The Orchard at the Edge of Town

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Do you even need to ask?”

  “Yes. No,” she blabbered, her heart beating way faster than it should have been, her cheeks flushed. “The kittens, right?”

  “I heard them crying while I was helping the girls with their homework. I guess they weren’t happy about being in a box under Evie’s bed.” He released her hand, and she had to admit she was just a little sorry about it. Simon was one of those guys her family liked to laugh at—straitlaced, kind, uncomplicated, drama-free.

  Dependable was the word Rose would have used, and she’d have spit it out like it was dirtier than any four-letter curse she’d ever uttered.

  “They’re all waiting on the front porch,” he continued, heading around the side of the house. “The girls are probably ringing the doorbell sixty-five thousand times.”

  “Doorbells are fun when you’re eight,” she replied, her insides all kinds of soft and mushy as she watched him scoop Handsome out of a bush that pressed up against the house.

  “Here’s the other one. I guess the girls didn’t think he was worthy of stealing.” He sounded disgusted and just a little tired.

  “They weren’t stealing. They were giving the kittens a home.”

  “Let’s not play the semantic card, okay?” He sighed. “They took things that weren’t theirs, hid them in their room, and didn’t plan to say a word to me about it.”

  “You’re really angry about a childish mistake.”

  “A mistake is when you drop a glass or knock over a cup of water,” he grumbled, stalking up the porch steps.

  The twins were there. One had tears streaming down her face. The other looked fit to be tied, her eyes flashing with frustration, her lips pressed together.

  “I see my missing kittens have returned. I was wondering where they’d wandered off to,” Apricot said, hoping to lighten the mood. There’d been very few rules when she was a kid, so she had no idea what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a parent’s ire, but she had a feeling the twins had already found out.

  “They didn’t go missing, Apricot,” the sobbing twin managed to gasp. “We took them, because we love them.”

  “And Daddy said we had to apologize,” the scowling twin added. Had to be Evie. She seemed to be the feisty one out of the pair. “Even though we didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You took someone’s cats, Evangeline,” Simon said, and he sounded like he was at the last edge of his patience.

  “How about we all go inside for a minute?” Apricot suggested. “We can sort it out there.”

  “Into the haunted house?” Rori breathed. “What if the ghosts get us?”

  “There are no ghosts.” Simon rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Apricot had the absurd urge to knead the tense muscles in his neck. She clenched her fists to keep from giving in to it.

  “Aunt Daisy says—”

  “Your aunt has a wonderful imagination.” Apricot cut off whatever Evie planned to say. She didn’t think Simon could handle it. “But she’s wrong about the house. I spent every summer here when I was a kid, and I can tell you there’s not a ghost to be found.”

  She opened the door and the girls followed her inside, Simon right behind them, holding Handsome close to his chest. His very broad, very muscular chest.

  She should not be noticing that.

  But she was, so she looked away, her cheeks hot.

  “Are you sure there aren’t any ghosts in here?” Evie asked suspiciously, her gaze darting around the living room. Apricot hadn’t uncovered the furniture yet, and even she had to admit the cavernous room with its shrouded white furniture looked unlived-in and just a little creepy.

  “Positive.”

  “How can you know?” Rori asked quietly, tears drying on her cheeks. “Aunt Daisy says that ghosts only show themselves when it’s nighttime, but they’re even around during the day. She says—”

  “Aurora,” Simon said gently, “your aunt needs to stop filling your head with silly stories, and you need to stop believing them.”

  “They’re not silly.” Rori didn’t stamp her foot, but Apricot thought she wanted to.

  “They are too silly,” Evie interrupted. “And I knew all along there were no ghosts in this house. Just sheets on sofas.” She plopped down onto the couch, her blond hair a wild mess of fine strands. She needed a comb and something to keep her mind occupied.

  That would be Apricot’s assessment, but then, she didn’t know a whole heck of a lot about kids. She’d been just young enough to avoid being a nanny to the younger children in Happy Dale. By the time she’d been old enough to do her stint as babysitter, Aunt Rose had already taken her under her wing. While her sisters had been shepherding little ones, she’d been learning the difference between mint and clover. While they’d been helping a dozen or more children with homework and chores, she’d been building greenhouses and making candles to sell at farmers’ markets.

  She eyed Evie.

  “You have a kitten in your pocket,” she finally said, because the little girl actually did have a kitten in her jacket pocket, its little white-and-black face peeking out.

  “Because Daddy wouldn’t even give me one second to find a box for her. He said we had to get these doggone cats out of the house before he blew a casket.”

  “Gasket,” Simon corrected.

  “That’s what you said,” Evie wailed. “And it really hurt my feelings a lot, because Sassafras is not a doggone cat.”

  “Neither is Princess!” Apparently, Rori didn’t want her sister’s grief to outshine hers. She started wailing too. Handsome joined them, yowling with so much passion, Simon set him on the couch and took a step away.

  “What a mess,” he muttered.

  “The cat or the kids?” she asked.

  “All three of them.” He ran a hand down his jaw, shook his head as he eyed his crying daughters. “You know, Apricot,” he said, “I had a feeling you were trouble. It looks like I was right.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. You.”

  “All I did was ask you for a reference,” she protested.

  “And bring kittens into my house. The one thing the girls want above all else.”

  “It’s not like I knew that, and it’s not like I offered the kittens to the girls. They took them.”

  “We’re sorry,” the girls cried in unison, and if it hadn’t been so sad, she probably would have laughed at the picture they made—two little towheads with tiny kittens in their jacket pockets, crying as if the world were about to end.

  “It’s okay,” Apricot said.

  “No, it’s not,” Rori cried.

  Things had gotten out of hand.

  Simon wasn’t quite sure how.

  He’d planned to bring the kittens back, get the girls in the car, and drive away. Instead, he was standing in Rose’s living room listening to various howls and sobs.

  Enough was enough.

  He had a meeting in the morning and plenty to do before the girls went to bed. “Okay, girls. Give Apricot the kittens. It’s time to say good-bye.”

  Tears poured down the girls’ faces, but they carefully removed the kittens from their pockets, smoothed fuzzy fur, murmured good-byes that Simon could only partially hear.

  Maybe he wasn’t doing the right thing making the girls give up the kittens. Maybe ten years from now, they’d be rebellious young women, living lives of crime and citing this one moment as the thing that had turned them into criminals.

  Apricot sidled up beside him, her hand settling on his shoulder as she stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “You know, Simon, having pets teaches children wonderful things about responsibility and love.”

  “No,” he replied without looking at her, because he had this odd feeling that if he did, she’d see the doubt in his eyes, sense his weakness and move in for the kill.

  “Studies have shown that children who have pets have better social skills and are more successful as adults,” she continued, her lips brushing his hair, her breath w
hispering against his cheek.

  “Liar,” he responded, but his mind was only partially on the cats and the kids. The rest of it was on Apricot and her warm hand on his shoulder.

  “Maybe, but they do look cute together, and you can’t deny that pets teach responsibility.” She stepped back, scooped the ugly gray cat from the floor, scratched it behind the ears. “Besides, sometimes the punishment needs to fit the crime, and what better punishment for kitten rustlers than to clean out litter boxes and be woken three or four times a night by crying babies? They don’t have to keep the kittens, but babysitting them for a couple of days wouldn’t hurt,” she added blithely.

  “No,” he repeated, but she had a point.

  The girls were going to give the kittens back, but they weren’t going to understand exactly why he’d been refusing to allow pets in the home.

  “Fine.” Apricot’s hand slipped away. “Let me just get a box to put the kittens in. You and the girls can say good-bye.”

  She walked from the room, and he looked at the girls and the kittens and all the tears, and he had one stark moment of realization that he was making a huge mistake before he opened his mouth and made it.

  “I’ve been thinking—” Don’t, his brain shouted. Whatever you do, do not think about this. “You stole the kittens, and you thought it would be a great idea to try to take care of them yourselves. Instead of leaving them here tonight, we’re going to take them home.”

  “Ya—” The girls started to shout in excitement, but he held up a hand and cut them off.

  “I didn’t say we’re keeping them. I said you’re going to take care of them. Then you’re going to help me find them a good home.”

  The wails commenced again, and he was sure he heard Apricot’s laughter from somewhere deep inside the old house.

  When she brought the box a few minutes later, there wasn’t even a hint of a smirk on her face. He was sure, though, that he saw the amusement in her eyes as he put the kittens in the box and carried them out into the cool September evening.

  Insomnia sucked.

  It especially sucked in a strange house with no television, no radio, and nothing but the darkness pressing against the windows to keep her company.

  And Handsome.

  Who’d been howling pretty much nonstop since midnight.

  It was three in the morning.

  He was still going strong.

  “Hush.” She fished the kitten out from under the daybed she’d been lying on. He started purring immediately.

  If Simon was having as much trouble with the kittens the girls were babysitting, she was probably going to hear about it.

  Really, though, he only had himself to blame.

  It wasn’t like she’d forced him to bring the kittens home. She’d simply planted the seed. Of course, as Rose often said, seeds grow what’s planted.

  Rose.

  Yeah. She should probably call her. Let her know that things were fine and that she appreciated her getting the lights and gas turned on.

  Tomorrow.

  Or the next day.

  No doubt Rose had a lot to say about Lionel. Lots that she hadn’t already said after the wedding. Apricot wasn’t in the mood to hear it.

  She set the kitten on the daybed and went to the kitchen, pulling dry herbs out of one of the boxes that she’d found in the Airstream. Rose must have packed it. She believed that there was nothing in life that couldn’t be cured by the right combination of herbs or tea leaves. Even a broken heart.

  Not that Apricot’s heart was broken.

  It was just a little bruised, and she was just a little at loose ends, a little off-kilter. That was to be expected. She’d spent a lot of years with Lionel. She’d invested time and emotion into their relationship, and she had every right to be disappointed that it hadn’t worked out.

  The thing to do was focus on something else, get herself involved in a project that would take up time and leave her too tired to worry about the fact that she was nearly thirty, all her plans and dreams for the next few years dead.

  She brewed a cup of chamomile tea and walked outside. The moon had already dropped below distant mountains, the sweet scent of mown grass hanging on the night-cool air. She’d forgotten how dark early mornings at Rose’s were. She’d forgotten the velvety feel of fresh air, the heavy comfort of country quiet.

  “It’s been too long,” she said to herself and to whatever nocturnal creatures were bedding down. Something rustled in the trees at the edge of the yard. A deer, maybe. Or a coyote. She and Rose had seen several during their summer stays.

  The thought didn’t scare her. Whatever creature was lurking in the trees would leave soon enough. In the meantime, she dropped onto the step Dusty had made her sit on, pulling her knees to her chest, her faded cotton pajamas cool against her skin. Thank goodness all the sexy lingerie she’d bought for the honeymoon had been removed from her bags. Probably one of her sisters’ doing.

  A bird called from the gnarled orchard, the sound a sweet good morning that made Apricot smile. Insomnia sucked, but sleeping in meant missing a lot of beauty. In Los Angeles, she’d always been up at the crack of dawn, working from her home office before the nursery opened. There’d been smog, of course. Noise. Lots of people, and she’d loved every minute of it, but somewhere deep inside, she must have missed country living, because being at Rose’s house felt like returning home after being away for much too long.

  She stood, the tea in her hand, her mind humming with something odd, something a little surprising given her circumstances. It felt like hope. Like excitement.

  She headed toward the orchard, cold grass under her bare feet. She needed something to keep her mind occupied, and the neglected apple trees were begging for some attention. She’d spend the next few days doing some trimming. If the orchard could be saved, she’d hire a few locals to help her do it. In a few years, the land would be producing again. Then her aunt could sell more than tinctures, soaps, and candles at the local apple fair. She could sell apple cider, apple butter, apple pies.

  She stepped into the thick copse of trees, her hair snagging on branches. The trees weren’t the only things that needed trimming! She’d been growing her hair out for three years because Lionel liked it long, and she’d been idiot enough to want to please him.

  Come first light, she was going to find a salon and get every inch of it cut off.

  A twig snapped behind her, the sound reverberating through the quiet morning.

  “Is anyone out here?” she called.

  “Yes,” a man replied.

  She jumped, whirling to face the speaker.

  He stood at the edge of the tree line. Tall. Broad shoulders. Face hidden in shadows. She wanted to get a good look at him. Just in case she needed a description for the police.

  That would involve moving closer, and she had no intention of doing that.

  “I have a gun,” she lied, taking a step back. She’d have gone farther, but her hair snagged another branch.

  “I doubt it.” He laughed, his voice vaguely familiar. “But if you do, please don’t use it.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Cade Cunningham.”

  Not a serial killer.

  Thank God!

  “Dusty wasn’t complaining about me again, was he?” She yanked her hair from the tree branch. “Because I haven’t done anything for him to complain about.”

  “No. I was driving by on patrol and saw your lights.”

  “So you stopped in for a visit?”

  “Not quite. I heard you own A Thyme to Heal.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Daisy said your chamomile tea is fantastic.”

  “I’m glad she liked it.”

  “My wife is thirty-five weeks’ pregnant—”

  “Is she still suffering from morning sickness?”

  “No. She—”

  “Sleep issues, then?”

  “My wife is fine,” he responded. “It’s her aunt who is ha
ving issues. Gertrude has been pacing the house like a caged tiger, and she’s driving everyone in it crazy. I thought maybe some of that chamomile tea would help.”

  “Is she a tea drinker?” she asked as she led him inside.

  “Not even close, but I’m getting desperate. My wife needs some sleep, and I need some peace. If we don’t get Gertrude to calm down, we may have to move out until the baby is born.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse.” He ran a hand over dark brown hair, rubbed the back of his neck. She’d known him when they were kids; not well, but enough that she wasn’t surprised that he’d become sheriff or that he cared enough about his wife’s health to stop for help in the wee hours of the morning.

  “Chamomile might help some, but you may want to get her involved in some physical activity.” She grabbed a box of chamomile from the cupboard and handed it to him. “Steep this in hot water. Not boiling.”

  “Got it.”

  “And take her on long walks.”

  “She’s not a dog.” He tugged at his uniform tie. “And she can’t be convinced to do something that she doesn’t want to do. There is no way Gertrude is going to want to participate in any kind of exercise.”

  “You could tell her she needs to be healthy for the baby’s sake,” she suggested, wondering what it would be like to have a man like Cade in her life. One who would go out of his way for her rather than expecting that she would always go out of her way for him.

  “We told her that to get her to quit smoking. She’s still bitter.”

  “When’d she quit?”

  “A few months ago.”

  “No wonder she’s pacing the house and driving you all crazy.” She grabbed the sleep tincture from the windowsill and handed it to him. “She can take a couple of drops of this before bed.”

  “I can tell you for sure, she won’t. Gertrude is stubborn as a mule.” He set the bottle on the counter.

  “I guess we’re back to getting her to exercise.”

  “Right.” He sighed.

  “Don’t sound so defeated, Cade. Eventually your wife will have that baby and Gertrude will have something else to focus her attention on.”