Chapter Four #2
I grin and concentrate on the plate in front of me. She could be selling these in one of those fancy Dallas restaurants. Hell, she could have a shop around the corner from Lemon’s Gallery in New York. People would be lined up around the block.
“So, you always wear footie pajamas?”
“Do you always drop by single women’s houses late at night unannounced?” She asks and then her full lips turn down in a frown. “Actually, probably best not to answer that.”
I lean forward and stab a corner of her cake, slowly bringing it to my lips with a grin. “For your information, no. I haven’t stopped by a woman’s house late at night for a long time.”
“You forgot uninvited.” She copies the action and steals the remaining cake from my plate, but she has to stand up on account of her pregnant belly.
I pull away too late. I love this cake. Like, really, love this cake, but she can have it if it means I get to see her smile like that. Jesus. This woman is a knockout, footie pajamas and all. “You trying to tell me something, Dais?”
“Only that you’re as big a pain in the ass as you were in high school.”
“That right?” I stand, because she’s right, I am being a pain in the ass visiting without word, eating all her cake, and taking up a seat at her dining table like I’m someone who has a right to be sitting here so late.
I put my chair in and pick up my plate, taking it to the sink.
“Well, I better not outstay my welcome then.”
“West,” she says quietly. “I was just playing.”
“I know. I better get on home though. I got Ham waiting on me.”
“Ham?”
“Pet bull, it’s kind of a long story.” One I’m not sure she needs to know because then she’d have a very clear indication of how much of a sucker I am for a pair of warm brown eyes and a set of long lashes. And now I’m comparing a beautiful woman to livestock. Lemon’s right, I need to get out more.
I rinse my plate and turn off the faucet, but it drips. I turn it tighter.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sound of the leaky faucet fills the silence. My jaw twitches. How much shit around here has Eddie neglected, and for how long?
“Oh, the washer is busted,” Daisy says with a tight smile. “I’ve been meaning to call a plumber, but I didn’t want the invoice for something I could just look up on the internet and do myself.”
“You got any tools? I can do it right now and save you a hundred bucks.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. Did Eddie leave any tools behind?”
“West—”
“Dais. Let me do this. It’ll take me five minutes.”
She frowns, and then nods slowly. “Okay, I’ll get them.”
She disappears. A few moments later, the crashing of metal against concrete fills the garage and I swear to god, I hear Daisy-Mae squeak.
I run in and find the contents of Eddie’s toolbox scattered on the floor along with several cardboard boxes overflowing with stuff.
Daisy is standing smack bang in the middle of it, protectively holding her pregnant belly.
“Jesus, Dais. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just ... er ... give me a second to pick this up and I’ll get you those tools.”
I push through the mess and gently grab her elbow. “How ’bout you let me take care of the mess and you go put your feet up?”
“No. It’s fine. It’ll only take me a minute.”
“Daisy, you’re pregnant. You could have been seriously hurt.”
“I’m fine—”
“Jesus, woman.” I rake my hand across the back of my neck in agitation. “Will you just let me be a gentleman?”
“Fine. I’m going.” She storms off in a snit. Did I hit a nerve? I don’t know her that well. I guess I never really did. Sure, I see her at the Bed and Breakfast all the time, but I haven’t given much thought to Daisy-Mae since high school.
I bend down and gather the items that have fallen out of the cardboard box.
Keepsakes, her red and white pompoms, and pictures from Daisy’s cheering days are sprawled against the dirty concrete.
I pick up one and take a closer look. She was beautiful then too—younger than me, a friendly face on the sidelines cheering us on every Friday night.
Her smile lit up that damn field, but I was too dumb to notice.
I had a laser focus on getting the hell out of Red River Canyon, getting off the ranch, and leaving the great state of Texas in the dust on my way to a pro-football career.
Pretty cheerleaders were the last thing on my mind.
Hell, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was nineteen and had been the unsuspecting prey of a gorgeous cougar who’d stayed at the Bed and Breakfast. I’d been reckless, depressed, and mad as a cut snake after my second reconstructive knee surgery and the torn ACL that lost me my ticket to a full ride.
That woman had eaten me alive. She’d also taught me an awful lot about sex, about women, and about myself.
I shake off the memories of that dark time and carefully pack the things back in the box.
I stack the boxes up, safely this time, then I gather the tools I need and carry them into the kitchen.
Daisy isn’t putting her feet up, not that I really expected her to.
Instead, she’s packing the cake up in a “to go” box.
I set the tools on the floor, unscrew the faucet and change out the washer. When I’m finished, I test my handiwork, watch the water flow out, and then I turn it off tight. No drips. “All done.”
“You are a lifesaver.”
“I don’t know about that, but it’ll save you a few dollars at least.”
“First you’re picking me up by the side of the road, having your brother fix my car, and now you’re saving me from having to call a plumber,” Daisy says. “At least let me give you a few dollars.”
“Not necessary. But I will take some cake.”
“Who knew the way to your heart was through sweet treats, West Winchester?”
“If I’d known you were looking for a way to my heart, Dais, we might’ve had this conversation years ago ... as in, before you walked down the aisle.”
“Hindsight is a wonderful thing, right?” She grins. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell the other damsels of Red River Canyon. Can’t have you eating someone else’s buttercream.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good. Because Miss Mabel next door makes a mean German Chocolate cake, and I happen to know she’s got a fence that’s fallen into my yard and needs fixing.”
I narrow my gaze at the kitchen window, but I can’t see shit out there, so I make a mental note to stop by Monday while Daisy’s at work and have a chat to Miss Mabel to see if I can’t help out.
“Well, hell. Why didn’t you say something sooner.
I guess I better start making house calls. Think of all the baked goods.”
“Think of your poor horse, having to lug your double wide around after all those baked goods,” Daisy says, fighting a grin.
I laugh and feign heartbreak, “Did you just call me fat again, Daisy-Mae?”
She all out guffaws, and I can’t help laughing with her. I don’t remember the last time I laughed with a woman who wasn’t family, but it feels right in a way it never has with other women. Everything feels easy with her. And I’m only just now realizing that maybe I’m in over my head here.