Authors: Kaki Warner
She seemed upset with him, but he didn’t ask why. Consuelo had been with the family since they took over RosaRoja, and she sometimes forgot she wasn’t his mother and he wasn’t still the little kid she used to sneak cookies to. Besides, she’d eventually tell him what had her peeved. Consuelo was a hell of a talker and silence was unnatural to her. He was into his second slab of ham when she finally broke, spouting Spanish so fast he could hardly understand anything other than he was in trouble for sending Daisy away.
“Away?” He froze, a forkful of eggs hanging in front of his open mouth. “What do you mean away? She’s not gone, is she?”
Consuelo menaced him with a wooden spoon. “
Mañana. Qué le hizo a ella
? What did you do to her?”
Hell and damnation.
The fork clattered to his plate as Jack shot from the chair. Consuelo was still fussing at him as he bounded up the stairs.
He checked Kate’s room first. She was sleeping. But the room was stripped bare of the toys that usually littered the floor, and the hooks on the wall where her clothes usually hung were empty. He crossed to the open connecting door that led into Daisy’s bedroom.
She was standing at the bed, folding garments and putting them in a worn valise. The pouch she’d taken on their picnic sat beside it, bulging with Kate’s belongings.
She was really leaving.
He stood frozen as that realization circled in his mind.
His life could go back to what it had been. Carefree, unencumbered. He could give them the money and send them on their way. He wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore. Or see them. Ever again. He could do whatever he wanted, whenever and wherever he wanted.
No Kate. No Daisy. He’d be free.
Jesus.
That wasn’t what he wanted at all.
Battling panic, he stepped into the room.
She looked up, and for a second, before she masked it, he saw relief.
That was all the encouragement he needed. “I’ve come to apologize. Again.” He smiled.
She didn’t smile back.
Undaunted, he moved to stand beside her. Not close enough to crowd her, and definitely out of swinging range, but near enough to stop her if she tried to escape before he said what he came to say. “I didn’t mean what I said about taking Kate. I would never do that. Ever.”
She continued to study him, her expression guarded.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the wad of money and set it carefully onto the bed between them. “This is not for Kate. It’s for you.”
She stared at the money. Her lips pursed. Amused or disgusted? He wasn’t sure. “You’re thinking to buy me now?” she asked.
If only I could.
The thought seemed to come from nowhere. It rattled him and revealed to him how much he wanted Daisy—and not just because of Kate.
And why wouldn’t he? She was a beautiful woman. And smart. And so full of life, just being around her gave him a lift. In a lot of ways.
He liked the way she made him laugh, and how she kept him guessing, and how she held him accountable when he made mistakes—rather than dismissing him as not worth the effort to keep him in line, like he suspected Brady often did. He liked that she expected more from him than carefully practiced smiles and easy charm, and that she seemed to genuinely admire the man he usually kept hidden behind the laughing mask. She understood him as no other person ever had, yet she seemed to care for him anyway.
How could a man not be attracted to a woman like that?
And how could he not do whatever was necessary to keep her?
“I’m just trying to buy time, Daisy. That’s all. Just a little more time with you and Kate. But if you can’t give it, the money’s yours anyway. To help you start over wherever you want. No strings.” It was a lie, of course. Now that he’d decided he wanted her, there was no way he would give up on Daisy that easily.
But he couldn’t blame her for having doubts. He’d broken trust with his foolish remark about buying Kate. He hadn’t meant it, even when he’d said it. He knew Daisy was too devoted a mother to ever part from Kate. He’d just been angry and scared of losing them and had said the first thing that had come into his mind.
She touched the bills, then spread them out. “This is too much.”
“Stay. Please, Daisy. Don’t go yet.”
Instead of responding, she turned away from the bills scattered on the bed and walked to the window. For what seemed a long time, she stared out, arms crossed, back stiff, her small, perfect form framed by white-capped mountains and endless sky.
He sensed she was weighing his words, trying to find her trust again. He didn’t push her or try to force an answer. This decision had to be hers, and he would accept it, whatever it was. Probably.
But her silence was killing him.
Finally, she faced him. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t frowning either. She looked almost weary. Resigned. As if she had no expectation of this turning out well, but had no other choice except to give it a try. “I have to be in New Orleans by the end of May. I can give you two more weeks.”
Jack nodded, his relief so great he couldn’t even summon a smile.
Two weeks should be time enough.
DESPITE THE LINGERING TENSION BETWEEN THEM, JACK continued the riding lessons, much to Kate’s delight and Daisy’s dismay.
She was still angry with him, but found herself too weak-willed to maintain that anger for long. Every hour spent in his company diminished the hurt a little more, and each day further eroded her determination to stay aloof. She was pitiful.
Two more weeks. Why had she done that? So that Kate would become more attached to him, and she would become more hopeful? How many times must she be disappointed before she learned her lesson?
And yet, she stayed. And hoped. And the days slid by.
Each afternoon, as soon as Kate awoke from her nap, he would arrive to escort them to the barn. His timing was uncanny. Kate would start bouncing with excitement, waving her kitty and calling “horsy” as soon as she saw her father at the door. A half-hour lesson, then they would either check on the new foals, count the calves, pet the barn kitty, or take a walk.
No mention was made of marriage, or Elena, or Daisy’s looming departure. It was as if a truce had been called and nothing mattered before or beyond the hours they spent together ... almost as if they were a family.
An illusion. Daisy knew that. But she enjoyed it nonetheless.
Yet it troubled her that as time passed, she found herself thinking more about Jack and less about going with the troupe to Rome. She had the money she needed, so why didn’t she leave? She felt like she was betraying herself but wasn’t sure if it was because of her confused feelings for Jack or because the dream of training with Madame Scarlatti seemed more distant every day.
But she had given her word, so she had to stay. Or so she told herself.
At dinner a few days later, Brady announced that workers would be taking a wagon into Val Rosa to get supplies, and if anyone needed anything brought back, they were to give him a list by the end of the evening.
“Perhaps I should go with them,” Elena suggested. “It is time I returned to the abbey.”
Before the words were out, an uproar ensued. Even though everyone knew she would have to leave soon, no one was ready yet to let her go. Jessica and Brady insisted she stay a few days longer, since they would never see her again. Molly suggested she stay at least until all threat of the horse flu was past, and Hank nodded his agreement. Jack watched but said nothing, his expression giving no clue to his thoughts.
Against such strenuous entreaties, Elena eventually relented. “But only for a few more days,” she told them.
The ladies smiled in satisfaction. Brady asked Hank to pass the roast beef, and Jack resumed eating, regarding Elena from time to time with thoughtful eyes.
Daisy wondered what he was thinking. Or what he would have done if Elena had decided to leave despite the protests. Would he have gone with her? She wondered why just posing that question in her mind opened a hollow place in her heart.
The following afternoon the wagon returned from Val Rosa, bringing a packet of mail, a month’s worth of foodstuffs and supplies, and Jack’s sea trunk.
He made a grand production lugging it into the house, hinting that it contained all manner of curiosities from his travels, which he would reveal—“but only to the stout of heart”—in the big room after supper.
The children weren’t the only ones in a dither of excitement. Brady’s foreign travels were limited to England and Scotland. Neither Jessica nor Molly had been west of Santa Fe, and Hank had never seen an ocean. They were all curious to see oddities from other lands—especially Elena, since she would be spending the rest of her life on islands Jack had visited.
Supper was devoured in record time, then Jack herded them all toward the main room and the trunk that waited before the crackling fireplace.
“Gather around if you dare,” he said ominously.
Promising unimaginable shocks and thrills, he waited for the children to settle in a circle before the trunk and for the adults to take their seats. The hush of expectation settled over the audience. When the pop and snap of the fire were the only sounds in the room, he took one last look around, then with a flourish that would have made a carnival magician proud, flipped open the trunk. The lid cracked on the hearth, making the audience jump. The children surged forward.
“Stay away!” he warned loudly, sending them scurrying backward on their knees. He waited for them to settle again, then peered down into the round eyes staring back at him. “Inside are dangerous things—vile, frightening things that no child should view without first knowing the risks.” He dropped his voice to a menacing whisper. “Are you prepared, my lovelies, to take those risks?”
“Yes!” the children squealed, their high-pitched voices bouncing off the rafters.
“Me first!” Ben shouted.
“I’m oldest,” Charlie, Hank’s stepson, argued.
Reaching into the trunk, Jack whipped out a round thing decorated with dangling wisps of hair and knotted twine. “Then behold!” he boomed, holding it high. A moment of stunned silence. Then shrieks of horror—and not just from the children.
“Hellfire,” Ben shouted.
Daisy grabbed for Kate.
Jessica tried to hide Abigail’s eyes.
Elena clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Good God,” Brady choked out. “Is that a human head?”
Slipping out of his carnival role, Jack grinned, apparently oblivious to the shock he had caused. “Either that or a monkey. Hard to tell. Want to see it?”
“Christ, no!” Brady shrank back, hands upraised. “Keep that thing away from me.”
Charlie made a face. “What’s that smell?”
“Must be Welch,” Dougal muttered and left the room.
Charlie edged closer then jerked back. “It smells like feet.”
While Molly tried to pull her nephew away from the trunk, Hank absently patted Penny’s back as she crowded against his knee, her eyes as round as marbles in her ashen face. “How come it’s so small?” he asked.
“They shrink it. After they pop out the eyes, they peel the skin off the skull, then they sew the eyelids and mouth shut, pack it with sand, and cook it real slow. Takes about a week.”
“
Madre de Dios,
” Elena gasped.
Daisy swallowed back her supper, and Penny lost hers on Hank’s boots.
“Enough!” Jessica shot to her feet. “Children upstairs. Now! And, Jack, if I ever see that vile thing in my house again, I will make you rue the day. Children, come.” In an instantaneous headlong scramble to escape both the hideous head as well as Penny’s mess, children and women pounded up the staircase.
As the noise overhead receded, Jack sighed. “Hell.”
Hank laughed. “Oh, don’t be too hard on yourself, Jack. Let us do it.”
Jack looked ruefully at his brothers. “I’m in trouble again, aren’t I?”
Hank nodded. Brady was more vocal. “I can’t believe you’d show that thing to kids. They’ll be having nightmares for a month.”
“How was I to know? I grew up with older brothers, I’ve been stuck on a ship for the last three years, and I’ve only known I was a father for two weeks. What do I know about kids?”
“Enough to make one apparently.” Shaking off his boot, Hank pointed at the remains of Penny’s supper. “You going to clean that up?”
“She’s your kid.”
While they argued responsibility, Consuelo came in with a bucket and a rag, cleaned up the mess, including Hank’s boot, then left, muttering the whole time.
After the air settled, Hank leaned forward and peered into the open trunk. “Got anything else in there? Maybe something useful?”
Jack grinned. “I do. Something I think both of you will appreciate.”
Hank grinned over at Brady. “French postcards.”
“Let’s hope.”
After rummaging for a moment, Jack pulled out a flat four-inch-wide piece of wood with a dogleg bend in the center. “What do you think of this?” he asked, tossing it to Brady.
Brady studied it a moment. “It’s a stick.”
Hank took it and turned it in his hands, studying it from all angles. “Definitely a stick.” He looked up at Jack. “No French postcards then?”
“This is better.” Reclaiming the piece of wood, Jack gripped it at one end and popped his wrist in a throwing motion. “It’s called a boomerang and it’s the damnedest hunting stick you’ll ever see.”
“Hell,” Hank said.
Brady sighed. “I know. Postcards would have been nice.”
Even so, after Jack gave a lengthy demonstration in the yard the next morning, the boomerang soon proved to be a grand success.
Hank got the hang of it right away, but only after he made a careful study of the “physics of the thing”—whatever the hell that was. He was calculating the “loft to spin ratios” when his older brother finally lost patience and told him to just throw the goddamned thing. Brady had never been very good about waiting his turn.
Charlie did fairly well when his chance came, until his dog, Buddy, grabbed it and ran off. Once they got it back, Penny gave it a try, but soon decided it would make a fine stick horse for her doll, Miss Apple. Ben was less interested in throwing it than in using it to smash ants, and Kate just wanted to eat it. Abigail had no interest in it whatsoever, and the twins slept straight through.