by Lisa Carter
She jolted when the landline rang. Jake? Forget barricades. Dashing downstairs, she snatched up the phone on the third ring.
Her heart pounded. “Hello?” Her stomach did that crazy somersault thing at the sound of his voice. “Jake...”
She sank into an armchair. “No, I’m not busy.” Perfect timing with Maisie down for her nap. “So you got there all right?”
Feet up and over the armrest, she settled in to hear about his trip. They talked for thirty minutes. He wanted to know what her dad had been working on without him. What she’d been doing. She smiled at his declaration that a fast-food burger at a drive-through was a poor substitute for lunch at her table.
With the phone cradled between her head and shoulder, she told him about Maisie’s lunch behavior.
“Nobody knows Maisie like you do, Callie.”
Goose bumps rose on her arms at the sound of her name on his lips. She liked his voice. Deep and gravelly.
“You’ll do whatever is right and best. I’m confident of that.”
Guilt fretted at her conscience. She didn’t always do what was right and best. Or, despite Tiff’s protests, she’d have tracked down Jake McAbee as soon as Maisie had been born. As for what she feared and dreaded the most?
What benefit could come from planting doubts in his mind? But, oh, the harm. A hornet’s nest best left alone. Better not only for Jake, but also for all of them. Maisie, most especially.
“So what have you been doing?” She injected a falsely bright note into her voice.
They talked a few minutes more before he had to go to an appointment on the base. But unable to shake a strange foreboding, she remained in the chair mulling over telling Jake her worst fear. The incident with the yellow jackets had more than proved Jake’s devotion to his child. His unshakable love. Yet every time she contemplated what could happen if she shared her doubts about Tiff with Jake...
Upstairs, Maisie called for her. Callie wasn’t sorry for the distraction. She brought Maisie to the living room to play with her barn animals. Preoccupied and restless with nervous energy, Callie decided to clean out the kitchen cabinets. And the kitchen drawers. And anything else she could think of to keep her hands busy.
Removing the roast from the Dutch oven, again she noted how quiet the house was today. A house with a two-year-old in residence should never be quiet. Quiet meant trouble.
“Maisie?” Wiping her hands on her apron, she ventured around the island. “Where are you, Maisie?”
At the sight of the open front door, her breath hitched. Rushing forward, she found Maisie perched on the porch step outside, staring across the lawn.
“Maisie?” Callie hadn’t realized Maisie could open the door by herself. “What are you doing out here, honey?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You scared Callie. I didn’t know where you were.”
Fixing her gaze on the horizon, Callie made a deliberate attempt to slow her heart, beating in triple time. The days were shorter now, and the sunset was beautiful this evening. Streaks of pink and lavender bathed the sky over the mountain.
With a shuddery sigh, Maisie rose and turned toward Callie, her arms tightly clutching BooWoo.
Callie held out her hand. “It’s time for supper. Pop-Pop will be coming inside soon.” Her heart hammered, relieved to find Maisie safe.
This wasn’t like Maisie. She knew better than to come outside without Callie. Maisie appeared determined to break all her boundaries in one fell swoop today.
After supper she would have a long talk with the little girl about wandering off. Maisie refused to eat her supper.
“You love carrots, Maisie.” Brow furrowed, Callie angled a look at her father.
Bewildered, he shook his head.
“We pulled those out of the garden ourselves, Maisie.” She picked up the child-size fork. “Do you want Callie to help you with the green beans?”
Maisie buried her face into BooWoo’s soft suede body. “No want Cawee,” she whimpered.
“Dad?” Callie’s chin wobbled.
Getting out of his chair, he bent over Maisie. “Are you feeling poorly, little sweetheart?”
Her face still hidden, Maisie choked off a sob.
Callie scraped back her chair. Brushing aside the curls, she laid her hand on Maisie’s forehead. “She doesn’t feel warm.”
“Summer flu has been going around. Amber’s girls were hit with a virus last week, weren’t they?”
Callie nodded. “Maisie, honey, would you at least drink the water in your sippy cup?” She cut her gaze at her father. “We can’t let her get dehydrated.”
Her dad held the spout to Maisie’s lips. “Drink something for Pop-Pop, little sweetheart.”
Maisie took the cup and swallowed a few sips. But a single tear, like a drop of dew, cascaded down her cheek.
Eyes widening, Callie’s dad looked about as panicked as she felt.
She caught the tear on the tip of her finger. “What’s wrong, Maisie? Does something hurt? Your head? Your throat? Your tummy?”
Maisie shook her head.
He headed toward the landline in its receiver on the side table. “I’m calling Lorena. She’ll know what we should do.”
“Come here, honey.” Callie opened her hands. “Let me hold you.”
Maisie lifted her arms, and Callie took her over to the sofa. Speaking into the phone, her dad responded to Lorena’s questions.
He clicked off. “She says to monitor Maisie’s temperature and push the liquids. Maisie could be coming down with something.”
Callie hugged the little girl closer. “I’ll check on her every few hours after she goes to bed. Maybe she’ll fight off whatever this is and be better in the morning.”
“God willing, and the creek don’t rise.”
Listless, Maisie went into her crib without a word.
For the first time in a year, Callie turned on the baby monitor. She and her dad went to bed soon after. Loving someone was exhausting.
She slept fitfully, waking at midnight and three in the morning. Each time when she checked, Maisie appeared fine, her breath steady, her little chest rising and falling, and BooWoo clasped in her arms.
Beyond weary, Callie awoke at six. Throwing off the bedcovers, she stretched her arms above her head. Then realizing she’d slept through her 5:00 a.m. check-in, she scrambled off the bed.
In bare feet, she padded across the upstairs hall. Behind her father’s door, she heard the shower running. Yawning, she shouldered open Maisie’s door. And came to an abrupt halt.
She pushed her bed hair out of her face, but nothing changed. There was a roaring in her ears.
Adrenaline kicking in, she whipped around, searching the corners of the room. A futile gesture, but it gave her the three seconds necessary for her mind to process what her eyes were telling her.
The crib was empty. Maisie was gone.
Oh, God, help me. Where is she?
Callie raced out to the hall. The shower was still running.
She was hungry so she went to the kitchen...
Callie was about to rush downstairs when she noticed Jake’s bedroom door ajar. Some instinct made her pause. She pushed the door wide.
She sagged into the door frame, relief almost buckling her knees. The relief was followed by a sharp welling of tears.
Head on Jake’s pillow, Maisie lay curled on top of the bedspread, fast asleep. Somehow she must have climbed out of the crib. Definitely time for a big-girl bed. Then she glimpsed what Maisie had tucked under her cheek. Not BooWoo.
Maisie had taken one of Jake’s shirts out of the bureau. Callie’s eyes went blurry. Not just any shirt. The now-laundered shirt Jake had worn when he’d saved Maisie from the yellow jackets.
She wasn’t sick. Maisie was missing Jake.
When Callie crawled onto the bed, Ma
isie’s eyes opened. Callie lay next to her, resting on the other pillow. Her nostrils flared at the unmistakable scent of Jake. Old Spice. Fresh air. And something that was just Jake. Indescribably pleasing and wonderful.
His daughter had found the place she could be closest to him.
“My daddy gone,” Maisie whispered. The little hollow at the base of her throat quivered like the quick, sudden flutter of a hummingbird’s wings.
“Daddy’s coming back, honey.”
“Me mean to my daddy. He gone.” Maisie burst into heart-wrenching sobs.
Callie gathered the child in her arms. “Daddy’s coming back.” She blinked away her own tears. “Daddy would never—”
She mustn’t say that, because one day very soon that was exactly what Maisie’s daddy was going to do. Drive away for good, leaving Maisie where she belonged—with Callie on the farm.
That was the deal they’d made, the price for allowing him the chance to know his child, to make up for the years he’d missed. Stolen years. Years Tiff had stolen from Maisie, too.
And it made Callie sick that she’d been Tiff’s willing accomplice. More than willing. For her own selfish ends. Anything to keep Maisie here.
She stroked Maisie’s hair, but Maisie refused to be comforted. Her little body shook with the tremors of her inconsolable grief.
Callie couldn’t bear to think of how Jake would feel when he left. The forlorn expression in his eyes as he faced a future without his child. How alone—once more—he’d be.
With no one to comfort him.
But she couldn’t think like that or she’d never be able to send him away without Maisie. She couldn’t bear to live without Maisie at the orchard... Callie shut the thought down. Maisie was her life.
Though wasn’t that supposed to be God?
She straightened. “Let’s call Daddy.”
Maisie shook with the hiccupping aftereffects of deep sorrow, but she let go of Callie. Getting off the bed, together they located Callie’s cell plugged in to the charger in her bedroom across the hall.
“It’s going to be all right.” She speed-dialed Jake’s number. “Daddy will be so happy to hear your voice, Maisie.” She smiled.
The phone rang and rang. Where was Jake? Why didn’t he pick up?
Jake McAbee would never abandon his daughter. Not willingly. Unless something had happened. An accident?
“Pick up, Jake. Pick up,” she rasped.
But it kept ringing. And voice mail didn’t kick in.
Jake’s shirt clenched in her small hands, Maisie had shrunk into a pajama-clad ball on Callie’s bed.
“We’ll try him later. After breakfast.”
Maisie broke into tears. And this time, Callie felt like joining her.
Chapter Ten
Army paperwork complete, Jake left the base for the last time. He’d enjoyed the camaraderie and the opportunity to be a part of something larger than himself. The army had been like a family—or as near to one as a kid with his background could envision until he met the Jacksons.
En route to Highway 401, he drove past the Airborne museum.
He hadn’t hesitated to leave his career once he’d found out he had a daughter, but Maisie’s continuing aloofness had him considering rejoining again. His former commanding officer had made it clear if ever Jake changed his mind there’d be a place for him. But even if he hadn’t made the deal with Callie, he couldn’t remain at the orchard, not with the way Maisie felt about him.
And because of the way he was beginning to feel about the Jacksons.
It scared him how much he craved Nash’s approval. As for his feelings for Callie? They were complicated.
Tightening his grip on the wheel, his knuckles whitened.
He’d learned the hard way about needing people. Since Tiffany had left him, the only one he’d dared let into his heart had been Maisie. And that wasn’t turning out so well.
Loving someone was not only an exercise in futility, but a disaster in the making. Reinforcing the lesson he’d learned as a boy—not only was he unlovable, but loving anyone was a dangerous mistake.
He needed to go. Maybe sooner than planned. Although he’d promised Nash...
Jake didn’t have much to show for his life other than his military service. But one thing he’d managed to retain—his good name and his word.
Yet as soon as the harvest was over, he had a decision to make. He could rejoin the army or pursue the job in Houston. Either way, he needed to put some distance between himself and the farm. Before he was wrecked completely.
At the prospect of walking away from Maisie forever, his throat caught. He suspected he was already wrecked. And would be for a long time. Maybe for good.
She’d be better off without him. Hadn’t his own father told him as much? Over and over again. Hadn’t Tiffany’s betrayal proved it?
He’d been a fool to allow himself to dream. Yet from the moment Callie contacted him, he’d begun to imagine holidays, birthdays, summers with his child. He was an idiot.
Jake should’ve known better. He’d never belonged to anyone nor anyone truly to him, and he never would. Time to cut his losses and move on. Again.
Loosening his hold on the wheel, he took a deep, steadying breath. Passing a furniture warehouse, an idea suddenly came to him. One final thing he could do for Maisie. One thing he could leave her. One last expression of his love.
Before he talked himself out of it, he pulled the truck off the highway and into the parking lot. A middle-aged salesman showed him around the store, but Jake wasn’t sure what he should choose. And then he stumbled upon just the right one. Immediately, he could envision Maisie in this big-girl bed.
“I’ll take it.”
The warehouse guys helped him load it into his truck. Jake covered the box springs, mattress, wooden headboard and footboard with a canvas tarp. Rain was forecast for the mountains.
In blue overalls, the older of the two workers closed the tailgate. “For your daughter, you say?”
Securing the last bungee cord to keep the bed from shifting, Jake nodded.
“You’ll need something else, too.” He pointed Jake toward the mall across the street.
Jake had never been much of a shopper. He preferred to shop as if on a mission—identify the target objective, get in and get out. Inside the department store, however, he became completely overwhelmed by the amount of merchandise for girls. But a nice saleslady took pity on a single dad who had no clue what he was doing and narrowed the choices for him.
Yet again, he somehow knew which one Maisie would love, the one Callie would choose. The bedding would complement not only Maisie’s budding personality, but would also fit right into the cheery farm decor in the rest of the house.
Laden with shopping bags, he was pretty pleased with himself when he finally left the store. Until he remembered he had one more errand to complete before he headed for Truelove.
Callie’s warm, laughing brown eyes rose in his mind. He exhaled. Fat chance someone like him had for true love, no matter how well-meaning the matchmakers.
Detouring to the post office near his old apartment, Jake closed out his account for the box he’d rented. He’d never used it, but Tiffany had wanted it. Cleaning it out, he found a clutch of uncollected mail. Standing in the white-tiled corridor, he eagerly sorted through the contents.
Junk mail. Disappointment plummeted like a stone in his stomach. Past-due notices in Tiffany’s name. He grimaced.
He stalked out to his truck. What had he unconsciously hoped to find here? No long-lost letter explaining her desertion, nor why she’d kept his child’s existence from him.
What a chump he still was. Her actions had proved Tiffany never wanted anything from him but his combat pay. And he’d never seen it coming. A sucker born every minute, that was him.
A sour ta
ste in his mouth, he yanked open the truck door. He stuffed the unopened mail into the glove box. Out of sight, out of mind. If only his failures with Tiffany and their daughter were as easily remedied.
On the interstate heading west, he remembered he’d forgotten to turn on his cell this morning. With one hand on the wheel, he used the other to fish it out of his pocket and power it on. He hoped no one had been trying to reach him.
Leaving his former life behind, he hunched his shoulders. Perhaps every time she slept in the big-girl bed her dad had bought for her, she would remember him. Think of him with belated fondness.
Fondness wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d ever had before. All he could ever hope to have from Maisie. And because she wouldn’t accept his love, the bed was all he could ever give her.
He prayed she would like it, imagining a shy smile on her face. How her blue eyes would sparkle after he put together her new bed.
Or, his heart quailed, would she reject the gift just because it came from him?
The fears and doubts of a lifetime came roaring back.
God, please help her to like it. Soften her heart to me. But if she won’t...
Jake swallowed, hard.
Please give me strength to bear it.
* * *
It was late afternoon when he drove under the crossbars of the Apple Valley Farm sign. Driving past the orchard trees on either side, he broke out into a sweat.
There’d been enough time between Fayetteville and Truelove to work himself into a fine frenzy. Anticipating—dreading—Maisie’s reaction to his gift.
And as was his nature—based on experience—he expected the worst.
Dust swirling in the wake of the truck, he sighted the farmhouse high on the knoll overlooking the apple trees. Despite his worries, his heart lifted as it had that first day. He’d never get enough of this place.
The solid stone chimney and enduring foundation. The wraparound porch with its breathtaking views. The tin roof under which he’d often drifted into peaceful sleep to the pattering din of raindrops. The welcoming red-painted door. Home.