The Orchard at the Edge of Town (11 page)

Heat swept over her, mixing with a longing so deep and undeniable that she clenched her fists to keep from touching his cheek, running her hand along the smooth angle of his jaw.

“Cones are ready,” Charlotte announced cheerfully, her voice like a bucket of ice water dumped on Apricot's head. Everything came back into perspective. The cute little shop with the heavenly scent of baked goods hanging on the air. The girls bouncing excitedly at the counter. The soft whir of an air conditioner and cool air blasting from a vent in the ceiling. Charlotte smiling as she handed out the cones.

And, of course, Simon.

He looked like any other guy—just a little handsomer, a little kinder, a little more interesting. Which sucked. Apricot needed him to be mean or selfish or boring. She needed him to make snide comments to Charlotte and disparaging comments about people on the street.

You need him to be like Lionel?
a voice whispered in her head.

She would have told it to shut up, but Charlotte handed her the cone. “Here you are.”

“How much do I owe you?” She opened her purse, nudging Handsome to the side as she reached for the wallet. Thank goodness he'd worn himself out and didn't budge as she pulled a few bills from the soft Italian leather.

“First cone is always on the house,” Charlotte responded with a smile.

“I can't—”

“Don't argue with her,” Simon interrupted as he handed Charlotte cash. “You won't win. Charlotte might look soft and easygoing, but the woman is stubborn as the old hound dog my grandfather used for hunting. That hound could track just about anything with legs, but I'll tell you what; once he got on the scent, he would never let it go. One year, Mule—”

“I thought you said he was a hound dog,” Apricot said, amused by the story and by the rapt look on the girls' faces. She wasn't sure if Simon's tale had put it there or if their ice-cream cones had. Charlotte had given them each a scoop that looked to be three times the size she'd given the adults.

“A hound dog named Mule. Pay attention.” He scowled, but his eyes twinkled. “One year, Mule got on the scent of a rabbit. Problem was, that rabbit was my sister's pet. He chased the poor thing all over the house. Mom was screaming fit to be tied and waving a broom like she planned to wallop one of them or me.”

“Now, why would your mother wallop you with a broom?” Charlotte took the cash Simon handed her and got change from a register. “I've met your mom; she's as mild-mannered as they come.”

“She's mild-mannered until one of her sons lets a hound dog in the house. That's when all bets are off,” Simon responded. “So, she's chasing Mule all over the house and he's chasing my sister's rabbit, and I'm trying to avoid the broom. I figured it might be best if they all ran around outside, so I opened the door. Let me tell you something.” He whistled softly and shook his head. “That was one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. The rabbit ran out. Mule ran out. Mom ran out. According to her, Mule chased that rabbit all the way to Dead Man's Creek.”

“Dead Man's Creek,” Evie breathed, dabs of ice cream on the corners of her mouth. “Is that really what it's called, Daddy?”

“It is.” Simon nodded. “One day, I'll take you girls there. It's about ten miles from Pop Pop and Grammy's house. Poor Mom, she ran all the way, shouting loud enough that I swear we could hear her the entire way. I'm pretty dang sure the whole community could, but Mule? He'd have nothing to do with her telling him to stop. He just kept running until he got to the creek.”

“What happened then? Did Mule eat the rabbit?” Rori asked, gnawing on her lower lip instead of her ice cream. Unlike her sister, she didn't seem enthralled by the story. She seemed scared.

Simon crouched down in front of her, tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “Sweetie, Mule finally cornered that rabbit at the edge of the creek. Grammy was running up behind them both and Mule picked the rabbit up just as gentle as could be, carried it like he would one of his own puppies, straight back to the house.”

“Really?” she asked hopefully, and Apricot's heart ached for how tender she was. Her sister Peach had been that way when she was little—so innocent and sweet and gentle. Now she was a twenty-year-old with gauges in her ears and black lipstick on her mouth. At least, that's how she'd looked the last time Apricot had seen her. She hadn't come for the wedding. She was going through that phase that kids went through, finding herself on the streets of Washington, D.C., playing music in bars on the weekends and going to college during the day.

“Yes, really,” Simon responded. “Now let's go for that walk. Daisy is making meat loaf for dinner, and she'll be upset if we don't get back in time for it.”

“Meat loaf?! Gross, Daddy! She puts broccoli in it!”

“And, her potatoes always come out of a box, and she puts peas in with them and sometimes, even, corn,” Evie added.

“That sounds . . .”
Disgusting
was on the tip of Apricot's tongue. “Interesting.”

“It is not interesting at all!” Evie cried. “It's horrible. Like she's trying to poison us or something.”

“Don't exaggerate, munchkin,” Simon chided mildly as he opened the door. A woman was standing on the sidewalk a few feet from the shop. It took about three seconds for Apricot to recognize her. Dark hair pulled into a bun. Long jean skirt. Sweater despite the heat.

Daisy.

And she didn't look happy.

“Simon!” she said with a smile that looked as brittle as old bones. “I saw your SUV. I thought you and the girls were in Spokane for the afternoon.” Her gaze dropped to the girls and she frowned. “And I thought we agreed that if the girls wanted tutus, they had to pay themselves. Did Rori somehow manage to earn enough for one?”

“I don't recall agreeing to anything,” he responded, not mentioning that Apricot had been the one who'd paid. “We're going to take a walk in the park. You on lunch break?”

“I—” Her cheeks flushed deep red, her mottled skin a little dry. Apricot didn't think she'd been drinking her medicinal tea, but now wasn't the time to ask. “Yes. We got new inventory today, and I had to shelve it, so lunch is late.”

“Do you get light-headed when you eat late?” Apricot asked, because Daisy looked a little anemic. If she had a problem with blood sugar regulation, that could play a part in her anxiety and irritability.

“What's it to you?” Daisy snapped.

“If your blood sugar levels—”

“They're fine, so how about you stop trying to solve my problems and solve your own?”

“What problems would those be?” Apricot asked, bracing herself for a rude comment about her love life or the fact that she was hiding from the world in a little town at the edge of nowhere.

“Jet told Ella Stanley that your house is cursed. He said the doors open and close all by themselves and that he constantly hears something walking around in the attic.” Daisy's eyes were blazing with fanatical light.

“That's it?” Apricot snorted, because she knew all about Jet and his friend. Ella believed in ghosts and goblins, and Jet had asked to bring her over one night to watch movies. He thought it might be just the right time to convince her that they should go out. Apparently, he'd been trying to scare her into his arms. Apricot would have to ask him if it had worked.

“It?
It?!
You're in trouble, girlfriend!” Daisy poked her finger toward Apricot, spittle flying from her mouth.

And Apricot couldn't help it. She laughed, because the entire thing was so ludicrous. Next thing she knew, the girls were laughing and Simon's mouth was twitching, and poor Daisy looked like she was ready to spew lava.

“I'm sorry,” she tried to say, but Daisy was having none of it.

She turned on her heels and stalked away, her jean skirt swishing and her head bobbing. She should have looked haughty, but she just looked sad.

Chapter Eight

Daisy had issues.

Simon had never had any doubt about that. Lately, though, those issues were making it difficult to justify all the time the girls spent with her. It was one thing to be a little emotional and high-strung. It was another to believe stories of ghosts and goblins, to fill the girls' heads with romantic notions and superstitions.

“This has got to stop,” he muttered, eyeing the girls and wondering how in God's name he was going to ease them out of their aunt's overly protective clutches.

“She means well,” Apricot responded as if she knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Mercy killers mean well, Apricot, but that doesn't make what they're doing right.”

She laughed, the sound spilling out into the quiet afternoon. Even weekends weren't loud in Apple Valley. People meandered along Main Street looking in store windows and sipping lemonade or iced coffee. Most were heading to the park, where baseball diamonds and basketball courts were usually bustling with activity.

“You're laughing, but you're not the one who has daughters whose heads are being filled with fairy tales and superstitions.” He was only partially kidding about that. He worried about Daisy's influence on the girls. The nice routine existence he'd carved out in Apple Valley still had the easy rhythm of home and family, but there'd been a discordant note for the past few months. He'd chalked it up to Daisy's rough breakup, but maybe there was more to it than that. The niggling thought had been bothering him more than he wanted it to.

“I'm not much for superstition, but fairy tales are wonderful. Romance and danger and happily-ever-afters, what could possibly be wrong with that?” Apricot bent to swipe ice cream from Evie's chin. Rather than pulling away like she would have if it were her aunt, Evie smiled, a kind of eager longing in her eyes that made Simon's heart ache.

“Plenty,” he responded, his tone gruffer than he'd intended. “There are no easy roads in life, and it's best if the girls understand that early.”

“Difficult roads are exactly the reason why we should all believe in fairy tales.” She licked ice cream from her knuckle, her profile all steep angles and smooth skin. He didn't think she had a bit of makeup on, but somehow she looked flawless. “They give us something to hope for and dream about and work toward. Who doesn't want a happily-ever-after?”

“Is that what you thought you'd have with your ex?”

She shrugged. “I thought I'd at least have a contently-ever-after.”

“No offense, but that sounds about as exciting as table tennis.”

“Some people love table tennis.” She grinned, her eyes sparkling despite the deep shadows beneath them. The girls were a few yards ahead, waiting at the crosswalk, their fluffy skirts billowing out as they twirled.

“Careful near the street!” he called even though there wasn't a car in sight.

“So, what's it like?” Apricot asked. “Raising a couple of girls on your own?”

“You thinking of adding to your family?”

“No!” she laughed. “Handsome is more than enough for me. I'm just curious. I have a few friends who are raising kids alone. Some say it's easy. Others are struggling.”

“It would be easier to answer that question if I were actually raising the girls without help, but I've got Daisy and an entire community backing me up.”

“Does the community drive you as crazy as your sister-in-law?”

“You ask a lot of questions, Apricot, for someone who doesn't plan to stick around town long.”

“Who says I don't?”

“Just about everyone I've run into the past few days. Rumor has it you're getting Rose's place ready to sell.”

“Wonder who started that rumor?” She sounded more amused than angry, but there was a hint of sharpness in her gaze, a hardness to her jaw that made Simon think she was more annoyed than she wanted to let on.

“I can't tell you that, but I can tell you certain people aren't happy about it.”

“Certain people meaning Maura?”

“Good guess.”

“Educated guess,” she corrected. “The woman was shooting daggers at me
before
Handsome escaped.”

“People around here like things to stay the way they are.”

“Even if that means that a beautiful old house falls to ruin?” she asked as they reached the girls.

“Sometimes even then.”

“Well, I'm not letting Rose's place fall to ruin, and I'm not selling it.” She took Rori's hand, looked both ways, and headed into the street. He followed with Evie, the two of them making quite a picture for anyone who cared to look. He had a feeling plenty of people were looking.

That was the way it was in a small town. People pressing their noses against windows, watching as life played out, then reporting it to anyone and everyone they ran into.

“Not selling, huh?” he asked.

“Of course not. The house belongs to Rose, and she loves the place. The problem with my aunt is that she loves lots of things and lots of people. She can only focus on one of those loves at a time. Whatever is right in front of her is what she puts her energy into.”

“Out of sight, out of mind?”

“Something like that.” She smoothed her hair, her fingers long, her nails short and unpainted. Megan had been all about lotions and makeup and having her nails done every week. She'd loved pretty things and pretty places. He'd found that amusing and cute when they were dating. During their marriage her obsession with physical perfection had gotten old. He'd spent too many hours trying to convince her that she was beautiful, that her outfit was just right for the occasion, her hair gorgeous.

And he'd spent too much time thinking about her these past few days.

She'd been gone nearly seven years. He'd made peace with her death even if he hadn't been able to forgive either of them for it. “It isn't your responsibility to fix up your aunt's place. You know that, right?”

“Sure, but I like the house too. I want to see it restored.”

“What's your aunt think about it?” he asked as the girls raced through the gates that opened into Riley Park. Just beyond it, a path meandered its way around Riley Pond. A playground stood to the east. Added a few decades before Simon arrived, it had an old swing set, a slide, monkey bars, and several seesaws. The girls ran toward it, their cheerful screams making him smile. He had two days off a week, and he tried to spend every minute of them with the girls. It didn't always work out. They had school and dance and swim lessons that Daisy had insisted on. They also had friends who wanted playdates and trips to the bowling alley. He tried not to be resentful of those things, but the older the girls got, the more he could feel the swift current of time dragging them all along. It made him want to hold on tight to every moment he had with the twins.

“I haven't asked. Rose is pretty laid-back. I'd say she isn't going to care,” she responded as she scanned the area. “This is a lovely park. Someone spent a lot of time planning it out.”

“The first mayor of Apple Valley commissioned it after his wife died. Originally it was just gardens, but it's been expanded over the years.”

“It's nice. Very natural. It must be stunning in the spring when the foliage blooms.” She touched the leaf of a cherry tree. No flowers this time of year, but she was right, in the spring, it came alive with pink buds.

“It is. One of the prettiest places in Apple Valley.”

“One of the prettiest? Are there other gardens?” She dropped down on a bench near the playground and took Handsome from her purse. He settled onto her lap, rolling himself into a tight ball of coarse gray fur and purring loudly.

“Private gardens. Some of them are pretty big, but I was thinking about Apple Valley Community Church. It's one of the twins' favorite places. The grounds are nice and there's a cemetery in the back of it. The building is a little older than the park.” He sat beside her, his thigh just close enough to hers for their heat to mix. He could have sat farther away, but he didn't want to. He liked Apricot. She amused him, took his mind off of things he'd rather not think about.

There was a little bit of danger in that, sure. He wasn't in the market for a relationship. Wouldn't be in the market for one until the girls were grown and gone. He dated on occasion, but never more than two dates with the same woman. The way he saw things, three dates was the kind of thing a woman could pin hopes on, and he didn't want to disappoint anyone. He had enough guilt on his shoulders for six people. He didn't want to add to it.

“I remember the church. My aunt took me there when I was a kid. I haven't been there in years.” Apricot stretched her legs out and crossed them at the ankles, showing off white high-tops and muscular calves. Her skin looked silky and smooth and he had the absurd urge to run his hand up her calf to see if it was. Not a good place for his mind to be going, but he let it go there anyway. Nothing wrong with a little harmless flirtation. He doubted Apricot wanted anything more. Not with what she'd just gotten out of.

“It's not far if you want to visit.” He gestured to the building that stood at the top of Riley Bluff. Stark white in the afternoon sun, it belonged on a vintage postcard or in a Norman Rockwell painting.

Or in a town like Apple Valley.

“Is it open to the public?”

That made him laugh, and she scowled, poking him in the upper arm. “That was a legitimate question. In LA, nothing is left unlocked. Not even churches.”

“Sorry.” He managed to stop the laughter, but his lips were twitching and, no matter how much he tried, he couldn't quite keep the smile off his face.

“No, you're not.” She huffed, and he laughed again.

“Maybe not. Where I come from, churches are always open to the public. The same is true here. You can go any time. Day or night that building will be unlocked.”

“Good to know.” She settled back against the bench, turned her gaze on Simon. She had the bluest eyes he'd ever seen and the kind of fair complexion he usually associated with redheads. Freckles danced across her cheeks and there was a tiny smear of ice cream at the corner of her lips.

He wiped it away the same way she'd done with Evie, his thumb running along the corner of her mouth. It should have been an innocent gesture, one friend helping out another, the touch there and gone without even a moment of anything else. But something happened when he touched her skin. Not fireworks or sparks. Just . . . heat. The kind he'd tried to avoid the past few years. The kind that led a man to do stupid things and a woman to make unwise choices.

Her eyes widened, and he knew she felt it too. Knew he should move his thumb and ease away and pretend things were just the same as they'd been two seconds ago.

Problem was, he'd never been good at pretending.

He didn't do games.

He'd been raised to go into every friendship, every business deal, every partnership, with unbridled honesty.

“This is going to be a problem,” he said quietly, his thumb sliding down smooth, silky skin. First her cheek, then her neck. Her pulse fluttered rapidly beneath warm skin, and he imagined pressing his lips to that spot. “A very big problem.”

She cleared her throat, scooted away. “I don't see why it should be. We'll just . . . avoid being around each other.”

“That's about as practical as a swimsuit in a winter storm.”

Her lips twitched and she shook her head. “Stop being charming and funny, Simon. That'll help.”

“Charming, huh?”
Nice
was the word most women used. Nice. Helpful. Kind. That was the way he liked it and the way he'd worked hard to keep it.

“Yes. And you know it,” she accused. “So don't play innocent. The honey-smooth Southern accent, the gentlemanly manners. It's disgusting.” She scooped Handsome up, deposited him in her purse, and stood. “I'll tell my parents you think so,” he offered.

“You know what Grandma Sapphire says about guys like you?” she asked.

“Do I want to?”

“Probably, but I refuse to repeat it.” She might have walked away, but he snagged her hand, pulled her back so she was standing between his thighs.

“Now you've got me curious, so give. What's she say?”

“She says that if you find a guy with good old-fashioned Southern manners and good old-fashioned Southern charm, you need to hold on to him. According to her, those kinds only come around once in a lifetime.”

“I think I like your grandmother,” he said.

“You would.” She snorted, tugging her hand from his and placing both fists on her slender hips. “The problem with Sapphire is that she married when she was eighteen.”

“A man filled with Southern charm and Southern manners?”

“Of course. They were married fifty years, and she swears they never had one fight worth remembering.”

“It could be true,” he pointed out.

“It could also be that they fought like cats and dogs, and she forgot that after he died. People do that, you know. Make the past prettier than it was.”

“Sometimes they just tell it like it is, Apricot. Maybe the fights she had with her husband weren't important enough to remember. Maybe the joy they had together outweighed everything else. Whatever the case, she found the kind of love most of us want and can only hope to achieve.”

She eyed him for a moment, then shook her head. “You really are good, Simon.”

“I'm not trying to be good.” He stood, their bodies so close their heat combined and made a furnace that Simon knew he'd be wise to move away from. He stayed right where he was, looking into Apricot's eyes and listening to the girls squeal as they took turns on the slide. The sun was hot and bright, the day just perfect enough for the beginning of something wonderful. “I'm trying to be honest. I have a grandmother too, and she says honesty is always the best policy unless you're discussing weight or looks.”