Free The Orchard at the Edge of Town by Shirlee McCoy Page A

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.
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    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.
    â€œWe have plenty more where that