The Orchard at the Edge of Town (20 page)

Good God almighty! That was not where they were heading!

“Right. Enjoy it,” she muttered, thinking that she wouldn't be enjoying it in two or three years when the newness wore off and he went and found someone else.

“Get a little cranky when you're hungry, huh?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted, but she took a cracker that he held out and ate it. “And you know this is more than lunch. If you say anything else it will be a lie.”

He didn't say anything, just sat beside her silently for so long, she finally had to speak.

“No comment?” she asked.

“What do you want me to say?” he responded, lifting her hand, his thumb sliding across her knuckles. “That we're making a mistake spending time together? That it would be wrong to walk down this path and see where it leads?”

“I . . .”
Was
that what she wanted him to say? “Just got out of a relationship.”

“I'm well aware of that,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. “I did see you the day you drove into town in that fluffy pink monstrosity of a wedding gown, remember?”

“How could I forget? Dusty had his rifle pointed at my heart.”

“Not quite,” he said with a smile.

“It seemed like it to me.”

“You were having a bad day, but I still thought you were beautiful and spunky.”

“Spunky, huh?”

“I'm not into women who aren't,” he replied, suddenly serious again. “Here's the thing, Apricot. You just got out of a relationship. I've been out of one for six years. Up until recently, I didn't think I wanted to ever be in one again, but here I am, having lunch with you.” He kissed her palm and folded her fingers over the spot the way he'd done the day before. “If that bothers you, I can go have lunch with my crazy sister-in-law and you can have lunch with your crazy family, and we can call it good. The choice is yours, but make it quick, because my stomach is growling and, like you, I'm not all that pleasant when I get hungry.”

“You're always pleasant,” she responded, lifting Rose's basket, her cheeks hot, her heart running like a mad thing in her chest. “But, just to be safe, let's go ahead and eat.”

He smiled, smoothing a strand of hair from her cheek, tilting her chin just enough for a kiss that should have been nothing at all, but seemed like everything Apricot had ever wanted.

Chapter Fifteen

Simon could have gone on kissing her forever if his cell phone hadn't buzzed.

“You'd better get that,” Apricot said, her cheeks pink, her lips rosy from his kiss.

“I can think of a few other things I'd rather do.” He pressed his lips to her nape, felt her pulse racing beneath the skin. His hand found its way to her thigh, and he ran his palm along the silky flesh, loving the feel of firm muscles and smooth skin.

His cell phone buzzed again, and he finally dragged it from his pocket, glanced at the number.

“Daisy,” he muttered.

“Of course,” Apricot responded, reaching down to grab the plate that had dropped onto the ground. She put it back in the basket, tossing the spilled crackers and cheese farther into the orchard. “Aren't you going to answer it?”

“It can wait.”

“What if it's something to do with the girls?”

“They're at school. If something happened to them, the school would be calling.”

“But—”

“Tell you what,” he said, a little more sharply than he intended. “How about we forget Daisy? I want to have lunch with you, and I don't want to think about her while I'm doing it.”

The orchard went dead silent, both of them sitting on the bench, tense and more than a little frustrated. His fault. Not Apricot's, and it was his job to fix it.

“Sorry,” he finally said. “That came out more harshly than I intended. Daisy is becoming a problem, but that has nothing to do with you.”

“I think it probably does.” She handed him a slice of crusty bread smeared with jam. “She's jealous. She wants you to herself, and she probably thought she was going to have you. Then I came along, and everything just kind of fell apart.”

“You said something similar to that yesterday. I don't want to believe it anymore today than I did then,” he said, biting into the bread, the sweet, tart taste of the jam nearly making him moan. It was that good. “What kind of jam is this?”

“Huckleberry. I made it yesterday.”

“It's good.”

“You can't distract me with your compliments, Simon.”

“Can I distract you some other way?” he asked, purposely letting his gaze drop to her lips, to the tiny bit of jam in the corner of her mouth. He wiped it away with his thumb.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“You didn't answer my question,” he responded, his blood pulsing like lava through his veins, his fingers trailing over smooth skin. He could feel her pulse thrumming just beneath the surface, let his palm sweep along the slender curve of her neck and settle at her nape. Her skin felt like warm silk, and he trailed his lips along the line of her jaw. “
Can
I distract you some other way?”

His cell phone buzzed again, and he wanted to take the thing and smash it against the nearest tree.

“You know what?” Apricot stood, her white sundress swishing around those beautiful thighs. “This really isn't a good idea. You have a really busy life, and I have . . .” She gestured at the trees. “All this to get under control. This isn't the right time to explore a relationship or walk down some path that's supposed to lead to something wonderful.”

“That's a cop-out, Apricot, and you know it.”

“So?” She grabbed both the baskets. “What if it is? I already made one colossal mistake in my life. I don't want to make another one.”

“Another cop-out.” He was angry now, pissed because Apricot didn't seem to have the guts to take a risk and because Daisy had interrupted a beautiful day and a pretty damn wonderful moment. Not once, but twice.

“No. It's not. You've got a perfect life, Simon. Two beautiful girls, a sweet house and a nice job. You have a community that loves you and that you love. You don't need me, and I'm not going to get into a position where I find myself needing you.”

“It isn't about need. And having something good doesn't mean that adding something else to it won't make it better.”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “I think our hour lunch break is up. I'm sorry you drove out here and didn't even get to eat.”

Okay. Now he was
really
pissed. “
I'm
sorry that you're too much of a coward to go after what you want.”

“I'm not a coward.” She huffed, her eyes blazing, her cheeks pink with annoyance and, maybe, embarrassment. “I'm cautious. There's not a dang thing wrong with that.”

“There is if it keeps you from having what you want,” he responded.

She opened her mouth, snapped it shut again.

“At least you're not going to lie and say you don't want me,” he muttered, shoving his phone into his pocket and stalking away. He had plenty to do. He didn't need to waste his time arguing about something that shouldn't need to be reasoned out or talked through. Not at this stage. Not when it was still so fragile and new.

“Sometimes the things we want aren't the best things for us, Simon,” she said so quietly, he almost didn't hear.

“And sometimes,” he responded, turning so that he was facing her again. “The things we want are.”

“Too bad we can't see into the future. We'd be able to take the risk without worrying that we're going to end up worse off than we were before we tried.” She lifted both baskets, her movements stiff and tight, her pretty little sundress fluttering. A breeze ruffled her hair, pushing a few short strands across her forehead.

“No one ends up worse off if he goes in with the right attitude. Today wasn't about a lifetime commitment, Apricot. It was just about lunch with someone I'm interested in getting to know better. I'm not sure what it is about that that scares you.”

“I'm not scared.”

“Remember when I told you I only wanted to be in relationships that are built on honesty?” he snapped. “I meant it.”

“I'm not!” she protested, but she
was
lying and they both knew it.

“Tell you what, Apricot Sunshine. If you change your mind and decide we can both handle the truth, give me a call. Otherwise, I'll let you go on just the way you are, fixing up the orchard and dealing with your family and watching one day pass into another without more than a tiny little hiccup to make things difficult.”

“Simon—” She started to protest, but he wasn't in the mood for listening, so he turned on his heels and walked away, walking through the gnarled apple trees, past the house where Lilac and Rose were snapping peapods on the back deck, and straight into his car.

He didn't look back as he drove away, because he didn't want to see what he'd almost had. Just like Apricot, he didn't want drama in his life, but he'd have been willing to take a chance on it for her.

It was a helluva shame that she hadn't felt the same.

His cell phone rang again as he sped toward Main Street.

Daisy again. He didn't even have to look to know it. This time he answered. “What the hell is it this time, Daisy?” he barked.

“Simon! Language!”

“What. Do. You. Need.” He bit every word out.

There was a moment of silence. “I . . . well, I'm at the library. Jet is here.”

“And?”

“He's watching me with an evil look in his eyes.”

“What exactly does that mean?” he growled, because, right at that moment, he didn't have the patience for her high-strung nature.

“He had murder in his eyes, Simon,” she hissed. “I saw it as clearly as I see the sun shining outside my office window.”

“Did he approach you?”

“No.”

“Say anything to you? Imply in any way that he intended to do you harm?”

“No, but—”

“Then he has every right to be at the library,” he cut in, because he knew that
but
always led to twenty minutes of illogical reasoning.

“You don't seem to understand.”

“I understand perfectly well. I think you're the one who isn't getting it.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“People are talking, Daisy,” he responded, ready to go all out and say what needed saying. In for a penny, in for a pound, that's what his grandmother always said. “They're questioning your story.”

“What story?”

“They're wondering if you really were mugged or if maybe you made the whole thing up.”

Silence. Not even a breath of air passing across the line.

“You still there, Daisy?”

“I'm . . . I can't believe you would say something like that to me.”

“I'm not the one saying it. I'm just bringing it to your attention.”

“What you should be doing is defending me. I'm your wife's sister. Your daughters' aunt.”

“I'm well aware of who you are,” he muttered, pulling into the drive-through line at the local coffee shop.

“Well, then, why aren't you jumping to my defense?”

Because I'm wondering too
, he almost said. “What I'm doing is due diligence. I'm checking all the facts and trying to get them to line up. So far, they're not.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You were mugged in broad daylight in a well-traveled area, but not one person saw the attack.”

“It happened in an alley!” she cried, her voice shaky.

“An alley just about anyone can see into if they take the time to look.”

“It happened so fast. There wasn't time for anyone to see it.” She was crying. He knew it, and he should have felt bad, but he was still mad as all get-out, and she was part of the reason for that.

“Maybe not, but people are wondering, and I think maybe you should take a really hard look at what you've been saying. I think you might want to consider that there are a lot of people in town who have hired Jet, who have liked the work he's done for them, who find him to be honest and forthright. You, on the other hand—”

“Don't you dare bring up the cupcake thing!” she snapped. “Don't you dare.”

Then she disconnected. Just like that. Ended the conversation without ever denying that she'd made the story up.

Which, when he thought of it, was not like Daisy at all. She loved to prove a point, to be right, to commit to something and stick with it.

So why hadn't she shouted her innocence to the world?

Why hadn't she demanded a meeting at town hall, where she could share her grievances and demand an apology?

It worried him, he'd admit it.

Because if Max was right and Daisy had made the entire thing up, if she was accusing someone of something that hadn't even happened . . . that was a crime, and she could be punished with jail time.

He needed to talk it out with someone. Preferably not someone who worked for the Apple Valley Sheriff's Department.

Apricot popped into his head. She'd listen without judging. She'd give whatever advice she could. She'd probably prescribe teas and tinctures to help with Daisy's high-strung nature.

Thinking about that made Simon smile, until he remembered that Apricot didn't want drama, she didn't want risk, she didn't want any of the things he had in his life. She didn't want to be honest either, and that, more than anything else, was the kiss of death to whatever they'd had.

“Can I help you?” the young woman at the drive-through window asked.

“Only if you can shoot me back in time so I can start my day again,” he replied.

“Excuse me?” Her smooth brow furrowed, her hand paused over the computer keys.

“I'll take a large coffee and a cheese Danish,” he said. Neither would taste as good as what he could get at Charlotte's, but he wasn't ready to face a bunch of questions from a bunch of well-meaning people. He didn't want to talk about Daisy or Jet or the mugging. He just wanted to eat something for lunch, go back to work, and pretend the day had never happened.

The problem with pretending was it didn't change things.

It didn't make fiction truth or truth fiction.

All it did was allow a person to hide his head in the sand and ignore things that were right in front of his nose.

For example, a sister-in-law who was just kooky enough to make up a story that would get her every bit of the attention she seemed to need.

 

 

Three days after her disastrous lunch, and Apricot hadn't seen hide nor hair of anyone from the Baylor family. That should have pleased her. It didn't, because she missed them.

Simon.

The girls.

Even crazy Daisy.

She missed them, but she was
not
going to call Simon. What would be the point? No amount of apologizing could change what she'd done. She'd blown something really pleasant because she'd been worried about having her heart broken. Funny thing was, she'd spent the past three days feeling like it had been.

She scowled, dropping an armful of tree trimmings into a wheelbarrow she'd dragged from the dilapidated shed she'd found at the edge of the orchard. It had been filled with old farming equipment. Hand tools. Trimmers. Nothing any of the guys she'd hired would use, but she liked the feeling of history, of constancy that came with holding something that someone else had used decades ago. Of course, she hadn't asked Dusty if the building was on her land, but she figured he'd show up eventually if it wasn't and tell her to put the wheelbarrow back.

Or maybe not.

He'd spent most of the last few days mooning over Rose.

Apricot had spent most of the past few days avoiding her family. Even now, at seven in the morning with rain just starting to fall in a light, sweet mist, she wasn't inside. She was out in the orchard, working her butt off, because that was a heck of a lot easier than listening to Rose or Lilac's advice about her love life.