The Orchard at the Edge of Town (10 page)

“Sit yourselves down,” Charlotte called. “I'll bring pop and coffee.”

“Water for the girls, Charlotte. I'll take the same,” he said as the girls scrambled into a booth near the counter.

The girls looked crestfallen, but they didn't dare complain. A trip to Sweet Treats was a rare occurrence. One that he usually saved for special occasions. He'd planned to buy a half gallon of ice cream from the grocery store and give the girls cones at home. He'd changed his mind after seeing Apricot stomp her sunglasses into pieces.

She'd been about to cry.

No doubt about that.

He figured that was something to do with her ex. He also figured the fancy sunglasses she'd smashed to bits might be something to do with the same. He could have left her to cry it out or stomp it out. Or both.

He hadn't, and he wasn't quite ready to admit the reason for that.

“It's a nice day for a walk in the park.” Charlotte set water glasses on the table. “Is that what you guys are planning?” She had a pretty smile, porcelain skin, and dark hair that framed her face. Quiet and unassuming, she wasn't the kind of woman Simon would have imagined attracting the attention of someone like Maxwell Stanford, but she'd not only attracted him, she'd managed to turn the guy into a family man.

Or maybe Maxwell's daughter had done that. Having kids had sure changed Simon.

“We're waiting for Apricot!” Evie offered, eyeing the water glass like it was filled with the vilest of poison. The girl knew how to be dramatic. Simon would give her that. “Eden says that drinking too much water can make a kid drown,” she commented.

“I take it Eden is one of your friends from school?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes.” Evie nodded. “She knows a lot of stuff.”

“I don't think she knows about drowning, though,” Rori cut in. “Because I don't think you can drown from drinking too much.” She eyed her glass suspiciously.

Simon had visions of water boycotts and trips to the ER. “A glass of water isn't going to cause problems. Your sister is just trying to get a soda pop.”

“I do want soda, but that's not why I'm saying what I'm saying.” Evie took a sip of water. “Ms. Randall says that—”

“How about we stop repeating what other people say and start thinking for ourselves. Okay?” He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to hold on to his patience. He loved Evie more than life itself, but the girl wore him out. While Rori sat with books and little craft kits that Daisy kept her supplied with, Evie bounced off the walls, asking questions about anything and everything that caught her attention.

“Or,” Charlotte suggested, “you could think about what kind of treat you're in the mood for. I've got coconut cupcakes today. Butterscotch bars. Pecan praline cookies.”

“Ice cream?” Evie asked.

“Now that you mention it, I do have ice cream. Chocolate brownie bit, strawberry cheesecake, and peach cobbler. Interested?”

“I want—”

“We can't order yet,” Rori said, looking anxiously at the door. “Apricot isn't here.”

“Is that the lady who is staying in the old Shaffer place?” Charlotte stepped behind the counter and opened a chest freezer that stood near the wall. “Max said she's probably not going to be in town long.”

“Did he?” Simon wasn't sure where Max had gotten the information. Rumors were flying about Apricot. Simon wasn't much for rumors, so he'd tried not to be pulled in by it. Not an easy thing, seeing as how Daisy had been talking nonstop about Apricot since she'd arrived.

“I guess she's got money and lots of it.” Her voice was muffled as she reached into the freezer. “Not that I'm much for what people say, but I've got to admit I'm curious. If she's got that much money, why's she hiding here and not in some fancy resort where she can get massaged and pampered?”

“Her fiancé dumped her,” Evie responded before Simon could. “He just up and said,
I don't want to marry you. You're just not pretty enough for me
.”

“Evie! What kind of story is that?” Simon barked.

“The kind that Aunt Daisy said is pit-i-ful. She said that—”

“No more!” He held up a hand. “We are done telling stories about other people. It isn't nice.”

“I told her that, Daddy. I told her that when she told everyone on the playground at school all about poor Apricot. It's not Apricot's fault that her boyfriend is a scoundrel,” Rori offered, her eyes big and wide and filled with the kind of innocent indignation that only she could manage.

“Good God! How many kids were on the playground?” Simon groaned. He was tempted to bang his head against the wall. He was going to have to talk to Daisy, and he was going to have to do it sooner rather than later. That was a problem for him, because he hated having discussions with Daisy about the girls and what they should not do. Much as he appreciated his sister-in-law's help, he didn't approve of some of her child-rearing methods. Filling the girls' heads with gossip was one of them.

“Just everyone in our class, Daddy. Seventeen kids and Ms. Chandler,” Rori said.

“She's our aide,” Evie added. “She does stuff Ms. Randall doesn't want to do. Like take us outside when it's really hot. Ms. Randall doesn't like hot weather on account of her hot flashes. She says that's what happens when you're old. You get hot flashes and wrinkles.”

Charlotte laughed as she approached the table. “You two girls sure do know how to make a person smile.”

“Only if that person is not their father,” Simon muttered.

“Cheer up, Simon.” She handed the cups to the girls, snagged little plastic spoons from a box on the counter. “They'll grow out of the talking-about-everyone phase and grow into the talking-about-boys phase.”

“Is that what I have to look forward to?”

“That and a lot of other things.” She handed each girl a spoon. “Probably the best thing to do is just focus on today and face the rest as it comes.”

Good advice, but he could never quite shake the worry about the girls. Was he doing things right? Doing them wrong? Making mistakes that would impact the girls for the rest of their lives?

Was he missing something big? Overlooking some tiny detail that meant something huge?

Like that bottle on the windowsill?

Like Megan's deep sleep and the slurred speech that he'd thought were from exhaustion but had really been from drug use?

He was a police officer, for God's sake! He should have known that his wife was an addict, but he'd missed it because he'd loved her, because he'd trusted her and himself and the life that he'd thought they had.

He didn't want to make that mistake with the girls,
couldn't
make that mistake.

The door opened, a tiny bell above it ringing as Apricot walked in. Warm air floated into the shop, filling it with the scent of flowers and fresh mown grass.

“I made it!” she announced, her skin dewy from heat, her cheeks tinged pink from it. Strands of wet hair stuck to the back of her neck and framed her face, a few droplets of sweat glistening in the hollow of her throat. “I thought LA was brutal in the summer. Apple Valley takes the cake! If it doesn't cool off soon, I'm going to have to break down and get a car that has air-conditioning.”

“You wouldn't really trade Henry in for a little cool air, would you?” Simon handed her his water glass and she gulped greedily.

“Not in a million years,” she said as she swiped moisture from her lips. Not the plumped-up lips of an LA starlet. Just full, soft-looking pink lips that were probably very, very kissable.

Simon's gut tightened at the thought, his gaze dropping for a fraction of a second and landing on the slim column of her throat. Kissable too.

“I just like to threaten him every now and again.” She smiled at Charlotte. “You must be Charlotte. Just about everyone I've met has told me I need to come to Sweet Treats. I'm glad I've finally listened. It smells wonderful in here.”

“Does it?” Charlotte inhaled deeply. “I think my nose is immune after so many years of baking. Can I get you another glass of water?”

Apricot didn't think water was going to cool the heat that seemed to pour through her blood every time she looked in Simon's eyes.

She shook her head. “No. Thanks. I think we were going to get ice cream. Is that right, girls?” Apricot asked, doing everything she could to avoid Simon's gaze. He was studying her with the kind of steady assessing look that made her feel . . .

Uncomfortable?

No.

More like . . . anxious. Antsy. Just a little unsettled.

“So, what'll it be?” Charlotte asked, and Apricot realized she'd been so focused on avoiding Simon's gaze that she'd missed every word the pretty brunette had said.

“Um . . .” She glanced around the cute little shop. No list of ice-cream flavors. No menu. “What are you girls having?” she finally asked.

Evie spoke up first. “I want the chocolate brownie ice cream. Three scoops.”

“One,” Simon corrected, his voice gentle.

So, of course, Apricot had to look. She couldn't miss the softness in his eyes, the worry etched into his brow. It had to be a big responsibility raising a couple of kids on his own.

“May I please have the strawberry cheesecake ice cream?” Rori asked.

“Of course, sweetie. And you two?” Charlotte asked, her gaze jumping from Apricot to Simon and back again. No doubt she was wondering what they were to each other. Apricot wanted to let her know in no uncertain terms that they were nothing, but that might seem like protesting too much.

“I'll take the same as Evie,” she said instead.

“That sounds good. I'll have the same.” Simon smiled into Apricot's eyes, and her mouth went dry, her pulse racing just a little faster than it needed to be.

He was a handsome guy. A mature guy. A guy with kids and responsibilities. What he wasn't was a rebound relationship waiting to happen.

“One scoop for everyone?” Charlotte asked as she walked behind an old-fashioned counter. The shop had a 1950s vibe, a glass display case offering a view of a couple dozen different baked goods. Pretty white shelves lined one wall, each displaying old-fashioned jars filled with penny candies. One shelf had been painted azure blue, the crystal vase that sat on it containing a pure white feather.

Not a goose feather. Apricot had seen plenty of those in her life. Not a chicken feather. She moved closer, ran a finger along its soft edge.

“Interesting, right?” Simon murmured in her ear, his breath ruffling her cropped hair. “They say that it came from an angel.”

“Really?” She tried to laugh, but he was so close she could feel the heat of his chest against her back. It seeped through her tank top, made her insides melt like butter on a hot skillet.
That
was no laughing matter.

“They also say that whoever has it will be blessed with love and happiness.”

She did laugh then, because that was the kind of thing Grandma Sapphire would have said. Portents. Signs. Good-luck charms. Those were her specialty.

“You sound like my grandmother,” she said as she sidled away from Simon and his all-too-tempting heat.

“Do I?” His eyes crinkled at the corners, his smile easy and inviting. She had no choice but to return it. To touch the feather again and imagine that she could feel just a little of the happiness and love rubbing off on her.

“Sapphire sees signs in the clouds and in the creeks that run through Happy Dale.”

“That's where you grew up?”

“Yes. My father bought a hundred acres in the Pennsylvania hills and started a commune there about forty years ago.” It wasn't something that she told many people, but the information just kind of slipped out as she looked into Simon's forest-green eyes.

“Must have been an interesting place to grow up.”

“That's one way to describe it.”

“You didn't like it there?”

“I didn't
not
like it. I just . . .” She shrugged. She'd never even told Lionel why she'd left Happy Dale. Not that he'd ever asked. He'd assumed that she'd been too sophisticated for her family, too smart to stay in a village of free-thinking hippies. In reality, she'd just gotten tired of being a square peg shoved into a circular hole. No matter how much she'd tried to understand her family's chaotic and over-the-top lifestyle, she hadn't. She'd grown up feeling dull in comparison to the brightness of her parents, her aunts, her grandmother, her siblings.

“Needed to figure out who you were when you weren't part of what you had there?” Simon suggested.

“Something like that,” she admitted.

He studied her for a moment, his head cocked to the side. “Did you?”

“What?”

“Figure out who you were when you weren't part of your family.”

“I'm twenty-nine, Simon. Way past finding myself.” She laughed, her throat tight and dry. Of course she knew who she was without her family. She was a businesswoman. A successful one. A friend. A . . .

Lover? Girlfriend? Fiancée?

Those were the words that popped into her head, and just about every one of them had to do with her relationship with Lionel.

The problem was, Lionel wasn't part of the equation anymore. Without him, she'd reduced who she was by three-fifths.

“Twenty-nine.” Simon nodded as if that answered the question better than anything else she'd said. “It seems to me, you have a lot of years left to do your figuring out. Maybe being in Apple Valley will help you with that.” He touched the feather, running his finger along the outer edge just like she had.