The Orchard at the Edge of Town

by Shirlee McCoy

  “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.”

  She laughed, and he wanted to capture the sound on her lips, savor the taste of her happiness. He might have done it if his cell phone hadn’t rung. He still might have if Apricot hadn’t stepped away.

  “Are you going to answer that?” she asked.

  “Sure.” He pressed the phone to his ear, his gaze still on Apricot. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed, her hair brushing against her nape as she turned to watch the girls.

  “Simon, here. What’s up?” he asked, distracted by the deep red and bold gold streaks in Apricot’s hair.

  “It’s Max. We’ve got a problem.” Stanford’s gruff voice was the splash of ice water Simon needed. He turned toward the entrance of the park, watching as a couple walked toward the pond.

  “What kind of problem?”

  “Daisy has been robbed.”

  “What?!” His blood ran cold, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Where and when?”

  “Near as we can tell, it happened in that little alley between the bank and the diner. I’m trying to get the details, but Daisy is in hysterics. It might be best if you come to the hospital.”

  “She’s hurt?”

  “A torn skirt and maybe a scratch on her arm. Can’t really tell on account of the woman is screaming her head off and won’t let anyone near her. Cade is here, and he told me to call you. He thought you might be able to calm her down enough that we could get the full story. Until we do, we can’t look for a suspect.”

  “I’ll be there in ten.” He shoved the phone in his pocket and ran toward the girls. “Girls! Come on! We’ve got to leave!”

  “What’s going on?” Apricot asked as he grabbed Rori and lifted her off the slide.

  “Daisy—” He looked at the girls, who were watching him with wide-eyed curiosity. “I need to get them home and ask the neighbor to watch them. God! I hope she’s home. If she’s not—”

  “I’ll take care of them. You go do what you need to do.”

  Any other time, any other circumstances, and he would have refused the offer, but as big a pain in the butt as Daisy had become, she was family. If she needed him, he wanted to be there. Now. Not ten minutes from now.

  “Are you sure? I could be a while.”

  “As long as you don’t mind me bringing the girls to my place, I’m fine with it. I told Jet that I’d—”

  “You’re going to need booster seats for the girls,” he said, cutting her off. “I don’t think your truck has shoulder belts. You take my SUV. I’ll take the truck.”

  She didn’t ask questions, just took his keys and gave him hers. “Henry is fickle. Give him a little grace and don’t expect him to accelerate too quickly.”

  He nodded. “Thanks. Be good, girls!” He dropped a kiss on each girl’s head, his heart beating the passing seconds, his stomach hollow with worry and anger. Apple Valley wasn’t the kind of place where people were robbed in the middle of the day. The crime rate was so low that most people in town left their doors unlocked. The thought of Daisy being robbed was almost inconceivable. The thought of her being hurt made him want to hunt down the perpetrator and teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.

  He raced toward the park entrance, his heart pounding a million miles an hour. He’d failed Megan, and he’d never forgiven himself for that. There was no way in hell he was going to fail Daisy. Apricot’s truck was parked right where she’d left it, the blue paint gleaming in brilliant sunlight. The interior smelled like her—flowers and sunshine with just a hint of summer rain. He filed the information away as he pulled onto Main Street and raced toward the hospital.

  “Daddy sure can run fast,” Rori commented as Apricot led the girls along the path Simon had taken. “Do you think something horrible happened? Do you think there’s a bad guy that he has to catch?”

  What she thought was that something had happened to Daisy. She wasn’t going to tell the girls that. “Whatever is going on, I’m sure he’ll
handle it just fine.”

  “Daddy can handle anything,” Evie said with a full measure of pride in her voice. “He helped a girl have a baby at the grocery store last year.”

  “Did he?” Apricot responded, her focus only half on the conversation. Whatever had happened to Daisy, it couldn’t be good. Simon’s expression had said the things he hadn’t—he was worried and angry.

  “Yep. Andrew Danner’s mom was right there when it happened. Eliza Jane is only fifteen years old, and she hadn’t even told anyone she was going to have a baby. That’s probably why she had it right in the middle of aisle six. Thank goodness Daddy was there. He knew what to do. He helped his dad birth like a million calves and it’s almost the same thing.”

  “Except a baby is a lot smaller than a calf,” Rori broke in.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Evie responded. “Andrew said that his mom said Eliza screamed so loud a bottle of pickles shattered into a million pieces. Do you think that’s true, Apricot? Do you think having a baby hurts so bad a woman could break a pickle jar from screaming so loud?”

  Dear God in heaven! What was she supposed to say to that? “Well—”

  “Don’t be silly, Evie! Her scream didn’t make the jar break. She kicked the shelf with her foot on account of she was basically trying to push a watermelon-sized head out her—”

  “It would take some really powerful lungs to break a jar,” Apricot cut in, hoping to heaven that the girls would drop the subject.

  “Or a big sledgehammer. One time a bunch of kids broke the school windows, and that’s what Daddy said they used. Sledgehammers.” Evie skipped ahead, her blue tutu swishing around scrawny legs. She had bruises and scratches on her calves and a few bruises on her arms.

  “Have you been climbing trees, Evie?” Apricot hurried to catch up, dragging the slower-moving Rori along beside her.

  “How’d you know? Magic? Because Andrew says that you’re a witch. I told him he was wrong, but it would be kind of cool if you were.”

  “She’s not a witch!” Rori exclaimed, her cheeks pink with indignation. “You’re not. Are you?”

  “No.” Apricot laughed. “I’m an herbalist.”

  “What’s that?” the girls asked in unison. “Jinx!” they both cried.

  Silence followed. Blessed, wonderful, joyous silence. Silence that was not filled with questions about childbirth and women’s screams or about their father and where he’d gone.

  Hopefully there hadn’t been an accident. Hopefully Daisy was just fine. Apricot had a bad feeling about things, though, and Sapphire had always said a person couldn’t go wrong trusting her gut.

  “Say my name,” Evie whispered, her lips barely moving.

  “Pardon me?”

  “My name. You have to say it so that I can talk.”

  “You’re already talking,” she pointed out.

  “Because she’s a cheater,” Rori whispered so softly Apricot barely heard her.

  “I am not!”

  “Are too!”

  “Am not!”

  “Girls!” She shouted so loudly an older woman across Main Street turned to frown in her direction.

  “No bickering,” Apricot added more quietly.

  “You have to say our names,” Evie whispered.

  “Right. Okay. Evie and Rori, no bickering.”

  “You did cheat,” Rori said immediately. “And I’m going to tell Daddy. You know what he says about cheaters.”

  “Well, you cheated too! You talked before she said your name!” Evie shot back, her blond hair shaking with the force of her rage. Apricot hadn’t been around kids in more years than she wanted to admit to, but dealing with childish squabbles had been part and parcel of growing up in Happy Dale. She might have been away for a long time, but she hadn’t forgotten the skills she’d learned there.

  “If you two keep it up,” she said quietly, “I’m not going to let you help me paint my living room.”

  They fell silent, both of them eyeing her with suspicion. “Daisy never lets us help paint,” Rori said.

  “Maybe Daisy doesn’t have a lot of painting that needs to be done. I do. An entire house. Today, I’m starting the living room.”

  “You could paint it pink,” Rori suggested.

  “Or blue and pink stripes. That would be really cool. Don’t you think it would be cool, Rori?”

  “Yes! And you could get pink couches, Apricot. And blue curtains and a blue rug. We could even help you pick them out.”

  “As nice as that sounds, I can’t do it. The house doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to my aunt.”

  “You have an Aunt Daisy?” Evie asked.

  “I have an Aunt Rose. She owns the house, and she likes the furniture in it, so I can’t change that. Pink and blue walls just won’t look right with the furniture she has.” Apricot unlocked Simon’s SUV and opened the door for the girls.

  “It isn’t brown furniture, is it?” Evie wrinkled her nose as she climbed in. “Because I think brown would be an ugly color for the wall.”

  “No brown. I bought a pretty cream.”

  “Cream is boring. You should pick something else so people don’t think you’re boring too.” Evie buckled herself into a child’s booster seat.

  “That’s not nice,” Rori responded. “If she likes boring old cream, she should paint the walls with it. I still won’t think she’s boring.”

  “Thanks, sweetie.” Apricot chucked her under the chin and closed the door. The girls were cute as could be, precocious and just a little naughty. Which she absolutely loved. But she already had a headache, and their chatter wasn’t helping it go away.

  She glanced in the review mirror as she pulled onto Main. The girls had settled into silence, both of them looking out the windows, their arms stretched across the emptiness between them, their fingers entwined.

  They looked like angels, sweet and innocent as could be, so she kept driving down Main Street and out of town, the afternoon sun shimmering in the cloudless sky as she made her way back to Rose’s place.

  Chapter Nine

  In the six hours she’d had the girls, Apricot had learned several things. First, eight-year-olds couldn’t be counted on to keep paint off the floors or the furniture. She’d assumed that before they’d begun the project, but the extent of paint splatter was confounding. She’d spent more time wiping up drips and spatter than she had painting cream over the dingy white walls. Somehow, though, they’d managed to finish the living room with impressive enthusiasm.

  The second thing Apricot had learned was the girls didn’t like artichoke hearts. They weren’t keen on whole grain pasta with fresh pesto, either. She’d discovered that right around the time Rori started gagging on the dinner Apricot had presented to them. Both girls had been polite, but it was obvious neither was going to be able to choke down the food.

  She’d finally given in and ordered pizza. Extra cheese for the girls and sausage and mushroom for Jet. He’d worked until the sun had nearly set, then taken the pizza and headed home.

  Which had led Apricot to her third discovery—the girls asked a lot of questions. A lot of questions. Most of which she didn’t want to answer.

  “You know what Andrew said?” Evie asked as Apricot led them into the backyard.

  “I’m not sure I want to,” she murmured, but Evie didn’t seem to hear.

  “He said your boyfriend dumped you. He said it was because you spent too much money on fancy wedding stuff and not enough money on your boyfriend.”

  “That’s nice,” she responded, because there was no way in the world she was going to discuss Lionel with an eight-year-old.

  “No, it’s not.” Rori grabbed her hand, tugging her down so that they were eye to eye. “It isn’t nice at all, and I know it isn’t true. You probably spent lots and lots of money on your boyfriend, and he didn’t appreciate you.”

  Evie nodded solemnly. “Just like with Aunt Daisy and Dennis. He didn’t know what he had until he lost it.”

  Apric
ot held back a chuckle. Barely. “I take it Dennis was your aunt’s boyfriend?”

  “They were supposed to get married, but he ran off with that no-good hussy from Spokane.”

  “Evie!” Rori gasped. “You know Daddy said you’re not supposed to use that word!”

  “I didn’t use it. Daisy used it. She said that hussy used her feminine wiles to steal Dennis away. Is that what happened to your boyfriend, Apricot? Did someone steal him away?”

  Apricot wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry, so she took the girls by the hands and walked toward the orchard.

  “You made her sad,” Rori whispered loudly enough to drive a family of quail from the undergrowth. “She probably thought her boyfriend just got icy feet. Now she thinks a hussy stole him away.”

  “Cold feet, sweetie,” she corrected. “And I was the one who walked out of the church.”

  “Your feet got cold?” Evie eyed her doubtfully. “Aunt Daisy says it’s always the men who get nerves on account of they want to sow wild oats.”

  “You can’t believe everything you hear. Plenty of women get cold feet.” She wouldn’t touch the sowing wild oats thing with a twenty-foot pole. She didn’t want to discuss relationships either. The more she listened, the more she agreed with Simon. The girls were too young to have their heads filled with the kind of stuff Daisy was spouting off.

  Speaking of Daisy . . .

  Apricot glanced at her watch. She hadn’t heard from Simon, and that worried her. In her experience, the longer it took to deal with a crisis, the worse the crisis was. Hopefully that wasn’t the case this time, because whatever was going on, it was taking eons.

  “Where are we going?” Rori’s grip on Apricot’s hand tightened, her footsteps slowing as they approached the fence that separated the yard from the orchard.

  “To the orchard.”

  “You mean those creepy old trees?” Rori stopped in her tracks. The descending sun had set fire to the distant sky, painting pink and orange streaks across the horizon. Mountains jutted up against the colorful display, casting deep shadows across the yard and house.