Rebecca kicked him again.
“So she’s five, then? We wondered,” Daisy murmured.
“Didn’t you ask her?” Dr. Davis said haughtily as he placed his stethoscope to the sturdy little back, now that Daisy held Becca securely.
“She hasn’t spoken since the accident,” Daisy said, tucking the child’s head protectively under her chin. “Surely you’ve read her chart.”
He waved a hand. “I checked her thoroughly before school started. She was doing fine.” He deftly took her pulse. “Rebecca seems robust enough, despite her experience. It isn’t as if she was kidnapped by strangers. She’ll snap out of this as soon as Temple gets her home into familiar surroundings.” He stepped away and removed the stethoscope from around his neck.
“Are you certain of that, Glendon?” Wyatt slipped into the circle of light. He was beginning to be unsure of anything where Rebecca was concerned.
Daisy heard the worry in his deep voice, and his stock went up a notch with her. Perhaps he did love Becca. She rocked the whimpering child. Maybe things would work out, after all.
Dr. Rankin and Becca’s psychiatrist burst into the room just as Dr. Davis clapped Wyatt on the back. “As usual, Miranda has spoiled Rebecca rotten. You know what I’ve said about you two trying to outdo the other. Bright kids learn to manipulate early. Rebecca’s just in one of her sulks.”
“You think?” Temple’s voice still held shreds of doubt.
“Bank on it,” Davis said, slicking his neat hair back with a palm. “We’re dealing with the Royal Princess Syndrome.”
“We’re dealing with latent shock,” Dr. Rankin said stoutly from across the room.
The visitor turned and gave the local doctor a condescending look that Daisy didn’t like at all. He shrugged lightly and said with a polished smile, “Well, Temple, it seems we’re of two opinions here. Believe whom you will. Of course, I’ve been Rebecca’s physician since she was born.”
Daisy felt that sinker in her stomach again as the team’s psychiatrist broke in and cautioned Temple against removing Becca from Daisy’s care.
The sinker grew heavier as Wyatt studied her with those awesome blue eyes for a moment without blinking, then said, “I appreciate your interest, gentlemen, but I’m inclined to go with Glendon’s recommendation. How soon can you have Rebecca ready to leave?”
Daisy’s knees gave way. She sat down abruptly in the old rocker. Imperceptibly her arms tightened around the girl. It was wrong of them to take her. Temple Wyatt was making a big mistake. She knew it in her heart.
In some cases, the court advocates for children. The resident’s words echoed in Daisy’s head.
Maybe they did things differently in California, but Daisy Sloan had been born on Galveston Island and islanders stuck together. Since it was her fault Temple Wyatt had found them, perhaps it was up to her to set things right.
Beyond her dark thoughts, she heard Wyatt announce he’d give them three days to prepare for Becca’s discharge. “I need to speak with the police about Miranda,” he said. “And we’ll have to notify her parents. They aren’t well. I can’t leave them to deal with this alone. Besides, I’d like to be sure that everything possible has been done to locate the… the wreckage.”
Daisy ignored the tremor in his voice. She, who rarely stuck her nose in other people’s business, had just made up her mind. Tomorrow she intended to see a judge about protecting this defenseless child.
CHAPTER THREE
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING while Becca slept, Daisy slipped from the hospital, armed with a host of carefully worded depositions from Becca’s medical team. By eightthirty, the deed was done. She’d lodged a petition to stop Temple Wyatt from taking his daughter; if she won, she’d be looking after Daisy.
By nine, the island was abuzz with the juiciest scandal since the 1957 raid on the Maseo brother’s slot machines. Always champions of their own, the islanders had had the last laugh back then, too. Old men still sat on park benches and chuckled about the hundreds of fruityeyed slot machines a greenhorn government agent had hauled out and dumped in the bay to impress a Life magazine reporter. Or, rather, they boasted about the stir it caused when the machines bobbed back to haunt him, floating down the causeway on the evening tide.
The islanders loved scandals they could sink their teeth into. Daisy’s battle with the upstart city fella hit the rumor mill with the speed of a Coast Guard cutter and beat her back to the hospital where she continued to camp out at Becca’s bedside.
Daisy never ceased to be amazed by how quickly gossip spread. She had to admit it kept her on the straight and narrow—which certainly wasn’t for lack of Daniel Coletti’s trying to talk her into bed. Daisy would be darned if she’d let her love life be bandied about the next morning over breakfast in all the Island homes.
Why such a thought would pop up now, Daisy couldn’t say. Maybe it had to do with the questions they’d asked at the courthouse about Becca. Questions that made Daisy reflect on her singlehood, and her desire for marriage and children in that order.
Islanders tended to assume she’d give in and marry Daniel one day. She enjoyed Daniel’s friendship, but he wasn’t the man with whom she wanted to spend her life. She couldn’t help thinking that when the right man came along, a little thing like gossip wouldn’t keep her from his bed. Making love with the right person would be beautiful and spontaneous, she was sure of it.
There she went, off on a tangent again. Sighing, Daisy tried again to interest Becca in lukewarm cereal and watery apple juice.
The child dawdled, and Daisy’s mind returned to its wandering. The truth was, Daniel didn’t set off any bells and whistles when he kissed her. But maybe, as her sisters said, that was silly. But she—Daisy was startled out of her musings when the door to Becca’s room crashed open.
The girl scrambled into Daisy’s lap and began screaming. For the second time in as many days, Daisy found herself wearing food down her front in the presence of Temple Wyatt.
His glacial gaze skipped over the mess. “What in hell is the meaning of this?” he shouted over his daughter’s screams. Still not believing the woman’s audacity, Temple shook some papers under her nose. The summons he’d been delivered.
The racket brought a nurse on the run. “Do you need help?” she asked Daisy.
“I don’t think so.” Daisy stood, though not without some difficulty, considering that Becca was clinging to her neck. “I should have foreseen this visit,” she said, calmly retreating to her usual spot beside the window, Becca’s screams now only whimpers. She’d known, of course, that he’d be furious.
“I’m sorry for upsetting Rebecca.” Temple got a grip on his fury. “My dispute is with you, Miss Sloan.” He crushed the paper in a large fist. “Is this some kind of joke?”
Daisy hauled in a deep breath and ignored the pain that darkened his clear blue eyes. This wasn’t the time to waffle. She’d set her course last night. “Take a good look at your daughter,” she said, facing Wyatt. “The sight of you terrifies her. I filed that petition, hoping to buy her some time to get well.”
His stormy gaze settled on his child. It softened a little, giving Daisy hope for a rational outcome. Then his eyes hardened, and she knew there’d be no compromising with Becca’s father.
“Lady, you’re crazy. Last night I actually thought about forking over the reward to you. Now you’ll play hell collecting one red cent.”
Fury ripped through Daisy. “I said I don’t want your money.” Her voice rose. “I think you’ve lost sight of what’s best for Becca. For your information, Mr. Wyatt, not everyone has a price.”
“We’ll soon find out, Miss Sloan. In court.” He stalked out and slammed the door so hard the overhead fan swayed.
Daisy winced. She hugged Becca tight, uncaring that the wet cereal seeped through to her skin. What if she wasn’t doing the right thing? What did she know about what was best for shock victims? More to the point, what did anyone know? Dr. Rankin had as much as sai
d that Becca’s team was shooting in the dark.
All at once the small body snuggled against Daisy, and she had her answer. For the moment, at least, she was the best shot this kid had. “Yes,” she muttered, bending to pick up the tray. “I will see you in court, Mr. Wyatt.”
However, Daisy could have used more time to gather her courage. Within the hour her summons came—for the next afternoon at five. An enclosed note said it was to be an informal hearing in Judge Forrester’s chambers. Daisy latched onto the word “informal.” It made the prospect of facing Wyatt less daunting.
Unfortunately she barely slept that night, tossing and turning on the cot in Becca’s room. The time of the hearing couldn’t be worse. The child was always restless in the late afternoon. Yet there was no question of leaving her at the hospital. Her fixation with Daisy was the whole point of the hearing.
All day she worried and fretted about the fact that no one had seen or heard from Becca’s father since he’d stormed out yesterday. Where was he? Plotting against her, no doubt, she thought, stifling approximately her thirty-thousandth yawn.
Later, on the ride to town, Daisy voiced those same concerns to Dr. Rankin, who, thank goodness, had elected to accompany her.
“According to the grapevine,” he said, “Wyatt’s been closeted with his attorneys, who flew in late yesterday on a private jet.”
Daisy absently combed her fingers through Becca’s clean bright curls. “Attorneys? As in, more than one?”
“Two for sure. Maybe more.”
Now Daisy wished she’d worn a skirt, instead of going on the assumption that informal meant clean jeans. Wyatt would be sure to disapprove of jeans.
Soon she had more to concern her than blue jeans. Daisy was forced to listen as a court clerk read, in a nasal twang, documents proclaiming that the case brought by the state of Texas versus Temple Wyatt concerned the health of a minor—and had been initiated by one Daisy Sloan.
She felt like an ax murderer. Wyatt’s two lawyers skimmed her attire and dismissed her with a glance. They each wore three-piece pinstripe suits.
Only Temple Wyatt looked worried. But didn’t he look glorious in his powder blue suede sports coat and knifecreased pearl-gray slacks? Daisy knew she wouldn’t look that put-together no matter what. She’d always dressed casually, unlike her sisters, whose color-coordinated clothing was never less than elegant.
When the clerk finished reading, she took a seat behind a transcribing machine, and Daisy began to sweat.
Judge Forrester began proceedings by asking Wyatt why he thought he should be allowed to go against medical edict to take Becca back to California. Except that the judge looked over the top of his Ben Franklin glasses and referred to the girl as Rebecca Maria Wyatt.
Daisy wondered if anyone besides her noticed that Becca didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash on hearing her full name. Wasn’t that significant?
If so, no one mentioned it. Instead, one of Wyatt’s attorneys stood and said he’d speak for his client.
Daisy was surprised Wyatt didn’t do that for himself, since he was so adept at expressing his displeasure. Nevertheless, his lawyer—the more senior one with the weasel eyes—read a three-page dissertation on Temple Wyatt’s attributes.
Daisy was impressed. Then she squirmed. Did they have to keep looking at her like she was some… some lowlife? How could she possibly compare favorably with a multimillionaire jet-setting hotel mogul?
The answer was she couldn’t.
Daisy was relieved when the state’s attorney said he’d be presenting her rebuttal. She could have hugged him. Thing was, she didn’t think it boded well that he tore one sheet of paper off his pad to the other lawyer’s three.
Of course, he was young. Wouldn’t those expensive California lawyers just know he was free, she thought miserably as he ran a nervous finger beneath his worn shirt collar.
She’d almost convinced herself he’d do just fine when he cleared his throat and announced in a loud voice, “Daisy Sloan is BOI.” Then, smiling ear to ear like the Cheshire cat, he sat down. Daisy’s jaw went slack.
Temple Wyatt jumped up. He impaled the youngster with those fathomless blue eyes. “What in hell does that mean?”
His lawyers, too, demanded clarification.
Daisy wished she could sink through the floor.
The judge banged his gavel and sent Becca tunneling into Daisy’s neck. Scowling, Judge Forrester barked, “It means Daisy Sloan was born on the Island. In case you didn’t know, we spell island with a capital I. Recommendations don’t come any higher than BOI in my court. Now, shall we get on with this? I don’t have all day.” Bang went the gavel again.
Temple motioned for his lawyers to huddle. The way all three gestured made Daisy’s heart gallop. She wasn’t surprised when their attack turned personal.
“Fact is, Judge,” the younger attorney said smugly, “if Miss Sloan takes Rebecca, it means she can’t go out and fish. That leaves her with no viable means of support.”
“I don’t fish, I shrimp,” Daisy interjected even as Forrester looked to her for an answer. “And I do have other means of support. I have a boarder—a medical student. Normally I have two, and no doubt will again next semester,” she rushed to say, knowing full well that rent from one boarder didn’t cover her expenses.
It seemed they knew, too. Weasel Eyes read what amounted to a very black look at Daisy’s total financial picture. More like a red look. Without shrimping, her outgo was definitely more than her income. Be that as it may, she didn’t want the world to know the state of her finances. Embarrassed, she studied her sneakers.
The judge merely rapped his mallet harder and said he took exception to the men’s tactics. “Miss Sloan isn’t starving. She owns a piece of prime Island property. Confine yourselves to valid objections, please.” He paused, then added, “In any event, I’m sure a man of Mr. Wyatt’s… stature would want to make financial provisions for his daughter’s care.”
“No!” Daisy objected loudly. “That’s not necessary.”
Dark looks and more heated discussion between Temple and his henchmen. After a few moments, Weasel Eyes got to his feet. “Outside of the fact that my client has already been separated from his daughter far too long, Temple has a very real concern for Rebecca’s personal safety. Can Miss Sloan guarantee that you won’t have a devastating hurricane if the child remains in her care?”
Daisy shifted Becca to her other hip. Her laughter exploded; she couldn’t help it. “You’re kidding! Last week I read that San Francisco hired a special team of seismologists to do nothing but sit around and watch the San Andreas fault. You guys live in a city waiting for the next earthquake—the big one—and you’re worried about a little hurricane? Give me a break.”
“Good point.” The judge smacked his gavel. “Next issue.”
Weasel Eyes placed his palms flat on the table. He loomed over Daisy. “It’s news to us that you can read anything beyond the Sunday comics, Miss Sloan. Why don’t you give up this charade and spell out exactly what it is you want from my client?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I said—I don’t want anything except for Becca to get well.” She dropped a kiss on Becca’s nose. “What I’ve proposed is a short-term arrangement. Until she comes out of shock. Goodness, I’m not asking for anything permanent.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she lifted a hand to brush them away.
As though feeling Daisy’s sudden tension, Becca started a low keening wail.
Temple’s other attorney rose. “How very touching. You should do Hollywood, Miss Sloan. You’ve missed your calling.”
“Or maybe not.” Weasel Eyes leaned forward and snapped his fingers. “Picture this. A yacht supposedly disintegrates, yet no wreckage is ever found. It’s a B script if ever I heard one, Temple. This wouldn’t be the first off-the-wall scheme Miranda cooked up to get you to fork over higher alimony. Could be she hired the Sloan cookie to fleece you good this time.”
“Now just a darn mi
nute!” Daisy endeavored to stand, but Becca only wailed louder. She did manage to look Temple in the eye, however. “I am not an actress. And if you want to be sued for slander, let that man call me a cookie again.”
Judge Forrester pounded his gavel. Everyone except Temple and Daisy gave him their undivided attention. Those two continued to glare at each other—until Wyatt frowned, rubbed his jaw and made a second long slow inspection of his opponent.
Daisy bet he didn’t miss so much as a freckle on that leisurely perusal of her body. Her skin prickled uncomfortably, before his gaze shifted to Becca and softened visibly. Daisy suddenly felt weak. She did her best to concentrate on what Wyatt’s lawyer was saying—about how he was a pillar of the community and how a virtual stranger stood between him and his duty as a father.
Daisy thought about that as she gently removed Becca’s thumb from her cupid’s-bow mouth. Daisy didn’t feel like a stranger to this child. But to be fair, she tried placing herself in Wyatt’s shoes. That was when she noticed the pain in his eyes—a dark despairing kind of pain.
Lord, what have I done? She’d never intended to hurt anyone. Daisy opened her mouth to say as much, to withdraw her petition and let him take Becca home if that was what he wanted. But before she could, Wyatt stood and began gathering his papers.
All eyes shifted. Talk stopped. His attorneys seemed perplexed. “What are you doing?” one hissed. “We’re not even close to a settlement.”
“It is settled,” Temple stated, pausing to slant another troubled look at Daisy. “We’ve all overlooked one thing. Whatever anyone else might be, Rebecca is definitely no actress. See how she clings to Miss Sloan? As if her life depends on it. I want my daughter fully recovered, gentlemen, whatever it takes.”
Daisy almost wept at the anguish on his face. She knew then how much Temple Wyatt loved his child. Enough to step aside. A lump rose in her throat, and she couldn’t have spoken to save her soul.
Fortunately Dr. Rankin jumped to his feet and shook Temple’s hand. “You’ve made the right decision, son. All along we’ve assumed that if she had a little stability with someone she trusts, Becca, er, Rebecca may snap out of this. It might speed the process if you could supply Daisy with a few of your daughter’s favorite toys.”
The Water Baby Page 4