Authors: Maggie McConnell
“Apparently very good.”
Rita came around the bar and joined Max at his table. “Look . . . we both know your knee was just an accident waiting to happen. You’ve been putting off this operation for as long as I’ve known you. I’m not so sure this isn’t a blessing in disguise.”
“Daisy Moon is not a blessing, she’s an albatross.”
“You know what my grandmother Lupine always said—”
Max looked up from staring at the bottle label, dreading Alutiiq wisdom.
“‘—
ducunt volentem fata, nolentum trahunt
.’”
Max wasn’t an expert in Native languages, but that wasn’t one of them. “Your grandmother spoke Latin?”
“And why is that so hard to believe?”
“Sorry.”
“She learned it from the Anglican missionaries who came from Kodiak a while back. Didn’t care for English much, but thought Latin was a hoot.”
Max could just imagine the old Alutiiq, clothed in her traditional cotton
kuspuk
, sitting in her barabara in the glow of an oil lamp . . . reading Seneca.
“Want the translation?”
“No.”
“But it’s so perfect for your situation.”
“First of all, it has
nothing
to do with this situation. And second, your grandmother isn’t the only one who can quote Seneca.”
Rita bunched thick brows. “What’s Seneca?”
“
Who
, not what, and he’s a first-century Roman statesman from whom your grandmother
borrowed
her pearls of wisdom.”
Rita mulled that over, then said, “We’re really going to be up shit creek if Daisy leaves.”
Exhaustion laced his sigh. “We’ll find another cook.”
“Chef.”
Max glanced at her.
“Maybe if you talk to Daisy, ask her nicely,
apologize
—”
“Shouldn’t you be trying to find another chef?” His eyes warned her against further suggestion.
“Fine,” Rita said, pushing back her chair. “I’ll stock up on A-1.”
He shook his head at Rita’s dramatics and reached for the bottle.
At the door, she turned to Max. “I was wrong. You didn’t do a number on Daisy; Daisy did a number on you.”
Max stared at her. Hard. “You know who pays your salary?”
“Yeah,” Rita answered before her exit. “The same guy sharing his afternoon with Glenfiddich.”
It wasn’t a flattering portrait Rita painted, and although Max disdained her assessment, it nonetheless gave him pause. He pushed the bottle away.
Had Daisy done a number on him?
He rubbed his cheek where her palm had struck. Maybe he could add
assault
back into his lawsuit. “And while I’m at it, why don’t I just throw in the kitchen sink?” he quipped to no one.
How had his life become so messy? It had been over a decade since anything, let alone a woman, had catapulted him to the nearest scotch bottle.
But Daisy Moon was no woman. Daisy Moon was his albatross. His bad penny. The siren calling him to the rocks. His bug light.
Zap, zap, zap!
Daisy Moon was his
nemesis
. And to think it all began so innocently at a garage sale. So much for chivalry.
Amazingly, even as his mother was pushing them together, Daisy had already been hired as the new coo—
chef
—at his lodge. It was as if Fate had a backup plan. If, of course, you believed in Fate, which he didn’t, in spite of what Seneca claimed.
However, Max did believe in facing down his enemy. If you ran from one bully, you’d have to deal with a bigger bully next time around. And there were all sorts of bullies just waiting to lay a guy flat.
“But not today.” Fists clenched, Max rose from his chair. “Today I strike a blow against conniving women everywhere!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
D
aisy was propelled backward into the refrigerator by the tornado of Max’s entry, by the energy whirling around him, threatening everything in his path; then she quaked, along with the walls, at the slamming front door.
“You used me!”
Daisy gasped. Not at the accusation, which barely registered, but at the power behind it.
Max moved toward her like a menacing lion . . . with a hurt paw. “I may have gotten a little on the side with Inga—”
A little on the side with Inga?
Okay, that registered.
“—but you,
you
used me for my money!”
“I nev—”
“And when you didn’t need me, you dumped me like last week’s salmon!”
“I most certainly did not!”
“Then how come as soon as you got money and a credit card, you left?”
“How’d you know—”
“Purser Smith stopped by your cabin while you were having drinks with Keller.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“I mean . . . so what?”
“
So what?
” Max asked incredulously. “Well, it’s an interesting coincidence.”
The wheels in her brain raced as she tried to mount a defense. “For your information, I wasn’t even going to tell you about the money and credit card.”
Max jerked back at her confession. “Really.”
Okay, that sounded bad. “What I mean is, I didn’t want to tell you about the money because . . .” She paused, knowing that the truth would give away her feelings.
“Because?”
“Because . . . if you knew I had money, there’d be no reason for you . . . to drive me to Valdez . . .”
“So?”
The seconds ticked and then her brain clicked on. “If you wouldn’t drive me, that means I’d have to fly . . . and I really hate small planes.”
“But somehow you overcame that.”
Finding indignation, Daisy trembled with it. “You had another woman in MY BED!”
“What a crock. You’re just looking for an excuse. And if I recall,” Max began, suddenly recalling, “didn’t you say I was free to have
side deals
?”
Daisy
had
said that. But... “That was
before
. But once you and I . . . after we . . .”
Max smirked. “You can do it, but you can’t say it.
Sex.
We had sex. You and me. And it was damn good.”
The memory fogged her brain. “Yeah, maybe, but . . . I
never
said you could have your side deals in
my bed
.”
“My mistake. I should’ve asked to read the fine print.”
Daisy glared. “This conversation is over.” She started for her bedroom, the only haven in her small cabin.
“Once you start losing an argument, the conversation stops. And it wasn’t your bed. It belongs to the ship.”
She spun around. “It belonged to the cabin that I paid for. That makes it mine. And it was the same damn bed you and I had shared just that morning. Which
really
makes it mine.”
“Tell me this, Ms.
I’m-so-principled.
If you hadn’t gotten the money, what would you have done? Kept your mouth shut? Ignored the perfume so you could hitch a ride?”
Daisy stopped at the bedroom door; she hadn’t considered an alternative scenario. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t have gotten into
that
bed again with
you
.”
“I see. No sex, but no problem using my truck and my money.”
“It was a loan!”
“Loan or not, it was still my money and you needed it. Fess up, Daisy, you used me until you didn’t need me. You’re not principled, you’re pragmatic. So what if I took someone else to bed?”
“We had a deal!” Daisy shot back.
“I don’t remember fidelity being part of the deal.”
“You can’t even remember the deal. How the hell do you know if fidelity was part of it?”
“Well, was it?”
“It was
implied
.”
Max rolled his eyes. “Oh. The
implied
fidelity. More fine print.”
“Along with decency and good taste!”
He rankled at the insinuation that he had neither. “You were supposed to be on a southbound ferry!”
“Maybe next time you should concentrate on the woman
you’re having dinner with
instead of some blonde three tables over. Then you would
know.
”
“Say what you will, we had no commitment and no promises.”
“Ah, yes, the male mantra.”
“Did you or did you not say I could make—in your words—
side deals
?”
“Interesting. You don’t remember agreeing to drive me to Valdez, but you remember
that
. And just for your edification, side deals no longer apply once two people . . .
you know
.”
Unfortunately, Max did know. He softened. From exhaustion or compassion, he couldn’t tell. “We’d known each other, what? Five days? We’d had one horrific date three weeks earlier. I’m suing you, for Chrissakes! How could you have possibly expected—”
“It was my bed . . .
our
bed. You had no right to bring another woman into it! And just out of curiosity,” Daisy said, ignoring all of his variables, “didn’t you think about the evidence left behind?”
Max remembered the speed at which he’d stripped Inga of her clothes, and the speed at which he’d tried to put them back on her. With Daisy’s return breathing down his neck, he barely had the wherewithal to think about the Trojan wrappers, let alone Inga’s perfume on the sheets.
“Once again, Daisy, I didn’t think you were coming back. And I’m not Martha Stewart.”
“Or Sherlock Holmes, apparently.”
“Actually, the turtle registered.”
“
Oh my God
. Inga was still in the cabin when I showed up that afternoon.” Her words slowed. “That’s why you wouldn’t let me in. That’s why you pretended you’d hurt your back.” Daisy groaned. “How stupid am I?”
“If I’d known you were coming back—”
“Sure, I understand, no reason to let the bed cool down.”
“That’s not the way it was!” Although he doubted a jury would agree. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“Boy, I’ll say. I really misunderstood the kind of man you are.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a disappointment, too. You can’t see anyone’s virtue but your own. I’m surprised you can see your own reflection for the glow off your nimbus.”
“If you think all this sweet talk is gonna make me stay . . .”
Max leaned forward, his expression hard. “I don’t give a flying fig if you stay. But I’m not about to take the blame for you welching on this job. And just for the record, it wasn’t
me
who suggested I share your cabin.”
“You got a bed and a shower—”
“Oh, please. I can go weeks without a bed and a shower. Offered, I take them. But I won’t trade my freedom.”
“—and you got
me.
”
“That was mutual, so I’m not buying a ticket for that guilt trip.” He took a fortifying breath. “The bottom line is, I didn’t need
you
, but without me
,
you and Elizabeth would’ve starved.”
“I had meal vouchers!” she blurted.
“I know,” he said quietly. “And yet you let me spend my money.”
“If you weren’t paying, there was no reason to eat together!” The instant she confessed, she wished she hadn’t. “You can wipe that smug look off your face. I only wanted to spend time with you because. . .” But her brain was in knots. “Because . . .”
“Think fast,” Max said.
Her face pinched. “Because . . .” Then, as if a light switch flipped . . . “Because I was trying to get information that would help me fight your lawsuit.”
“Sure you were.” He took his smug look to the front door where he stopped halfway through and looked back at Daisy. “On second thought, I will take the blame. You’re fired!” Then Max Kendall slammed the door on Daisy Moon.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“D
aisy?”
Daisy looked up from a bottom cabinet where she was taking inventory. “Good morning, Rita.”
“What are you doing?”
“Getting acquainted with my kitchen.”
“But Max said you quit.” Rita took a stool on the other side of the island and put her elbows on the counter.
Daisy rose from her squat. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Uh, sure.”
Daisy poured from a freshly brewed pot. The robust aroma wafted through the gleaming kitchen. “Do you take anything in it?”
“Milk.” Still half asleep, she wondered if Daisy was a dream.
Daisy scribbled on a generous notepad. “Half-n-half,” she said, before reaching into the refrigerator for a small carton of milk. She set it in front of Rita along with a spoon. “From now on we only serve half-n-half with coffee.”
Rita stirred her coffee and sipped. “Mmmm-mmm. Great coffee. What’s your secret?”
“Today it’s cinnamon, nutmeg, and rum extract. But just a touch. And always,
always
start with ice water. And of course, freshly ground coffee. I wasn’t sure what you’d have, so I bought some in Anchorage. I couldn’t find a coffee grinder. Do we have one?”
Rita looked like she was thinking hard on the question. “I thought so, but the last cook—”
“Chef.”
“No, Frank was a cook. I don’t think he bothered using fresh ground coffee. The grinder might be in the storage room. I’ll look for it later.” She sipped her coffee again. And a little more. Ecstasy washed over her face. “Really good. So . . . you didn’t quit?”
Daisy shrugged. “Yes and no.”
“You can’t do both.”
“Not simultaneously, but consecutively you can.”
“What?”
Daisy warmed her own mug with more hot coffee. “It’s like having your cake and eating it too.”
“You can’t have your cake and eat it too.”
“Actually, you can. First you have it and then you eat it. But you can’t
eat
it and then
have
it.”
“It’s only seven thirty and my brain doesn’t wake up until my fourth cup of coffee.”
“All that caffeine isn’t good for you, Rita. You should switch to decaf. Or better yet, rooibos tea.”
“Tomorrow.
Today
, I need to know if I’m looking for a new chef.”
“No,” Daisy said.
“Yes!” Max countered, entering the kitchen.
Rita rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Oh, for pity’s sake.”