down the aisle in the horse barn with an apple in one hand and a plastic gallon jug of water in the other. Compared with yesterday evening’s near brawl with his brother and mouthy throwdown with Greyson freaking Whittaker, today had been pretty quiet, although a large part of that was probably owed to the fact that Owen, their old man, and two of their farmhands had left for the farmers’ market in Camden Valley at the whip-crack of dawn. The Cross men usually rotated farmers’ market duty between among the four of them, but Owen had been so gung ho about specialty produce lately that he’d been taking Eli’s turn more often than not. I just want to keep my finger on the pulse of the competition and make sure we’re offering the very best of the best, had been the excuse du jour. Of course, while Eli might be a lot of things, a dumbass wasn’t one of them. He heard the translation as loud and clear as the Fourth of July fireworks over Willow Park. I don’t trust you t

  CHAPTER FOUR Several thoughts whizzed through Scarlett’s brain upon pulling to a stop in front of the homey-looking white clapboard house at Cross Creek Farm, the first of which was that if there was a bright, bustling heart of civilization, she was as far from it as a girl could possibly get. Second of all, she sure hoped Mallory wanted a lot of pictures of corn, because Scarlett had just found the goddamn mother lode. Thirdly . . . whoa. Where was the funeral? Scarlett eyeballed the group of people gaping at her from the walkway in front of the farmhouse, grateful as hell for the Dolce & Gabbana aviator sunglasses covering half her face. An educated guess said the redheaded—and only—woman in the group was the business manager who Mallory had been trying to get ahold of this morning when Scarlett had packed the last of her camera equipment into the adorable convertible she’d grabbed from the car rental agency. The four men varied in age, one of them clearly the patriarch who ran the p

  CHAPTER FIVE Eli took the slowest possible path to the compost bin behind the main house after dinner, wishing like hell he was anywhere other than Cross Creek even though he’d never been anywhere other than Cross Creek in his entire twenty-eight years. But between the familial fallout from that dumbass bet and the smart-mouthed, sharp-eyed photographer he’d been saddled with as a result, Eli would take a one-way ticket to Timbuktu over his current situation. Even if, with her wild, platinum-and-dark-blond-streaked hair and her olive-green eyes and her petite-yet-still-plenty-curvy frame, said photographer was hotter than homemade sin. Turning the corner toward the three-sided alcove that housed the trash cans, the blue plastic recycling tubs, and the compost bin, Eli lifted the lid to the latter, the rough-hewn wood scraping across his palm as he dumped the contents of his bucket in with a thunk. After his showdown with Scarlett in front of the henhouse a few hours ago, he’d gone the

  CHAPTER SIX For as stubborn as she was, Scarlett royally sucked at the silent treatment. The whole thing drove her apeshit, really—stewing on your feelings only made it impossible to move on to the next ones. So the last twelve minutes of her life, sitting literal feet but theoretical leagues away from Eli Cross in total screaming silence? Yeeeeeeah. Pretty much her definition of hell on earth. Not that Eli had been wrong about work being their number one priority, because truly, Scarlett wouldn’t have spent more than half a day out here in BFE unless she was shooting a magazine spread that would help save her best friend’s business. But she couldn’t exactly do that if her entire daily agenda consisted of following him around like a puppy until quitting time, and she definitely couldn’t do it if they didn’t speak to each other. Unfortunately, calling him a cocky, swagger-happy jackass probably didn’t count. “Oh,” Scarlett said, her surprise getting the best of her and breaking the stal

  CHAPTER SEVEN Although Scarlett would rather be raked across a mile-long bed of coals than admit it, farm life was kicking her ever-loving ass. Running a hand over her lower back—which was a lovely shade of tomato, thanks to the fact that she’d missed it with the sunscreen three days ago—she tossed her keys onto the counter in her borrowed kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge before dragging herself to the couch in the living room. “Ahhh. Home sweet home for now.” The muscles in her legs let loose with a hallelujah chorus as she flopped back against the cushions, allowing herself a few seconds’ worth of oh-hell-yes relief before reachi
ng for the camera bag at her side. Carefully unearthing Baby from its heavily padded resting spot, Scarlett clicked the camera to life, sharpening her gaze over the display screen on the back as she scrolled through today’s pictures, one by one. Thoroughly meh. Again. “Dammit,” she muttered, her gut sliding south. She’d been here in the boo

  CHAPTER EIGHT “Scarlett!” Eli’s pulse hammered the word from his throat, and he moved out of pure, undiluted instinct. Stabbing his boots into the soft, uneven grass beneath the apple tree, he surged forward, his arms shooting out just in time for Scarlett to crash into them in a tangle of jerky motions and top-shelf curse words. The force made him stagger despite the crush of adrenaline sending his muscles into lockdown, and he squeezed his arms even more tightly around Scarlett’s body as he fought to regain his balance. “Camera,” she gasped, her body curled in over the equipment still hanging by a miracle around her neck. “Screw the camera,” Eli bit out, but she struggled hard enough in search of the damned thing that he had to either relent or lose the footing he’d just fucking gained. “Okay, okay. Let’s get clear of the tree so we can take a look.” That he’d be looking at her just as closely as she’d surely look at the camera was beside the point. But shit, she had to have been stu

  CHAPTER NINE Thankfully, Scarlett’s second trip to Cross Creek’s apple grove was less eventful than her first—at least in terms of bodily harm. Her back might not have stopped throbbing out a steady beat of ow-ow-ow on the drive back up the lane, and yeah, her pride was still riding shotgun right there next to it. But she’d finally gotten somewhere with Eli. No way was she going to scale back for a little thing like pain now. Although holy hell in a handbasket, yellow jacket stings hurt. “So, a couple of things about shooting video,” Scarlett said, chasing the prickle on her cheeks with an all-business smile as her shoes shushed through the grass. “Baby here is a multitasker, so we don’t need a different camera for recording.” Eli squinted through the sunlight, ambling to a stop in front of a row of apple trees, which—Scarlett fought the urge to do a full-on fist pump as she sight-measured the ratio of shadows to natural light—provided just as perfect of a backdrop now as they had half

  CHAPTER TEN As much as it chapped his ass to admit it, Eli was having fun. Which was really saying something, considering there was a not-small amount of cow manure in his immediate future. But ever since he and Scarlett had shot that video segment this morning in the apple grove, then laughed and joked their way through the rest of his enormous to-do list and her even bigger to-shoot list afterward, he’d felt oddly at ease. Granted, the spotlight still wasn’t his happy place, but being in front of the camera hadn’t been the worst thing going—at least not after his defenses had impulsively dared him to dare Scarlett into the frame. Their back-and-forth had made it just easy enough to slide into his cocky comfort zone and relax in front of the camera, and while he was never going to forget that the thing was rolling, at least maybe the segments would make up for the Whittakers’ stroke of good luck this week. Stupid fucking peaches. “Okay,” Scarlett said, her smile ushering Eli back to r

  CHAPTER ELEVEN Two thoughts filled Eli’s brain as he slanted his mouth over Scarlett’s. The first was that kissing her should feel impulsive and reckless and crazy. The second? Was that the first thought could take the direct path to hell, because Scarlett felt fucking flawless in his arms. Their lips touched for only a second, two at the most, before Scarlett pulled back slightly to stare at him. Dread trickled into his belly on a reality chaser, and Jesus, Mary, and all the saints, had he seriously just kissed her? “God, Scarlett, I apologize.” Eli blinked. “I was out of line. I—” Before he could speak or react or even form a scrap of thought, she pressed up to kiss him back. For a sliver of a second, Eli stood stock-still, locked into place. Although the connection of their mouths was the same as it had been only seconds ago—just lips on lips, barely moving—this kiss was different. It wasn’t born of shock or excitement or impulse. It stemmed from want. Hot and pure. And he wasn’t ho

  CHAPTER TWELVE Scarlett leaned back against the side panel of Cross Creek’s box truck, 99 percent certain her leg muscles had been replaced by old rubber bands and even older glue. But since the crack of dawn boasted practically nonexistent natural light, she hadn’t been able to snap any useable shots since she and Eli had pulled into Camden Valley’s pavilion nearly an hour ago. Pitching in to help the Crosses set up for the farmers’ market until she could get to work on her own stuff had been a no-brainer. Of course, right now her calves were tag-teaming with her lower back to give her no-brainer a whole lot of grief, to the point that Scarlett had no choice but to admit the truth. Working on a farm definitely wasn’t the tranquil cakewalk she’d expected it to be. Now that she finally had a bit of daylight on her side, Scarlett took advantage of her brief respite on the sidelines to check out her surroundings. The pavilion was part of a larger park area, with ball fields and playground

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Eli knew that after the last four hours of nonstop movement, he should be happy. No, scratch that. He should be ecstatic. Less than two minutes after the front gates for the farmers’ market had swung open, they’d seen a steady stream of customers at Cross Creek’s tent, asking for and buying everything from asparagus to zucchini. Between him and Owen and their old man, they’d sold every last Jonagold they’d been able to spare from the trees—including the ones he and Hunter had picked by the light of his F-150’s headlights at eight thirty last night—and more than half their other produce had practically flown out of the crates. Eli had chatted up dozens of folks who had seen yesterday’s video online, and paused for as many selfies with Scarlett, who had stayed true to her promise of keeping up with social media along with taking what looked to be a ton of new pictures for FoodE. Hunter had even called in to say that Cross Creek’s Internet traffic still looked as great as

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN Scarlett sat back against the well-cushioned love seat in her apartment, her eyes on her laptop screen and her mouth curving up into the world’s most gigantic smile. But as goofy as it was, the expression was warranted. Five days had passed since the farmers’ market, and each had been better and busier than the one before. The second video clip she and Eli had filmed—along with the accompanying articles on FoodE and the extra content the Crosses had put on the farm’s website—had garnered even more reach than the first. Both FoodE and Cross Creek had seen so much increased business after the segment had gone live that Mallory had needed to reinforce her skeleton crew with a temporary assistant and Hunter had needed to literally run to the cornfields to pick whatever he could by hand in order to restock yesterday’s roadside stand. Scarlett had taken hundreds of new photos to go with this week’s articles, along with pitching in at the farm stand to help Eli with customers

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN Two beers and one hour later, Eli’s resistance to Scarlett’s miniskirt (and her laugh . . . and the stories about her travels . . . and he didn’t even want to get started on how good she’d smelled when they’d hugged hello) was pretty much toast. But they’d had a great time hanging out and celebrating Cross Creek’s great week, along with FoodE’s success. He could handle sitting next to her without making a complete ass of himself. Scarlett leaned in from her seat next to him to put her empty pint glass on the table, and Christ on a cracker, how could any woman smell like fresh-cut flowers in the middle of a goddamn country bar? “Hey, you guys.” The distinctly female voice brought Eli back to reality with a snap, and he turned to look at the dark-haired waitress to whom it belonged. “Sorry you’ve had to self-serve up till now, but my shift just started. Can I grab anyone a refill or something from the kitchen?” “Cate?” Owen’s beer bottle hit the table with a graceless thu

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN Thankfully, Eli was excellent at both making excuses and driving really, really fast. They didn’t talk much on the way back to the Twin Pines, which was okay with Scarlett. She’d already said the thing that had been front and center in her brain—and all her other parts—ever since s
he’d seen Eli walk into The Bar tonight. She wanted him. And she was done waiting. The headlights of Eli’s truck threw shadows over the faded pavement of the parking lot as he pulled into his usual spot in front of his apartment. Quiet filtered into the truck, punctuated by the creak and sigh of the now-still engine and the soft rustle of denim and cotton against leather as they both shifted against the front seats of the truck to look at each other. “Hey,” Eli whispered, a curl of pure want unraveling in Scarlett’s belly as he dropped his eyes to her mouth for a beat before raising them back up to meet her stare. “Hey.” “Are you sure—” She pressed forward to cover his mouth with hers before h

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Eli woke up in slow stages. Which wasn’t anything groundbreaking or even beyond the realm of completely normal. But the soft, warm body next to him definitely was out of the ordinary. The fact that said body belonged to Scarlett, who—oh by the way—was not only next to him but also as naked as the day she was born and holding his leather-bound, special-edition copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare in her bed-sheet-covered lap? Screw out of the ordinary. This was downright fucking insane. And judging by the curiosity in her shrewd, gorgeous stare, all his ugly truths were about to be right in the middle of it. “Uh,” Eli grunted, his heart pinballing off every last one of his ribs, even as he tried to cover his expression with a whole lot of nothing-doing. “Morning. It is morning, right?” “Oh hey.” Scarlett smiled through the soft glow of the hallway light, which she must’ve turned on at some point between when he’d finally drifted off a handful of hours ago

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN “Hey, bumblebee. How do you feel about a field trip?” The question caught Scarlett so off guard that she nearly dropped the crate of butter lettuce balanced between her palms. “I’ve been in Millhaven for three weeks now,” she pointed out with a sassy smile. “I’m pretty sure you’ve shown me everything the town has to offer.” “Everything, huh? It’s only been a week since we branched out from the farm and started exploring Millhaven, proper. And in today’s case, beyond,” Eli pointed out, leaning one hip against the tailgate of Cross Creek’s box truck and tipping his head at the pavilion in front of them, where the famers’ market was in full swing. “You sure you’ve seen it all?” She laughed and bit back the urge to remind him that she usually changed locations the way most people changed their pants. “Well, let’s see. We’ve covered Town Street from stem to stern. I took some incredible shots of the preparations for Fall Fling on the afternoon we spent in Willow Park.” “If