The Orchard at the Edge of Town (5 page)

“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.