13. Daisy
thirteen
Daisy
Charlie’s online accounting system is going to kill me. I’ve spent an hour searching for a particular report, and even with a video tutorial, I can’t find what I need. I can’t believe this is how my short and not-so-bright stint as mistress of my own destiny is going to end. Death by software.
I scowl at the screen and click the same link again and again, praying it’ll take me where I need to go. It doesn’t. I tap the mouse button even harder and lean in with a growl. “Just—give—me—last—month’s—freaking—”
The doorbell rings, and when a final violent click still doesn’t give me what I want, I push the laptop away.
Before I can get to the door, the bell rings again, demanding and impatient.
I yank on the oversized door, and it sweeps open on a gust of air that blows loose tendrils of hair off my frowning face.
And there he is. Beau, with Ollie at his hip, grit swirling around them like he arrived with a dust storm at his back.
Ollie coughs as Beau waves to clear the air.
“Oops,” I say a little sheepishly. “I was just… Never mind. What’s up?”
He takes off his hat like I’m going to invite him in, and I try to take up more space in the wide doorway.
I can’t believe I used to adore every little thing about this man.
The way he’d make his coffee extra hot, then forget where he left his cup, so by the time he drank it, the brew had gone cold.
The way he wore odd socks and shirts with enough holes they’d be better used as rags.
The reassuring heat of his body next to mine and the snuffling sounds he made in my hair as he slept.
Now his entire existence seems geared to piss me off.
Case in point. The beard. Specifically, the mustache.
The more I look at the obnoxious addition on his top lip, the more it annoys me.
Given the circumstances, that’s probably a good thing.
Focusing on that is a hell of a lot safer than thinking about anything else, including the chain of daisies I saw inked into his ribs.
Beau doesn’t have tattoos. At least, like the mustache, he never used to.
“Do you have a minute?” he asks.
It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. Too warm for trail rides, which in the summer are scheduled early and late in the day. Beau’s supposed to be between shifts right now, at home with Ollie or out running errands, not hanging around here, and he senses my curiosity before I ask.
“Horses are hosed,” he confirms. “They’re watered and grazing out of the sun.
Ollie was a big help with the hay today.
” Beau ruffles the boy’s hair. He’s been taking fashion tips from his uncle; his jeans and flannel should have been tossed out a dozen wears ago.
“Never seen a kid his size lift so much. He’ll sleep well tonight. ”
“Uncle Beau let me up into the hayloft today,” Ollie declares proudly. “He said it’s like a… a… premonition.”
Beau grins. “A promotion,” he corrects. “And you earned it.”
Ollie puffs out his chest, and when I hold up my palm, he smacks it with a firm high-five.
“Awesome work, cowboy,” I say. “Sounds like you earned yourself a soda.”
He gains an inch in height as he lifts onto his toes, then glances at his uncle. “Can I?”
“Sure. If you take off your boots first and get me one too.”
“Kitchen’s out back,” I say as Ollie shucks off his boots. “You’ll know you’re in the right place because it’s got cupboards and a sink, but until I get a refrigerator, the sodas are in the cooler. There might be a bar of chocolate in there too. Help yourself.”
Ollie pokes his head into the house, then moves slowly inside, looking around like he’s not sure he should. Beau removes his own boots—odd socks underneath, of course—then encourages Ollie with a brush against his back.
“Go on,” he says. “I’ll be in the living room with Daisy.”
I wait until Ollie’s out of earshot before I close the door behind Beau. “Who says you’re making it past the threshold—or that you deserve one of my sodas?”
Beau turns his hat in his hands, then stops himself when I glance at it.
“I just need five minutes,” he says.
I narrow my eyes, and when he doesn’t back down, I roll my eyes and sigh. “Fine.”
Beau shadows me into the living room, which in addition to my folding table, camping chairs, and beanbag, now features a wide green velvet sofa and a soft rug underneath a glass-topped coffee table.
“Nice,” he murmurs as he scans the exposed beamed ceilings, the stacked stone fireplace, the floor-to-ceiling glass and pastures beyond.
I parse his tone for sarcasm and find none. “Thanks. I only just moved in. I haven’t had a chance to furnish the place properly yet.”
He nods at the laptop. “Are you working?”
“Trying to,” I reply, thinking about the accounting program holding my future hostage.
“Right.” Beau grimaces apologetically, like the reason I can’t work is him and not the ghost haunting my computer. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced, but I don’t get a moment without Ollie by my side, and what I have to say needs to be said without him around to hear it.”
“This is about Ollie?” I don’t know why, but Beau’s manner, the almost deference that is so unlike him, raises the hairs on my arms. “What’s wrong?”
Beau opens his mouth, then closes it again as his focus trips on something over my shoulder. It’s Ollie, hovering in the doorway with two cans of soda in his hands.
Beau waves him closer and accepts a drink, cracks it and hands it back, then takes the other while Ollie gulps a long slug from the open can.
“Thanks, buddy,” Beau says. “Hey. Think you can dig out your sketch pad and take it onto the porch? Sit outside the window there where I can see you and draw something for Daisy. I bet she’d love a picture of Pony Noir.”
“I really would,” I say, playing along.
“I can draw more than horses,” Ollie says, already pulling out a spiral-bound pad of paper and a box of pencils. “I can do trees too.”
“Think you could draw Pony Noir under a tree?” I ask. “I’d pay good money to see that.”
“Easy!” He tucks his stuff under one arm so he can juggle his soda and open the door.
We’re quiet until he’s outside, watching through the glass as he arranges his things on the hardwood porch, then crouches over his paper and starts sketching.
“What happened to his mom?” I wonder out loud, then add, “It’s none of my business. You don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, it’s okay,” Beau says, eyes on his nephew.
“His mom—my sister, Sarah—was always a little unpredictable. She fell in and out of love a lot, and not always with guys who treated her right. She moved around, following these men she thought she loved, leaving Ollie with our parents when she didn’t want to take him with her, but they aren’t the best people to raise a little boy. ”
He huffs, determination reflected in his posture. “Sarah called me this time and asked me to take him. She’s in New Mexico now, or she’s supposed to be. I’ve texted her to let her know where we are and how she can reach us if she wants to, but she hasn’t responded.”
“Oh.” My heart aches for this little boy. “That’s awful.”
Beau clears his throat. “Yeah, so that’s kind of the reason why I’m here now. The kid has hardly any clothes, and what he does have doesn’t fit him. His boots are secondhand, and he’s got blisters on his toes. I need to buy him new stuff, but…”
He clenches his jaw as he stares intently at Ollie.
“But… what?”
Beau’s Adam’s apple bobs with a deep swallow. “Can I get an advance on next week’s salary?”
I frown for a split second, then sharpen my focus on Ollie.
It makes it easier to hide my surprise. Beau’s the proudest man I know.
He never asks for anything, especially money.
If backed into a corner, he’d rather go without, and he’s too proud to ask for a favor or special treatment under any circumstances—or he was.
I don’t make a big deal out of his request, even if part of me is tempted to make him sweat a little. It’s for Ollie, and providing for a kid isn’t something I’ll joke about. Instead, I head straight to my enemy laptop and start clicking around for the payroll screen.
“Bear with me a moment, will you?” I say as Beau follows and stands across the folding table. “I need to find the right page.”
He keeps one eye on Ollie as he waits, but soon my growls and mouse violence draw him around to my side of the table. He takes one look at the program and snorts lightly.
I glare up at him. “What?”
“You’ve got no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
“Pfft.” I hunch my shoulders, the warmth of his body and casual amusement stirring things deep inside. “I know exactly what I’m doing. It’s the software that’s not doing what it’s supposed to do.”
Beau reaches around me, his knuckles brushing my arm as he goes for the mouse, and I jerk my fingers away with just millimeters to spare before his rough, warm palm lands on the back of my hand.
I swallow hard, his familiar scent clouding my senses.
Soap and spearmint gum, horses and hard work. Him.
I lean away, but his body cages mine, and my stomach fills with butterflies.
“Here,” he says, voice smooth against my ear as he navigates to the payroll interface. “If you just click on this…”
He confidently finds his way to the correct screen, and I stay very still as I watch the cursor move, more focused than I should be on the play of Beau’s breath against the back of my neck. Goose bumps spring up, and I panic.
“I knew that,” I snap, landing an elbow in his ribs, hard enough that he grunts before straightening up. I take charge of the mouse and scroll for his name, but when I find it, there’s no obvious way to advance him next week’s salary.
The pressure of his eyes on me becomes too much, and I finally slam the laptop closed, snatch up my wallet from the table, and hand over a silver credit card.
“Take it,” I say. “Buy Ollie what he needs, and we’ll reconcile the costs later.”
“I’m not taking your money.”
“It’s not mine,” I lie. “It belongs to the business. And Ollie’s got to wear the correct gear if he’s going to be hanging out in the stable. Go shopping and collect the receipts. We can sort it out later.”
Beau looks at me with suspicion, and I can guess at the fight he’s having with himself.
He knows I’m lying as well as I do. I meet him stare for stare, his warm brown eyes deep and liquid, and I wish I wasn’t so stubborn, because as long as I refuse to be the first to look away, I’m trapped in a hell of my own making, caught by a pair of eyes I know better than my own.
In the end, Beau is the one to drop his gaze. He takes the card from my outstretched hand and slips it into his back pocket. “Thank you. I’ll pay it back.”
“I know you will.”
He glances at me uncertainly, wondering if it’s threat or faith that he hears in my tone, and I respond with a blank look until movement on the porch snags our attention, and Ollie wanders back in.
“This is an excellent picture, Ollie,” I say when the little boy shows me the sketch he’s done. “Do you think I could keep it? I’m going to need art for my refrigerator when it arrives.”
Ollie beams at Beau first, then me. “Yes, you can keep it.”
“Awesome. Thanks. Why don’t you go put it on the kitchen counter so it doesn’t get lost?”
“Okay,” he chirps, then disappears into the house.
“Thank you,” Beau says.
“You’re welcome.” I cock my head to one side.
“If you need help with Ollie, I could ask Dylan and Poppy about setting up a playdate with Izzy. It’s summer and she’s a high-energy kind of kid, so I’m sure she’d love to make a new friend.
You could even take Ollie to the restaurant for dinner sometimes. ”
Beau grunts. “Your brother already offered to help, and I already said no.”
I drop my arms and turn to face him. “You saw Dylan?”
Beau chuckles, short and dry. “He came past the cabin to warn me to stay away from you.” He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “It was cute.”
It’s my turn to scoff. “I’d say I can’t believe he did that, but I can. I didn’t put him up to it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Not at all.” Beau’s mouth turns up a little on one side. “You never needed anyone to fight your battles before.”
“Well, I’m home now, and having three big brothers comes with advantages.”
He smirks. “I get it, but don’t worry. I’m not about to overstep or do anything to risk my job.”
His tone gets my back up. “I never said you would.”
Beau’s soft lips twitch again, but his attention is diverted when Ollie walks back into the room.
“Go put your boots on, buddy,” Beau says. “It’s almost time for the afternoon shift.”
Ollie ducks back out onto the porch, and we follow more slowly.
“Thanks again for the advance,” Beau says. “I’ll take Ollie shopping this weekend and get the card plus receipts back to you on Monday.”
“Aster Springs can be a little disappointing for shopping,” I tell him, “but if you drive to Santa Rosa, you’ll have better luck.”
“I appreciate the advice.” Beau slides on his boots, then puts on his hat and tips the brim.
“Sure,” I say. “No problem.”
But it is a problem. As soon as they’re on the porch and I’ve spared a wave for Ollie, I push the door closed, then set my back against the smooth timber.
I don’t want to think well of Beau—I don’t want to think or feel anything at all—but judging by the way my skin tingles and my heart races, I’m a long way from reaching that goal.
And as long as we keep tiptoeing around like this, letting the tension and chemistry and unanswered questions simmer between us, I’ll never get there at all.