His Secret Daughter. Lisa Carter
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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