Читать книгу His Secret Daughter - Lisa Carter - Страница 14

Somehow Jake managed to wrangle his daughter into the car seat Nash had secured in the truck cab.

“Cawee!” she shrieked. “Cawee!”

He flinched but made sure the buckles clicked in place. Rounding the hood, he slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine. Nausea roiled in his stomach.

This wasn’t the way he’d wanted things to go, but Callie’s words had touched a nerve. He would show them all. He would be the best dad Maisie never had. He wouldn’t desert her or belittle her like his father—

Jake threw the truck into gear, glancing at the house in the rearview mirror. Seeing Nash Jackson’s arm draped around her, Callie weeping, almost broke Jake. He’d never wanted to hurt her. This was killing her. He was killing her.

Tears streaming across her cheeks, she sank onto the porch step. And the last thing he glimpsed before the truck sped over the rise was Callie burying her face in her hands.

Gritting his teeth, he barreled past the shuttered country store and set his face forward toward the road beyond the crossbars of the farm. In the seat behind him, Maisie’s cries had subsided into heart-wrenching, hopeless sobs.

“No, D-Daddy,” she hiccupped. “Bad, bad Daddy.”

Jake slammed on the brakes, spinning gravel. Bad daddy. Like his father. Though he’d promised himself he’d never do anything to hurt his child.

He pressed his forehead against the wheel. What was he doing? What had he done to his daughter except terrify her? Callie was right.

No matter how much he wanted to be her dad, he couldn’t tear Maisie away from the only home she’d ever known. From everything that made her feel safe. From everyone who loved her. He didn’t have it in him to put his rights over Maisie’s happiness. Not if he truly loved Maisie...

Jake loved her more than himself, loved her the way no one in his life had ever loved him. A soul-deep kind of love, impossible to ever find. But that had never stopped him from hungering for it anyway.

He couldn’t do this to Maisie. Not this way. Not now.

For the second time that day, he turned the truck around. He parked once more beside the blue Chevy sedan. The Jacksons hadn’t moved from the porch. They stared at him, mute and motionless. Shoulders hunched, he stepped out and rounded the hood. Opening the truck door, he leaned in, but Maisie shrank from him.

And his heart broke.

He steeled himself to do the hard thing, the right thing, for Maisie. She was the only one who mattered in this situation. As for him? Like always, he’d do his mourning in private.

Jake made short work of the buckles. Maisie stiffened when he lifted her out of the seat. Nevertheless, with his daughter cradled in his arms, like an old man, he stumbled toward the Jacksons. When he reached the steps, Callie rose, and he gave his daughter to her.

His child—no, Callie’s child—burrowed into her. With small, sniffling noises, Maisie pressed her face into the hollow of Callie’s shoulder.

“Oh, Maisie, sweetheart. Callie’s here. Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken her like that.” His voice guttural, he kept his gaze pinned on the grass. “I won’t ever bother you again. Maisie belongs here with you, not with me. I’ll send money. I—I won’t be a deadbeat dad.” Clamping his lips together, he started to turn away.

“Wait. Jake.”

Midmotion, he froze.

“Don’t go.” Callie stretched out her hand to him. “Please stay.”

“Callie Girl, what are you doing?” Nash grunted.

“It—it’s not right, him leaving. I can’t let it end this way.”

Nash’s gaze flickered between Jake and his daughter.

Jake steeled himself against the whisper of hope unfurling inside his chest. “I don’t understand. I figured you couldn’t wait to be rid of me for good. What are you saying?”

“I’m asking you to stay on the farm.” She lifted her chin. “A temporary arrangement so that you and Maisie can become better acquainted. Where she feels comfortable and safe.”

“Why would you want me to stay?” Jake frowned. “After what I did.”

Maisie shrank away from him as Callie closed the distance between them on the grass. “Because maybe if Tiff had had a dad who...” She moistened her lips. “I won’t allow history to repeat itself. A girl needs her father, Jake.”

She shifted Maisie onto the crook of her other arm as the child almost strangled Callie in her effort to stay as far from Jake as possible.

Anguish clawed at his insides, but he was going to have to learn to live with the gnawing pain of having lost his daughter. As he’d learned to live with the pain of Tiffany’s rejection.

“What would be the point, Callie? Maisie will never trust me again.”

She touched his arm, surprising him. And myriad emotions exploded in his chest, feelings he didn’t care to examine too closely. After the way he’d failed Tiffany and now Maisie, too, these were emotions he had no business feeling.

“Trust can be rebuilt, Jake. You and Maisie need time.”

He shook his head. “Time is something I don’t have. Exactly what are you suggesting? I have to find work.”

“Apple harvest has just begun...” Her gaze darted to her father. “You need help in the orchard. Right, Dad?”

Nash’s face had become unreadable, but finally he nodded. “I haven’t fully regained my stamina after being hospitalized for pneumonia last winter.”

The smile she threw her father caused Jake’s gut to clench. It was a smile Jake in no way deserved or could ever hope to receive from his own daughter.

Nash folded his arms across his chest. “Gala and Honeycrisp apples come off first. We open the farm to the public this weekend for Labor Day.”

“I don’t have many job skills suited for civilian life.” Jake ground his teeth. “But I won’t take charity.”

“No charity here.” Nash jutted his jaw. “It’s hard, honest work. We’re slammed with visitors during harvest season. The orchard is more than Callie and I can handle alone.”

She took another step in Jake’s direction. “We could use your help. Julio, Dad’s right-hand man for over a decade, recently moved east to be near his grandchildren.”

Despite his ingrained defenses, hope took slow root in his heart. “Let me make sure I understand this deal you’re offering me. I work the harvest and in exchange, I get to spend more time with Maisie?”

She bit her lip. “Please, Jake. For Maisie’s sake. And yours.”

He widened his stance. “And, after that, you’d want me to leave.”

Callie narrowed her eyes at him. “Like I said, a temporary arrangement.”

Staying would mean inevitable heartache once the harvest was over, yet how could he refuse a second chance with his daughter? He longed for nothing more than to know his child.

“How much time are we talking about here?” He raked his hand over his head. “I can’t put my buddy off forever.”

“By Thanksgiving, apple season is over, and Maisie will have gotten used to you.” Callie threw him a dazzling smile, momentarily blinding Jake. “You’ll see. Children forgive and forget far easier than grown-ups.”

Tucked into the curve of Callie’s neck, Maisie regarded him with accusatory eyes.

Oh, how he hoped Callie was right. He prayed she was right. Pray—something he should’ve done before grabbing his child.

His stomach knotted. “If you’re sure...”

“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 drive 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.