Chasing the Sun

by Kaki Warner

  He took a little longer than he needed to, going over in his head what he wanted to say to her. Like his brothers, Daisy had apparently underestimated him. But having had the long ride from the ranch to think it over, Jack couldn’t say he blamed them. He hadn’t been the most committed fellow. But then, he hadn’t had anything worth committing to.

  Until now.

  Daisy had a feast waiting when he returned to the kitchen. Moving past the bench, he took a chair at the end of the table, all but smacking his lips as he watched her load a plate with beefsteak, collards with bacon, potatoes, carrots, green beans, and thick slices of black bread. As she set it before him, he picked up his fork, then saw that she hadn’t served herself, and set it back down. Resting his hands beside his plate, he tried to be patient and ignore the growling of his stomach.

  “How did you know where to find us?” Daisy asked, going back to the stove.

  “Brady.”

  “Typical.” She lifted a clay mug from a peg, filled it with coffee, and carried it to the table. “Did you read my letter?” she asked, setting it beside his plate.

  “I did.”

  “So you know why I had to leave.”

  “I know why you thought you had to leave.”

  “But you came after us anyway.”

  “Did you doubt I would?”

  “I wasn’t sure.” With a sigh, she sat on the bench at his right and folded her arms on top of the table. “I should have told you, rather than leave it in a letter.”

  “You should have. Could have saved us both the trip. You’re not eating?” he asked when he saw she wasn’t filling a plate for herself.

  She explained she’d just finished lunch a while back and for him to go ahead and eat while she talked.

  Which he did. Most of the time, he listened too.

  It didn’t much matter what Daisy said. He’d read her letter and knew what was in her mind. Again like Brady, she’d made some assumptions about him that had no basis. Did she really think the wandering life would appeal to him more than being with her and Kate? And “fondly”? What man wanted to be remembered “fondly” by the woman he intended to take as a wife? Hell.

  But he’d let her say her piece. Then he’d tell her she was wrong, and explain how it was going to be, and then they could escape this ghost town and get on with their lives. So while she talked, and he ate and mostly listened, he studied her across the table.

  She was looking especially pretty today. The sun had put gold in her light brown hair and with all their walks, her skin had lost that San Francisco pallor and had taken on a rosy blush. She was a fine-looking woman. And all his.

  His gaze drifted over her as warm memories filled his mind.

  He liked that yellow dress. It brought out the yellow-green in her hazel eyes and it fitted her much better than the dresses she usually wore. In fact, the soft cotton of her shirt molded around those round, perfect breasts like ... well, his hand. He smiled, thinking about how she squirmed under his fingers when he—

  “Stop staring at my breasts,” she said with a note of exasperation in her voice.

  Yet when he looked up, he saw laughter in her eyes. He grinned. “But they’re so noticeable.”

  “They’re just breasts.”

  “Perfect breasts,” he amended. “So round and soft and ... happy.”

  “Happy?” She laughed. “Breasts don’t have feelings.”

  “Sure they do. Come over here and I’ll show you.”

  “Honestly.” She sent him that smirky smile he loved. Then waving all that aside, her expression sobered. “So you agree?”

  “With what?”

  “Jack!” She slapped her hand on the table. “Haven’t you heard a word I said?”

  Caught off guard, he tried to remember what she had been talking about before her breasts demanded his attention. Something about singing. And not caging him. And doing what was best for Kate. Whatever. She could offer all the excuses in the world, but there was only one truth that signified.

  Downing his last bite, he pushed aside his empty plate and slouched back, his left elbow hooked over the top slat of the wooden chair, his right hand gripping his coffee mug. He smiled friendly-like. “You said your piece?”

  She nodded.

  “Then I’ll say mine.” He decided to get the inconsequential matters out of the way first. “I had the sheriff check on that poster Ashford brought.”

  A stricken look came over her face.

  “Sheriff Foley found out some drunk lady shot Johnson then fell down the stairs and broke her neck. Case closed. So you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

  Oddly, she didn’t show the relief he’d expected. Instead, she turned to look toward the window and said in a flat, emotionless voice, “Johnson was going to steal Kate.”

  For a moment Jack just looked at her, wondering if he’d heard right. “Steal Kate? Why?”

  “To sell her to a brothel.”

  Katie? His Katie? In a whorehouse? Disbelief exploded in rage that boiled up inside him, and kept boiling until his chest and throat and head felt like they were on fire. A sharp cracking sound, and he looked down to see the broken mug in his hand and coffee spreading across the tabletop. “Goddamn.”

  He watched in silence as Daisy wiped up the mess, a part of him amazed at how removed he felt, as if he were watching the whole thing through a glass window and the terrible images Daisy’s words had conjured had no meaning for him at all.

  Daisy’s hand cupped his cheek. “Jack. Jack!”

  And suddenly that window shattered and all that fury and terror flooded back in. He slammed his fist on the table and started up out of his chair. “That sonofabitch! I’ll kill him!”

  Daisy put a hand on his arm to stop him. “I already did.”

  He froze, not sure he’d heard right. “You what?”

  “Edna Tidwell didn’t kill Johnson. I did.”

  His legs seemed to give way. He fell back to the seat. “Christ, Daisy. How? What happened?”

  “Remember that little double derringer you won in a card game and gave to me?”

  Jack nodded.

  “I shot him with that. Once in the belly and once in the mouth.” He saw a shudder run through her despite the defiant set of her jaw and the flash of anger and pain in her eyes. “And I’m not sorry for it.”

  “Sweet Jesus.” Elbows braced on the table, Jack clasped both hands to his temples as if that might slow the thoughts swirling in his mind. His gentle Daisy a killer? Forced to shoot a man to protect their daughter? Sweet Jesus. Another thing Jack would carry on his conscience. How many times and ways had he failed this woman? “I should have been there to protect you, Daisy. I should have been the one to kill him. I’m sorry.”

  Her hand stroked the hair at the crown of his head. “I’m sorry too.”

  He had a lot to make up for. And a lot more apologies to make. Straightening in the chair, he took her hand in his and tried to find the words. “And I’m sorry I left you, Daisy. I made a terrible mistake. And not just because I wasn’t there to protect you and Kate. I was drunk and confused and stupid. I wasn’t ready for what you offered. Or for you. But I’m ready now.” He looked directly into her beautiful eyes to show her the truth of his words. “I promise from now on I’ll always be there to protect you. I’m not going anywhere without you and Kate. And you’re not going anywhere without me. We belong together, the three of us. You need to understand that.”

  Her chin wobbled on a tremulous smile. “I agree.”

  He blinked. “You do?” That’s it? No argument? No demands? He felt like he was on goddamn teeter-totter.

  “You’re too important to Kate—to both of us, Jack. We need you in our lives. I realize that now.” She pulled out of his grip and sat back, her eyes going wet again. “I’ve been so selfish. Thinking only of myself and my own ambitions. What kind of life would that have been for Kate—stuck backstage, practically being raised by a nanny? No, we’re a family and fami
lies should stay together.” She smiled—a bit weakly, he thought. “So it’s settled. When do we leave?”

  “Leave?”

  “When do we go home?”

  And finally he understood. He wanted to shake her. It was an effort to keep his voice even. “And where is home, Daisy? San Francisco? Rome? Here?”

  She frowned. “It’s with you, Jack.”

  “Exactly.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss, then rose. “We’ll leave tomorrow. Assuming Hank’s contraption is ready and can get us up to the transcontinental line.”

  “The transcontinental line? Why would we go there?”

  “So we can get you to Rome for the singing thing.”

  She studied him for a moment, her expression both confused and hopeful. “But, Jack, you know you’ll hate that, being penned down and—”

  “Don’t!” Bending down, he planted his palms on the tabletop. “Don’t tell me what I’ll hate and what I won’t, Daisy. And don’t make my decisions for me. I get enough of that from Brady.” He straightened. “You’re not giving up your singing because of me. That’s that.”

  “And you’re not giving up your freedom because of us,” she countered.

  Lest he give in to the urge to shake her, he crossed his arms over his chest and wondered how to make her understand that he’d changed. He was no longer the carefree wanderer he had once been. He had a family now. He was ready to be taken seriously.

  “I know you, Jack,” she went on before he could speak. “I’ve seen your ocean in the mountains and I know why it draws you. You need to be out there somewhere, chasing the sun across the sky. You need to be free.”

  I need you. It was a wonder to him that she could know him so well and still be willing to give up her dreams for his. It was wrong. Plain wrong. “Being free is just a dressed-up notion for being alone,” he said. “And I’m tired of being alone, Daisy. Brady told me to commit to something bigger than myself, and that’s what I’m trying to do here—commit the rest of my life to you and Kate.”

  “But what about your family? And the ranch?”

  “You’re my family. And my brothers and the ranch will always be here if we decide to come back.” No. When we come back, he amended silently. But only for a visit, of course. Although, now that he was no longer choking on resentment, he didn’t feel such a driving need to escape as he once had. Strange.

  “It’s our ranch, too, Daisy. And Kate’s. She’ll need to know that.”

  When he saw more tears spill from her beautiful eyes, he sank down on the bench beside her and brushed them from her cheek. “There’s no need to cry, Daisy. It’s good. All good. We’ll have a grand life, the three of us. You’ll see.”

  “But, Jack,” she said in a shaky voice. “What about traveling and seeing the world and—”

  He bent and pressed his mouth to hers to shut her up. When he drew back, he tasted the salt of her tears on his lips and tongue. “It doesn’t have to be one or the other, you know. I want to see Rome too. Now I’ll be able to explore it with my pretty ladies when you’re not practicing or training. We’ll see the Pietà together.”

  She started to say something, but he saw the doubt in her eyes and cut her off. “How about a compromise?” he offered. “After you finish your training, for every three months you tour, we’ll take a month off to go exploring. Anywhere we want. Just the three of us. Europe, Africa, India, the islands of the Mediterranean Sea. We can see it all, Daisy. We can do it all. Together.”

  “Together.” He watched hope fill her eyes until a smile spread across her beautiful face. It was like watching the sun rise after a long, dark night. “I can have you?” she asked, crying and smiling at the same time. “And still sing?”

  Watching her tears fall made his own eyes sting. Christ. I’m turning into a woman. Next thing, he’d be hugging his brothers and trading recipes.

  To cover that weakness, he forced a laugh. “Oh, you can definitely have me. Anytime you want. And”—unable to help himself, he leaned over, kissed her again, then sat back with another shaky laugh—“you can still sing.”

  But tonight, he promised silently, you’ll sing only for me.

  Or maybe right now, he amended in happy surprise when she threw herself against his chest.

  “Oh, Jack,” she cried, wrapping her arms so tight around his neck he could hardly draw in a breath. “Do you mean it? We can do this? Truly?”

  “Truly.” Looking hopefully past her shoulder toward the bedroom, he wondered if his leg would mind if he picked her up and carried her in there right now. It didn’t look that far. “How long before Kate comes back?”

  Her soft laugh tickled his ear. “Long enough.”

  Twenty-eight

  JACK NOTICED RIGHT AWAY THE CHANGE IN DAISY. AND IT wasn’t just that her high notes were higher. And longer.

  That barrier he’d felt before when he took her to bed—was it only two nights ago?—was gone now. This time, she held nothing back. Her hands were everywhere, gentle touches on his arms, his face, his chest—almost as if assuring herself that he was real and right there within reach. Hers.

  He understood. He felt the same way. But then, given the opportunity, he had never been able to keep his hands off this woman, even when he’d thought he’d been in love with Elena.

  “When do we sail for Rome?” he asked.

  They had just finished making love, and were lying side by side on top of the rumpled quilts, their bodies sheened with sweat. Daisy was smiling at him in a way she never had before—it was at once possessive and wondering and sated—her eyes softened by laughter and love, her light brown hair clinging damply around her flushed face, her beautiful body open to his gaze and his touch.

  She’d never looked more beautiful to him.

  “I have to be in New Orleans in two weeks.”

  Plenty of time. And speaking of time ... His eyes drifted over her. He smiled. “When exactly is Anna Strobel bringing Kate?”

  She smiled back. “Soon.”

  “But not that soon.” He rolled on top of her, his weight braced on his elbows.

  She laughed softly, which did wondrous things to the rosy breasts brushing against his chest. “No, not that soon.”

  “Did I tell you how much I love you?” he whispered as he kissed her.

  He felt her answering smile beneath his lips. “I’d rather you show me.”

  He was settling in to do just that when a distant sound intruded. He tried to shut it out, but it didn’t go away, and instead got louder.

  Voices. The rattle of wagon wheels. Laughter.

  Oh, hell. He knew that deep laugh. Quickly he rose and limped to the window. Sure enough, his entire family, kids, keepers and all, were milling at the front gate. Even Kate was there, bouncing on the hip of some elderly lady he didn’t recognize. “What the hell?” he muttered, then saw they were all dressed in their Sunday meeting clothes and the buckboard was filled with buckets of flowers and baskets of food and what looked like an entire fully-dressed yearling calf. And suddenly he knew. “Hell and damnation!” he said and laughed out loud.

  “What’s happening?” Daisy asked, watching him with alarm, the covers clutched to her wondrous chest.

  Returning quickly to the bed, he captured her face in his hands. He had a feeling things were about to start happening fast and he had to settle some issues first. “Will you marry me, Daisy?”

  Confusion wrinkled her brow over her pert little nose. She nodded.

  “Say it.”

  The approaching noises grew louder. She tried to turn her head toward the window, but he held her fast. “Say you’ll marry me, Daisy.”

  Her gaze flew back to his. “Yes, all right. I’ll marry you. But what’s this all about, Jack? Who’s that coming?”

  “Everybody.” He grinned and gave her a hard, quick kiss.

  “Everybody? Here? Why?”

  “I suspect they’ve come for a wedding.”

  Her mouth dropped open. Her eyes went as ro
und as eyes could get. “Wedding? Our wedding? Now?”

  “That’d be the one. Brady said the ladies were planning something. I should have known they wouldn’t let us leave without a proper send-off.” Laughing at her shocked expression, he hopped out of bed and went back to peer through the window curtain. “Better get dressed,” he advised, bending to sort through the clothing they’d left strewn across the floor. “They’re heading up the walk right now.”

  JACK EXAGGERATED, DAISY REALIZED. IT WASN’T EVERYBODY. Dougal and Consuelo had stayed back to keep an eye on the house, and the long, rough buggy ride would have been too hard on the aging Buck and Iantha, the ex-slaves and old friends who had been with the Wilkins family for twenty-five years. But everyone else was there, including the children and the Ortega sisters, as well as Carl Langley and over a dozen ranch hands. And with the addition of the Strobels and Reverend Westerbury and his wife, the little church with the empty steeple was almost full when Daisy walked through the doors on Hank’s arm that evening.

  Jessica and Molly had performed miracles. Dozens of candles flickered on the windowsills and in tall, footed candelabras scattered throughout. Ribbons with big fluffy bows hung at the ends of the pews, and huge bouquets of mountain daisies graced the altar. And as Enid Westerbury struck the chords of the wedding march on the upright piano beside the altar, and Daisy started up the aisle to where Jack and Kate and Brady waited with Reverend Westerbury, she felt like she had stepped into a fairy tale.

  She felt grander than she ever had in her life, wearing Molly’s altered wedding dress. And although it was a bit tight across the bust, it was a shimmering confection of lace and tulle and tiny seed pearls that would have been fit for a princess. Jack looked grand too, standing proud and tall in a fine suit that must have been loaned to him by Brady because it hung slightly too long in the cuffs and pulled a bit across the shoulders. But the dark, somber black set off the gold in his hair and brought out the smoky blue-gray in his beautiful eyes.

  “Mama,” Kate cried, bouncing up and down in Brady’s arms and waving her stuffed cat as soon as she saw Daisy. “Titty come too!”