LITMIR.BIZ

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a nearby meadow.

      Overlooking the orchard, the tin roof of the two-story white farmhouse set high on a knoll gleamed in the afternoon sun and caused his breath to hitch. River stones lined the solid foundation and chimney. And at the heart of this home, a red-painted door bade a welcome to all.

      He braked on the incline, and dust swirled. An unfamiliar sensation burned in his chest. He’d never had a real home, certainly not one he was proud of. But if he’d ever imagined—dreamed—what home would look like, it might have resembled the Jackson farm.

      Jake’s stomach twisted. More than ever, he was glad Maisie had spent the first two years of her life here. One thing Tiffany had done right—coming to the orchard during her illness and then after her death leaving their daughter with the very capable Callie Jackson.

      Today he’d meet his daughter for the first time. But suppose Maisie didn’t like him? Suppose—

       Stop stalling, McAbee.

      He took a deep breath, easing his foot off the brake. He parked beside a blue Chevy sedan, a pink car seat strapped into the back seat. Thrusting open the truck door, he stepped out, his work boots crunching on the pebbled stone.

      A slim woman in a lavender shirt came out of the house onto the broad-planked porch. A year or two younger than his own twenty-eight years, she was tallish even in flats, perhaps five foot seven or so to his six-foot height. Masses of long auburn hair waved across her shoulders and framed her heart-shaped face.

      He recognized her from the photo in which she’d held his daughter. For the first time, he wondered who’d taken the picture. She’d never mentioned a husband. And before he could stop himself, his eyes darted to her left hand, clenched against her crisp jeans. Was she as nervous as he was?

      Jake shut the dinging truck door with a soft click. He didn’t move. Neither did Callie. But he waited for her to invite him over, as she’d invited him to come to Truelove and meet his daughter. Upon learning of his daughter’s existence and finishing his enlistment, he’d chosen not to re-up and had flown stateside.

      “Hi, Jake.” At the thready note in her voice, Callie cleared her throat. “Welcome to Apple Valley Farm.”

      Jake halted at the base of the steps. “Hi, Callie. And thank you.” His turn to swallow. “For everything.”

      She knotted her hands together. Her lovely brown eyes were red rimmed. She’d been crying.

      His heart banged against his rib cage. She’d been crying because of him. Because he’d come to claim his daughter, to take Maisie away forever.

      “I’m sorry,” she whispered, swiping a finger under her eye. “I’ve been trying not to let Maisie see me like this. It’s just so...” She bit her lip.

      “None of this is your fault, Callie.”

      She raised her tear-filled gaze to his, and his heart thudded. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like Jake to get emotional.

      He’d learned the hard way—and early—never to get too attached. He must be tired. It had been a long drive from Fort Bragg to the mountains.

      She unknotted her hands, smoothing her shirt. “It’s not your fault, either, Jake.”

      He wasn’t sure that was entirely true. He’d spent years going over every detail of his short-lived union with Tiffany, but he’d never figured out what caused her to walk away from their marriage.

      Jake grimaced. “Tiffany should’ve never put you in this position. Maisie should’ve never been your responsibility.”

      “Maisie has never been a burden.” Callie lifted her chin. “She’s the joy of my life.”

      The front door creaked. An older man in his late fifties poked his head around the frame. “Maisie’s wondering where you are, honey.” He had the classic kind of blond attractiveness that aged well.

      Callie took a shuddery breath. “Jake, this is my father, Nash.” She gestured. “Dad, meet Jake McAbee, Maisie’s father.”

      Nash’s dark eyes took on a steely glint. “Takes more than biology to be a dad.”

      Callie gasped. “Daddy.”

      It was something Jake had learned firsthand from his own deadbeat dad.

      “Your father’s right.” He met Nash Jackson’s gaze head-on. “I didn’t know about Maisie before. But now...” He inhaled. “Now I intend to be not just her father, but her dad, too.”

      Callie motioned. “Come inside, Jake.”

      He followed her across the veranda. Boxes were stacked on the porch. A child-size suitcase. And what appeared to be a deconstructed crib.

      In the distance, he spied the smoky haze of the Blue Ridge vista. The wraparound porch allowed for incredible three-sixty views from every vantage point. Sunsets must be spectacular.

      She shouldered past her dad in the doorway. For a second he wondered if Nash would let him through, but her father stepped aside.

      “I’ll be out here.” Nash shoved off. “Loading Maisie’s things. Including the car seat.” He wasn’t talking to Callie. He was warning Jake.

      Behind the anger was also fear and hurt. Nash Jackson loved Maisie. It was Nash who’d given Jake’s child a safe, stable home.

      For that, Jake was grateful. And he was sorry for the pain his coming would bring the Jacksons, who’d done nothing but love his child.

      Stepping across the threshold, Jake found himself in a small foyer. Rooms bookended either side of the hall. Rigid with tension, Callie waited for him at the bottom of the staircase.

      “Cawee!” a little girl called from the back of the house.

      His heart went into overdrive. “Is that—” A lump formed in his throat.

      Callie tilted her head. “I told her she was going to meet her daddy today.”

      He had a hard time catching his breath.

      Callie motioned him down the hallway. “She’s playing in the family room.”

      The family room ran the length of the house. Windows lined the wall, spilling sunshine into the adjoining kitchen. And judging from the toys littering the pinewood floors, the room also served as a child’s playroom. But despite a quick scan, he failed to spot his daughter.

      A teasing look on her pretty features, Callie propped her hands on her hips. “Where, oh, where is Maisie Nicole McAbee?” she called in a singsong voice. “Where, oh, where can she be?”

      “Me here, Cawee.”

      A childish giggle erupted from behind the leather recliner, and a small child—all blond, bouncing curls—burst forth, her arms capturing Callie around the knees. His heart leaped in his chest.

      Callie kissed the top of the child’s—his child’s—head. “Someone’s here to see you, baby girl. Don’t be shy. Your daddy’s come a long way to meet you.”

      Slowly, the little girl raised her head. The photograph Callie sent hadn’t begun to capture the true essence of his daughter. With her finger stuck in the corner of her rosebud mouth, she contemplated her father with eyes so blue he feared he might drown in their azure depths.

      And, perhaps for the first time in his life, Jake McAbee truly fell hopelessly—helplessly—in love.

      * * *

      Callie watched the play of emotion across the ruggedly handsome soldier’s face. Was Jake McAbee a man who could be trusted with the well-being of the child she loved more than life itself?

      Maisie leaned against Callie while taking measure of her soldier father. Pain knifed through Callie’s heart. How could she bear to never see Maisie again? To not watch her grow up? To not be a part of her life?

      But

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