The Orchard at the Edge of Town (4 page)

“Since Dusty called fifteen times, and Cade wanted an excuse to not take his calls,” Emma said drily.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

“A good plan except that Dusty is mad as a hornet.” She swiped back a strand of golden-blond hair and tucked it behind her ear. Her gray eyes were deeply shadowed, her skin pale. She'd spent the last couple of years caring for her widower father, and her life seemed to consist of work and that. No dates. No movies. No girls' nights out.

“Isn't Dusty always mad as a hornet?” he asked, snagging another cookie.

“He's usually more like a bumblebee, kind of buzzing around without much malicious intent. Of course, he's always willing to sting if someone swats at him.”

“Kind of hard to swat a bee if it doesn't leave the hive.” As far as Simon knew, Dusty rarely came to town.

“When his wife was around, he was happy enough and came to town all the time.”

“That lasted . . . what? A couple of weeks?” Simon had heard the story plenty of times—poor Dusty marrying a woman who'd left him to pursue her dream of becoming a movie star.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I was about three when all that went down, so I've just heard that Dusty used to smile. I've never seen it.”

“Maybe he'll return to his old habits if Rose Devereux agrees to marry him and live in Apple Valley permanently. If that happens, it should be enough of a distraction to stop him from calling here every day with a dozen complaints,” he suggested because he thought it would make her smile.

She laughed and shook her head. “There you go! The answer to all of Dusty's problems and most of mine.”

“How are yours going?” he asked.

“You mean Dad? Same as always. He's grumpy. I'm tired.” She rubbed the back of her neck and looked way more exhausted than a woman her age should ever be. “Alzheimer's is a vicious taskmaster, I can tell you that for sure.”

He resisted the urge to ask if he could help. She wasn't the kind of person who wanted to look weak or who enjoyed the pity of others. She'd muddle through until she couldn't anymore, and then Simon and Cade would find a way to help without letting her know that's what they were doing.

Like the meals that had been provided for the past couple of months. Ostensibly from the Apple Valley Community Church ladies' auxiliary, the meals had been the product of a late-night brainstorming session between Cade, Max, and Simon. Emma had no idea, and she never would if anyone involved in the covert operation had anything to do with it.

Help from the church her mother had once attended was something Emma couldn't refuse.

Help from her coworkers?

No way would she take that.

He snagged a third cookie, knowing it would annoy her and take her mind off her father.

“Hey!” she said, slapping at his hand just like he'd known she would. “Those are for the customers.”

“Customers? The ones having a spa day in our rooms without a view?”

She laughed again, waving her hand toward the back of the building. “Go!”

He went, because time was ticking away and the girls were probably hunched over their cereal bowls complaining that they had to eat puffed rice instead of the sugary flakes Daisy usually bought for them. He'd snuck three boxes of those into Riley Park and fed the ducks and fish with them. He'd figured they'd needed a little extra sustenance before winter arrived. As for the girls, with the amount of sugar Daisy was constantly pumping into them, he didn't think they'd be missing out.

He walked down the hallway that led to Cade Cunningham's office, the cream-colored paint barely covering old brickwork. It was a cool building, probably built sometime at the turn of the last century. He hadn't actually intended to work there. It had just kind of happened.

Megan had wanted to be buried near her parents. She'd told him that while she was pregnant with the twins, because she'd been sure that giving birth to them would kill her. By that time, she'd spent three years struggling with chronic back pain from a car accident that had chipped a vertebra and broken her pelvis. She'd been terrified that carrying twins, giving birth to them, would make the pain intolerable. Simon had been scared too, but he'd watched her bloom during her pregnancy, listened to her talk about the twins and all her dreams and hopes for them, and he'd thought that the pain had diminished, that she was physically healthier than she'd been in years.

She'd seemed so happy after the birth, so content, Simon had allowed himself to believe that the pain she'd been dealing with had been forgotten.

He'd been wrong.

She'd been becoming more and more reliant on prescription drugs to dull her pain and get her through the day. That addiction had cost Megan her life, the bottle that he'd assumed was always full because she wasn't using it, refilled by constant supplies of painkillers prescribed by a half-dozen different doctors. She'd lied to them and to him. More than once, he'd asked her why she didn't just toss the old bottle of medication. Each time she'd told him she wanted to keep it—just in case. He wasn't sure he'd forgiven her for that.

He sure as hell hadn't forgiven himself for not realizing how many lies she'd told.

He'd done what she'd wanted, though. Buried her near her parents' graves in the cemetery at Apple Valley Community Church. He'd planned to go back to Houston after that, raise his girls there, but Apple Valley had an almost magical appeal, the quiet a balm to his soul. He'd spent a week there, then two, staying with Daisy because there wasn't a hotel nearby. She'd made meals for him and for the girls, showed them around town, told him how much help she could be to him if only he'd move to Apple Valley.

His home had been in Houston, and he'd told her that.

She'd planted a seed, though, and it had grown when he'd returned to the house he'd shared with Megan. He'd hired a nanny, tried to fill the girls' life with love and security, but he hadn't been able to shake the feeling that they'd be better off living close to their aunt in a community where everyone had known and loved their mother.

It hadn't been long before he'd made the decision to move.

He'd been in Apple Valley ever since.

Megan would have liked that. She'd have enjoyed knowing that the girls were growing up in the same little town she had.

He knocked on Cade's door, stepped into the small office. Max Stanford was still there, perfectly pressed uniform and overly shined shoes a little out of place in the functional room.

“Speak of the devil,” Max drawled sardonically, his blue eyes flashing with amusement. “And he appears.”

“I was thinking the same thing when
you
walked in my office, Stanford,” Cade Cunningham said with a smile. Unlike Stanford, he had an easygoing, approachable personality. He might be sheriff, but he treated all his deputies like peers, seldom exerting his authority over anyone.

Of course, with a force the size of Apple Valley's, it was seldom necessary.

“I heard Dusty called,” Simon said. No sense beating around the bush. Especially when he was under a time crunch.

“You heard right,” Cade responded, tapping a pen on his desk. “He said you didn't take his trespassing call seriously.”

“I took it seriously enough to follow protocol,” Simon responded.

“I know, but I needed to mention the complaint before I filed it.” He lifted a sheet of paper from his desk, slid it into a folder, and opened a file cabinet. “Which I am now going to do.” He dropped the folder into the cabinet and closed the door. “So, how is Apricot doing? I haven't seen her in years.”

“Aside from the fact that Dusty held her at gunpoint until I arrived, I'd say she was doing pretty well.”

“She want to file a complaint?” Cade asked.

“Not that she mentioned.”

“If she does, let's try to talk a little neighborly grace into her. I don't know how long she plans to stick around town, but I'd be really happy if she and Dusty could get along while she does.” Cade rubbed the bridge of his nose and frowned. “We have the apple festival coming up. You know how that goes.”

“Lots of drama and gossip. Arguments over who has the best spot at the fair. Whispers about whether or not Ms. Janet stole Mrs. Perkins's apple fritter recipe. It's my favorite time of year,” Max grumbled.

“Better watch it, Max. You're talking about your adopted hometown,” Cade responded lightly. “Anyone hears you griping about the apple festival, and you might lose your job as pie-contest judge.”

“If that happens, Charlotte will take pity on me and make me a dozen pies,” he responded with just a touch of smugness. Charlotte was, without a doubt, the best cook in town. She was also Max's fiancée.

“Don't know if she'll have time for that what with all the wedding plans,” Simon said, stirring the pot a little because he could, and because he enjoyed seeing Max squirm. The guy had dated just about every woman in Apple Valley before Charlotte came along, and had a reputation for being a die-hard bachelor. All that had changed when his ex-girlfriend had dropped a three-year-old off at his place and told Max the kid was his.

“Don't mention the wedding,” Max barked. “It's all I've heard about for the past five months.”

“Because it's just about the only thing anyone in town is talking about. Which reminds me,” Cade said. “Tessa managed to find a few more of the vases Charlotte wants for the reception. You want to stop by our place and pick them up later?”

Max grumbled something unintelligible and scowled. “You're not going to try to get me into one of those old tuxedos, are you? Because if that's the reason your wife really wants me to stop by your place—”

Cade raised a hand and shook his head. “Hey! As far as I know it's just about the vases. If there's any more to it than that, you'll have to bring it up with Charlotte. The old tux was her idea. Not Tessa's.”

At the mention of his fiancée, Max softened.

He might like to grumble about it, but there was no doubt he loved Charlotte and he was looking forward to marrying her.

Simon remembered what that was like.

The heady feeling that life was stretching out in front of you, the only person you wanted to spend it with right there by your side.

He also knew how easily the person you thought you knew could turn into someone you didn't know at all.

No need to tell Max that. If he didn't already know it, he'd figure it out.

“If we're finished discussing Dusty's complaint,” he broke in, “I'm going to write up my report and head out.”

“We have a meeting in the morning to discuss the apple festival. Seven o'clock,” Cade reminded him as he stepped out of the room.

Seven wasn't a good time, but Simon kept the thought to himself. He didn't like to play the single-dad card too often, and he'd had to take a couple of hours off the previous week to bring Aurora in for a strep test. Negative, of course. The girls were healthy as horses, but Daisy had been convinced Aurora had strep. She'd also been convinced Evangeline had a broken leg. Seeing as how the kid had been dancing around the living room and jumping off haystacks in the field behind their house, Simon had decided not to take her to urgent care for an X-ray.

Saturdays the girls had ballet class at nine thirty. Hopefully the seven o'clock meeting would be over before then. Asking Daisy to take them was out of the question. They'd gone together once as a family, because Daisy had thought it would be good for the girls. Daisy had stood with her face pressed against the observation window, yelling for Aurora to stand up straighter and Evangeline to pay attention. She hadn't impressed the other parents, and she hadn't impressed the teachers. She hadn't impressed the twins either. They'd both approached him in different ways, begging him to keep her away from the studio. Evie had been bold-faced about it, but that was the way she was. Rori had written a note and tucked it into his coat pocket. He'd promised to try his best to never bring Daisy to dance again.

So far, he'd been able to avoid it.

He hoped he'd be able to continue that for a while, because he didn't feel like dealing with the drama that Daisy caused. Not with the girls' birthday looming and all those memories hovering right near the surface of his mind. Megan had died the day before their first birthday, a cocktail of prescription pills stopping her heart just a few months short of her twenty-eighth birthday. An accident, that's what the coroner had said. An unintentional overdose, a sad end to a vibrant life.

He pushed the thought aside.

It didn't do any good to dwell on it.

He couldn't change what had happened, couldn't go back to the day before she died, the month before, the year before, and ask the questions that might have kept her alive.

He'd get through September, get through the birthday at the end of it, and then he'd move on. Just like he did every year.

He'd be fine.

The twins would be fine.

After all, the only memories they had of their mother were from stories he'd told and photos he'd shown them. It was Daisy who always needed cheering. Daisy who spent the twins' birthday mourning what the girls didn't have.

Daisy . . .

With her no-good boyfriend out of her life, she was becoming a problem.

He'd have to deal with her eventually.

For now, he just needed to write the dang report and get home.

Chapter Four

Someone was crying.

Or some
thing
.

The sound jerked Apricot out of the half sleep she'd fallen into, and she came up off the couch so fast, she nearly tumbled right back onto it again. Bright sunlight streamed in through the living room window and splashed on the nicked wood floor. Dust motes danced on the air, and the cries kept coming, soft and steady. A newborn?

She tried to run to the front door, but her feet caught in her blasted skirts. Again. She wanted to rip the dress off, toss it into the fireplace and set a match to it, but the tow truck hadn't brought Henry or the Airstream, and she wasn't in the mood for another barefoot bike ride. She had nothing else to wear but the vintage clothes she'd found in upstairs closets, and she hadn't wanted to greet the tow truck driver wearing borrowed clothes.

No more fuel for the gossip fire.

She opened the front door, followed the sound of the cries to a box that someone had placed on a porch step and covered with a blanket.

“Please don't let this be a baby,” she muttered as she ripped the blanket off.

Four kittens looked up at her. Three fuzzy black-and-white babies and a scrawny gray tabby that looked like it had come from another litter. He was the one making all the noise, his mouth opened wide as he mewled pitifully.

“Okay. Okay,” she said, lifting the kitten and cuddling him close. He thanked her by digging his claws into her chest and dislodging a few of the gaudy beads that had been hand-sewn to the fabric. She tried to dislodge his claws, and he climbed up to her shoulder, burrowed under her hair, and meowed into her ear.

“All right. I get it. You're hungry.” She snagged him by the scruff and plopped him back into the box.

She'd have to feed all four of them, and then she'd have to take them to an animal shelter, because she couldn't keep them. She'd given up the idea of having pets right around the time she'd given up life at Happy Dale. No more chickens. No more cats. No more dogs, goats, skunks, raccoons, or squirrels. She liked her house free of animals and mess.

She had to admit, though, the kittens were cute.

Except for the gray one. He was homely, but as long as he didn't know that, she figured he'd be just fine.

“Let's go, guys.” She lifted the box, pausing as the sound of a car engine broke the afternoon stillness.

A white tow truck chugged toward her, Henry hooked up behind it. No Airstream, but that was okay. That was fine. As long as she had Henry, she could fix him up and go back for the Airstream and whatever she and her family had managed to toss inside of it.

She wasn't sure who she expected to jump out of the tow truck. A guy named Willie? Someone with a beard and a bandanna, wearing coveralls and work boots? The woman who got out of the truck was wearing coveralls and work boots. No bandanna, though. No beard, either. Which was probably for the best.

The driver offered a quick wave as she jogged to the back of the truck and released Henry.

Next thing Apricot knew, the woman was climbing back in the truck again.

“Hold on!” Apricot called, the ugly gray kitten calling along with her. “I need to pay you!”

“I'm going back for the Airstream,” the woman responded. “You can pay up once I finish the job. You're getting a good discount on the service, too. We're running behind, and we want to thank you for your patience.”

“No discount necessary,” Apricot said as she jogged toward the truck. “And I can get the Airstream once I get Henry working again.”

“Henry?” The woman had one foot in the tow truck, her dark, curly hair pulled back from an austere face. A name tag sewn to her coveralls had the name
Willie
stitched in bright green thread.

“The truck. He has a name.”

“He should. He's a good-looking vehicle.” She swiped a hand on her coveralls and offered it. “I'm Willetta Pothier. Willie to my friends. And just about everyone else in town.” She smiled, and it made her look young. Maybe twenty-two or -three.

“Anna Miller.”

“Good to meet you, Anna. I'd ask what you're doing in town, but it's not my business, and I'm already running a couple hours behind.”

“How much—”

“I told you I'm getting the Airstream. It's on the order, and I've got to do my job or Stanley will have a hissy fit.”

“Stanley?”

“My father. He owns Apple Valley Towing. He was supposed to get your rigs, but he got caught up in a rousing game of chess. You got kittens in there?” She gestured to the box, and Apricot nodded.

“I found them on my porch stairs.”

“Yeah.” Willie peered into the box. “That's not surprising.”

“It's not?” In all her years of life, Apricot hadn't found a box of kittens sitting anywhere. Let alone on her steps.

“The local shelter closed about five years ago. Lack of funding. A new one opened in the next town over. Only about twenty miles from here, but it's not a no-kill shelter, so some people don't want to bring strays there.”

“What does that have to do with me finding kittens on my porch?”

“Rose feeds stray cats when she's in town. She takes them to the vet, gets them the shots they need, has them fixed. Then she offers them to people as barn cats. If no one wants them, she takes them with her and finds them homes somewhere else. Once people got wind of that, they started dropping off unwanted litters.”

“Rose isn't in town,” Apricot pointed out reasonably, hoping against hope that Willie would spread the word.

The last thing she wanted was an endless supply of kittens to rehome.

“
You
are,” Willie said just as reasonably. “That's good enough for anyone who has a few unwanted critters. Want me to take them to the shelter for you? Once I'm finished here, I'm done for the day.”

“The kill shelter?” she asked, eyeing the kittens. The gray one eyed her right back, his flea-bitten ears just a little too big for his head.

“It's the only one around. I'm sure they'll be fine, though. People love kittens. Someone will take them.”

“Thanks, but I think I'll just . . . feed them first.” She was going to regret this. She knew she was, but Apricot was not letting the kittens go off to a shelter where they might be killed.

“Suit yourself. I'll have the Airstream back in a few.”

Willie hopped into the truck and took off.

Hopefully, she'd be back as quickly as she'd said, because Apricot's day had suddenly gotten busier. Maybe it was for the best. Napping and moping weren't things she'd ever been any good at.

She carried the kittens into the house and put the box on the sofa. She didn't have food for them, but she could at least give them some water. She grabbed a small plastic bowl from the cupboard, walked back into the living room, and saw the gray kitten tumbling out of the box.

“You're going to be trouble, aren't you?” She sighed, depositing him back in the box, watching as the kittens lapped at the water. They looked healthy enough, but that didn't mean she wanted them around. She needed to take them all to the vet, get their shots and get them out of her hair, because she had other things to do with her time.

Like . . .

What?

It was a good question. Two weeks in Aruba had been the plan. Then back to Los Angeles to build a married life with Lionel. First, a move from their condo into something bigger. A house with a yard. They'd put the condo on the market, had been house hunting for a couple of months. Lionel had even put earnest money down on their dream home. Hopefully, he could get a refund. She knew how much he valued dollars when they were his.

Hers he wasn't so worried about.

She'd paid for their luxury condo and all the upgraded finishes. She'd paid for the boat that they'd used exactly twice. She'd even paid for the honeymoon that they weren't taking.

But why be bitter?

She'd accept the offer her Realtor had gotten on the condo, and she'd take the cash and put it into something more practical. Something more her style. Maybe a pretty little bungalow or a cabin in the middle of the woods. Maybe somewhere in Montana or Vermont. New Hampshire?

Wherever it was, she'd make sure she couldn't be found.

Not until she wanted to be, and right at that moment, she didn't think that would ever happen.

The phone rang, but she ignored it.

She knew it was Rose or Lilac. Or maybe Plum. Not Lionel. No one in her family would have given him the number to the house. None of her friends knew it. None of them even knew where she was. She really
did
have to get a new cell phone. Just in case there was an emergency at work.

Which there wouldn't be.

She had great employees.

“Yay, me,” she muttered, opening the front door and walking out onto the porch. The sun hung overhead, a golden orb against a pristine sky. Any other day, and she'd have enjoyed the sunshine, the heat that was building as the day wore on.

Why not enjoy it today?

So what if she'd been betrayed?

So what if all her dreams were dead as doornails?

So what if everything she'd thought she was going to have wasn't going to happen?

She lifted her face to the sky, but it just wasn't the same as lying under an umbrella on a sandy beach.

Willie's truck appeared at the end of the driveway, the Airstream behind it. Apricot waved the truck to the edge of the driveway, helped unhook the Airstream, and tried to pretend she didn't notice Willie noticing her dress and bare feet.

“Bad day, huh?” Willie said as they finished.

“Bad five years,” she responded. No sense trying to hide things. No doubt Dusty had already contacted everyone in Apple Valley to let them know a squatter had taken up residence in Rose's place. If he hadn't spread the news about her arrival, Daisy probably had.

“That sucks,” Willie responded. “I did that. Lived with a guy for two years. He walked out while I was in the hospital and didn't even bother leaving a note.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. Nice. Maybe you and I should get together for drinks sometime. We probably have a lot in common.” She didn't wait for Apricot's reply. Just climbed in the truck and took off.

No, thanks
, is what Apricot would have said.

She really didn't want to be part of some women-only club. The kind where men were bashed over bowls of melting ice cream or glasses of lukewarm beer. Pity parties weren't her thing. Besides, she liked men. She even loved a few. Her brothers. Her dad. Just not Lionel. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. Which was something she'd have to think about when she was in the mood for it.

Something snagged the back of her dress as she opened the Airstream, and she yanked at the material, heard the loud unhappy cry of the gray kitten.

“What in the world!” She turned and scooped him up. “How did you get out here?”

The front door was still closed.

She walked inside. One corner of the blanket had lifted off the box. The other kittens were huddled together, sound asleep. Food. That's what they needed. Then the vet. Then new homes. If she kept focused on that, she wouldn't have to think about the rest. Like calling her family. Checking in with friends. Explaining in detail how she felt about Lionel, the canceled wedding, the nonexistent honeymoon.

She could do it easily in two very succinct words.

It sucked.

“So, how
did
you escape?” she asked the cat. He purred and closed his eyes. She put him on the floor, hoping he'd run to his escape route. He flopped onto his back and lay there, watching her through slitted eyes.

Useless.

And butt ugly.

Poor thing. Unlike his fluffy little mates, he had thin fur and a ratlike tail. He was also huge. Not the cute little kittens that people oohed and aahed over, he was more likely to strike fear into the hearts of young children and disgust the local cat ladies.

It would be really hard to find a home for him. “I'll give it my best shot, Handsome, but if I can't find someone who will take you, you're going to the shel—”

Something slammed against a wall or floor.

Apricot shrieked, the kitten jumped, clawing its way up her dress and under her hair as she ran to the front door. She paused there. First, she hadn't gotten Henry working yet. Second, she couldn't just leave the house with a trespasser in it. Third, she'd never been the overly fearful type, and she wasn't going to start now. If someone was in the house, she was going to boot him or her out.

She marched back into the living room, lifted a small end table. Just in case she needed a weapon.

Whoever it was, wasn't being quiet about it.

She followed the sound into the kitchen.

Something hit the back of the house, and she dragged the door open, barreled outside into bright sunlight, the end table gripped in one hand, the kitten digging its claws into the back of her neck.

A kid stood a few yards away from the house, mouth gaping open, a basketball in his hands. About six-foot with shaggy red hair and dark brown eyes, he had gauges in his ears and a ring through his brow. He eyed the table and the corner of his mouth twitched. It looked like a smile rather than a smirk, so she set her makeshift weapon down.

“What are you doing?” she asked, even though what he was doing was obvious. Paint from the old wood siding had chipped off from the force of his basketball throws and one of the wooden shingles had cracked, half of it falling to the ground.