The Orchard at the Edge of Town Page 15

  He turned his head, captured her lips with his before she could back away. He didn’t have a plan. It just happened, a kiss that tasted like apple and sugar and something so dark and exotic that he forgot he was standing in Apricot’s kitchen, the girls sleeping upstairs. Forgot that he needed to get home, check on Daisy, call Cade.

  He forgot that he had a hundred reasons why Apricot wasn’t a good idea.

  Because, right then? All he wanted was more.

  Chapter Ten

  “What are they doing?” A little girl’s voice drifted through a haze of longing so thick Apricot didn’t think she’d ever find her way out of it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to find her way out! What she wanted was to burrow closer to Simon’s warmth, trail her hands along his biceps, slide them around his slim waist.

  “They’re kissing, silly.” A second voice joined the first, and Simon jerked back, one of his hands pressed against Apricot’s back, the other cupping her jaw.

  The look in his eyes . . .

  Yeah. That look. As if she were the only woman in the world, and as if he would fight dragons to be with her.

  “Wow!” she breathed.

  His lips quirked in a crooked smile. “I second that,” he said. “But we could both be wrong.”

  “I—”

  “I’d suggest that we try again. Just to make sure, but we have an audience.” He kept his hand on her back and shifted so he was facing the kitchen doorway. The twins were standing on the threshold, their eyes big as saucers.

  “Are you two dating?” Evie asked. “Because Andrew says—”

  “We’re not going to discuss what anyone else says, and we’re not going to tell anyone about this,” Simon said, cutting her off.

  “Why not?” Evie put her hands on her hips and stuck her lower lip out. She looked like a kid who needed to be in bed, and she was acting like one.

  “Because what happens between me and Apricot is between us. It’s not something the world needs to know.”

  “It’s a secret love affair,” Rori gasped. “Like in that show Daisy watches when she’s home from the library.”

  “I think your aunt and I are going to have a chat about her choice of television. There are certain shows I don’t approve of you girls watching. I also don’t approve of gossip. That’s what talking about other people’s stuff is.”

  “It’s also fun,” Evie commented, and Apricot couldn’t help chuckling. As tiring as the girls were, she’d found them to be good company. They were helpful, smart, and respectful. They also had wild imaginations. If they started talking about the simple little kiss she and Simon had shared . . .

  Simple? Her brain whispered. Little? There was nothing simple or little about it.

  “It’s not fun if someone is hurt by it, Evie,” Simon responded sternly.

  “Who’s going to get hurt if I say that you and Apricot were—”

  “Young lady”—he strode across the room and crouched in front of her—“I am not happy with your attitude. If you want to keep having it, I may have to take away that tutu you got today.”

  Evie pressed her lips together and didn’t say another word.

  Whether or not she’d decide to say one when she returned to school on Monday was another thing altogether.

  “We made apple cobbler, Daddy,” Rori said, running to the fridge and pulling out the pan of cobbler Apricot had said they could take home. “We picked the apples and peeled them and cored them and everything, all by ourselves.”

  “It looks fantastic.” Simon took the pan from her hands. “We’d better get home. Aunt Daisy . . . had an accident, and she’s staying at our place tonight.”

  The girls both started talking at once, asking questions so quickly, Apricot wasn’t sure how Simon managed to hear them. Somehow he did, answering one after another as he herded the girls to the door.

  “You don’t have any kittens hidden on you, do you?” he asked the girls as he walked out onto the front porch.

  “No,” they responded in unison.

  “You’re sure? Because if we get home and Handsome climbs out of one of those skirts, I’m going to bring all three kittens back here. Go get in the car. I’ll be right there.”

  The girls raced to his SUV and climbed into the back.

  Which left Apricot and Simon standing on the porch, a pan of apple cobbler between them.

  He smiled, and her insides melted. “Thanks for taking care of the girls, Apricot. And for the apple cobbler.”

  “Thank me after you try it. I’m not sure how it’s going to taste. The apples weren’t quite ripe.”

  “Needed something to keep the girls occupied, huh?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Desperate times called for desperate measures, so I dragged them out into the orchard and made them pick apples.”

  “Desperate, huh? Sounds like they were a handful.”

  “They weren’t. I’m just not used to kids. My nieces and nephews are all on the East Coast, and I only see them a couple of times a year.”

  “For someone who doesn’t spend a lot of time with kids, you sure have a way with them. You’re all my girls talk about.” He ran his knuckle along her cheek. “Lately, you’re just about all I think about.”

  “I’m sure you have way too much taking up your attention to waste a minute thinking about anything other than your girls and your job,” she murmured, her throat tight and hot with emotions she didn’t want to feel.

  “I’m sure you haven’t been out of your crappy relationship long enough to consider being in another one, but that doesn’t mean either of us has to pretend the kiss we shared didn’t happen.”

  “It wasn’t a crappy relationship,” she said, sidestepping the comment about their kiss. It had felt like a first kiss and like a last kiss and like every kind of kiss in between. She wasn’t sure what to make of that, what to think of it, and she sure as heck wasn’t going to try to discuss it.

  “No?”

  “Of course it wasn’t! We loved each other.”

  “There’s all kinds of love, Apricot. There’s the kind I had with my wife—the kind that waxes hot and cold as quickly as the tide rises and falls. There’s the kind like I have for my daughters—uncomplicated, undemanding, and unconditional. There’s friendship love and sibling love.”

  “I’m twenty-nine, Simon. I know all about the different kinds of love.”

  “Yeah? Then . . . out of curiosity . . . what kind of love did you and Lionel share? It sure as heck wasn’t the kind that sticks, because you’re here and he’s somewhere else.”

  With someone else.

  He didn’t say it, but the words seemed to hang on the crisp night air.

  She wanted to say something clever and maybe a little sharp, but his expression was soft and open, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “Lionel and I were together for a long time. It’s hard to wrap a long-term relationship into a tidy little package and stick a tag on it.”

  “What’s that got to do with love?”

  “Love waxes and wanes. It’s friendship and commitment that carry a couple through.”

  “In other words, you didn’t love him and he didn’t love you.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. Here’s the thing, Apricot.” He moved so close she could feel the heat of his body, smell the spicy scent of his aftershave. If she leaned just a little closer, their bodies would collide and all that wonderful heat of the kiss would come back. “Not every relationship is going to be a good one. The only way we can heal from the bad ones is to admit what they are, wash our hands of them and move on.”

  “So now you’re a counselor?”

  “I’m just a guy who is curious about you. Maybe it’s time you get a little curious about yourself.”

  “What in God’s name is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that you’re really good at diagnosing other people’s ailments and treating them, but when it comes to yourself, you like to bury your h
ead in the sand and pretend that everything is fine when it’s not.”

  “I’m not pretending!” she protested.

  “Sure you are.” He touched her cheek, his fingers cool against her heated skin. “You’re throwing all your energy into fixing up a house that isn’t yours in a town that isn’t yours because you don’t want to face what you left behind. You’re tending to everyone who comes your way, offering herbs and teas and advice. All the while, you’re doing everything you can to avoid thinking about what you no longer have.”

  He was right. Every single word he said was true.

  She wanted to argue anyway, because she didn’t like that he could see her so clearly, didn’t want to believe that she was so transparent. She’d spent five years with Lionel. Five years when saying she was okay was enough to get him to back off. Five years where she swept things under the carpet because he couldn’t deal with them.

  Five years of pretending things were okay when they weren’t?

  God, she hoped not!

  His cell phone rang, and he stepped back, the chilly evening air sweeping over Apricot’s heated skin.

  “Hello?” Simon spoke into the phone, his gaze locked on Apricot. He hadn’t shaved and she had the urge to slide her palm along his jaw, feel the roughness of the stubble there. She had it bad. Really bad. And she didn’t think there was a thing she could do to change it.

  Daisy, Simon mouthed, and she nodded, her fists clenched so hard her nails dug into her palm. She tried to relax, but she was wound up tighter than a turkey on Thanksgiving Day. She hadn’t walked out of one relationship to walk right into another one. She’d walked out, and she’d planned to stay out. For good.

  “I’m at old man Shaffer’s place, getting the girls,” Simon said. “The doctor said there was no chance you had a concussion.”

  He squeezed the bridge of his nose and waited. “Seriously, Daisy, I don’t think you’re going to fall asleep and wake up dead.” He paused, listened, then sighed. “Not one person in the history of the world has woken up dead, that’s why.”

  Apricot nearly choked trying to keep laughter from bubbling out. It wasn’t funny. Not really. Daisy had been through a lot. She was traumatized, and that wasn’t a laughing matter.

  But Apricot really did have the urge to giggle. The look on Simon’s face—frustration, amusement, concern, bewilderment—made her want to take the phone from his hand and deal with the problem.

  So, maybe he’d been right. Maybe she did try to fix everyone else.

  “All right, Daisy,” Simon continued. “I’m on my way home, but I’m not taking you to the emergency room, because you aren’t dying and you’re not going to die.”

  One more long pause, and she was pretty sure he rolled his eyes heavenward. “We’ll talk about it when I get there, okay? See you in a few.”

  He slid the phone into his pocket, raked a hand through his hair. “I need to get home. Daisy thinks she’s got a concussion.”

  “Was she hit hard?”

  “Hit?”

  “In the head? You said she thought she had a concussion.”

  “She didn’t hit her head. Wasn’t hit in the head, either. As far as I know and as far as the doctor who examined her could see, there’s not a thing wrong with her that putting the guy who mugged her in jail won’t solve.”

  “I’d offer some more chamomile tea, but I wouldn’t want to be accused of burying my own troubles while I try to fix the problems of others.” The words just slipped out, and they sounded just a tad bit bitter.

  Simon smiled and shook his head. “You took it all wrong, Apricot. I wasn’t saying you shouldn’t do what you do. I’m just suggesting that you offer yourself a little bit of the grace you offer other people.” He dropped a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’d better go. Otherwise, Daisy will call an ambulance and get herself rushed to the hospital. Sweet dreams.” He dropped a second kiss on her lips, the contact soft as spring rain.

  She watched him walk to his SUV, waved while he backed out of the driveway. Seconds later, his taillights disappeared.

  The night air had grown chilly, the first touch of fall hanging in the moist air. She let it bathe the heat from her face, tried to tell herself that Simon was just like every other guy she’d ever known, that his kisses meant about as much as a penny in a five-and-dime store.

  The problem was, she didn’t believe it.

  Facts were facts, and the fact was, Simon was one in a million. He was the kind of guy any woman would be happy to have, and once a woman had him, she’d be a dang idiot to let him go.

  “Darn you, Sapphire!” she muttered as she walked back inside. “Do you always have to be right?”

  If Sapphire hadn’t been a continent away, she’d have cackled with glee. She was, though, and the only one around to hear Apricot griping was a giant rat-tailed kitten.

  “And I’m thinking you don’t care much about my problems, do you, Handsome?”

  Handsome pounced from his place on the couch, landing squarely on Apricot’s thigh.

  “Ouch! Let go!” She peeled him off her leg and he scrambled across the floor, slid into her purse. Paused. Then jumped inside, burrowing his way into the bag and appearing a moment later, a long white feather in his mouth. It looked suspiciously like the one that had been at Sweet Treats.

  “Where did you get that?” She scooped Handsome into her arms, managed to wrestle the feather from his mouth. It didn’t seem damaged, the edges still downy and soft, the shaft unbent. She frowned, holding it up to the light. She’d seen a lot of bird feathers in her life. She was more familiar than she wanted to be with chickens, ducks, and geese, and she didn’t remember any of them having feathers as large or snow white as this one.

  “Whatever it is, we’ve got to return it, Handsome. You can’t just snag things from other people. That’s stealing. Although, since you’re a cat, I’m not sure they could try you for it.” She set Handsome down and walked upstairs, the kitten scrambling up the stairs behind her. The bedrooms were furnished exactly the way they’d been when old man Shaffer died. Rose hadn’t changed a thing. Even the linens were exactly the same as they’d been the first time Apricot had visited.

  She walked into the room she’d been using. There was a thin green vase on the dresser that looked like it had been handcrafted. The glaze was clunky, the little flowers that swirled up its side primitive. It was pretty, though, in an old-fashioned sort of way. Apricot thought that Shaffer’s wife might have made it. She put the feather in the vase and set it on a shelf that she didn’t think Handsome could reach.

  “Leave it alone. You hear me? I have to bring it back to Charlotte, and I don’t want it cat-chewed before then.”

  Handsome seemed more interested in exploring the darkness beneath the bed than trying to find a way to reach the feather. How he’d gotten it in the first place, Apricot didn’t know. It had been in the vase, plain as could be. Handsome had been confined to her purse the entire time she was in Sweet Treats.

  Hadn’t he?

  She glanced under the bed. He hadn’t magically disappeared, but the cat did have a way of appearing and disappearing. Still . . .

  She’d have noticed if he’d been sneaking his way over Sweet Treats’ shelves, trying to pilfer the feather.

  “I’ll figure it out Monday,” she said to no one in particular. That’s what happened when you went from part of a couple to lone wolf. You kept speaking things out loud like there was someone around to listen.

  It wouldn’t be long before she started collecting stray cats. In a few months, she’d be the resident crazy cat lady, wandering up and down the streets of Apple Valley, muttering under her breath and reeking of cat urine.

  A few months in Apple Valley?

  When had that become part of the plan?

  Was it part of the plan?

  She walked to the window, pulling back the sheers that had probably been hanging there for half a century. Pretty little swag ties had been wrapped around hooks on eith
er side of the window, the tiny flower print feminine and pretty. Apricot imagined Shaffer’s wife using the ties to hold the sheers back during the summer heat.

  She opened the window, letting in moist, cool air. Fall was definitely in the air. Apple harvest was just around the corner. This year, there wasn’t a lot she could do but pick through the fruit and try to find whatever was salvageable. Next year, the orchard would be lush with ripe fruit, redolent with the scent of healthy, harvestable apples and pears.

  A dark shadow darted from the trees across the road and headed straight for her property. Apricot switched off the light, looked outside again. The wind had picked up and the trees swished and swayed.

  She’d almost convinced herself that that’s what she’d seen. Just trees swaying and leaves moving with the wind. Something moved across her yard, and she jumped back, her heart nearly leaping from her chest. There was someone out there!

  Whoever it was skulked across the yard. Not overly tall or overly big. Just . . . there, darting toward the corner of the house. She hadn’t locked the back door, so she raced to the kitchen, slid the bolt home and then peered out into the backyard.

  There was definitely someone out there.

  She could see him moving stealthily along the fence line.

  She’d left her cell phone in her purse, and she didn’t want to take her eyes off the trespasser long enough to get it. Then again, she didn’t want to die.

  She crept into the living room, snagged her cell phone and ran back to the window. Nothing. No one. Just the shadowy night and the swaying trees.

  Had it been her imagination? Some flight of fancy brought on by fatigue?

  She pressed her face against the glass, straining to see into the darkness beyond the window. The yard was empty, nothing moving but the dead leaves that skittered across the yard.

  She shivered, sure that a shadow was about to separate itself from the others. She watched for so long her legs ached and her eyes hurt, but whoever had been outside was gone.