Delighting Miss Daisy [Wayback Texas Series]

by Abbey MacInnis

  They halted at the bottom of the steps leading up to the oak front door. Daisy glanced up and into Sam's dark eyes that swam with kindness and understanding. Before the words were out of her mouth, she said, her voice sounding hollow and edgy, “You know, sometimes I forget what they looked like. I hate not being able to see them clearly in my mind."

  That was something she'd never shared with anyone. Why was she confiding in a man she barely knew?

  "Daisy, I'm so sorry. How did it happen?"

  "They were killed by a drunk driver one night while out Christmas shopping for us kids. I was eleven, but it just seems like yesterday instead of almost twenty years."

  "No wonder you hate me, and what I do."

  Daisy heard him, but she was lost in her memories of the past. She knew she'd misjudged Sam as she met his benevolent gaze. “I have to look at the pictures sometimes. Each time I do, I see something new that I hadn't noticed before. It frightens me. I don't want to forget them. Sometimes memories can become murky, all jumbled up until one special Christmas fades into all of the others, until everything just comes together."

  Turning on her heel and walking home with some of her pride in tact sounded more appealing than opening herself up to him. Why don't you just tell him your entire life story? You're almost at the halfway point anyway.

  "So are you going to hate yourself for the rest of your life because of it?"

  She jerked as his words surprised her out of her thoughts. “Hate myself?” she repeated softly.

  The fist in Daisy's stomach clenched as blurry images of her parents flowed like oil and water through her mind. Like a slideshow on steroids, the images moved quickly, congregating into one mass of memories that slid by too fast for Daisy to imprint them on her brain.

  "I don't hate myself.” She sighed. “I'm just in the wishing way is all. If I were granted one wish, I would wish them back with Max, Sherrie, and me. I loved them so much, and I was so young when they died.” Softer now, her voice took on a whimsical tone. “I just wish ... wish we could have had more time with them."

  "It hurts to wish when you know it won't come true, and all the fairy godmothers are all on a permanent vacation. Trust me, I've been there myself."

  Daisy grasped the wooden rail of the porch for support. Her knees felt weak. The honesty in his words hit the bull's-eye of her heart, shattering it into shards. How could he know what that hurt feels like?

  Daisy turned her face away, not wanting him to see more of her vulnerability. She reached for anger, used it as a shield. “How in the hell do you know of what this feels like? Don't even try to pretend that you have a clue."

  Appearing unruffled at her temper, he said, “I'm not pretending to be or do anything. I don't know how it feels to lose one parent, let alone both, since I never knew mine at all. I do however, know how it feels to lose someone I love and care about. My Uncle Slade might have been the biggest bastard in the world, but he was good to me when I had no one else."

  "Well, let's take a trip on the cryin’ wagon and share sob stories. I sure as hell have plenty."

  Anyone could see the anger that this woman at his side radiated. She wore that and self-pity like a shield and sword, thrusting and parrying his attempts to make peace, keeping him at a distance. Sam knew she was sorry for tearing down his flyers. She'd seemed genuine when she'd apologized. And for Sam, that was enough. He wasn't one to hold a grudge.

  Her fury was understandable, and his part at its root, regardless of how indirect it was, Sam understood, but what was with her attitude now? What had he done or said to set her off again?

  "Sorry, been down that road enough times myself, and don't really want to relive it again. It wasn't one of the smoothest rides I've taken."

  She gave a sardonic chuckle. Daisy was a woman of many moods and shades. She was definitely unpredictable. Sam had always liked unpredictability in every facet of his life. He would love seeing and exploring all of her layers and textures. Seeing the fiery passion in her eyes made his blood heat. The flecks of green at their center just before the storm erupted amused him. He wondered what they would look like when she was aroused. Would they darken, the pupils widening as he stroked her skin? Would the fire be even hotter?

  Sam knew he would enjoy seeing her passion, but he didn't want to see any more of her pain. He wanted to have a conversation with her where they at least didn't argue. He wanted to see her smile at him openly and freely, to banish the sadness from her eyes. “So, tell me, Daisy Mae, how did a woman who makes such wonderful sweet pastries get to be so cynical?"

  She sent him a level stare as she marched up the stairs. “I've had tons of practice. Both become second-nature if you work hard enough at it.” Daisy called out from over her shoulder. “And I'm not a damned race horse or a cow, so you can stop with the Daisy Mae crap."

  "Do you always take things so personally, Ms. Porter? Can't I even tease you, make you smile without you chewing my head off?"

  "Sure.” She stopped at the top of the steps, her look going dead-pan. “Don't tease me."

  Ignoring her, Sam asked. “What is your middle name anyway? I hate calling you Ms. Porter. It makes me think of me being the bad kid in school who had to stand in the corner with my nose pressed up against the wall after being scolded. You haven't given me permission to call you anything else. I hate feeling kept apart from people, kept at arms length. I'm going to be in town for a while, and since we've resolved the issue with the flyers, can't we move on? I thought ... Well, I thought we had ... But...” Sam let his words trail off.

  She stared thoughtfully at him, her gaze probing his. “You thought what?"

  "Well, that we could try to at least be civil with each other, maybe even be friends. I hoped you'd realized by now that I'm not such a bad guy after all, but if you still think me a selfish, heartless, rich prick, I understand..."

  Sam knew he was layering on the guilt, but he wanted this woman with the hot temper and compassion and love in her eyes to be pleased with him, to be proud of who he was. Sam couldn't explain why her approval meant so much to him. Maybe it was because she gave compulsively without expecting a thing in return and cared effortlessly.

  "The mess with the flyers is forgotten,” she said.

  Sam accepted her meager peace-offering for what it was, an apology, nothing more. He didn't press the subject of their friendship any further.

  The fire in her eyes appeared banked, for now. “How long have you had Down Home Delights?” Sam asked, bringing up a safe subject as he followed her up the stairs.

  "Five and a half years."

  Sam removed his key.

  "I've always loved to bake. For me, it just seemed the natural thing to do. I really didn't have much else I was good at."

  Daisy stepped aside, letting him unlock the door. Sam held it open for her. Katherine Holloway's tall willowy figure stood framed in the doorway leading to the kitchen, a flush covering her cheeks. The spicy smell of garlic, oregano, and tomato sauce teased Sam's nose as he stepped inside.

  "Ah, Katherine.” Sam sniffed appreciatively at the glorious aroma coming from the kitchen as he handed over the cake. “You're a wonder. Smells delicious. And here I thought I was getting bread and water again,” he said, placing an arm companionably about her slender shoulders. “This will be the perfect dessert."

  Katherine sent him a cool smile. “Well, Emma would kill me if I dared serve anything as trite as sandwiches and soup. I let those rolls from earlier get extra stale just for you, Sam. Figured I'd better give you something to stop you from eating me out of house and home."

  "I'm hurt, and hungry, so when do we eat, Madame Innkeeper?"

  "I've got to make the salad and pasta still, so, it'll be about a half an hour.” Katherine lifted a corner of the box then peered at Daisy, a slight frown wrinkling her brow. “A cake. Looks like chocolate."

  "It is. It's my Wild Wayback chocolate cake, Max's favorite,” Daisy added as she winked at Sam. “Sam gave me a ride
here since my car died. Thought I'd drop by to see if Max wouldn't mind giving me a hand with it later."

  "Her battery might be shot,” Sam put in.

  Right on cue, Max Porter strolled into the spacious front room, a tool belt hanging around his waist. Sam watched him eye the box, his sister, the box, and then Katherine.

  Katherine's frown deepened. “Max, your sister was kind enough to bring me this cake."

  "I see that."

  Neither Katherine nor Max appeared pleased with the gift. Max glowered as Katherine attempted an overly bright smile. Turning to Sam, she said, “You're right. It'll be perfect for dessert. I'll just take this into the kitchen. If you all will please excuse me. I'll call when dinner's ready."

  "I'll help,” Daisy offered, following close behind. As she passed Sam, she sent him a discreet thumbs-up.

  "Thanks, that would be great,” Katherine said turning back to smile at Daisy. Her smile thinned as she asked Max in brisk tones, “Did you start painting that bedroom yet?"

  Sam noticed the lazy smile Max directed her way as he drawled, his hands flopping into the pockets of his jeans, “I'm working my way there, ma'am."

  Katherine sent him a scathing glare then swung back to lead the way into the kitchen.

  Before any stray sparks hit him, Sam started to excuse himself, but Max stopped him with a hard look.

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  Chapter Six

  Sam didn't return the glance, but kept his gaze neutral. “I saw you pull up with Daisy."

  "I gave her a ride here,” Sam replied. “Her car was giving her trouble. She needs you to take a look at it. She wouldn't let me help."

  "Daisy's always been the independent, stubborn sort. Both of my sisters are. Porter women know how to handle themselves if there's trouble. Although Daisy never caught on to fixing cars. Give her any other situation, and she'll be fine. Made sure of that when I raised them."

  Sam didn't think Max just meant the mechanical kind of trouble, but the man kind as well. “I would've been glad to give her a hand, but she wanted none of it. Daisy told me of what happened to your parents. I'm sorry to hear of it. It had to be difficult for the three of you to lose them at such a young age."

  Max nodded. “Thank you. It was a long time ago. I was eighteen, Daisy was eleven, and Sherrie was nine."

  "It couldn't have been easy raising them all on your own,” Sam prodded. He remembered what it was like being eighteen with nothing but parties, booze, and girls on the brain.

  "Nope, but sometimes you've got to do things; you don't have a choice. I wasn't going to let them go into foster care. Mama and Dad raised me better than that."

  Sam could understand that too. It had been that way for him taking over the company after his uncle's death.

  Then Sam said offhandedly, “I don't think she trusts me much. I know we just met and everything, but I touched her, and I thought she would have a heart attack, nearly made her jump out of her boots. I wish she'd realize I'd never hurt her. I've never hurt a woman in my life."

  Sam thought he saw some of the wariness in Max's gaze disappear, but the dark look still shone through. He'd kick any guy's ass who screwed around with his little sisters. Sam could tell that the first time he'd seen the tall, intense cowboy. And it all made sense now that he'd met Daisy. Some things, some people, were worth protecting. If he didn't botch things up with Daisy, Sam could see himself and Max being friends.

  Sam followed Max up the wide staircase. “That's good to know. I'd have to kill you if you broke her heart. I've had to break a few noses and ribs already. Don't mind doing it. My sisters are too sweet."

  He thought of Daisy's not-so-sweet plan to bring Max and Katherine together as he stood outside his door and watched Max drag a ladder to the room across the hall. “Point well taken,” he said, with genuine respect for the other man. “I'm hoping that won't happen. I'll do my best to stay on her good side, and yours."

  "You're not doing so bad. What's the problem you're having with Daisy?"

  "I've known her for about a week and all I've managed to do is piss her off by posting my flyers all over town. Normally, I wouldn't feel the need to apologize for just doing business, but we didn't exactly meet under the best circumstances. I'd like to start over again. Know how I might do that?"

  A slow smile spread over Max's face before he climbed up the ladder, roller in hand as he attacked the ceiling. “Well, let's see, now. She loves to dance, and try her hand at karaoke. Although she isn't Martina McBride, she has fun."

  "Where around here offers dancing and karaoke?"

  Max turned around and stared down from the top of the ladder, a sly smile on his face as he said, “If you're looking to take my sister out on a date where she'll be comfortable, the Blue Bug Saloon will do nicely. But if you want to shake her up a bit, and if you're paying-which you'd better be, mind you—then take her out somewhere nice and fancy.” So Daisy wasn't the only scheming member of her family. Max's expression grew serious again as he extended the roller. “You mind?"

  Sam took it, dipped it into the paint then handed it back.

  Max continued. “Daisy works real hard at Down Home Delights. She deserves a break. Never see her all dressed up anymore."

  "Wait, let me get this straight,” Sam interrupted. “First you warn me off and threaten me with physical violence, and the next thing I know, you're encouraging me to take her out?” He paused. “We clear on that? I don't want there to be any miscommunication between you and I. I'm gonna make her mad, but I won't hurt her, at least not intentionally. I see someone else already has, and badly from how she zipped up on me earlier."

  Max stepped down and set the roller aside. Glowering at the point on the wall behind Sam's head, he said, “Yes, and if I ever get my hands on that little bastard again, I'll kill him. You and I have been able to talk a few times since you've been here. I'm not gonna stand in your way, but my warning still stands. Daisy hasn't made the best choices where men are concerned, and if I learn that you're like the others, I'll drag you out of Wayback on your ass myself."

  "Like the others, how? I don't want you coming after me just because I piss her off. Your sister has one heck of a temper."

  Sam saw Max struggle for the right words. “Daisy needs someone strong to challenge her, but she doesn't need to be broken. A man's already done that once. It's not my place to tell you what happened. Give her time, and don't push. That's all I'll say about it."

  Sam nodded.

  "Don't think she'd be too pleased if she knew we were having this conversation,” Max continued, “but she is reasonable, and forgives pretty easily."

  "I learned that firsthand. I think she feels bad about ruining my flyers. I don't want her to, though. That's where the idea for a date comes in. You think I might be scaring her if I make it official?"

  Max exchanged the roller for a brush, and filled in a spot on the far wall. “You might just a little. Daisy gets a little skittish when men pay her too much attention."

  "You mentioned the Blue Bug Saloon. You have any particular time in mind?"

  "Well, if you're looking for casual, and you want to take your time with things, take her to the Blue Bug tomorrow night. Women drink for free, and a lot of her girlfriends will be there. She usually goes there herself after work."

  "So I'll just spin on by and say hello, and buy her a drink, even if hers are free. I might just get a dance or two out of it."

  "Now you're talking."

  * * * *

  Katherine charged into the kitchen. “That damn man,” she fumed, sending pots and pans clattering.

  "Who, Max?” Daisy asked, turning away so that Katherine wouldn't see her self-satisfied grin.

  Maybe I didn't have to bring the cake after all. Katherine selected a pot and filled it with water, then slammed it onto the stove.

  "Not my sweet, charming older brother."

  Salt showered down into the pot. “He's so damned arrogant. How do you put up with
him? Thinks he's going to tell me how to do my job."

  Daisy went to Katherine's side at the long butcher-block counter as Katherine plunked down a head of lettuce followed by a stalk of celery. She removed a knife from a block and with more vigor than the crusty loaf of Italian bread needed, started cutting slices.

  "That's his head you've just severed, isn't it.” Daisy teased, reaching up into a cupboard for a large bowl.

  Katherine paused momentarily in her cutting. “I'm sorry, Daisy.” She started again, but with less anger.

  Daisy washed and cut the lettuce. “From the way you talked earlier at the bakery, I thought you'd hit it off real well."

  Katherine seasoned the bread then set it under the broiler. “I wouldn't exactly say we hit it off. He's had a problem with me since I arrived last week."

  "So you want me to straighten him out?” Daisy sliced the celery. “I told you I would, gladly."

  "No, I'll handle him,” Katherine replied, adding a tomato to the bowl. “He just thinks he knows what's best for this place.” A carrot and cucumber fell prey to her furious chopping. “He strides in here trying to tell me how I'm scaring the customers away."

  Daisy cut some onion. “What? Scare the customers? How?"

  "He says that if I was more approachable and outgoing they'd stick around longer."

  "You seem pretty approachable to me,” Daisy commented. She poured croutons into a separate bowl as Katherine dumped pasta into the boiling water.

  Katherine stirred the sauce. “I'm a professional. It's not my job to mingle with the guests. They've come here for a vacation, not to be bothered by an over-exuberant hostess."

  "So what does he suggest you do?"

  Katherine removed the golden-brown bread from the broiler and arranged it on a platter. “Says I need to pour on the charm and not be so cold."

  So that's where all that business about being cold and aloof came from. “I know you don't want me to talk to him,” Daisy said, stirring the pasta, “but I don't know what his problem is. You're doing a wonderful job with this place. Like I said earlier, don't let him get to you.” Changing the subject, she asked, “Did your aunt like the pie?"