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