The Orchard at the Edge of Town (18 page)

“It was no problem.”

“Maybe not, but I do appreciate it. The girls really enjoy spending time with you, and it gives them a little freedom from . . .” He didn't finish the thought, and she didn't ask. She had a feeling she knew. Freedom from Daisy's rules, from her fancy dresses and need to make the girls into beautiful little dolls. That was fine for Rori. She seemed to enjoy the girly clothes and perfect manners, but Evie was a rebel.

“How long has Daisy been helping with the girls?” she asked as he backed the SUV out of the driveway.

“Close to six years. I moved here after my wife died, and Daisy stepped in to lend a hand.”

She wanted to ask him about his wife.

She wanted to know what she was like, if he'd loved her. If he still did.

“Daisy must have been really young,” she said instead.

“She was. Just out of college. She'd accepted a job at the library here, and she kept begging Megan to move back to town.”

“Is that why you moved here with the girls after Megan died?”

“It was one of the reasons.” He shrugged. “We buried Megan in the church cemetery. I was standing there, listening to a pastor who didn't know my wife talk about her life, and I looked at all the people who
had
known her—people she'd grown up with, people who understood her—and I thought that this was the right place for the girls. I guess I was afraid if we stayed in Houston, they'd never know anything about their mother except for what I could tell them.”

“That's . . .” Sweet. Beautiful. Lovely. None of the words seemed adequate. “I bet your wife would be happy if she knew they were here.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Megan was a woman full of contradictions. She'd smile for the world and be completely broken inside. She'd say she was content, but inside, she'd be wanting a hundred things she'd never ask for.”

“Did you love her?” The question just kind of slipped out, and she couldn't regret it. She wanted to know. She even felt like she might need to know, because Simon wasn't a guy full of contradictions. He was exactly what he seemed to be—a good father, a good cop, a good friend.

“Now, that's a loaded question, isn't it?” He turned onto the dirt road that led to Rose's house, and she thought he might not answer. After several heartbeats of silence, he continued. “I guess the simple answer is that I did love her.”

“What's the complicated one?”

He glanced her way, his face craggy and a little worn in the late afternoon light. “You're asking a lot of questions, Apricot Sunshine. Better be careful, or I might think you've got a reason for it.”

“I do. I want to know.”

“Why?”

Good question.

She didn't have a good answer. “Most people ask questions when they're getting to know someone. It's just what's done.”

“Uh-huh,” he responded, and she scowled.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means there's more to it than that, and I'm not sure why someone as bold as you are is afraid to say it.”

“I'm not afraid to say anything.”

“Except that you're curious and interested.”

“Of course I'm interested. Megan was your wife and the girls' mother, and I like all three of you. I can't help wondering about her.”

“Can't help asking if I loved her? Can't help asking why my answer to that is complicated?” He pulled into Rose's driveway and parked the SUV, then turned to face her. “I'll tell you the truth, Apricot, since that's what you seem to want. I met Megan my first year of college, and fell for her hook, line, and sinker. She was pretty and fun and bright. I'd say that was just about everything a nineteen-year-old kid could want in a woman. I was still in love with her when we got married, when we had the girls, when she died.”

“You don't have to talk about this.”

“I don't, but I will, because you asked, and because I want you to know.” He smiled, and her heart just kind of reached out for his, just kind of flowed toward him like a wave flows toward shore. “I loved Megan, and I know she loved me, but she had problems that she hid really well. I don't think she was ever as honest with me as I was with her. She'd gown up tough. Both her parents died before we met, and she'd been raised by her grandparents. They weren't all that nice, the way I hear it. I don't know if that made a difference in the way she was, but I do know that she had a lot of big ideas about the way love was supposed to be. When we met, she thought I was her knight in shining armor. A few years later, she was in a car accident. I stood by her, helped her heal. We both figured if we could get through that we could get through anything.”

“It sounds like you did. Until she . . .”

“Died of an accidental overdose. She was addicted to prescription painkillers.”

“I'm sorry, Simon.” She touched his arm, and he covered her hand with his.

“Me too, but sorry can't bring her back, and it can't change the fact that I didn't know. After the girls' birth, I'd noticed that she seemed forgetful, tired, that she fell asleep on the couch watching TV. I worked long hours, and she had full responsibility for two babies. I figured that was why. In reality, she was an addict and fed her addiction by going to urgent care, complaining of back spasms and migraines. The coroner thought it probably started after the car accident. When the girls were born, the back pain got worse, and she started relying on the medicine more and more. Eventually, it got the best of her.”

“You can't blame yourself for that.”

“Wouldn't you?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

“Probably,” she admitted, because she knew that she would have.

“Then you understand why I can't forgive myself.”

“Simon—”

“Here's the thing, Apricot. You asked if I loved Megan. I did, but I don't think I really knew her. Not the way I should have. She kept her prescription pill bottle on the windowsill in the kitchen. I had no idea she was having it refilled over and over again. Sometimes I lie in bed at night, and I think about that bottle, and I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't trusted Megan so much, believed in her so deeply. It never, ever occurred to me that she was struggling, because she kept smiling at me and telling me everything was great.”

“You are the most honest person I have ever met,” she said, touching his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tension in his jaw. “You thought she was being honest too.”

“And she died because of it.” He lifted her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm. “I like you, Apricot. A lot. I'm not going to lie about it. I'm not going to pretend it's something that it's not. But I'm not going through what I did with Megan ever again. If I'm with someone, she has to be as honest with me as I am with her.”

“I understand,” she said, her heart thundering in her chest, her fingers curving around that warm spot on her palm. The spot where his lips had been.

“Good. Now . . .” He glanced at the house. “You'd better head in. I just saw your mother peeking out of the door.”

“I don't care about my mother,” she replied, her body finding its way closer to his, her lips finding their way to his mouth. She meant to offer a hug, a light kiss of sympathy, compassion, empathy. But he tasted like rich dark chocolate and whiskey. Like strawberries straight from the field. He tasted like everything wonderful she'd ever had, and she didn't want to move away.

“Apricot!” Lilac called.

“Dear God in heaven, that woman!” she muttered, moving away, her heart still pounding frantically.

Simon laughed. “She's got great timing. I'll give her that.”

“Planned timing,” she responded, climbing out of the SUV and bracing herself for a bowlful of chicken-foot gumbo and whatever advice Lilac was preparing to give her.

She would have marched to the front door herself, but Simon fell into step beside her, his arm brushing hers as they made their way up the porch steps.

She felt like a high school kid coming home from her first date, giddy and a little disconcerted. Not quite sure if she'd see the guy again, but hoping that maybe she would.

He pulled her to a stop in front of the door, his hands cupping her elbows as he looked into her eyes. “I've been thinking again.”

“Should I ask what about?” Her heart pounded heavily and her mouth was dry, but she managed to smile, because she always felt like smiling when she looked into Simon's eyes.

“Your name,” he responded, his hands sliding to her shoulders and then to her cheeks. “It's perfect for you.”

“It is?” she squeaked, and he chuckled.

“More perfect than Anna or Annie.”

“Anna is a pretty name,” she murmured, backing away a little so she could think. Because when he was near? Yeah. He was all she could think about.

“Sure it is, but Apricot Sunshine suits you.” His thumb ran along the underside of her jaw. “Kind of like biscuits and sausage gravy. You and your name just go together.”

That made her laugh.

He cupped her jaw so gently, so sweetly, she wanted to cry from how beautiful it was. When he kissed her she wasn't surprised. Not with the kiss. Not with how tender it was. Not with the longing that swelled up from the deepest part of her heart.

Someone knocked on the living room window.

“What are you doing out there?” Lilac called as if she couldn't see for herself.

Simon glanced at the window, offered a quick wave. “I guess this is my cue to go.”

“You don't have to,” Apricot responded, and she felt just a little desperate and a whole lot foolish, because Simon did have to leave. He had Daisy to take care of and the girls to worry about.

“The girls are probably driving Daisy batty.” He kissed her forehead, the gesture as easy and friendly as a handshake or a hello. To Apricot, it felt like so much more. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Lunch, remember?” He threw the words over his shoulder as he jogged down the porch stairs. “I'll pick you up at noon.”

He was in the SUV and driving away before Apricot's brain reminded her to breathe. And move. And, actually, think.

“He's a winner!” Lilac called, her face pressed against the window. “Don't you let him slip through your fingers.”

“Shut up, Lilac!” Hubert shouted from somewhere inside the house.

Lilac turned away, her response muffled.

No doubt they were heading for another rip-roaring fight.

Apricot could stay and listen to it or she could go for a walk through the orchard. Maybe do a little pruning. Get herself as far away from her parents' bickering as possible.

It was a no-brainer.

She'd spent her childhood listening to Hubert and Lilac ripping each other to shreds verbally. As amusing as they could be, they grew boring when they were together—just one swipe after another.

She could hear them shouting as she walked around the side of the house. It reminded her of long-ago summer nights spent sitting on the tire swing, the sound of her parents' arguments filling the quiet night. She'd never thought much about it. The arguing was all she'd ever known, but she'd promised herself that she wouldn't have the same. That when she grew up, got married, had her own life, things would be nice and quiet and peaceful.

They had been.

Her life with Lionel had been just exactly what she'd wanted. That had been enough. Or maybe it hadn't, because Lionel had found someone else, and she was alone, thinking about a man who made her laugh more than anyone else ever had.

Chapter Fourteen

Two days. Two! Listening to Daisy moan about her head, her scrapes, her invisible wounds.

And, God help him, Simon was about to lose it.

In a big way.

He gritted his teeth, the phone pressed to his ear as Daisy went on and on and on about the MRI she had scheduled for the following day. He should never have brought her to pick out a new cell phone. Shooting himself in the foot would have resulted in a lot less pain.

“Daisy,” he finally cut it. “We've been over this. You don't need an MRI.”

“Then why did my doctor write me a referral for one?” she demanded in the high-pitched breathy voice she'd been using nonstop since she'd been mugged.

Because you are driving
her
as crazy as you're driving me, and she wanted to get you out of her office
didn't seem like the right thing to say.

“An overabundance of caution?” he suggested.

“It isn't an overabundance of anything!” she protested so loudly Max looked up from his cubicle across from Simon's and frowned.

“Problems?” he mouthed, his smirk only adding to Simon's irritation.

He shrugged, turning so he was facing away from Max. “How about you fill me in on the rest of this when I get home?” he suggested. “Work is hectic today.”

Not really, but it was as good an excuse as any to get her off the phone.

“Isn't this your lunch break?” she asked.

“It would be if I weren't on the phone with you,” he muttered.

Behind him, Max snickered.

“Shut up, Max!” he barked, and Max laughed full-out.

“If I'm bothering you, I'll just hang up and let you go on with your day!” Daisy said shrilly, the words drilling into his head.

He'd been up half the night working leads with Cade, trying to find the guy who'd mugged Daisy. He'd been up the other half listening to her moan about what she was sure was a concussion.

Sleepless nights, hyper girls, and an overly dramatic sister-in-law? Not a good way to start the week.

“You're not bothering me, but I have an appointment in ten minutes.”

“A date, you mean. With Apricot.” She sniffed. “You could do a lot better than her, Simon. There are dozens of women in town who would be a better match.”

“It's lunch. Not a lifetime commitment.” He bit the words out, his jaw so tight from not saying what he wanted to, that he was pretty sure it was going to snap. “She's nothing like Megan. You know that, right?”

“I'll be home at five. I'll give you a ride back to your place. I think you'll probably sleep better in your own bed, and a little more sleep will probably help with the headache.”

“Now you're upset.”

“Actually, what I am is tired. I need sleep too. So do the girls. See you at five.” He hung up, and he felt a little like a bully who'd just tied a bunch of cans to a kitten's tail and sent her out into a yard full of dogs. Daisy had helped him out more than he could ever repay her for, but he needed space. The girls needed space. And, honest to God, he didn't think Daisy was hurt. Not a concussion. Not a bruise. Not even a scratch.

“So,” Max said, “Daisy is one crazy lady.”

“Thanks. Without you to keep me informed, I don't know what I'd do,” he said drily.

“No need to be pissy. I'm just making a comment.”

“Why?”

“Because Cade asked me to run some prints that were on Daisy's purse. No matches to anyone but her. And, she
is
in the system.”

“I'm well aware of that.” Daisy had been arrested for breaking and entering when she'd tried to steal the recipe for Charlotte Garrison's famous chocolate cupcakes. Fortunately for Daisy, Charlotte had refused to press charges. Otherwise, Daisy would have a criminal record. Not good for someone who worked for the county.

“And you're well aware she's crazy. Has it occurred to you that she made this whole thing up?”

Yes.
But he wasn't going to admit it. Not out loud. “Why would she?”

“How should I know? She's your relative.”

“By marriage.”

“Doesn't matter.”

“What exactly do you want to say, Max? Because I've had a heck of a weekend, it's not shaping up to be a very good week, and I don't have the patience to wait while you beat around the bush.”

“Someone needs to ask Daisy if she's telling the truth about what happened. I think that should be you.”

“I'm thinking that I'd rather listen to you blabber on for another six years,” he commented.

Max shrugged. “I don't blabber. I get to the point, and my point is, you need to be the one to ask. She's your relative, she trusts you, you have a relationship that allows you a certain amount of leeway when it comes to your dealings with her.”

“In other words, you don't want it getting out that you bullied her?”

“Bullied? She'd end up accusing me of police brutality. I've got a kid, and I don't need any smears on my reputation.”

“I think it may be too late for that.”

“Bullsh—crap,” he growled. “If there's one thing I've never done, it's anything that would tarnish my professional reputation.”

“It was a joke, Max. And I wasn't talking about your professional reputation. I was talking more along the lines of personal things.” He rubbed his neck, tried to ease a boatload of tension from it.

Max glared at him for about three seconds before his expression eased and he shook his head. “Right. A joke. I'm not feeling all that amused this morning. The kid kept me up all night. Zuzu was puking from midnight to four. Must have gotten sick from one of those little demons she goes to day care with. Guess I'm a little on edge.”

That made two of them. “You need to take time off to bring her to the doctor?”

“Charlotte is bringing her in this afternoon. She said it probably wasn't necessary. Zuzu has been bouncing off the walls and begging for cookies since she woke up. I still want her to be checked out. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Makes perfect sense.” Not really, but that was something a parent learned over time, and Max had only been parenting Zuzu for a few months.

“Right.” Max snorted. At least he knew he was being a little nuts. “So, how about we stop talking about my craziness and get back to your crazy sister-in-law?
You
need to ask her. Flat out. If she made this up, she needs to admit it now before things go any further. Otherwise, she is going to be in a lot more trouble than she was when she tried to get her hands on Charlotte's recipe. Speaking of which”—he glanced at the clock—“Charlotte and Zuzu are dropping cupcakes off at the front desk. I want to make sure I'm there when they arrive.”

“Want to get first dibs on the cupcakes?”

“I can have cupcakes any day. I want to find out how my kid is doing. If she looks pale and listless, I'm calling an ambulance.”

“You know Charlotte would have called you if she had any worries, right?”

“Yeah, but I'm worrying anyway. Plus, I want first dibs on Charlotte. As soon as she walks into a building, every single person around comes to visit with her. When she's with Zuzu, it's even worse. You'd think a guy could spend five minutes with his lady and his kid, but I'm lucky if I get five seconds with them. See you around.” He tossed the last few words over his shoulder as he hurried away.

Which left Simon alone in the office area, Max's words ringing through his head.

He'd been trying,
really trying
, to convince himself that Daisy wouldn't have made up the story about being mugged. He hadn't been successful.

He needed to talk to her. That much was for sure, but approaching Daisy about the matter wasn't going to be easy.

Basically, he'd be accusing her of fabricating a lie to get attention. She wasn't going to like it. Whether she'd actually lied or not, their relationship was going to be changed.

Why that bothered him, he didn't know.

He cared about Daisy, the girls cared about her, but she had some really weird ideas, lots of superstitious beliefs. The older the girls got, the more worried he became about her influence over them. A little less time together might not be a bad thing.

He grabbed his jacket and headed toward the back exit. He didn't have the energy to field a hundred questions about the mugging or to explain to anyone who happened to be around why Jet hadn't been arrested. No evidence. No arrest. Simple as that, but the good citizens of Apple Valley didn't see it that way. The town seemed divided, half of them siding with Daisy and the other half siding with Jet. Not good, and if Daisy was responsible for the squabbling . . .

Yeah. Not good.

He stepped outside, watery sunlight painting the blacktop gold. The air held a hint of rain and just a touch of cold. Soon the foliage would start changing color and the days would shorten. Fall would usher in winter and then spring again. Summer would come. Just like it always did, the girls closing in on another full year of life, and Simon just kind of drifting along with them. He'd been content to do that. He liked the way one day flowed into the next, time just kind of unfolding, dawn to dusk and back again. Sure, there were times when he missed the hustle and bustle of Houston life. There were days when he longed for the kind of case that made his pulse pound and his heart race, the kind that made adrenaline pump through him, made his brain function at such a high level, he couldn't sleep, couldn't rest until he solved it.

Those days were few and far between, though.

He didn't miss the crazy schedule, didn't miss not seeing the girls in the evenings and mornings. He didn't miss his marriage, either. Though there were moments when he missed what he'd thought he and Megan were building together.

A house of cards
, that's what his dad had called it. His parents had come and stood beside him during the funeral, waiting with him while the casket was lowered into the ground. Simon had been sobbing. He wasn't too macho to admit it. He'd missed the boat, not seen the signs that Megan desperately needed help. He'd lost his wife because of it and the girls had lost their mother. They'd been tiny little things, and he'd been thinking of that. Of how they'd have the birthday presents Megan had been buying for them, but they wouldn't have her.

“
My fault
,” he'd said as the first scoop of dirt fell onto the casket. “
I did this
.”

“
You loved her like the morning loves the sun, and you thought you were giving her what she needed, because she let you think that you were. It was a house of cards, son
,” his father had said. “
One built by Megan and maintained by Megan until she just couldn't maintain it anymore
.”

Maybe so, but that didn't make Simon feel better about his failure. Megan had died and he'd gone on, but the weight of responsibility? It never left.

He'd parked in the back lot, and he walked to his SUV, trying to brush off the mood he'd fallen into. September was always hard, but this year, Daisy was making it even more difficult.

He needed to find her a man.

One who didn't mind a little craziness.

One who could overlook Daisy's high-strung nature.

One who was . . .

A saint?

Or desperate. That might work too.

Even if it was only for a few weeks or months, a little distraction would do Daisy good. Problem was, he couldn't think of anyone. Not off the top of his head. Not anyone who was good enough, anyway, because he sure as heck didn't want her with another loser.

He thought about it all the way to Apricot's house, was still thinking about it as he pulled into her driveway.

Apricot came running out, a look of abject desperation on her face. He planned to open the door for her, but she jumped in, her skin dewy from heat, her cheeks pink from sun. She wore a white sundress that revealed smooth muscular shoulders and long slender legs.

“Go! Go, go, go!” she nearly shouted, her short hair flying around her face as she slammed the door and reached for her seat belt.

“That hungry, huh?” he asked mildly, and she blinked, her hands stilling on the belt as she met his eyes.

Slowly, her lips curved, her frantic expression faded.

“You asked for it.” She sighed, the smile on her lips and in her eyes.

“For wh—?”

He didn't finish the question, because Lilac swooshed out onto the porch, her long dress touching the ground as she made her way down the steps. Rose followed, dressed in white slacks and a bright pink shirt that fell almost to her knees. Both held baskets. Both looked like trouble waiting to happen.

Lilac knocked on Simon's window, and he unrolled it.

“Afternoon, Doctor,” he said, and she smiled the same beguiling smile as her daughter's.

“It is a beautiful one. Not meant for ill-prepared food filled with GMOs and preservatives. I'm sure you'll agree.”

“I don't suppose you're wrong,” he responded.

“Lilac,” Apricot broke in, “I told you. We are not—and I'm going to repeat this to make sure you're hearing me—
not
eating your cow tongue sandwiches.”

“The native people of every land know the importance of using each and every part of their natural resources. To turn up your nose at a particular food because you are too highbrow—”

“Ma'am,” Simon cut in. He was hungry and tired, and he didn't want to spend fifteen minutes of his hour lunch break listening to Apricot being lectured. “With all due respect, a woman who makes her living out of using what nature has provided in abundance probably isn't too highbrow to eat cow tongue.”