Chapter Four
Someone was crying.
Or something.
The sound jerked Apricot out of the half sleep she’d fallen into, and she came up off the couch so fast, she nearly tumbled right back onto it again. Bright sunlight streamed in through the living room window and splashed on the nicked wood floor. Dust motes danced on the air, and the cries kept coming, soft and steady. A newborn?
She tried to run to the front door, but her feet caught in her blasted skirts. Again. She wanted to rip the dress off, toss it into the fireplace and set a match to it, but the tow truck hadn’t brought Henry or the Airstream, and she wasn’t in the mood for another barefoot bike ride. She had nothing else to wear but the vintage clothes she’d found in upstairs closets, and she hadn’t wanted to greet the tow truck driver wearing borrowed clothes.
No more fuel for the gossip fire.
She opened the front door, followed the sound of the cries to a box that someone had placed on a porch step and covered with a blanket.
“Please don’t let this be a baby,” she muttered as she ripped the blanket off.
Four kittens looked up at her. Three fuzzy black-and-white babies and a scrawny gray tabby that looked like it had come from another litter. He was the one making all the noise, his mouth opened wide as he mewled pitifully.
“Okay. Okay,” she said, lifting the kitten and cuddling him close. He thanked her by digging his claws into her chest and dislodging a few of the gaudy beads that had been hand-sewn to the fabric. She tried to dislodge his claws, and he climbed up to her shoulder, burrowed under her hair, and meowed into her ear.
“All right. I get it. You’re hungry.” She snagged him by the scruff and plopped him back into the box.
She’d have to feed all four of them, and then she’d have to take them to an animal shelter, because she couldn’t keep them. She’d given up the idea of having pets right around the time she’d given up life at Happy Dale. No more chickens. No more cats. No more dogs, goats, skunks, raccoons, or squirrels. She liked her house free of animals and mess.
She had to admit, though, the kittens were cute.
Except for the gray one. He was homely, but as long as he didn’t know that, she figured he’d be just fine.
“Let’s go, guys.” She lifted the box, pausing as the sound of a car engine broke the afternoon stillness.
A white tow truck chugged toward her, Henry hooked up behind it. No Airstream, but that was okay. That was fine. As long as she had Henry, she could fix him up and go back for the Airstream and whatever she and her family had managed to toss inside of it.
She wasn’t sure who she expected to jump out of the tow truck. A guy named Willie? Someone with a beard and a bandanna, wearing coveralls and work boots? The woman who got out of the truck was wearing coveralls and work boots. No bandanna, though. No beard, either. Which was probably for the best.
The driver offered a quick wave as she jogged to the back of the truck and released Henry.
Next thing Apricot knew, the woman was climbing back in the truck again.
“Hold on!” Apricot called, the ugly gray kitten calling along with her. “I need to pay you!”
“I’m going back for the Airstream,” the woman responded. “You can pay up once I finish the job. You’re getting a good discount on the service, too. We’re running behind, and we want to thank you for your patience.”
“No discount necessary,” Apricot said as she jogged toward the truck. “And I can get the Airstream once I get Henry working again.”
“Henry?” The woman had one foot in the tow truck, her dark, curly hair pulled back from an austere face. A name tag sewn to her coveralls had the name Willie stitched in bright green thread.
“The truck. He has a name.”
“He should. He’s a good-looking vehicle.” She swiped a hand on her coveralls and offered it. “I’m Willetta Pothier. Willie to my friends. And just about everyone else in town.” She smiled, and it made her look young. Maybe twenty-two or -three.
“Anna Miller.”
“Good to meet you, Anna. I’d ask what you’re doing in town, but it’s not my business, and I’m already running a couple hours behind.”
“How much—”
“I told you I’m getting the Airstream. It’s on the order, and I’ve got to do my job or Stanley will have a hissy fit.”
“Stanley?”
“My father. He owns Apple Valley Towing. He was supposed to get your rigs, but he got caught up in a rousing game of chess. You got kittens in there?” She gestured to the box, and Apricot nodded.
“I found them on my porch stairs.”
“Yeah.” Willie peered into the box. “That’s not surprising.”
“It’s not?” In all her years of life, Apricot hadn’t found a box of kittens sitting anywhere. Let alone on her steps.
“The local shelter closed about five years ago. Lack of funding. A new one opened in the next town over. Only about twenty miles from here, but it’s not a no-kill shelter, so some people don’t want to bring strays there.”
“What does that have to do with me finding kittens on my porch?”
“Rose feeds stray cats when she’s in town. She takes them to the vet, gets them the shots they need, has them fixed. Then she offers them to people as barn cats. If no one wants them, she takes them with her and finds them homes somewhere else. Once people got wind of that, they started dropping off unwanted litters.”
“Rose isn’t in town,” Apricot pointed out reasonably, hoping against hope that Willie would spread the word.
The last thing she wanted was an endless supply of kittens to rehome.
“You are,” Willie said just as reasonably. “That’s good enough for anyone who has a few unwanted critters. Want me to take them to the shelter for you? Once I’m finished here, I’m done for the day.”
“The kill shelter?” she asked, eyeing the kittens. The gray one eyed her right back, his flea-bitten ears just a little too big for his head.
“It’s the only one around. I’m sure they’ll be fine, though. People love kittens. Someone will take them.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll just . . . feed them first.” She was going to regret this. She knew she was, but Apricot was not letting the kittens go off to a shelter where they might be killed.
“Suit yourself. I’ll have the Airstream back in a few.”
Willie hopped into the truck and took off.
Hopefully, she’d be back as quickly as she’d said, because Apricot’s day had suddenly gotten busier. Maybe it was for the best. Napping and moping weren’t things she’d ever been any good at.
She carried the kittens into the house and put the box on the sofa. She didn’t have food for them, but she could at least give them some water. She grabbed a small plastic bowl from the cupboard, walked back into the living room, and saw the gray kitten tumbling out of the box.
“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” She sighed, depositing him back in the box, watching as the kittens lapped at the water. They looked healthy enough, but that didn’t mean she wanted them around. She needed to take them all to the vet, get their shots and get them out of her hair, because she had other things to do with her time.
Like . . .
What?
It was a good question. Two weeks in Aruba had been the plan. Then back to Los Angeles to build a married life with Lionel. First, a move from their condo into something bigger. A house with a yard. They’d put the condo on the market, had been house hunting for a couple of months. Lionel had even put earnest money down on their dream home. Hopefully, he could get a refund. She knew how much he valued dollars when they were his.
Hers he wasn’t so worried about.
She’d paid for their luxury condo and all the upgraded finishes. She’d paid for the boat that they’d used exactly twice. She’d even paid for the honeymoon that they weren’t taking.
But why be bitter?
She’d accept the offer her Realtor had gotten on the condo, and she’d take the cash and put it into something more practical. Something more her style. Maybe a pretty little bungalow or a cabin in the middle of the woods. Maybe somewhere in Montana or Vermont. New Hampshire?
Wherever it was, she’d make sure she couldn’t be found.
Not until she wanted to be, and right at that moment, she didn’t think that would ever happen.
The phone rang, but she ignored it.
She knew it was Rose or Lilac. Or maybe Plum. Not Lionel. No one in her family would have given him the number to the house. None of her friends knew it. None of them even knew where she was. She really did have to get a new cell phone. Just in case there was an emergency at work.
Which there wouldn’t be.
She had great employees.
“Yay, me,” she muttered, opening the front door and walking out onto the porch. The sun hung overhead, a golden orb against a pristine sky. Any other day, and she’d have enjoyed the sunshine, the heat that was building as the day wore on.
Why not enjoy it today?
So what if she’d been betrayed?
So what if all her dreams were dead as doornails?
So what if everything she’d thought she was going to have wasn’t going to happen?
She lifted her face to the sky, but it just wasn’t the same as lying under an umbrella on a sandy beach.
Willie’s truck appeared at the end of the driveway, the Airstream behind it. Apricot waved the truck to the edge of the driveway, helped unhook the Airstream, and tried to pretend she didn’t notice Willie noticing her dress and bare feet.
“Bad day, huh?” Willie said as they finished.
“Bad five years,” she responded. No sense trying to hide things. No doubt Dusty had already contacted everyone in Apple Valley to let them know a squatter had taken up residence in Rose’s place. If he hadn’t spread the news about her arrival, Daisy probably had.
“That sucks,” Willie responded. “I did that. Lived with a guy for two years. He walked out while I was in the hospital and didn’t even bother leaving a note.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. Nice. Maybe you and I should get together for drinks sometime. We probably have a lot in common.” She didn’t wait for Apricot’s reply. Just climbed in the truck and took off.
No, thanks, is what Apricot would have said.
She really didn’t want to be part of some women-only club. The kind where men were bashed over bowls of melting ice cream or glasses of lukewarm beer. Pity parties weren’t her thing. Besides, she liked men. She even loved a few. Her brothers. Her dad. Just not Lionel. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. Which was something she’d have to think about when she was in the mood for it.
Something snagged the back of her dress as she opened the Airstream, and she yanked at the material, heard the loud unhappy cry of the gray kitten.
“What in the world!” She turned and scooped him up. “How did you get out here?”
The front door was still closed.
She walked inside. One corner of the blanket had lifted off the box. The other kittens were huddled together, sound asleep. Food. That’s what they needed. Then the vet. Then new homes. If she kept focused on that, she wouldn’t have to think about the rest. Like calling her family. Checking in with friends. Explaining in detail how she felt about Lionel, the canceled wedding, the nonexistent honeymoon.
She could do it easily in two very succinct words.
It sucked.
“So, how did you escape?” she asked the cat. He purred and closed his eyes. She put him on the floor, hoping he’d run to his escape route. He flopped onto his back and lay there, watching her through slitted eyes.
Useless.
And butt ugly.
Poor thing. Unlike his fluffy little mates, he had thin fur and a ratlike tail. He was also huge. Not the cute little kittens that people oohed and aahed over, he was more likely to strike fear into the hearts of young children and disgust the local cat ladies.
It would be really hard to find a home for him. “I’ll give it my best shot, Handsome, but if I can’t find someone who will take you, you’re going to the shel—”
Bang!
Something slammed against a wall or floor.
Apricot shrieked, the kitten jumped, clawing its way up her dress and under her hair as she ran to the front door. She paused there. First, she hadn’t gotten Henry working yet. Second, she couldn’t just leave the house with a trespasser in it. Third, she’d never been the overly fearful type, and she wasn’t going to start now. If someone was in the house, she was going to boot him or her out.
She marched back into the living room, lifted a small end table. Just in case she needed a weapon.
Bang!
Whoever it was, wasn’t being quiet about it.
Bang, bang, bang!
She followed the sound into the kitchen.
Bang!
Something hit the back of the house, and she dragged the door open, barreled outside into bright sunlight, the end table gripped in one hand, the kitten digging its claws into the back of her neck.
A kid stood a few yards away from the house, mouth gaping open, a basketball in his hands. About six-foot with shaggy red hair and dark brown eyes, he had gauges in his ears and a ring through his brow. He eyed the table and the corner of his mouth twitched. It looked like a smile rather than a smirk, so she set her makeshift weapon down.
“What are you doing?” she asked, even though what he was doing was obvious. Paint from the old wood siding had chipped off from the force of his basketball throws and one of the wooden shingles had cracked, half of it falling to the ground.
“I—” He glanced at the ball, his cheeks flushing. “Didn’t know anyone lived here.”
“Someone does,” she pointed out, and his flush deepened. “But even if the property was abandoned, throwing a ball at it wouldn’t be cool.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was just . . . sorry.”
She lifted the broken piece of shingle and frowned. The house desperately needed repainting, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. The shingle felt spongy and malleable from too many years of exposure. Not good.
Rose really needed to take better care of the property.
She’d have told her aunt that, but it would require actually talking to someone who’d been at the church, waiting in the bride’s room, patting Apricot on the shoulder and telling her men weren’t worth the tears.
Rose and Lilac had been right about that.
Men weren’t, and Apricot had vowed then and there to never, ever cry over a man again. She crumbled a little piece of the wood, letting the sawdust fall to the ground. “It was in pretty bad shape before. Looks like you’ve just added to an already existing problem.”
“I can fix it for you,” he said earnestly, poking his finger through what had been left hanging on the house. Dust dropped onto the ground.
“It’s going to take more than one piece of siding to fix the problem. I bet half the shingles are rotten,” she responded.
“More than half. The place needs all-new siding,” he agreed. He ran his hand over a few other shingles as if he were some sort of connoisseur rather than a teenage kid carrying a basketball and wandering around throwing it at random houses. “I could get it done before the first frost.”
“Get what done?”
“The siding?” He poked his finger into another shingle, and more dust drifted onto the ground. “If you don’t fix the problem, you’re going to have a bigger one.”
He said exactly what she’d been thinking, but she didn’t want to hire a fifteen-year-old to do the job. “I’m sure there are some local companies—”
“They’ll cost you an arm and a leg,” he said, cutting her off, his focus on the house. He took a few steps back, used his hand to block the sun as he glanced at the roof. “The roof looks like it’s in good shape. That’s probably been replaced in the past ten years, but the siding has to go. You also need new framing on your windows. Take a look at the second floor and the attic. See how warped the wood is?”
Now that he mentioned it, she did.
“Bet you’ve got mold inside your house. I can fix that, too.”
“I think your time would be better spent in school.”
He finally looked at her, his dark gaze serious and direct. “I’m eighteen, ma’am. I graduated high school last year.”
“College—”
“Costs money that my grandparents don’t have. I’m taking a couple of classes this quarter, but next quarter, I’m out of luck unless I can get some work.”
He was blunt.
She liked that.
But that didn’t mean he was capable of shingling an old house. “It’s probably best if I hire a company. Someone licensed and bonded. Just in case there’s an accident or something.” She tried to be just as blunt, but she couldn’t look the kid in the eyes, because she could feel his desperation and she didn’t want to see it.
“Homeowner’s insurance covers accidents on your property, and I’d write a letter saying I wouldn’t hold you responsible if I cut off my hand or knocked myself senseless. I’d even have it notarized. And in case you think I don’t know what I’m doing, I worked for my dad from the time I was able to carry a hammer. He owned a restoration company in Seattle.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a business card. Stained and flimsy, it looked like he’d been carrying it around for a while.
She glanced at the card. “You’re Justin Irvin?”
“My dad was Justin. I’m Jet.” He held out a hand, and she took it, surprised by the strength in his fingers and the rough callouses on his palms. He worked hard, that much was for sure. Whether or not he could actually re-side a huge old house was another story. She’d taken chances on people before, though, and she wasn’t opposed to doing it again.
“I’ll tell you what. How about you come back tomorrow with that letter and one of your grandparents? Bring a couple of references. Once I check them out, we can talk about the job.”
“I can give you the references now. I do some part-time work at the sheriff’s office. Sheriff Cunningham can vouch for me. I’ve also done some work at Simon Baylor’s place. He’s a deputy sheriff.”
“We’ve met.”
“Great! You know where he lives?”
“No.”
“He’s just off of Main Street. I replaced all his windows and reshingled the roof. Did it all in three days and for a third of the price another business quoted him. I’ll write down his address.” He pulled a scrap of paper and a pen from his pocket, jotted the information down, and handed it to her. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He grabbed the basketball, tucked it under his arm. “By the way, you have a kitten under your hair.”
She disengaged the kitten’s claws and held the ugly scrap of fur out. “He needs a good home. Are you interested?”
“He looks like an oversized rat. My grandma would probably take a broom to him.”
“He’s probably a good mouser,” she replied. “Your grandma might appreciate that.”
“If you had something cuter, she might go for it, but—”
“Hold on!” She was in the house and back with the box of kittens so fast, she didn’t think he had time to blink. “I have three more. Take your pick.”
He looked into the box and frowned. “Will taking one better my chances of getting the job?”
“Only if you take good care of it and I don’t find it back on my doorstep tomorrow.”
“In that case, which ones are girls?”
She lifted a tiny scrap of black fur. “The runt is.”
“So . . .” He took the kitten. “You promise you’ll check my references and really consider letting me re-side the house?”
“Yes.”
He scowled but held the kitten against his chest. “I’ll tell Grandma it’s her birthday gift.”
“Today is her birthday?”
“Nah, but she doesn’t know I know that.” He strode away, the basketball tucked under his arm.
One kitten down and three to go, but now she’d have to make good on her promise. She couldn’t hire an inexperienced kid to do work that would probably take an entire team of experienced workers a week or more to do. On the other hand, if he knew what he was doing and could do it well, she wouldn’t mind giving him the job.
Everyone deserved a chance.
Until they proved that they didn’t.
She glanced down at her shredded wedding dress.
Time to move on.
Fifteen minutes later, the dress was off, jeans and a T-shirt were on, and she was ready to start something new, to forget all about the wedding that wasn’t.
She tossed the dress into the fireplace as she walked through the living room, stomped it a few times just to get the dust and ashes nicely mixed with the pink fabric. A few beads rolled out, and Handsome chased them across the wood floor, his skinny body sliding under the sofa. He came out with one tiny bead in his mouth, slinked back to the fireplace, and deposited it there.
“Smart cat,” she murmured, scratching him behind the ears. “I’m going to fix the truck, and you and your friends are staying in here. Then we’re going to the vet and to town. Behave!”
She tossed the command over her shoulder, realized she was talking to a kitten, and sighed. So . . . this was where life had led. Definitely not where she’d expected, but she’d make a go of it. If there was one thing Lilac and Hubert had taught her, it was that circumstances didn’t make the person. The person made the circumstances. She might not be where she’d planned, doing what she thought she’d be doing, but by God, she’d make things work.
She marched outside with her head high even though there wasn’t anyone around to see it, opened Henry’s hood, and got to work.
What to make for dinner . . .
That was the question.
The one Simon had no answer to.
He glanced out the front window. The girls were still sitting behind their lemonade stand, hair up in ballet buns, pink tutus pulled on over cut-off shorts. Rori had paired hers with a pale pink tank top. Evie wore a plain white T-shirt. No fuss or muss for that girl. Identical in looks, the girls were as different in personality as night and day.
Both liked chicken nuggets, though, and he thought he just might take them to Riley Park, let them run off some steam and then treat them to dinner at the diner. No cooking required, and they’d all be happy.
Except for Daisy, who thought home-cooked meals equated to good health and love. Full fat, gobs of butter, more grease than any meal had a right to—that’s the way most of the meals she cooked were, but Daisy still thought they were healthier than diner food.
He let her think it because he did most of the cooking, nice well-balanced meals that the girls enjoyed. Fresh veggies, fresh fruit, lean protein. Tonight, though, he was tired. He’d worked an overnight shift, and he didn’t care much about anything but getting food into the girls’ stomachs and getting them into bed.
He glanced at his watch. Five thirty. Definitely time to close down the lemonade stand. As far as he’d been able to tell, the girls had sold a cup to the neighbor and about five cups to James Finely. He’d been mowing his lawn and apparently felt the need to pay a quarter for a glass of lemonade instead of just drinking the water that was sitting in a glass on his front porch.
James had five kids of his own, and Simon had almost told him not to waste money that he could use for them, but James was a proud guy, and he’d have probably given each of the girls twenty dollars . . . just to prove he could.
Simon had kept his mouth shut.
Rori started waving frantically. Must be a car coming. A new customer and Simon’s cue to make an appearance. Sure, Apple Valley had a low crime rate, but that didn’t mean there weren’t predators roaming the streets.
He stepped outside, saw an old Ford truck easing to a stop near the curb. He knew the truck. Knew the driver. Could have gone right back in the house, but he doubted Apricot Miller had found her way to his place by accident, and he was curious to see what she had to say.
Curious to see her again.
That was the truth, and Simon had made a habit of always being honest with himself. His mind had been wandering back to the Schaffer place for the better part of the day, wandering to a place where he’d allowed himself to think about Apricot and her called-off wedding, her broken-down truck, her disastrous pink dress.
She rounded the truck, her slim legs encased in faded denim, a fitted gray T-shirt clinging to her flat abdomen. She’d brushed her hair into a ponytail, and she looked about a decade younger than she had before.
She smiled at the girls, took a bill from her pocket. “How much for a cup of lemonade?”
The girls fell all over themselves in an effort to answer. Next thing Simon knew, Apricot had a cup of lemonade in each hand and the girls had the money in the glass jar they’d taken from the cupboard.
“We have plenty more where that came from,” Evie said, offering up the plastic pitcher as proof.
“Well, I may have to get a refill before I leave, then,” Apricot responded. “I need to talk to your dad first, though.”
She swallowed down an entire glass of lemonade. “You know, if you girls wouldn’t mind terribly, I’d love to buy a cup of water. I’ll pay the same thing I paid for the lemonade.”
“You don’t like our lemonade?” Rori asked, her chin quivering.
Simon knew what was coming. The kid had the sensitive nature of her mother, and she hated to disappoint anyone.
“Ror—” he started, but Apricot was shaking her head and pulling more money from her purse.
“Are you kidding me? It’s the best I’ve had in years.” Apricot took a swig from the other cup, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I need the water for the kittens.”
“Kittens?!” Evie shrieked.
“No!” Simon barked as he strode to the lemonade stand. “We don’t have time for a kitten.”
“I just want to see them, Daddy,” Evie insisted with all the earnestness of an eight-year-old girl who loved every animal that existed. “And maybe pet them if the lady says I can.”
“That’s up to your dad,” Apricot responded diplomatically. “I’ve taken them to the vet. He gave them shots and a clean bill of health,” she added, smiling in his direction.
She had a pretty smile. The kind that made her eyes glow, made her soft lips look even softer. The kind that someone might be tempted to fall for. Fortunately, Simon was past the age of being tempted by pretty, and past the point in his life when he had time to pursue anything but work and the twins.
“We can’t keep a kitten,” he told the girls before they asked. Because they would ask. They’d been asking for a kitten since Daisy had gotten a fluffy Persian five months ago.
“Of course you can’t. Kittens are a lot of work,” Apricot agreed, leaning into the cab of the truck and grabbing a box covered with a blanket. “I’m not here to pawn kittens off on you. I’m here about a young man named Jet Irvin.”
Jet. Yeah. The kid had had some tough times, but he was trying to make good with his life. “What about him?”
“He said he did some work for you?” She carried the box to the front porch, sat cross-legged with it on her lap. The girls moved in close, Evie nearly vibrating with excitement, Rori hanging just a little behind her sister.
“That’s right.”
“I’m thinking of hiring him, but I wanted to get a few references first.” She pulled the blanket off the box, revealing two little black-and-white kittens and a big ugly gray one.
“They are so cute!” Evie squealed. “Aren’t they cute, Rori?!”
Rori nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. Which was more than she usually did when strangers were present. One of her teachers had suggested she suffered from social anxiety and told Simon that the then six-year-old needed medication and therapy.
Simon had suggested the woman get a life.
That hadn’t gone over very well.
“Can I pet them, Daddy?” Evie begged. “Please?”
“Why don’t you both go get them some water first?” he suggested.
The girls bounced into the house, slamming the door behind them. Of course.
“Cute kids,” Apricot said as she nudged the gray kitten into the box. It jumped out and clawed its way up her arm, perching in the little hollow near her ear.
“I think so.” He lifted one of the little black-and-white puffballs from the box and eyed it. “But I’m not going to let them talk me into one of these.”
“Of course you aren’t,” she agreed. Again.
“You’re not going to win this with reverse psychology, Apricot.”
She didn’t correct him on the name, just smiled that pretty smile of hers. “Like I said, I’m here about Jet. He wants to replace the siding on Rose’s house. I’m trying to decide if he’s the guy for the job. He gave me your name and the sheriff’s as references. I’ve already spoken with Cade. He seemed really enthusiastic about Jet’s work.”
“I’m not surprised. Jet is a great kid. I’d recommend him to anyone.”
“Being a great kid is nice, Simon, but I’m more interested in the kind of work he does. I can give him some odd jobs that don’t require a high level of skill or I can let him hang new siding and replace the gingerbread trim on the porch. It just depends on the work he’s done here.” She’d gone from sweet smile to all business, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d taken an iPad out of her purse and started taking notes.
“He replaced my roof two months ago. Replaced and reframed my windows. So far, no leaks,” he offered. “Took him about four days, and he cleaned up his mess when he finished. I’d say it would take longer to side the Shaffer place.”
She nodded. “I’d say so. He hasn’t given me a time frame, and I didn’t ask, but if he works alone, we’re probably talking a few weeks.”
“He does most of the work alone, but he did have a guy helping with the roof. An older guy who works for a company in Spokane and does freelance work when he has time.”
“Hmm. I guess that means paying two for the job?”
“No. I paid a set fee and Jet paid his friend. No fuss or muss. No trouble. No complaints from the freelancer. If you hire Jet, you’re going to have to buy the supplies. He doesn’t have cash in hand to do that.” That hadn’t bothered Simon. He’d already purchased everything he needed to do the job. He just hadn’t had time to do it. With fall closing in and winter right around the corner, he’d needed to get the work done. Even if he’d been willing to wait, his hundred-year-old home hadn’t been.
“That’s not a problem. As long as he’s able to tell me what I need.”
“He gave me an itemized list along with reasonable prices for supplies. Want to take a look at the work he did?”
“Sure.” She stood, box in hand. “As long as I can bring the kittens in. Handsome keeps escaping the box, and I don’t want him to get run over.”
“Handsome?” He opened the screen door, touched her shoulder to urge her in ahead of him. Got a quick swat from the ugly gray kitten as a thank-you.
“This guy.” She dragged the gray kitten off her shoulder and set him in the box. “He’s trouble.”
“You think you’re going to find him a home?”
“Someone will feel sorry for him and take him in. I hope.”
“Hope is nothing to hang your hat on,” he responded, smiling as she laughed.
“I guess you’re right about that, but don’t worry. I have a plan B.”
“Yeah?”
“If no one will take him, I’ll bring him to the . . .”
The girls barreled into the foyer, each of them carrying a bowl of water.
“Shelter,” Apricot finished.
“No!” Evie shouted. “You’re not taking them to the shelter! You can’t. Aunt Daisy says they kill animals there.”
Apricot met Simon’s eyes, mouthed I’m sorry. Then smiled at Evie. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll find them all good homes.”
“If you don’t, you have to keep them,” Evie insisted. “It’s the only right thing to do.”
“Not if I don’t have time for them. That wouldn’t be fair to the kittens,” Apricot responded. “But, like I said, I’m sure I can find them all good homes.”
“But—”
“That’s enough, Evangeline,” he cut in, knowing his daughter would continue to press her point. At eight, she insisted she wanted to be a veterinarian. Simon was convinced she’d grow up to become an attorney. “How about you girls bring the kittens into the kitchen and give them the water there? I need to show Apricot—”
“Your name is Apricot?” Rori gasped, her dark chocolate eyes wide, some of her natural shyness disappearing in the face of the wonder of Apricot’s name.
“Yes, but most of my friends call me Anna.”
“But Apricot is such a pretty name. Like a fairy-tale princess name,” Rori breathed, and Simon could see all the little-girl dreams in her eyes.
“Rori,” he began, wanting to stop his daughter before she got too caught up in the fantasy. “She’s not a fairy-tale princess. She’s just—”
“Very flattered that you like my name,” Apricot broke in with a gentle smile. “I never thought of it as all that special, but I think after today, I will. Give your sister the water, and I’ll hand you the kitten box. You’ll be careful with them, right?”
“Yes.” Rori nodded solemnly. No overflowing enthusiasm, no jumping and squealing. She was the quiet twin, the one Simon worried about most, because her feelings were so close to the surface and so easily hurt.
Too bad he couldn’t put her in a bubble and keep her there, safe from all the meanness in the world.
She handed the water to her sister, who took it without protest.
A minor miracle considering the kid always wanted to be in charge.
Like Rori, she seemed to have fallen under Apricot’s spell, her big brown eyes wide with wonder as Apricot handed over the kitten box.
“Is your hair real or is it the clip-on stuff that my first-grade teacher wore at her wedding?”
“What kind of question is that?” Simon asked.
“One I want an answer to. I’ve never seen a grown woman with hair as long as hers.” Evie didn’t seem at all apologetic. “And are those your real boobs? Jackson Anderson at school says most women have fake ones. I told him that only women in magazines have them, and he told me I was stupid.”
“Enough!” Simon commanded.
What kind of school was he sending his kids to, if that was the kind of conversation they were having?!
“But, Daddy,” Evie said. “It’s a reasonable question, and I just want a reasonable answer. I’m going to be a woman one day, and I have to know these things.”
Apricot laughed, and Simon would have laughed too, if it had been anyone else’s daughter making the pronouncement.
“You’re eight,” he muttered. “You should be worried about bedtime and lunch boxes.”
“Jackson says—”
“How about we discuss Jackson and his opinions later?” he cut in. “The kittens are thirsty and they’re probably hungry too. Take them into the kitchen and feed them some of that food Aunt Daisy keeps here for Sweetums.”
“Sweetums?” Apricot asked as the girls walked away.
“The cat from hell. I think she got him from a breeder who charges an arm and a leg for squashfaced kittens with bad attitudes.”
She laughed, following him into the living room, the scent of summer sunshine filling the air as she moved. “I’m getting the impression you’re not Sweetums’s biggest fan.”
“He scratched up my favorite recliner. I had a friend reupholster it, and he clawed it up again.”
“Is that the recliner?” She gestured to the chair he’d bought a few months after he and the girls had moved in. The sides of the chair looked like they’d been put through a giant paper shredder.
“How’d you guess?” he asked drily.
“I’m not always as clueless as I was the day I accepted my ex’s proposal,” she responded with a smile that made her eyes sparkle.
“You’ve got an awfully good attitude for a woman who was—” He stopped short of saying what had popped into his head. No sense rubbing salt in an open wound.
“Jilted?” She finished for him. “I told you. I wasn’t. I was left waiting. For a long time.”
“And?”
“I decided I didn’t want to wait any longer. He showed up right around the time I was telling my family the wedding was off.”
There was probably more to the story, but he didn’t ask and she didn’t tell. That would be a little too much like getting to know each other, and Simon didn’t think either of them wanted to do that.
“Is this one of the windows Jet replaced?” she asked, crouching in front of the double-pane glass and touching the oak framing.
“Yes.” He crouched beside her. “He used wood from an old house that had been demolished, and cut molds to match the frames that weren’t dry-rotted.
“It’s gorgeous,” she murmured, running long fingers over the smooth wood. Her nails were unvarnished and short, her face makeup-free, a few long strands of hair escaping her ponytail.
She didn’t look high maintenance, but her wedding dress sure had been. If he’d based his assessment of Apricot’s nature on that, he’d say she was the kind of woman who liked fine dining and spa treatments, who liked fancy furniture and expensive jewelry. The kind of woman who wouldn’t blink an eye at spending thousands of dollars on a dress she was only going to wear one day.
He and Megan had argued about that.
Funny how he was just now remembering.
Two weeks after they’d gotten engaged, Megan had told him her grandparents had put aside five thousand dollars for the dress. He’d suggested she spend half that and they could use the rest for a down payment on a house. She hadn’t liked the idea. She hadn’t even liked that he’d had it. It had been their first big argument, and he thought it had surprised both of them. In the end, she’d had her fancy dress, and they’d lived in an apartment for the first two years they were married. He hadn’t minded all that much. He’d loved Megan, would have lived in a hovel with her if that’s what they’d had to do to be together.
“How many windows and frames did he put in?” Apricot asked, pulling him from the memory.
“All the windows were replaced. He rebuilt the frames in here and in the kitchen.” He glanced toward the dining room. The girls were being very, very quiet. “I can take you in there.”
“If they look as good as these, there’s no need.” She brushed the stray hair off her face, tucked it back into the ponytail holder, the gesture unconsciously feminine and much more appealing than Simon wanted it to be.
Time to get her out of the house, because his mind was heading places it shouldn’t be going unless he wanted to get himself involved in something that would take way more time than he had.
He straightened, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. “In that case, I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Am I being kicked to the curb, Simon?” she asked with a grin that made him notice the deep blue of her eyes and the freckles on her cheeks.
“Just out the front door,” he responded. “I have to feed the girls dinner.”
“Much as I’d like to allow myself to be kicked out without the kittens, leaving them with you seems like the wrong thing to do.”
The kittens. Right. He’d almost forgotten. Something about looking in her eyes was messing with his brain!
“Girls!” he called. “Apricot has to leave.”
They came running into the room, the box wrapped in a bright pink blanket and cradled between them.
“Quiet, Daddy,” Evie said solemnly. “They’re sound asleep.”
“Must be their full tummies getting the best of them,” Apricot whispered, taking the box from the girls. “Thank you for taking good care of them.”
The girls followed her onto the porch and watched wide-eyed as she put the box in the passenger seat of her old truck and took off.
“Is she a princess, Daddy?” Rori asked, tugging at his hand and pulling his attention away from the retreating truck.
“Of course not,” he responded, bending so they were eye to eye. “You know that princesses are only for fairy tales.”
“That isn’t true, Daddy,” Evie argued. “There are princesses in Europe and in Africa and—”
“How about we get dressed and go get chicken nuggets at the diner?” he said, cutting into what was destined to be a very long debate with his daughter. “We can discuss princesses there.”
“The diner!” the girls squealed in unison. “Yay!”
“First we have to get water. We’re thirsty. Aren’t we thirsty, Rori?” Evie asked, grabbing her sister’s hand and tugging her inside. He followed more slowly, glancing over his shoulder and calling himself every sort of fool because what he was looking for, what he was hoping to see, was one last glimpse of Apricot’s truck as she drove away.