His Secret Daughter Page 3

  “I’m sure. Do we have a deal?”

  A deal on Callie’s terms and at Maisie’s pace. Yet, what other choice did his heart really have? He’d take what he could get of Maisie.

  “We have a deal.” He swallowed. “I’ll be gone by Thanksgiving.”

  “Right. Gone by Thanksgiving.” She started up the steps. “Give me a few minutes to get your room ready.”

  “You want me to stay here?” His head snapped back. “In your house?”

  “Time isn’t on our side. The clock’s ticking on apple season and on creating a real relationship with your daughter.” After wrenching open the door, the hinges squeaking, she and Maisie disappeared inside the house.

  Only then did Nash Jackson move, his boots a heavy tread on the boards. When they were shoulder to shoulder, Callie’s father paused, locking gazes with Jake. What Jake read there told him to proceed with caution.

  His eyes dark like obsidian, Nash had gone still. A tightly leashed control Jake recognized and respected.

  “If you hurt my child, Jake McAbee—” the threat made more menacing by Nash’s quiet, deceptively conversational tone “—I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do on this mountain.”

  * * *

  Callie went all out for supper.

  The summer garden was about played out at this point. She’d been canning, freezing and pickling since July. She was secretly gratified to see Jake’s eyes widen as she placed one dish after the other on the table. Cream corn, butter beans, sweet pickles, mashed potatoes, biscuits and fried chicken.

  She sank into the chair opposite Jake, within arm’s reach of Maisie in the booster seat. At the head of the table, her father said grace.

  Puckering her lips, Maisie scooped corn onto her spoon and more or less managed to find her mouth. A smile flitted across Jake’s handsome lips.

  Handsome— What was wrong with her?

  Callie lowered her eyes to her plate. He was Maisie’s father. It didn’t matter whether he had handsome lips or not.

  With an upsweep of her lashes, she stole another look at him. But he did. He definitely had handsome lips.

  Jake shoveled mashed potatoes onto his plate. “You eat like this every day, Mr. Jackson?”

  Her father reached for another chicken leg. “Like her mother, Callie has a way around the kitchen.”

  “She sure does. I haven’t eaten this good since...ever.”

  Callie fretted the paper napkin in her lap. “Your mother didn’t like to cook?”

  Shrugging, he helped himself to the bowl of butter beans. “Don’t remember much before she was gone.”

  Callie took the bowl from him and set it down on the table. “I was in college when my mom died. How old were you when your mother died?”

  “Didn’t say she died.” His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t look up. “When I was nine, she just left.”

  Like Tiff.

  Callie’s breath hitched. His tone bothered her the most. It was as matter-of-fact as if talking about the weather.

  He split open a steaming-hot biscuit. Brows drawn, her dad passed Jake the butter dish. Jake slathered both sides of the biscuit with butter.

  “So how did your mother die, Callie?” With a sudden clang, he laid the knife across his plate. “I shouldn’t have asked that, Mr. Jackson. None of my business.”

  Her dad laid down his fork. “Cancer. And we don’t mind talking about her. Keeps her memory alive.”

  Callie handed Jake a small mason jar of strawberry jam. “I came home to take care of my mom—” she smiled at her father “—and decided everything I wanted was right here.”

  Jake spooned jam onto his biscuit. “First your mom. Then Tiffany. Always taking care of other people.” He caught her eye. “The hits just kept coming, didn’t they, Callie?”

  Their gazes locked across the table.

  She had a feeling Jake knew more than she about taking hits.

  Her dad cleared his throat. Jolted, she became aware that Maisie was studying Jake with those blue, blue eyes of hers.

  Sippy cup hanging loosely in one hand, Maisie watched as the men discussed the upcoming harvest and what needed to be done in the orchard.

  But without fail, Jake’s attention returned to his daughter, like he couldn’t get enough of her. Starving—Callie realized—in more ways than one. His longing for his child was so evident, something unfamiliar—and not altogether welcome—stirred inside Callie.

  It wouldn’t do to get too sympathetic toward Jake McAbee. Legally, he had the right to take the custody issue to court. A court battle was something the Jacksons could neither afford nor win. He still possessed the power to take Maisie away from them. She was running a risk in letting him stay.

  So why then, when he’d been willing to walk away, had she offered him a job? She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure why she’d done that.

  Except for an overwhelming feeling that she couldn’t let him leave. Was it a sense of guilt about waiting so long to do the right thing by him and Maisie? For continuing to keep Tiff’s secret? Or something else?

  Callie brushed a stray blond curl out of Maisie’s face.

  “I missed her baby stage.” Sadness clouded Jake’s features. “I guess I’ve missed a lot of other things, too.”

  Callie and her father exchanged glances. A strained silence hung over the table while they digested that irreversible truth.

  Her dad withdrew a pen from his shirt pocket, sketching on his napkin the boundary lines of the farm. “Here’s the orchard layout.”

  Jake cocked his head, examining the rough drawing. “How many acres do you farm, sir?”

  She could tell, despite himself, her father was impressed by the sir.

  “Ten. We grow Jonathan apples, Red Delicious and Golden in the rows to the right of the house. In September, we’ll harvest those.”

  When she rose to clear the table, so did Jake.

  “Let me help, Callie.”

  His mother might’ve abandoned Jake McAbee when he was young, but someone had instilled in him gentlemanly manners.

  She waved him away. “You and Dad finish talking.”

  With reluctance, Jake sat down again and pointed to a square on the napkin. “What’s the building by the road?”

  “The Apple House.” Her father patted his stomach. “My favorite place on the farm.”

  She scraped the plates. “The orchard is your favorite place on the farm.”

  Her father laughed. “True.”

  Jake leaned on the armrest of the chair. “What’s an apple house?”

  She stacked the plates. “A country store and bakery.”

  “That’s why it’s my second-favorite place on the farm.” Her dad smiled at her. “Once we open the orchard to the public, Callie has a seasonal crew of town ladies who run the storefront and keep it stocked with apple doughnuts, pies and fritters for sale.”

  She carried the dishes to the sink, then returned with a wet cloth to wipe Maisie’s hands. Twisting her head from side to side like every night, Maisie fought Callie’s efforts to wipe her mouth.

  But Callie wasn’t a quitter and she persevered. Just as she did every night. “Late October also brings the Apple Festival for the farmers in the valley.”

  “Any experience driving a tractor or using farm equipment, Jake?” Her father pursed his lips. “Every weekend from September till we close mid-November, we offer hayrides when people come to buy our apples. For school groups during the week, too.”

  Maisie perked up in her booster seat. “Twactor?”

  Callie looked at Jake. “Maisie likes the tractor. A lot.”

  Jake gathered the silverware into a bundle for Callie. “Overseas I did some convoy driving.”

  Her father quirked his brow. “Then I suspect if you can dr
ive around IEDs and insurgents, you can handle a hayride.” He sniffed the air. “Was that cobbler I smelled baking earlier, Callie Girl?”

  She grinned. “Blackberry.”

  Maisie raised her arms. “Pop-Pop?”

  Callie’s dad reddened. “I realize I’m not her grandfather, but she started calling me that one day. I should’ve set her straight, but—”

  “You’re the only grandparent she’ll ever know.” Jake sighed. “I’m glad she’s had a strong man like you in her life.”

  With a thoughtful expression in his eyes, Callie’s father scraped back his chair. “And now she’ll have two strong men in her life.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jake squared his shoulders. “That means a lot to me.”

  Her dad lifted Maisie into his arms. “We’ll be back ’fore long to eat that cobbler, Callie Girl.” He tickled Maisie’s belly. “Right, Daisy Maisie?”

  Maisie crumpled into giggles.

  Callie couldn’t help smiling. “Dad likes to work off supper by taking a sunset stroll with Maisie through the orchard.”

  Her father winked at Jake. “Got to start those farm girls young.” With Maisie hanging on to his neck, they headed outside, the screen door slamming behind them.

  Suddenly alone with Jake, she went around to the other side of the table to give herself breathing room. His strong, masculine presence made her feel like a stammering schoolgirl.

  He was a man with questions about Maisie’s mother she couldn’t answer. Because the answers were emotional land mines with enough fallout to devastate them all. She wiped down the booster seat.

  What invitation to disaster had she already set into motion by asking Jake to stick around? Callie gripped Maisie’s chair. This wouldn’t—couldn’t—end well.

  Secrets never did.

  Chapter Three

  Clearing the dining table, Jake reached for the empty glass at the same time as Callie. She blushed furiously. He let go immediately and stepped out of her way. What about him made her so uncomfortable? Or, like Maisie, did she hate him, too?

  Jake didn’t blame her for not trusting him after what happened earlier with Maisie. So why had she asked him to stay, even temporarily? Sometimes when she looked at him, genuine warmth shone out of her lovely brown eyes; other times, she wore an expression he didn’t know how to interpret.

  He followed her into the kitchen. “Let me dry while you wash.”

  Standing at the sink, she kept her back to him. “No.”

  He scrunched his brow. “Bossy, aren’t you?”

  She angled her head and made a face. “Hence my single status, I suppose.”

  He leaned against the counter. “Guys around here must be blind, then.” He shifted. What had possessed him to say such a thing to her?

  She flushed twelve shades of red, the way only a redhead could, and she set to scouring the pot with enough force to take the finish off. “You’re a flirt.”

  He stiffened. “Did Tiffany say that about me? Because I’m not. After we were married, brief as it was, I never... Is that why she left? Is that what she told you?”

  Callie stopped scrubbing and looked at him. “The only thing I know for sure, Jake McAbee, is that Maisie needs a father.”

  She hadn’t answered his question about Tiffany. He let it go for now.

  “The only thing I know for sure, Callie Jackson, is that we both love Maisie.”

  Her eyes became luminous. “Yes.” She focused on the pan in the sink. “Yes, we do.”

  Finding a cloth, he dried the dishes in the drainer. They worked in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. After everything had been put away, she straightened, seeming to come to a sudden decision.

  She started toward the living room. “I have something to show you.”

  His heart pounded.

  “Please take a seat.” She motioned to the couch. “This will take a while.” She removed two leather-bound albums from the bookcase.

  An expensive camera with a denim strap sat on the top shelf, placed out of Maisie’s reach, but easily accessible for adults, he guessed.

  She sank onto the sofa, keeping a respectable distance. He caught a whiff of her perfume, a pleasing fruity fragrance, reminding him of apples. Callie placed the albums on the coffee table in front of him.

  Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “What are these?”

  “Maisie’s life in pictures, thus far.” Callie swallowed. “I can’t give you back the time you lost with her, but I can give you a glimpse into those years.”

  He stared at her. “I don’t know what I did that made Tiffany leave. I wish I did.”

  The unvoiced question lay between them, again giving Callie the option to answer. Or not.

  She handed him the album on top of the pile. “I like taking photos, so I documented everything I could.”

  Apparently, choosing not.

  He wasn’t prepared for the rush of disappointment that flooded him. Would he be around long enough to earn her trust? And why did it matter so much?

  * * *

  It wasn’t right to let him believe he was to blame for what happened to his marriage. Guilt knotted her stomach, but her deathbed promise to Tiff bound Callie to silence. And a new anger burned against her dead friend for the impossible position in which Tiff had placed her.

  Maybe someday she’d tell him what happened with Tiff, but for now, she couldn’t. She didn’t know Jake McAbee well enough for those kinds of revelations. She didn’t know how he’d handle the truth. She also didn’t know him well enough yet to hurt him that much.

  But photos she could do. She opened to the first page in the album.

  The photograph of newborn Maisie completely captured Jake, and he let the subject drop. For how long, though?

  “You take great pictures, Callie.” He smiled, the lines at the corners of his eyes fanning out in warmth. “You could turn professional.”

  “Only a hobby.” Shaking her head, she rose. “Take your time. I usually join Dad and Maisie on their walk in the orchard.”

  Professional photography was a daydream she’d put behind her long ago. First her mother’s illness, then Tiff’s. Most recently, her dad’s. Her father couldn’t manage the orchard without her, and Maisie needed her.

  Remembering she hadn’t put any towels in Jake’s bathroom, she detoured upstairs. One of the best things about summer were the long hours of daylight stretching into the evening. There was plenty of time to catch the sunset with her dad and Maisie.

  A few minutes later when she returned to the front hall, she heard a strangled sound from the living room. Jake? Had something happened while she was upstairs?

  Light-footed with urgency, she got as far as the kitchen before a sight she’d never forget froze Callie in her tracks.

  The photo album lay open to happy pictures of his daughter’s first Christmas, first birthday, first toothy grin. Jake’s face was buried in his hands, and his shoulders shook with muffled, bone-jarring sobs. His body was racked with grief and pain.

  Something tore inside her chest.

  To spare Jake his pride, she tiptoed out, retreating to the hallway. After easing open the front door, she slipped outside.

  Her legs unable to support her, she leaned against the porch column, trying to regain her breath. Trying to still her racing heart. Trying not to lose her supper.

  She had never hated anyone in her life, but right now she hated more than anything what Tiff had done to Jake. And she hated herself for agreeing to be a part of it.

  For his own good, there were things he must never learn about Tiff, things that would only cause him further torment. Yet, the weight of guilt ate away at her resolve. How could she right the wrong he’d suffered? The pit in her stomach tightened.

  If she could do nothing else to assuage her conscience, she must he
lp Jake forge a strong relationship with Maisie. It was the least she could do. Was it, though?

  Callie scrubbed her forehead. No matter how Jake’s brokenness lashed her heart, Maisie had to be her top priority. But she would do what she could in helping Jake and Maisie find their way to each other.

  She took a ragged breath. And then come November, he’d leave as they’d agreed. The idea of his departure left her with an unsettled feeling.

  * * *

  Later, upstairs in his bathroom, Jake splashed water on his face and examined the man he beheld in the mirror.

  He hadn’t anticipated the intense sense of loss he felt when he’d seen the photo of his newborn daughter in Tiffany’s arms. It was pink-cheeked Maisie that had made him emotional, not Tiffany, wasn’t it?

  Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure. He’d believed himself over his ex-wife a long time ago. Only an idiot loved somebody who didn’t love them back. Right?

  He fingered the stubble on his jaw. Had he made a mistake in coming into Maisie’s life? There were a lot of things worse than nothing. Such as having a father like his. Or Tiffany’s.

  In a way, it was that very dysfunction that had drawn them to each other. The problem was that neither of them had ever had a real home. No surprise they’d failed to make one with each other.

  He sagged, bracing his hands on the sink. A lifetime of insecurity and self-doubt washed over him. What was he doing here, trying to be Maisie’s father?

  Jake had no business being anyone’s father. The familiar childhood tape played over and over in his head. His dad’s voice yelling it was Jake’s fault his mother abandoned them.

  Did it really even matter why Tiffany left? Had his dad been right about him being worthless? Perhaps Tiffany’s desertion had answered that question once and for all.

  He ought to leave Apple Valley Farm before he messed up Maisie as bad as his parents had messed up him. And yet...

  Jake pictured the recent photo of Maisie’s happy face over her second birthday cake. Nash must’ve taken that picture. Lips pursed, Callie stood behind Maisie’s chair, helping the little girl blow out her candles.