Spooning Daisy (36 page)

“Are you hurt?”

She managed to shake her head
no
.

He offered his hand. “Come on. Let’s get outta here.”

How Max pulled her up the slippery slope, she didn’t know. She was equally surprised by the human chain of townsfolk and tourists latched onto the tail of the Cessna, keeping it from sliding farther into the water. Max and Daisy cleared the plane as volunteers secured the rear fuselage with ropes.

Strange arms grabbed her and pulled her onto firm ground. Voices came at her with words that didn’t quite register. The crowd parted as Max led Daisy toward the hangars. Behind her she heard shouts as the rescue began. She looked up at Max, then started to turn. “Where’s Fitz. Is he . . . ?”

“No. But tomorrow he’s gonna wish he was.”

Daisy didn’t know what Max meant by that, but it didn’t sound good. She could only imagine the frontier justice Otter Bite would mete out.

Another fifty feet; another dozen friendly faces.

She stopped. Started to turn for a second time. “Elizabeth.”

Max kept her moving. “She wasn’t in the plane.”

“Are you sure?”

“I looked everywhere. She’s not in the plane.”

Her knees weakened. Max held her up. “We’ll find her. People are looking. I’m sure Fitz left her somewhere safe.”

Daisy stopped, stared at Max. “Why . . . are you sure Fitz left her someplace safe? He kidnapped Elizabeth. People who kidnap turtles don’t leave them someplace safe. The man is flying on fumes. This whole crazy-ass town is flying on fumes. Not one of you has full tanks! People were actually making bets on how Fitz was going to die. What kind of people do that?”

“You’re upset—”

“Someone has to be! You sure as hell aren’t. What’s wrong with you? What do you have in there”—she poked his chest—“a big ol’ glacier?” She cocked her head at him as reality hit. “You were gonna shoot Fitz. Shoot to kill, weren’t you? You don’t care about Elizabeth. You don’t care about anything except your stupid lodge. People are just expendable, you ice-hearted bastard.”

“We’ll find Elizabeth,” Max assured her.

“Don’t put yourself out!” She stomped away.

Max released his clenched fist, but the quiver in his hands remained. He took a breath and started after Daisy.

“Miss! Hey, miss! You!
Turtle Lady!
”

Daisy stopped. One of the bet-makers came toward her with something in his grasp. Something round and not too big, but big enough. Something that looked very much like—

“Elizabeth!”

She ran back toward him, converging with Max.

“Is this your turtle, miss?”

Daisy reached muddy hands toward her turtle, tucked safely inside her shell. “Thank you. Thank you!”

“Fitz had her in his truck.”

“Thank you,” she repeated.

“She’s a fine turtle,” the bet-maker said.

Tearing up, Daisy only nodded and clutched Elizabeth to her.

“Y’ did good with the boy,” the bet-maker said, looking at Max. “Too bad about your plane. Coulda been worse all the way around, I guess.”

Max looked back at the scene, the tail of his Cessna cresting the embankment. A few more pulls and it would be back on solid ground.

“Yep,” Max blandly agreed. “Could’ve been worse.”

“Whaddaya gonna do with Fitz?” the bet-maker asked.

“Don’t have a lot of choice.”

The bet-maker looked down at the ground then up at Max. “He won’t do good locked up like that.”

“Nope,” Max agreed.

“He done it to himself, I guess,” the man solemnly offered. “Sure gave folks a helluva show. Better’n fireworks.” He gave that a moment to settle then he walked back toward his buddies.

Daisy glared at Max.

“What?” Max asked.

“Nothing,” Daisy grumbled, turning away.

Chapter Thirty-Four

“W
hat?
” Max snapped for the third time.

“Nothing,” Daisy grumbled for the third time, diverting her eyes from Max to Elizabeth, safe in her lap. Max’s red truck thumped, bumped, and splashed its way down the road, and before Daisy expected it, they arrived at the lodge. Max steered the truck past the impressive entrance toward the employee cabins. He braked, shifted into park, and looked at Daisy.

“Are you going to be all right? Do you want me to get someone to handle dinner?”

Daisy stared incredulously. “Is that all you can think about?
Dinner?
”

“Hardly. Dinner is just one of a dozen things I have to think about. I have a busted-up pilot, a busted-up plane, and a lodge full of guests who don’t give a rat’s ass about either, but they’ll care if they don’t get fed tonight. So, are you going to do dinner or do I get someone else?”

“Are you really going to send Fitz to jail?”

Max eased back. “That’s none of your business.”

Daisy tensed. “You really are cold. Cold and unfeeling.”

“I don’t have the luxury of breaking dishes every time things don’t go my way.”

From tense to venomous. “And when do things ever
not
go your way? When are you ever
not
in control?”

He puffed up as if he might explode. “Be damn thankful I am in control because right now—”

“Right now
what
?” Daisy leaned into him.

“Right now—”

“
What?
”

He stared at her, his eyes stormy, his voice low, deep, and thunderous. “
Right now
. . . I might forget that you saved Fitz’s life. I might forget what kind of day you’ve had. I might forget that you’re emotionally distraught.”

“Emotionally
distraught
?”

Max managed to find a little sympathy. “When was the last time you faced a gun?”

It took a moment. “Fitz wasn’t going to shoot me.”

“Of course not.”

Her brows edged together. She looked hard at Max, at the blood smear still on his right cheek, at the unfathomable ocean in his eyes. A stew of emotions boiled inside her. “Tim can handle dinner,” she said, referring to her assistant. Hugging Elizabeth and unlatching the door, she scrambled from the truck, mud flaking off her clothes as she went.

“Hey,” Max said as Daisy turned to slam the door. “Why are you so angry?”
At me
, he wanted to add. Instead, he let the question unwrap itself.

Daisy looked at him as if she sensed his real question, but she wasn’t prepared to answer either variation. The truth was, she didn’t know exactly
why
she was angry except that . . .

“It’s the best choice I have.” Then she shut the door between them.

The steamy water pelted Daisy, pooling at her feet in chocolate drops that disappeared down the drain. Her jeans lay in a wet, indigo heap at the other end of the small bathtub where she had shed them after hosing off the mud outside.

If only she could separate herself from Otter Bite as easily.

Without Daisy even realizing it, the tears came, silently at first and then in sobbing waves and breathless heaves. Her hands shook, trying to shampoo her hair as if everything were normal. Just another day of breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Just another day of almost getting shot, maybe even killed. Just another day in a life that had become a spinning top—going round and round and round in every direction while getting absolutely nowhere.

Light-headed, Daisy managed to finish her shower; managed to stop the tears with deep, quivering breaths. She spread the shower curtain and stepped into steam that prevented reflection.

By the time she had dried her hair to damp, the fog was disappearing. She knew her eyes would be puffy, her face blotchy. She didn’t need the mirror to confirm it so she quickly left the bathroom in her robe.

She checked on Elizabeth, who was happily munching her last leaf of lettuce—
need more lettuce
—completely oblivious to her own mortality . . . or maybe just accepting it.

Acceptance wasn’t one of Daisy’s strong points.
Kicking and screaming
was more her style . . . although she couldn’t say that approach made much of a difference in the outcome.

She curled up on her sofa beside Elizabeth’s terrarium, remembering when Elizabeth had come to live with her. Daisy was only twelve, and Elizabeth was barely three inches long. Not exactly the kitten she’d begged her parents for, but, as her father had explained, a turtle has many merits. For one thing, turtles live a long time—a real plus for her dad, who seemed to suffer more from Daisy’s grief over the passing of their dog, Sophie, than the death itself. For another, they didn’t take much space. And you could travel with them—an important consideration for a duty-free corporate family who had lived in Honolulu, Paris, London, and New York by the time Daisy was eighteen.

For twenty-three years, she and Elizabeth had weathered life’s storms. For twenty-three years, Elizabeth had been one of the few constants in Daisy’s life. She had clipped her nails, given vitamin drops, oiled her shell, taken her for “walks” in the park, let her swim in the bathtub. Whatever else happened in her life, she would take care of Elizabeth. There was comfort in having responsibility for another. And her dad had been right about the advantage of a long life. No niggling dread—until today—of an impending funeral. If the Universe allowed, Elizabeth would be with her for another twenty-three years. Yes, Elizabeth had many merits. Certainly more than—

No
. She absolutely would not go there. She snuggled into her robe and lay against the cushions. The day weighted her like lead. Would it be so bad if she just gave up? Threw in the towel and got out of the ring? How wonderful it would be to stop taking punches . . .

That was the last thought Daisy had before the day knocked her out.

Max popped a pill to dull the throbbing in his knee. The scotch chaser was for the quiver in his hands—a reminder of how bad he was at that at which he was very good.

He put his glass on the bathroom sink and leaned into the mirror to check the cut on his cheek. Like so many events in his life lately, he wasn’t even sure how it had happened. Just one uncontrollable fiasco after another. And like a family tree, each could trace its roots back to Daisy Moon.

During the last few weeks, he’d managed to block Daisy from his thoughts. Well, most of the time. Going to her cabin on the morning after had been a mistake, he realized too late. Not his first one—that had been meeting Daisy at Mama Mia’s. Or his worst one—he wasn’t going to think about that. But how could he have predicted his feelings when he didn’t know he was capable of them?

But when she told him she didn’t want to marry him . . . he blanked.

He’d had a plan and suddenly he was improvising. Words came out that he didn’t know were there. He wasn’t Max Kendall, he was some other guy . . . who, maybe, just a little, didn’t think marrying Daisy Moon was such a bad idea.

But Daisy was playing him just to watch him squirm. Payback for scaring her in the woods. Not that he didn’t deserve it. Still, he couldn’t quite believe there wasn’t something
else
. . .

So he asked her.
Move in with me
. But Daisy dismissed that without taking a breath. Dismissed him, too, or so it felt.

They’d barely seen each other, and spoken even less, and when they had it was always about work. Sometimes late at night, he’d hear her in the kitchen as he worked in his office. Too often, he had headed to his door, only to stop before turning the knob. There was just no purpose, not when what Daisy really wanted was to escape from Otter Bite.

Max turned from his reflection and cinched his robe. Taking his scotch, he re-entered his bedroom. Glass on the nightstand, pillows stacked against the headboard, he eased his way onto the bed and stretched his legs, then reached for his scotch, the quiver finally gone.

Escaping from Otter Bite, from Wild Man Lodge, from
me
is probably all Daisy thinks about
, Max conjectured, taking up from where his last thought left off.
Especially after today . . .

Maybe it was time to help things along.

Rita had told him about the restaurant critic from Anchorage. He could have spit nails! It was hard enough trying to keep Wild Man under the radar—Daisy had no right putting
his
lodge on the map! Last weekend, the guy showed. Friday, Saturday
and
Sunday for dinner. He and his wife. They had stayed at the Mad Fish B & B and taken a halibut charter. She shopped at the mercantile and they rented bicycles. They had drinks at the Lighthouse—he an Alaskan Amber, she a rum and Coke. There were few secrets in Otter Bite.

Daisy, however, didn’t even try to keep secrets. Her contempt for pretty much everything about Max was right out there in the open. And she had no problem thinking the worst of him.

“I don’t need this.” Max shot back the remainder of his scotch. He rolled the cut crystal between his palms and watched the light play. The sooner Daisy left, the sooner he’d get his life back. The sooner he’d be Max Kendall again and not that other guy. He just wished it wasn’t going to cost him so damn much.