by Lisa Carter
Mountain girls weren’t shy about speaking their minds. And they were fierce about protecting those they loved.
He squared his shoulders. So was he.
“Your twins spend a lot of time with Maisie.”
She shrugged. “Because Callie and I spend so much time together. When time allows, of course, considering my night classes, Callie’s photography projects—”
“Order up!”
At the summons from the cook, Amber jumped out of the booth.
He frowned. “What photography projects?”
Amber edged away. “Be right back.”
Callie had taken her camera when they went to the preschool earlier, but the Nikon was so much a part of her, he barely took note of it anymore.
That was Callie—always snapping pictures of Maisie, filling a new album. Documenting his daughter’s every developmental milestone. Perhaps she’d give him a few photos of the autumn he spent with his child that he could take with him when he left.
Yet, while he had a few minutes alone with Amber, he had more pressing concerns. Questions maybe only she could answer.
He sipped his coffee until she dropped back into the booth.
“Finally, the breakfast rush is over.”
He took a quick look around. The crowd had thinned, including the matchmakers, who’d vacated the premises.
Great. Already it felt easier to breathe. He truly appreciated their support for him and Maisie, but the ladies had proved embarrassingly insistent on pushing him and Callie together at every opportunity. Being paired with him must mortify Callie.
“So it’s just you and your girls?”
Amber pressed her lips together. “No Mr. Amber in the picture.” She snorted. “Nor likely to be.”
“That’s not what I meant. Callie mentioned...” He lifted the mug to his lips.
Blue fire flashed in Amber’s eyes. A pretty woman. Smaller boned than Callie. But not his type. He preferred red—
He choked.
Yanking a handful of napkins out of the canister on the table, she thrust them at him.
“Th-thanks,” he sputtered, still coughing.
“Single mom. I was the talk of the town before—” She lowered her gaze, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug.
“Before Tiffany came back to town.”
Amber looked at him. “Yes.”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.” He leaned forward. “Things I can’t ask Callie.”
Amber’s shoulders relaxed a notch. “Can’t ask because Callie’s middle name shrieks loyalty. Even when a person—me, you, Tiffany, take your pick—doesn’t deserve it.”
“This is going to sound odd, since I was married to her,” he said with a grimace. “Though only for about a minute. Callie said you grew up in Truelove, too.” He continued in a rush of words, afraid if he slowed down he’d lose his nerve. “You must have known Tiffany. Were the three of you best friends? Would you tell me what you remember about Maisie’s mother?”
Amber met his gaze head-on. “If you’re asking me if I can explain why Tiffany did the things she did, I don’t think anyone could, even Callie or Beverly Jackson.”
“Beverly? Callie’s mom?”
Amber nodded. “The three of us played together when we were children. I don’t know if you realized that Callie’s mom was also a county social worker.”
That explained so much about the person Callie had become. “Callie is a woman with a heart too big for her own good.”
“Apples never fall far from trees, Jake. A cliché, but true.”
His lips quirked. “And I’ve got the calluses to prove it.”
For the first time, Amber gave him a genuine smile. “If you only knew how hard-to-impress Nash Jackson sings your praises.”
There were only two people besides Nash whose opinion of Jake mattered to him. Maisie. And Callie.
“Not only him.” Amber tucked her tongue inside her cheek. “Miss GeorgeAnne. Miss ErmaJean. And Miss IdaLee, too.”
He rolled his eyes. “Save me.”
She laughed. “Save us all once they get their hooks into you.” Her smile faded. “They’ve given me up as a lost cause, of course.”
He stirred. “Amber...”
She shook her head, stray tendrils of pale blond hair coming loose from her ponytail. She gazed out the window overlooking Main. “Looks like a happy place, doesn’t it, from the outside looking in?”
“I couldn’t have picked a better place for Maisie to grow up.”
“And you’d be right. Truelove is a wonderful place. But nowhere is perfect. Only as perfect as the people who live there.”
He nodded.
She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of the mug. “There are drugs and the crime they bring everywhere. Even here. Dysfunctional families.” She cocked her head. “Despite how my life has turned out, I didn’t come from one of those. But Tiffany did.”
“I know about her father’s abuse and neglect.” He let out a sigh. “That was something Tiffany and I shared. Less-than-ideal childhood circumstances.”
Amber’s gaze sharpened. “But you rose above your situation. A poor start doesn’t have to guarantee a bad finish. You’ve accomplished so much with your life. Your service to your country—”
He grunted. “The broken marriage... I still don’t understand where I went wrong. And now I’m totally estranged from a child I love more than life.”
Reaching across the table, she grasped his coat sleeve. “Don’t assume everything is your fault. Tiffany came packaged with enormous problems. From what I’ve learned in nursing school, I think her mother was probably bipolar.”
“Tiffany,” he sighed. “She had some mental issues, too.”
She patted his arm. “Beverly Jackson went above and beyond trying to help Tiffany break free of a destructive cycle. You did.”
And if what Nash said was true about God, he had only by God’s grace.
“I began to distance myself from Tiffany when the three of us got to high school. If there was trouble to be had, Tiffany would find it.” Amber’s mouth hardened. “She fell in with a bad crowd. Alcohol. Drugs. Ultimately, she ran away with one of the older boys. He was kind of an obsession for her.”
His grip tightened around the coffee cup.
Amber slumped. “I shouldn’t have said that to you.”
“It’s okay. It helps me understand what was going on inside her head. I’d rather know the truth.” Jake took a gulp of now-cold coffee. “Lies are the one thing I can’t forgive.”
“Agreed.”
From what little Callie had told him of Amber’s past, Jake figured she spoke from bitter personal experience.
“I’m trying to put together in my mind a timeline for how things went down with Tiffany. What went wrong with us and when.”
“All I know is that she ran away to Atlanta just before we graduated. We lost touch. Callie went to college. And I—” Amber’s mouth turned down. “I’d say I made the worst mistake of my life, but then I wouldn’t have my precious girls.”
“I feel the same about Maisie. No matter what happened with Tiffany. Or what happens after...” After November.
He’d made a promise, but it was getting harder and harder every day to imagine his life without Maisie. Away from the orchard. Apart from Callie.
Amber’s lips pursed. “Out of the blue, Tiffany shows up at the orchard pregnant. The rest you know. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”
Still no explanation for why Tiffany walked out on him while he was deployed. Maybe he’d never find an answer. Or perhaps he’d known all along. Usually, the simplest explanation was the right one. Tiffany had used him to get his combat pay.
From what Amber had said, it was probably to buy drugs. Tiffany had never loved him. And when she found
herself saddled with an unwanted baby—his baby—she’d run again.
A pattern with Tiffany. He was so thankful, though, that when she ran she hadn’t ditched Maisie somewhere unsafe. For that, he’d always be grateful to Tiffany.
“What you’ve told me does help, Amber. More than you know.”
She examined the clock on the wall. “I better get to work.” She extracted herself from the booth. “But I am glad you’re a part of Maisie’s and Callie’s lives.”
With Maisie, not too much longer, though. As for Callie?
A hope he dared not dream.
Chapter Eight
The next afternoon found Jake working at the top of a ladder in the orchard. Plucking an apple off the limb, out of the corner of his eye, he watched Maisie playing below.
Not a preschool day, so Callie was helping them out. And on the trips back and forth from the grove to the cooler, Maisie got to ride the tractor with Callie to her heart’s content. Full of her usual energy, Maisie ran over to where Nash worked at the other end of the long row.
“Bin’s full. I’m taking this load,” Callie called to him. “You okay?”
“Fine. Go ahead.”
“I’ll be back soon.” Callie glanced around. “Maisie’s with Dad.”
“Okay.”
Climbing aboard the tractor, Callie cranked the engine. After lifting the wooden pallet on the tines of the forklift, she headed down the grassy lane toward the outbuilding near the store.
Maisie ran toward the tractor, disappearing over the rise. “Cawee! No weave me!”
Nash had likewise disappeared. Probably on another row, out of sight somewhere within the canopy of gnarled apple branches.
“I’m still here,” Jake called down. “Soon as she gets the apples refrigerated, Callie will be back.”
Her set mouth told him Maisie believed him a poor substitute for her beloved Cawee. He’d agree with her on that.
Jake kept an eye on her as he continued to pick the apples. She found an old stick and began to run in circles around the tree.
He leaned against the ladder. “Don’t run with the stick, Maisie. You could hurt yourself.”
She stopped running, but she narrowed her eyes at him. He sighed.
From his high vantage point, he gazed over the orchard. He could see Callie talking to one of the seasonal bakers outside the Apple House. If the store had run out of a certain variety, she might need to grade some apples before returning to the orchard.
So it was just him and Maisie, much to her displeasure as she banged the stick against a nearby tree. He felt as hopeless as he’d ever felt about his daughter. She was never going to trust him again. She hated him.
He cut his eyes at Maisie. She whacked at the high grass beyond the mowed path between the row of trees. Thinking of snakes, he descended a few rungs. “Maisie, you need to put the stick down and stay out of the grass.”
She ignored him and thwacked the earth with even more force.
He came down a few more rungs, planting himself at ground level. “Maisie. Please don’t do that.”
From the stiff set of her shoulders, he knew she had heard him. She returned to the path, but she didn’t drop the stick.
His heart turned over in his chest. He loved her so much, his beautiful child. After what had happened yesterday at her preschool, he was beginning to think the longer he stayed, the worse he was making things with Maisie.
She moved over to the next row. Peering between the trees, he kept her in his line of sight. Perhaps the best thing he could do for his daughter was to climb into his truck and get out of her life for good.
But he’d promised Nash to help with the harvest. The Jacksons needed him. It felt good to be needed by someone. To feel necessary, even if only for his strong back.
He caught the sound of an engine drawing closer. Not the tractor. Callie drove the farm truck toward him.
Good. Reinforcements. His gaze darted to Maisie, jabbing the stick into the ground around one of the trees.
He removed the pick bag from his shoulder as Callie brought the truck to a standstill. She lowered the window.
Jake placed the bag gently underneath the tree and strolled over to the truck. “It can’t be quitting time already?”
“Close enough.” Callie’s warm smile did much to thaw the part of his heart Maisie seemed determined to freeze out. “I need to run to the grocery to get a few things for the bakers, but I brought you something.” She handed him a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” He took a long swig.
“You’ll be a professional apple picker before we’re through with you.”
He swiped the bottle against his forehead. “You and your dad are great teachers.”
The cool condensation felt good against his skin. Though mid-October, at this altitude the sun blazed hot in the afternoon. But it was good work. Raised in the inner city, he’d never realized how satisfying it was to work outdoors. This was as close to perfection as he’d ever imagined he could get.
Callie’s eyes held something besides admiration. Something too easy to misread. Not something he deserved from a fine lady like herself. Not for somebody like him.
Trouble was, he could get to like it here too much. Like her too much. He already did. On both counts.
“I have another one for Dad. Where’s—”
Maisie gave a high-pitched shriek.
His gaze snapped toward where she’d been playing. She wasn’t there. In just that split second of inattention, she’d wandered into the grass again.
An angry drone filled the air, overriding Maisie’s screams. She must have poked a wasp’s underground nest.
“Maisie!” Flinging open the door, Callie jumped out of the truck.
He threw down the water bottle. Grabbing a tarp from the truck bed, he raced toward Maisie.
“Run, Maisie!” Callie staggered forward. “Run to me.”
Maisie had dropped the stick, but stood frozen as angry buzzing yellow jackets swarmed out of the hole.
“I’m coming, Maisie!” yelled Jake. “Daddy’s coming!”
Callie ran behind him, but his longer legs ate up the ground faster.
“I’ll get her, Callie,” he cried. “Don’t come any closer.”
Sobbing, her chest heaving, Maisie’s eyes were wide and round. She put her hands over her head in a vain attempt to keep the yellow jackets away from her face.
He reached her in less than ten seconds, but it felt like a millennium. In one fell swoop, he wrapped the tarp around Maisie. Swinging her into his arms, he took off toward the safety of the truck.
“Get in the cab,” he shouted to Callie.
He winced as the swarm of enraged hornets attacked his back, his neck and his face. But they couldn’t reach Maisie, enfolded within the tarp in his arms. She was still screaming, whether from fear of the wasps or because of him, he couldn’t be sure.
Callie had the passenger door open and the engine running when he shoved Maisie inside. Scrambling after her, he slammed the door behind him. Wailing, Maisie crawled across the seat and clung to Callie. Her arms nearly strangled Callie.
She gunned the motor and took off. “Are you okay, Jake?”
He killed a few wasps that had followed them into the truck. “Check Maisie when we get to the house.” He smashed the last yellow jacket against the dashboard.
With a screech of brakes and spraying gravel, Callie pulled to a stop outside the farmhouse. Yanking Maisie out of the truck, she ran for the screen porch. The world out of focus, Jake lurched after them.
He fell up the steps and into the porch, letting the door crack against the frame behind him like a shotgun blast. Sitting in the middle of the concrete floor, Callie jerked off Maisie’s T-shirt, checking her torso for stingers.
Jake felt like his head was on fire. Lik
e it was about to explode. Swaying, he took hold of the wall for support. “Is she okay?” he whispered. His voice sounded tinny and faraway.
Callie stripped Maisie of her socks and shoes. “I think so. I’ve found one little bite, but—” She glanced at him. “Jake?”
He staggered, clutching his chest. She and Maisie went blurry. “I—I—I’m allergic,” he choked.
“Jake!” Callie clambered upright, trying to reach him. “Jake, talk to me.”
His throat suddenly tight, he couldn’t answer. He couldn’t breathe. And then, he couldn’t catch himself. He was falling into darkness.
* * *
When his knees buckled, Callie caught Jake as he collapsed. His weight almost unbalanced both of them, but with her arm under his broad shoulders, she managed to lower him to the floor.
“Jake? Jake, talk to me. Jake, can you hear me?”
Frantic, she felt for a pulse. His face was dotted with more inflamed red welts than she could count. And that didn’t even take into account the stings underneath his shirt. He’d been protecting Maisie, keeping her safe.
Her father yanked open the screen door.
“Daddy! Jake—”
“I was too far to reach Maisie in time. Thank You, God, Jake—”
“He’s allergic. He told me right before he...”
Nash stepped over Jake’s prone form. Jake’s face and lips were swelling by the second. Maisie had gone shockingly silent, curled beside Jake, her blue eyes wide and staring.
“If he is allergic, he probably carries an EpiPen somewhere in his belongings.” Her dad knelt beside Jake. “The swelling is closing off his airway.”
“He’s dying, Daddy. We’ve got to do something.” She had never been this afraid in her life.
“Go upstairs. Find the EpiPen.” Her father’s eyes darkened. “We’ve got seconds, Callie Girl.”
She scrambled to her feet and took off for the kitchen. She pounded up the stairs, her breath coming in quick, short gasps. She threw open his bedroom door.
Where should she look first? If she guessed wrong, she’d waste precious seconds Jake didn’t have to spare. If she made the wrong choice, Jake could die.