Her Passionate Plan B (12 page)

Cold air fell through the window he'd cracked open after they'd steamed up the place for the second or maybe the third time. He lingered, listening to her slow breathing, reluctant to move away.

He had a chance to build something solid—something that would last the rest of his life, if he played it right. Other people did it. Hell, his own parents had done it. They'd had their squabbles—his dad had had a redhead's temper and his mom had stood up to him whenever she'd thought he was in the wrong. As a kid, he'd hated their fights. He'd been embarrassed because you could hear them all over the trailer park. But thinking about it now, he remembered the way they used to look at each other after they'd both run out of steam. They'd both burst out laughing and he'd be invited to go outside and play. Before he was even out the door, they'd disappear into the bedroom.

He had laughed with Daisy, too. They'd laughed to
gether, which only seemed to make the sex better—richer. It was a hell of a time to have to leave, but they both needed a little space.

Things had happened too fast—maybe he needed to back off and see how he felt in a day or so—in a week or so. Because he'd learned a long time ago that false promises were worse than no promises at all.

Quietly, he collected his clothes and boots from the floor and left, pulling the bedroom door almost but not quite shut. He didn't know if she usually closed it or not. There was so much he still didn't know about her. That was part of the problem. But one thing he did know—they weren't finished yet. Three days from now—four at most, he'd be back and then they could get to the bottom of whatever this thing was between them. All he knew at this point was that it was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

 

For the third time, Daisy scanned the note she'd found on the table anchored by the salt shaker. Damn him. Damn him! “Daisy, I've got to handle a few things back home. See you in a few days. K. M.”

Like hell he would, she fumed, not believing for one moment he would be back. If he'd planned to come back, he would have woken her and told her he was leaving instead of sneaking out like a thief in the night. He was just like Jerry. Try out the merchandise, and if it doesn't suit, return it, no questions asked.

She read it again. Not even so much as a Dear Daisy, just “Daisy, see you in a few days.”

“I don't think so,” she muttered under her breath as she rumpled the note and crammed it into her pocket.

“So he's cleared out, has he?” Hands on her hips, Faylene was openly gloating. It was Thursday, the day after the box supper fiasco. “Serves you right for what y'all tried to do to me.”

“For what we…? Oh, you mean the box supper.” She blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry.

“You're doggone right I do. If I wanted to eat my supper with a man who don't even bother to trim the hair in his nose, I coulda done it without no help from you three.” She pulled a forgotten cast-iron skillet from the oven and slammed it down on the counter, endangering the forty-year-old Formica. “I thought y'all was settin' me up with that new coach there at the high school.”

“Faylene, I'm sorry. You know how it is with us—we didn't mean any harm. We just thought it might be nice if—”

“Huh! You don't never mean no harm, but that don't mean harm don't get done. I got feelings, you know. I might not be as smart as you and Miss Marty or as pretty as Miss Sasha, but that don't mean I can't get me no boyfriend. I got one, so there, too!” she said triumphantly. “Only reason I won't let him move in with me is I don't have room for all them decoys and them guns o' his.” Using one finger, she scratched her head, cracking a part in her heavily lacquered hair. “When's the power gonna be shut off, today or tomorrow?”

Daisy momentarily forgot her own problems. “Guns?”

“Oh, don't worry, Bob Ed ain't no bank robber or nothing like that. He just happens to be the best guide 'tween here and the Currituck Banks. What's more, he can cook, too, so he don't need me to keep his belly
happy.” She opened her mouth to say something else and then shook her head. “I notice you three ladies don't have no men hangin' round
your
doorsteps. I passed that ballplayer, driving like a bat outta hell. He didn't even toot at me.”

He didn't toot at me, either, Daisy thought morosely a few hours later as she sealed up the final box for delivery to the thrift shop. Sasha and Marty had brought her car back, but left soon after that since Daisy informed them she was far too busy with last-minute duties to chat.

“Oh, but, hon, just wait till you hear who we've got picked out for Gus. Did you know he plays fiddle?”

“Not now—please,” Daisy had pleaded.

“Okay, then I'll see you tonight,” Marty told her. “Key's under the bird feeder if I'm not there.” Marty had offered her a room until she found another place.

“I keep telling you, you're going to lose that key one of these days,” Sasha warned as they headed out the front door. “You know that squirrel-proof feeder in my backyard? Well, believe me, even wing nuts are no problem for a determined squirrel.”

“You're both nuts and you're both squirrely,” Daisy called after them, laughing in spite of her growing depression.

By noon the kitchen was as clean was it was ever going to get. Faylene had wiped out the refrigerator and taken what she wanted from the pantry. The phone had already been disconnected. Now Daisy waited only for the power company to cut off service. With the wiring as old and probably as neglected as everything else, she didn't dare take chances when there was no one around to hear the smoke detector.

“You sure you don't want none o' this stuff? A can of soup or something in case you don't get away before dinner?” The housekeeper had apparently forgiven her for her part in the botched matchmaking attempt.

“I'll be leaving as soon as they disconnect us,” Daisy told her. “I'm staying with Marty for the time being, so I'll see you there.”

“I guess you heard they was planning to bulldoze your apartment, probably put up another batch o' them ugly places that all looks alike. You can come stay with me till you find you another apartment if you need to. I'll even help you pack up and move out. My place ain't fancy, but it's clean.”

“Oh, Faye…after yesterday I can't believe you'd still have me.”

“I wouldn't, not permanent, but a few days won't do no harm. Thanksgiving's coming on. If you like stewed goose with rutabagas and dumplin's and all, Bob Ed's plannin' on cooking up a mess at my place.”

Unexpected tears dimmed her eyes, but Daisy shook her head. “I love stewed goose—” She'd never even tasted stewed goose, but she recognized a generous act of forgiveness. “Marty and Sasha and I have already made plans to drive to Virginia Beach and eat Thanksgiving dinner at that restaurant Sasha just finished decorating. They told her she could bring as many guests as she wanted, on the house. But I'll see you Monday. Monday's Marty's day, right?”

“If I ain't still mad at her, I reckon. I know it weren't your idea—leastwise, you didn't start it, them other two did.” The housekeeper shook her head and smiled as Daisy held the door for her and her box of canned goods,
cold drinks, dried flowers and assorted condiments. “Don't you stay here no longer'n it takes to lock up after they cut you off, y'hear?”

“I promise. See you soon.”

Lingering at the front door, Daisy felt the emptiness close in on her. “Goodbye, Harvey,” she whispered. “Don't worry, they'll take good care of it.”

And they would, she assured herself. The members of the historical society might not agree on much, but they all knew the value of a house that had been a landmark in Currituck County for more than a century.

With the temperature dropping some twenty degrees overnight, the house was already growing cold. She had let the furnace run until the man from the gas company had come to disconnect it and take the tanks.

“What else?” she mused, missing the presence of someone else in the big, empty house.

Missing Kell. The scoundrel.

Packing the last few items—her soap and shower cap from the bathroom, her rose-scented hand lotion from above the kitchen sink—she made a mental note to stop by the post office on her way to town and tell them to hold her mail until she had a new address.

She made a deliberate effort to think of any loose ends. Windows all locked, inside doors and transoms opened to keep the air from growing too stale. Once she left, she had no intention of ever coming back. Besides, she'd be far too busy to dwell on what had happened last night. So the sex had been unbelievably good. So having a generous lover had made all the difference in the world. So she had learned things about her own body that
Gray's Anatomy
had never even hinted at, much less tried to describe.

“You can think about all that tomorrow, Scarlett.”

Since she had to stop by the bank on the way to Marty's, she might as well drop off the keys.

S
wearing under his breath, Kell punched off his cell phone and tossed it onto the seat beside him. What the hell had happened back there, another hurricane? The number had sure as hell been in service when he'd called the airport to make reservations.

He was tempted to turn around and go back, just to see what kind of game she was playing now. More than once he'd heard her fielding calls, sounding like one of those computer-generated voices as she referred callers to Mr. Blalock at the bank unless the caller happened to be one of her friends.

Had he told her he'd be back by the first of the week? Or had he just said he'd see her soon? Added up to the same thing, but he had a feeling he might have screwed up. He'd never been much of a letter writer. He must have used up half the tablet she used for grocery lists,
trying to strike just the right tone. Nothing mushy, because that wasn't him, but nothing too cool, either. Because cool was the last thing he was feeling. In the end, he'd settled for stating the facts, knowing he could say more once he'd had time to put things in perspective.

Still, it wouldn't have hurt to use the word
love.
People used it all the time—no big deal. Like I love baseball, or I love country music? Stuff like that? People signed letters “love, so-and-so,” even to casual friends.

But “love, Kell”—that would have been a big deal. So big it scared him just to think it, much less to write it.

Much less to say it.

 

Marty showed her where to put her things, then lounged in the doorway while she unpacked. “You mean he just up and
left?
No warning or anything? Are you sure he's not just out somewhere checking on another sprout on his family tree?”

Faylene knew the truth. She'd been there when Daisy had found the note. But Daisy hadn't told either of her friends that Kell was gone for good. “No more sprouts, nothing left to do. He found out what he came to find, so there's no reason to hang around.”

“But yesterday—I mean, what the devil happened between you two? Last I saw, you were headed off across the church grounds looking as cozy as grits and gravy.”

“Yoo-hoo, anybody home?” Sasha let herself in the front door, bringing in cold air and a whiff of Odalisque.

“We're in the guest room,” Marty called. “Come on back.”

“I tried to call out at the house, but the service has
already been discontinued. Daisy, I thought you weren't going to leave until tomorrow.”

“I hadn't counted on all the utilities being cut off so fast. Usually when you call the office you have to wait until they have someone in the neighborhood.”

“Oh. I thought they did all that from the office.” Sasha plopped herself down on the guest bed, tipping over the stack of freshly laundered scrubs Daisy had just unpacked. “Hey, if the hysterical society wants to get rid of anything, I want first crack. Client of mine just bought a McMansion on the beach and now he wants me to make it to look like it's been in his family for generations. Where's Kell, by the way?”

Marty shook her head, a warning expression on her face, but Daisy saw no point in trying to evade the issue. “He left this morning before I was even up.”

Sasha's eyes widened. “But he's coming back, right?”

Daisy shrugged. “Who knows? He's not in line to inherit anything. Harvey's will was pretty specific about who gets what.”

“Yes, but—” Sasha looked at Marty, arched her eyebrows and then asked the question both women had been skirting around. “I thought you and Kell were…well, you know.”

Fighting tears, Daisy said, “I've got to go start moving out of my apartment. Anybody want to help?”

 

Kell watched the board as flight after flight was canceled due to a squall line moving through Central Oklahoma. He checked his watch again, felt a familiar burning sensation in his belly and wondered if he was
getting an ulcer. He'd been in too big a hurry to get to the airport to bother with breakfast. Probably all he needed was food. On the other hand, with everything that had happened over the past three days, he'd damned well earned himself an ulcer.

After a few last-minute emergencies, the opening had gone off without a hitch. Clarice was in hog heaven, as she'd announced at least a dozen times. He'd managed to get Moxie another chance and hoped to hell he'd impressed on the kid that this was it—one more screwup and he was down for the count.

He'd tried at least a hundred times to call Daisy. He'd even called the phone company, only to be told—again—that the number was no longer in service.

She had a cell phone, but dammit, like the dumb ox he was he hadn't bothered to get the number. There'd been no need while he was there, and once he'd left, it was too late.

He'd tried to remember the last names of her two friends. One was an Owens, he couldn't remember the redhead's last name if he'd ever heard it. There were dozens of Owenses in the directory, not one of them a Sasha or Marty. Women used initials, he remembered hearing that somewhere. To keep jerks like him from finding out they lived alone.

He left the concourse and went in search of a pharmacy—any place where he could get a dose of antacid. If he didn't already have a hole in his gut, he probably would by the time he reached Norfolk. He had never handled frustration well, especially frustration brought on by his own stubbornness. It was one of the reasons his career had ended prematurely. Hurting like hell,
he'd kept on insisting that he was good for another few innings and then argued each time he was taken out of a game. He'd been on the DL—the disabled list—for almost an entire season after surgery, first on his shoulder, then on the elbow of his pitching arm.

Ten years later he still didn't handle frustration as well as he should, but he was learning. Working with at-risk kids had taught him a lot. This thing with Daisy was teaching him even more.

At least this time he'd managed to get a direct flight. Now all he needed was for the weather to cooperate.
Come on, Mom, put in a word for me. Do a sun dance up there or something.

The first place he found that sold antacids happened to be a café that specialized in chili. Cause and effect? At any rate, he bought a bowl of the stuff, ate it standing up, along with the bag of chips that went with it, then downed three antacids and chased it all with a mug of scalding black coffee.

Thunder rumbled like a thousand-car freight train, but the sky to the west was finally showing a few patches of blue. A few flights were already starting to move as he found a seat as close to the boarding gate as possible.

Where the hell are you, Daisy? What's with the phones?

If she'd already closed up the house and moved to town, where would she stay? Last he'd heard, her apartment was still shut down. The only motel was probably out of business for good if the sign on the door was anything to go by. He hoped to hell she hadn't left Muddy Landing, because one way or another he was going to find her even if he had to go door to door.

 

“How long does it take you to read one page, if you don't mind my asking?” Marty glanced up from the financial page of the
Virginian-Pilot
and waited for her friend to show some sign of life. Daisy had been staring at the same page of a paperback book for the past five minutes.

“Sorry. Did you say something?”

“Honey, he'll be back. I'll bet you anything you can name he's been trying to reach you.”

Daisy gave up and laid the book aside. “I've been right here all day. My phone hasn't rung. You didn't bring me a letter. Shall I go into a trance and see if anything comes through on the ESP channel?”

“Did you call the registry about another assignment?”

Daisy nodded, her gaze still unfocused.

“Well?”

“Anytime I'm ready. Multiple sclerosis in E. City, problem pregnancy in Whitehall Estates, recovering suicide attempt near Point Harbor.”

“Take the pregnancy,” Marty advised.

“I said I'd check back in a couple of days.” Daisy yawned, stood and stretched. It was barely eight o'clock, but she felt as if she'd been drugged. She'd slept until almost nine this morning and hadn't done anything worth mentioning all day.

“You wanna hear my big news, or are you going to flake out on me again?”

But before either of them could speak, the phone rang. Marty reached for it, never taking her eyes off her friend. “Owens's residence,” she said briskly.

And then a smile started in her eyes and spread to her generous mouth. “Well, hi there, cowboy. Where you calling from?”

 

Daisy refused to pack up and move out entirely, but at least she threw a few things into her overnight bag. Kell took that as a good sign. He'd called from the airport, having run through every Owens in the phone book with
M
as either a first or second initial. By the time he reclaimed his car from long-term parking and drove all the way to Muddy Landing, following Marty's directions, nearly two hours had passed.

Grinning like a jack-o'-lantern, Marty had invited him in and offered him her sofa, a pillow and blanket. “It's nearly eleven, you don't need to drive any farther tonight.”

Kell had thanked her, knowing damn well she didn't expect him to take her up on it. “Thanks, but I rented a cottage at Southern Shores.”

“A whole cottage?”

“Yeah, well…I didn't have much choice. Sounds like things are in a pretty big mess down there.”

Even after agreeing to hear him out, Daisy wasn't saying a word, just standing there, arms crossed over her chest as she looked from one to the other. Kell didn't want to think he was responsible for those shadows under her eyes. At least she'd agreed to hear what he had to say.

Finally he managed to escape. Taking her bag, he steered her out to the car, stashed her bag and settled her in the passenger seat, all without a word being spoken between them. Truth was, he didn't know where to start.
He only knew that the reason he was back had nothing to do with any relatives, dead or alive. He had a feeling she knew it, too.

“So…you closed up the place,” he ventured as they headed south on Highway 168.

“I understand the historical society sent somebody out there yesterday—or maybe the day before. And guess what? An anonymous benefactor just donated enough to do almost everything that needs doing. Isn't that wonderful?”

“To do what? Clean up the yard? Fix that section of gutter?”

“Oh, much more than that. Egbert said they're already looking for someone who does slate roofs.” As long as they talked about the house, Daisy told herself, she could handle it. She didn't want to be here, she really didn't, but her head and her heart had been fighting it out ever since he'd left. Her heart had evidently won.

If he wanted to sleep with her again, she probably would because she had nothing more to lose.

Nothing she hadn't already lost.

“I've been thinking,” he said as he tooled along the dark highway at five miles over the speed limit. “The place is going to need a lot more fixing up. How well funded is this outfit?”

“The historical society? Not very, according to Egbert. I think there's a lot of squabbling among the members over which places to take on. There's a school and a couple of churches that are even older than Harvey's house, but they're probably too far gone to restore. Besides, this
mysterious donor specified the funds have to be spent on Harvey's house.” She shot him a significant look.

Ignoring it, he slowed up for a stoplight near Barco. “You hungry?”

“Mmm-mmm.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

She sighed audibly and said, “Actually, it's a yes. I didn't eat supper tonight.”

“Me, neither. I had a bowl of chili before I left home. Remind me not to eat chili for a while.”

“Why'd you rent a whole cottage. Are you expecting company?”

Lights from the dashboard glinted on his teeth as he grinned at her. “Frankly, I had to pull in a favor to get the place at short notice. As for company, I consider her more like…family.”

Daisy sucked in her breath. Charlene or whatever her name was? Surely he hadn't—he wouldn't—

Suddenly he swerved into a convenience store. “What's it going to be? This place has pretty good subs and some other stuff.”

Kell ordered a triple-dip cone for himself and a six-inch Italian sub for Daisy. She said, “Is that all you're having? I thought you said you'd skipped supper?”

“Yeah, well…I told you about the chili. I thought this might put out the fire.”

“Oh, Kell…” She shook her head, her look all but saying, “You need a keeper.”

By the time they reached the monster beach house, Daisy knew she was fighting a losing battle. Of all things, she found herself wanting to manage his diet—not to mention everything else in his life. She tried to
tell herself it was the nurse in her, not the woman, but she knew better.

The cottage had five bedrooms, five baths and a hot tub. Kell tried hard not to show it as he led her from bedroom to bedroom, offering her a choice, but he was suffering.

“Oh, anyplace, it doesn't matter,” she said. “Now, let's take care of what ails you.” He cocked an eyebrow and attempted a careless grin. It didn't quite come off as convincing. “How long have you had an ulcer?”

“Hey, it's not a full-fledged ulcer. The doc just said it might help to cut down on stress and run a few miles every day.”

“He didn't say anything about your diet?” Daisy opened her overnight bag and took out her toiletry case.

“He said whatever I liked was bad for what ailed me.”

“I'll bet, seeing how you season your food. It's probably stress, though. Any idea where it comes from? Your sporting goods store? Your social life? Your—”