The Orchard at the Edge of Town

by Shirlee McCoy

  “I slept during the last shift, so I’m feeling pretty good. Your mother, on the other hand, is looking a little worse for wear. She should probably nap.”

  “Give me a break, Hubert!” Lilac put her hands on her hips and glared. “I look fantastic. Just like I always do, and I’m not taking a nap when my brokenhearted daughter needs me.” She tossed an arm around Apricot’s waist and tugged her into her side.

  “I’m not brokenhearted,” Apricot protested.

  “Of course you are! You were cheated on, dumped, left for another woman. It’s like the story of—”

  Apricot moaned. “Lilac, please. I have a splitting headache. I don’t want to hear one of your stories.”

  “It’s not just a story. It’s a myth, a piece of native lore. It has value far outside of simple literature. Let’s go in the kitchen and get some ginger for your pain. Then we’ll talk, and you can tell me everything that you’re thinking and feeling.”

  Apricot paled. “I—”

  “She’s going to church with me,” Simon broke in. “So maybe you could take that nap she suggested, and you can all talk when she comes back.”

  “Going to church dressed like that?” Hubert scratched his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a house of worship, but I’m thinking that’s not the right outfit to wear, sweet cheeks.”

  Apricot blushed three shades of red. Simon figured that was because of her pet name rather than her father’s comment about her outfit.

  “I’m not going to church,” she said.

  “Of course you’re not!” Lilac nodded sagely, her dark curls bouncing. There were a few silver streaks woven into her hair and just a hint of crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes. She looked artsy, hippy-ish. She didn’t look all that maternal. “You’re going to stay right here. I’m going to make some of my chicken-foot gumbo—”

  “On second thought, I think I’ll go put on something a little more church friendly. Be back in two shakes of a stick, Simon. Don’t leave without me.” She ran upstairs.

  Lilac dropped onto the sofa, swung her legs onto the cushions and reclined there, a contented smile on her face. “The girl is so predictable.”

  “The girl hates your chicken-foot gumbo. Everyone does. It tastes like dog puke,” Hubert replied.

  “Only you would know the way dog puke tastes,” Lilac shot back, her hands folded in her lap, her legs crossed at the ankle.

  “I don’t know. I’m assuming based on the taste of your gumbo. I can tell you right now, if you were going to make that crap for me, I’d be running off to church too.”

  “You need to go to church. You’re a reprobate, leaving your wife and coming all the way across the country like you have. It’s just plain sinful.”

  “The wife ran off with Stan, and you darn well know it!”

  The two were getting ready for a rip-roaring fight, and Simon was just curious enough to stay and listen to it. They seemed . . . charged by the exchange. As if their batteries had run down and a good fight with each other was the only way to bring them up to full power again.

  He leaned his shoulder against the wall, listening as the two lobbed good-natured insults at one another. Upstairs, someone was singing, the high-pitched soprano just slightly off-key. Rose? Probably. He didn’t imagine Apricot’s voice would be quite so high.

  Handsome bumped his calf.

  “What?” he asked, lifting the kitten and stroking its coarse fur. “You hungry?”

  “Look, Hubert.” Lilac sighed, smiling softly in Simon’s direction. “He likes animals!”

  “And?” Hubert griped.

  “He is polite.” She held up one finger. “He is honest.” Up went another finger. “And he likes animals.” A third finger extended, and she jabbed her entire hand in Hubert’s direction.

  “And?” Hubert said again.

  “And, he’ll be perfect for our Apricot.”

  Simon probably should have corrected whatever assumption she was making, but Apricot picked that moment to rush down the stairs, a pretty sundress floating around her legs. Her lips were slick with gloss, her hair brushed to a high shine. When she smiled, he forgot all about her parents, Daisy, church. He forgot that there’d been a robbery, an accusation, an investigation that had kept him up most of the night.

  He forgot everything except Apricot.

  She grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the house, and all he could think was—he might not be perfect for her, but she was absolutely perfect for him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Simon dragged Apricot straight to the front of the church. Right in the middle of a hymn. Which was just . . . awesome. That was exactly what she’d wanted on a morning when she was supposed to be tucked into bed, sleeping the day away—to be marched up an aisle in front of a hundred or more total strangers. Good times!

  Now she was sitting smack-dab between the twins, Daisy shooting daggers at her over Rori’s head. Surprising, since Jet was just across the aisle, a tiny gray-haired woman at his side. If Daisy really thought he was the one who’d robbed her, shouldn’t he be the one getting the death glare?

  Apparently not, because as the congregation stood for a final hymn, Daisy tugged Rori to her side, her scowl deepening.

  I’m not contagious, Apricot wanted to whisper, but everyone was singing a cheery song about being part of God’s family, and she didn’t think a catfight would fit well in the venue.

  The song ended, and she thought they were done. She hoped they were done, because the way Daisy was looking, she might just march to the front of the church and accuse Apricot of robbing her.

  Someone shuffled past the pew, and Daisy’s gaze shifted.

  Thank God!

  Apricot had probably been three seconds from seeing lasers shooting from the woman’s eyes!

  A young boy walked to the piano as the last strains of the song drifted away. Small and blond, his shoulders slightly stooped, he moved like an old man—as if every step was a chore and a challenge. Apricot thought he might be nine or ten, but he raised his head as he approached the piano, and his face looked more mature than that, his cheekbones sharp, his jawline well-defined. He had ice-blue eyes that were just a little vague, and a sweet, befuddled expression that made Apricot’s heart ache.

  Evie tugged at Apricot’s hand.

  “That’s Alex,” she whispered loudly.

  “Shhhh!” Daisy hissed, holding a finger to her lips, her eyes flashing dark fire. No doubt, she thought her niece was being tainted by Apricot.

  “He plays piano,” Evie continued as if her aunt hadn’t just shushed her so loudly she’d created her own breeze with the force of her breath.

  Simon bent and whispered something into Evie’s ear.

  Whatever he said worked.

  Evie crossed her arms over her chest and scowled, but she kept her mouth shut. Somehow everyone in the congregation seemed to understand that the boy’s appearance at the front of the church meant they should sit.

  They sat as one accord, the swish of clothes and shoes and butts hitting wood surprisingly loud and just a little jarring. Had Apricot known the correct signal, she’d have probably sat with everyone else. Instead, she was a heartbeat behind the throng, dropping down hastily and nearly squishing Evie in the process.

  Only it wasn’t Evie.

  Somehow, Simon had pulled a sleight of hand. Sleight of lap?

  Whatever the case, he was sitting beside her, and the truculent eight-year-old he’d shushed was sitting on his other side.

  “Sorry,” she murmured as she tried to scoot away. There wasn’t really anywhere to go. Rori was pressed up tight against her other side, and Daisy was back to shooting daggers.

  “Shhhh,” he murmured in her ear. “Just listen. You’re going to love this.”

  She didn’t know what she was going to love, but she decided it might just be his hand that had suddenly found its way to hers, or maybe it was the way their fingers were woven together.

  She was so
distracted by his hand, his warm thigh pressed against her, his soft smile, that she didn’t realize Alex had taken a seat on the piano bench until he started playing.

  Music filled the church. Not the quick, lively sound of the last song. Not the quiet strains of a recessional. This was a light and easy tune. Like spring rain falling on dry ground or snowflakes dancing around a streetlight. It seemed to seep right into Apricot’s soul and she couldn’t help smiling in response to it.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” Simon whispered in her ear.

  She shivered, because it was pretty and he was nearly perfect. She could have sat there with him, listening to the music, sunlight streaming through beautiful stained glass windows, all day and been perfectly content to do it.

  She let the music and the warmth of Simon’s hand carry her away from the anger and anxiety that had been niggling at her gut since she’d left LA.

  Eventually, the last strains of the music faded away and the sanctuary fell silent. Not a sound. Not a shift of impatient congregants wondering when they were going to be dismissed. No gathering of papers or Bibles or purses. Just . . . silence.

  Alex stood slowly. He shuffled back down the aisle, took a seat somewhere behind Apricot. She would have glanced back to see where, but as she turned her head, she met Daisy’s gaze.

  She smiled.

  Daisy scowled.

  Whatever spell the congregation had been under lifted, and the kind-looking pastor dismissed everyone.

  Daisy jumped up and marched out, her nose so high in the air, Apricot thought she might trip on her way through the vestibule and fall on her face.

  “Obviously,” Apricot said to no one in particular, “I am not her favorite person.”

  “Who?” Simon tugged her to her feet and took the girls’ hands. “Daisy? No one is her favorite person. Except for the girls. She loves them to pieces.”

  “And you,” Apricot pointed out, because it was dang obvious that Daisy had a massive crush on her brother-in-law.

  “Me?” He laughed, leading the way through the throng of people who were gathered in the aisle.

  “Yes, you.”

  Jet was just up ahead, moving as quickly as he could. His grandmother wasn’t in as much of a hurry. She stopped to talk to a friend, and he stood with his head down, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, not making eye contact with anyone. Not even Apricot. She moved toward him, but Simon grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

  “Leave him alone, Apricot.”

  “He looks miserable.”

  “He looks like a young man who can take care of himself. You go running to the rescue, and you’re going to embarrass him.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me on this,” he said as they stepped outside. “He doesn’t need you to bail him out.”

  They stepped outside, the girls charging ahead and joining a group of kids who were chasing each other around the churchyard.

  “I wasn’t going to bail him out. I was just going to chat with him.”

  “So that people know he’s got allies?”

  “Something like that,” she admitted.

  “Not necessary. People around here like Jet. They’re not going to convict him without a fair trial. They’ll give things a few days. See what comes of the investigation.”

  “Most of them.”

  “The ones who won’t, don’t matter.” Simon stopped at the edge of the yard, his gaze focused on the girls. “You’ve got me worried, Apricot. I’m not going to lie.”

  “About?” She moved closer, because the sun was bright and the kids were laughing and it just felt . . . good to be next to him.

  “Daisy.”

  “What’s to worry about?”

  “It never occurred to me that she might . . .” He shook his head.

  “Be madly in love with you?” she suggested.

  He frowned. “She’s not in love with me. She’s just—”

  “Infatuated? Enamored? Smitten? Besotted?”

  He laughed. “Enough. I get it. You have a great vocabulary.”

  “And keen insight into people.” Most people anyway. She’d kind of missed the boat with Lionel. Or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to admit the truth to herself.

  “Well, your insight is off on this one. Daisy is Daisy. She’s a little nuts, but she means well. She’s just trying to help out since Megan isn’t around to mother the girls. That doesn’t mean she’s smitten with me.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t.” Apricot agreed because . . . what else could she do? Daisy, Simon, and the girls were family. They had something that worked for them, and it wasn’t her business to start mixing things up. On the other hand, Simon was wrong.

  Daisy was smitten.

  Worse, she was desperate to get a ring on her finger.

  She probably didn’t care all that much who put it there.

  Simon was convenient. Add to that his natural kindness, his charm, his good looks, and you had a recipe for an infatuation so deep Daisy was probably convinced it was the love of a lifetime. She’d probably written him into her diary as her soul mate on the same page where she’d written her first name followed by his last name dozens of times. With little hearts and flowers and swirls all around them.

  “Seriously, Apricot. She’s not,” Simon murmured, and she didn’t think he believed a word he was saying.

  “Okay,” she responded.

  That one word said a million things that Simon didn’t want to hear.

  She wasn’t convinced.

  She really believed that Daisy had her eyes on Simon.

  She was amused by the whole thing.

  Simon was not.

  Daisy was nice in a high-strung, overpowering sort of way. He loved her like a sister, and he didn’t want to hurt her. But there was no way in hell he was interested in her, and he was absolutely sure he’d never given her the idea that he was.

  If she hadn’t been loping across the churchyard, heading straight for him, he’d have told Apricot that.

  “Speak of the devil,” Apricot murmured, an impish grin making her look young and fresh and unbelievably kissable. If they hadn’t been standing in the churchyard, dozens of people all around, he might have tugged her into his arms, nibbled his way up her throat, found his way to those beautiful lips.

  “Simon!” Daisy shrieked, her voice sharp.

  Everyone who’d been happily talking in the churchyard went silent.

  Apricot’s grin broadened, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

  He was not amused.

  “What is it, Daisy?” He kept his tone neutral. Barely. Lately Daisy had been getting under his skin, taking up a little too much of his energy.

  “Did you see who was here?” She grabbed his arm, pulling him around so that he was looking directly at the church door. The pastor and his wife were there, chatting with Jet and his grandmother. Jet shifted uncomfortably, his dress shirt a little short in the sleeves, his dark slacks about two sizes too big.

  “There were a lot of people at service today.” He was purposely obtuse. Sometimes, with Daisy, it was best to feign ignorance.

  “You know who I’m talking about,” she whispered. “Jet. Aren’t you going to say something to him?”

  “He’s already been questioned.”

  “Why hasn’t he been arrested?” she demanded, her voice getting a little louder and a little higher with each word.

  “Because Cade and I didn’t find any evidence to support doing it.”

  “Evidence? I told you he’s the one who did it. Isn’t that enough?” She blinked rapidly. A sure sign she was about to cry.

  “I’m afraid it’s not, Daisy. Evidence is what convicts someone. Until we have it—”

  “You think I’m lying, don’t you?” she said loudly.

  “Why would I?” he volleyed back.

  The churchyard had gone quiet, people grouped around trying really hard to pretend they weren’t listening to the conversation. Jet had his g
randmother’s arm and was trying to hurry her down the stairs. Problem was, there wasn’t a whole lot of hurrying a woman Dorothy’s age could do.

  Simon hoped to God Daisy wouldn’t decide to go over and confront the two.

  “If you didn’t, you’d have already arrested him.” She swallowed hard, her eyes skittering away. “He’d be in jail, and I’d be safe.”

  “You are safe.”

  “I don’t feel safe.” Her lower lip trembled, and he felt just sorry enough for her to pat her shoulder.

  “You are. Cade and I aren’t going to let anything happen to you. Besides, you weren’t injured—”

  “Not injured!” she cried. “What do you call this?!” She lifted the hem of her long jean skirt to reveal three small brightly colored Band-Aids. One on her knee. Two on her shin. If he remembered correctly, she had a couple of tiny little scratches there.

  Apricot coughed, and he met her eyes.

  She was fighting the urge to laugh.

  Fighting it desperately, her lips twitching, her chest heaving.

  “Don’t,” he cautioned, because if she laughed, Daisy would cry, and he needed that like he needed a hole drilled through his head.

  “Don’t what?” Daisy demanded. “Show my legs on church property? This isn’t the Dark Ages, Simon. Women wear all kinds of revealing clothes. Even to church. I try to be modest, but not everyone feels it’s necessary.” Her gaze settled on Apricot, dropping to the neckline of her sundress.

  It wasn’t at all revealing.

  But now that Daisy had called his attention to it, the creamy swell of skin peeking out from light blue fabric was one of the sexiest things Simon had ever seen.

  “You don’t think my dress is appropriate?” Apricot asked, smoothing her skirt.

  “I never said that.”

  “You seemed to be implying it, but I might just be misreading you. You’ve been through a lot, and your aura may be a little off because of it.”

  “Things have been tough,” Daisy conceded. “I guess you’ve been too busy doing other things to see how much this has affected me, Simon.” She turned her gaze back on him. “I’m just exhausted. I didn’t even sleep last night, I was so scared.”