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      Her mother had kept Maisie’s existence from him, a fact that opened a hollow place in his heart. He’d missed the first two and a half years of her life.

      But when Tiffany died—too young—of breast cancer, her best friend, Callie Jackson, had notified him that he had a daughter. He had been on a mission in a remote region of Afghanistan, so it had taken the army a while to get ahold of him.

      Gripping the wheel, he veered at the fork. He owed Callie big-time. Not only had she cared for his ex-wife during her illness, she’d also practically raised his daughter by herself in the last few months since Tiff’s death.

      He let out a breath, uncurling one hand. Flexing his fingers, he released his death grip on the steering wheel. Trying to relax. Trying to breathe.

      Even now, he could hardly believe he had a daughter. The thought filled him with both elation and fear. Fear that he’d fail Maisie as he’d failed her mother. But also joy for his precious daughter and the new beginning he was determined to make for them.

      A brand-new, wonderful life with his child.

      The towering peaks of the tree-studded Blue Ridge flashed by on either side of his truck. Descending into the valley, he emerged into slightly gentler terrain. The rolled hay bales of late summer dotted grassy meadows. Horses grazed in the pastures, and there was row after row of orchards. Callie had said the area was known for its apples.

      Per her directions, he skirted the town and its welcome marker proclaiming Truelove, North Carolina—Where True Love Awaits. But after his failed marriage—once burned, twice shy—the only true love he was interested in was the love of the daughter he had yet to meet.

      A couple of miles later he spotted the turnoff. Apple Valley Farm, a weathered sign read. He pulled off the main highway through the crossbars. Bypassing a rustic country store, he continued on the long gravel-covered road. The apple trees lining the driveway were heavy with ripening fruit. Queen Anne’s lace and purple wildflowers studded 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. СКАЧАТЬ