Three Words: A Novella Collection

Three Words

A Collection of Five Short Romantic Stories

Lindy Dale

© 2015 Secret Creek Press

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Daisy Darling Meets A Man

Chapter 1

“
Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Daisy pulled
an arm into Jack’s sloppy grey cardigan and yanked it down to cover
her pyjama top. Tugging the sides together, she padded down the
hall trailing her finger through the dust on the console as she
went. I really must give the house a spring clean, she thought,
instantly dismissing the idea as a waste of energy. Daisy hated
housework. That was the beauty of living by herself. She didn’t
need to bother so much. After all, it wasn’t like anyone was going
to see it.

As she reached
the door, Daisy exhaled a sigh of exasperation. All she’d wanted
was to wallow a little longer, have a glass of wine or three then
follow it with an early night to try and eradicate the dark circles
that seemed to have popped up under her eyes. She didn’t want a
visitor, particularly at this time. It had to be at least nine
o’clock.

With one hand
on the deadlock, Daisy steeled herself for the possibility of what
lay on the other side of her front door. She could hear Rex, the
Border Collie, barking but not in his ‘go away stranger’ bark. It
was more of an excited bark, the type he did when Avery came home
from school.

“
God,” Daisy groaned to herself. “It had better not be Mrs.
Hanson again.”

There were
only so many more of her neighbour’s late night visits Daisy could
tolerate. She was so over listening to Mrs. Hanson gossiping about
other people in town. The woman was a human version of a tabloid
newspaper and on more than one occasion Daisy had slipped up and
almost become the subject of the gossip herself. It wasn’t like
Mrs. Hanson even came to help. She merely stuck her blue-rinsed
nose where it wasn’t wanted so she had a bit more gossip to spread.
Yes, Daisy had been a bit down in the dumps since Jack had gone.
And yes, the house was deathly quiet since Avery had returned to
school in Perth but Daisy didn’t need a babysitter. She wasn’t
quite ready to jump off the bridge just yet, thank you. That was a
damn long way down.

On the other
side of the door, a sudden deluge of rain began to pelt against the
tin cladding that covered the walls of the house. A gust of wind
whistled around the porch and blew plops of rain into the
sidelight. Rex let out a playful yelp. It had been like that all
evening, ten minutes of downpour, then silence for the next
ten.

With the
knocking becoming more insistent, Daisy flicked on the outside
light and put an eye to the spyhole. A blur of what looked like a
black leather arm stood on the other side and from the shape of it,
it definitely wasn’t Mrs. Hanson. Not unless she’d grown an Adam’s
apple and started wearing sheepskin vests.

“
Who is it?”

From the other
side of the door, a muffled, yet rather manly voice replied,
“Henry.”

“
Henry who?” She certainly didn’t know anyone called Henry,
unless you counted Henry who volunteered with her at the Visitors
Centre each Friday. And he wouldn’t be at the door at this time of
night. He was lucky to remember what day it was at his age. Plus,
he was only allowed to drive in daylight.

“
Henry ….” A thump, a small bleating noise and some more
barking smothered the rest of Henry whoever-he-was’ last name. Then
there was thud, like the sound of falling, followed by some of the
most colourful cursing Daisy had ever heard.

Daisy rolled
her eyes. She guessed she had no choice. It was bucketing down out
there and the person on the other side clearly sounded distressed.
She’d have to open the door. Turning the snip, she pulled the door
open a crack and peered around it into the night.

“
Uh, hi.”

A man was
lying in a heap on the doorstep, unable to move because of two
rather large black and white paws that had him pinioned and a rough
pink tongue that was leaving a trail of slobber over his jaw. A
very tall, very good-looking man wearing dark denim jeans and a
sodden leather jacket.

“
Rex!” Daisy growled. “Down! Heel!”

Looking upset
at having his fun spoiled, the dog disengaged himself and went to
sit at Daisy’s feet.

“
Sorry about that,” Daisy said. “He gets a bit excited at
visitors.”

Brushing
himself off, the man scrambled to his feet. Drips of rain
splattered from the peak of the navy baseball cap that shielded his
face. The man’s arms were gently wrapped around his chest,
cocooning a furry white ball that squirmed on the outside of his
jacket as he tried to lift it.

“
That’s okay,” he began, his eyes wandering down her body and
back to her face, taking in the indigo blue of her nightwear and
old Ugg boots that kept her feet warm. “Sorry. I didn’t wake you,
did I?”

Suddenly
self-conscious, Daisy pulled the cardigan tighter around her body.
She was aware that it was old and ugly but it was comforting. It
had Jack’s smell.

“
Can I help you?”

“
I was wondering if this belonged to you.” With a slight
smile, the man leant forward to show Daisy the contents of his
arms.

“
Oh my God,” she exclaimed, her face stunned with shock. “It’s
Marsha!”

The man raised
an eyebrow. “Marsha?”

“
Long story.”

Daisy had six
lambs grazing on the land at the moment, affectionately nicknamed
The Brady Bunch because their tight wooly curls ranged in colour
from black to sandy and they loved to get into mischief. The Brady
Bunch had been her favourite show as a child, so the name had been
a no-brainer really. “Where’d you find her?”

“
On the road. I nearly ran her down,” he explained.
“Shit!”

He held the
lamb out before him as a spray of yellow liquid hit the floor of
the porch. “I guess she wasn’t too happy with my driving.”

Avoiding the
puddle, Daisy stepped out onto the doorstep and took the lamb from
his arms. Instantly, Marsha quieted as Daisy stroked the soft wool
along the top of her nose between her eyes. Poor little Marsha, her
mother had died giving birth to her a few weeks back. Daisy had
been hand-rearing her with a bottle ever since. It was hard to
believe she’d gotten out of the enclosure. She didn’t usually go
far from the rest of the flock. Now she was nearly run over.

She cuddled
the lamb to her. “Thank you so much.”

The man ~ arms
held out from his body like a wee-soaked scarecrow ~ gazed down at
the huge patch of wet spreading over the crotch of his jeans. “No
problem. I think.”

“
You’ll need to get out of those jeans, pretty quick. Sheep
wee is a real stinker. It lingers on the skin for ages.”

The man
wrinkled his nose and wiped his wet hands on a dry patch on the
side of his pants. “You don’t say.”

Then they
stood looking at each other.

Hmm, Daisy
thought. This was a bit awkward.

With a command
to Rex to get back to bed, Daisy stepped through the door, making
to go into the house with her charge. “So, um, thanks again. And,
uh, have a safe trip.”

The man,
however, appeared to have some idea of joining her inside the
house. Abruptly, he reached out, barring the door from closing and
giving Daisy so much of a scare that she almost jumped out of her
Ugg boots. This in turn frightened the lamb, which began to bleat
in a most distressed way.

“
Look, I don’t mean to intrude,” the man yelled over the din,
“But I put my car into the ditch outside your place when I swerved
to avoid Marsha. I need to ring for help but my phone doesn’t seem
to have any reception and I’ve got no idea where I am.”

“
That’s because mobiles don’t work out here, not unless you
stand under that tree.” Daisy pointed to a dead tree on the edge of
the boundary about three hundred metres away.

“
You’re joking, right?” He gave her a horrified look. Clearly,
he thought she meant for him to stand out there in the rain to make
his call, whilst covered in sheep wee.

Daisy looked
up over his shoulder and into the black of the night. In a way, she
guessed she wasn’t kidding. She didn’t know this man and she didn’t
want to end up on an episode of Serial Killer Sunday ~ as his
victim. He might be one of those weirdoes who drove up and down
country roads looking for lonely women and using innocent lambs as
his in. He could be some sort of psycho who’d been watching her
with binoculars for ages waiting for his chance. Marsha mightn’t
have even been on the road. You never knew.

A huge clap of
thunder sounded overhead as if to alert her that she was in danger
of over-analysing. Again. Things like that didn’t happen here. This
was the country. The worst thing that had happened in the last six
months was when Gwen Thompson had lost control of her supermarket
trolley with the twins in and it had run through the plate glass
window of the gym, ramming into the rather rotund bottom of Mrs
Porter.

No. This man
wasn’t a threat. He was simply someone in a spot of bother. And
Daisy was always the one to help out someone in a spot of
bother.

“
Yes. Sorry. That was a joke. I shouldn’t tease. It’s always
getting me into strife.”

“
Is it okay if I use your phone, then?”

“
Of course. Come in. The least I can do is offer you a fire
and a glass of wine while you wait especially after what you did
for Marsha. I might even be able to rustle up a spare set of
clothes so you can take those smelly ones off. I’m Daisy, by the
way. Daisy Darling.”

“
Henry Moon.”

Leading the
way, Daisy walked back down the hall towards the kitchen, turning
on the lights as she went. Henry Moon? She was sure she’d heard
that name before. If only she could remember where. Maybe she
should ask him.

Chapter 2

Daisy’s
kitchen was warm and cosy, exactly how a country kitchen should
look. An old pine dresser, lined with blue and white plates, stood
beside the white painted cupboards. A string of garlic hung from
the extractor fan over the cook top. Yellow painted walls were
highlighted with daisy printed curtains and a bunch of daisies from
the garden had been carelessly shoved into a chipped white vase on
the table. It was homely and, well, comfortable.

After offering
Henry a stool at the counter and giving him the cordless phone,
Daisy bustled about putting Marsha onto a blanket by the fire and
fixing her a drink. She could hear Henry on the phone talking to
someone called Georgia, explaining what had happened. It was
probably his girlfriend. A man who looked like that wouldn’t have a
shortage of girlfriends.

Putting his
hand over the mouthpiece, Henry whispered, “What’s the address
here?”

“
Lot 5 Wagtail Lane. Turn right into Hanley Road off the
highway and then take the second left. We’re about 2km along on the
bottom side of the road. Stone house.”

“
Thanks.” He repeated the instructions into the
phone.

Daisy walked
back to the kitchen bench and took two wine glasses out of the
drawer. If Henry was being picked up, it was going to take at least
fifteen minutes and he wouldn’t be driving, so it was perfectly
acceptable to offer him a glass of wine, wasn’t it? Unless his
girlfriend got narky, of course. She might be the jealous type. She
lifted the bottle slightly, gesturing towards him.

Henry nodded,
giving her the thumbs up.

Daisy poured
two glasses of wine and propped herself up on a stool opposite him.
There was no way she was going to sit next to him at the counter.
She must look a sight. Jack’s old cardigan was covered bobbles of
matted wool and her blue flannelette PJ’s had a stain from the
spaghetti she’d had for dinner. Her long blonde hair was pulled
into a messy topknot, the way she liked to wear it when she slept
and though her face was freshly scrubbed ready for bed, she sort of
wished she still had the traces of makeup on from the day. At least
he wouldn’t have been able to see the dark circles she’d been
cultivating.

Henry’s long
fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass. Daisy noticed his
beautifully manicured nails as he lifted it to his mouth ~ a manly
sort of mouth with deep pink lips. Then as he tilted his head she
saw his eyes clearly for the first time. Her heart began to pound
ever so slightly faster. Gee whiz. A girl could drown in eyes like
that. They were the colour of melted chocolate and surrounded by
the longest black lashes she had ever seen on a man. Not that she
went about checking out men’s lashes on a regular basis, mind you,
but if she did… Well, they were enough to make you quiver with
excitement. Or want to kill for.