Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, Daisy woke determined to think about anything except Flint Callahan.
It was a sensible goal. A necessary one, considering the previous evening.
Unfortunately, Flint seemed determined to sabotage it before she'd even reached the kitchen.
She heard him moving around downstairs as she came down the hallway. A cupboard door opened. Then another. Then a third.
"Daisy?" he called.
She stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What?"
"Where do you keep the coffee?"
"You've lived in this house for nearly a month."
"But I’ve only visited the kitchen," he corrected.
"You've eaten in the kitchen."
"That's different."
Daisy resumed walking. "Second shelf. Left side."
A moment later came a triumphant, "Found it."
She made it three more steps before his voice floated down the hallway again.
"Daisy?"
Her shoulders sagged. "What now?"
"How do I know if it's enough?"
By the time she entered the kitchen, Flint was standing beside the stove studying the coffee pot with the concentration of a man attempting to disarm a bomb. Nathan sat at the table, rustling his newspaper and offering no help.
"You see?" Nathan remarked without looking up. "This is why society invented instructions."
Flint frowned. "You own three medical textbooks thicker than fence posts."
"And I can read."
"I can read too."
Nathan finally lowered the newspaper. "Then why are we having this conversation?"
Daisy hid a smile as she crossed toward the stove.
Over the past week, Flint and Nathan had found a strange sort of routine. Neither trusted the other completely, but neither seemed capable of leaving the other alone. Every conversation began as a disagreement and somehow wandered into an argument before reaching a conclusion.
Nathan folded his newspaper and scraped back his chair. "I'm heading into town after breakfast."
"Again?" Daisy asked, reaching for a cup.
"Mrs. Hensley has apparently fallen off her horse."
"Again?"
Nathan huffed a laugh. "Seems that way."
Daisy considered this. "Perhaps the horse is protesting."
Nathan tapped a spoon against his mug. "That attitude is exactly why people stop telling you things."
"I know everything anyway."
"You absolutely do not."
"It is a little unsettling how often she does," Flint admitted as he poured coffee.
Daisy accepted the mug he offered. "Thank you."
Their fingers brushed.
The memory of the previous evening surfaced: the porch, the doorway, his arm around her waist, the warmth of his hand against her back.
Heat climbed into her cheeks. Hoping neither man noticed, she took a generous sip of coffee.
The coffee was terrible.
Daisy coughed so hard she nearly spilled it.
"That bad?" Flint asked.
Nathan reached for the mug, took an experimental sip, and stared into the distance for a long moment. "I've seen battlefield medicine with better outcomes."
Flint looked personally offended. "It's coffee."
"No," Nathan said, pushing back his chair and standing. "Coffee is meant to improve a person's will to live. This appears to be doing the opposite."
For a beat, silence hung in the kitchen.
Then Daisy laughed.
Flint groaned and dragged a hand over his face while Nathan walked out looking entirely pleased with himself.
The light-hearted mood lingered for a while after breakfast, but once Nathan finally rode into town, taking his endless warnings and unsolicited medical advice with him, the house felt noticeably different.
The quiet seemed to blanket the rooms, and Daisy found herself far too aware of Flint's presence.
It wasn't fear. Amos Grady remained a threat, but that wasn't what unsettled her.
The real problem was Flint himself.
Every day, it became harder to ignore him. Harder to pretend she wasn't listening for his footsteps or noticing when a room felt empty after he'd left. Last night's conversation on the porch certainly hadn't helped. She kept replaying pieces of it while carrying supplies into the workshop.
The honesty in his voice when he'd admitted how angry he'd been after she left. The way he'd refused to let her accept responsibility for every bad decision he'd made afterward. The painful understanding that, despite everything, he was still trying to protect her.
By midmorning, she had measured the wrong amount of oil twice, dropped an entire bundle of wicks onto the floor, and nearly scented a batch of lavender soap with rosemary. The workshop, normally her refuge, seemed determined to expose exactly how distracted she was.
It would have been easier if Flint hated her.
Much easier.
Hatred she understood. Anger, she could have accepted.
Instead, Flint kept showing her kindness, patience, and a level of honesty she'd spent three years believing she no longer deserved.
Forgiving him was becoming alarmingly easy.
The more troubling realization was that she wanted his forgiveness just as badly.
Shortly after noon, the creak of the front gate pulled her from her thoughts.
A wagon rolled into the yard, its wheels crunching over gravel in a rhythm she recognized immediately.
Julian.
A smile appeared before she could stop it.
"Well," Flint drawled from somewhere behind her, "that sounded suspiciously cheerful."
Daisy turned toward his voice. "It sounded like a delivery."
"It sounded like a celebration."
Before she could argue, the workshop door swung open. "Miss Whitmore!"
Julian's voice arrived a full second before he did.
Daisy laughed. "Good afternoon, Julian."
"Excellent afternoon," he corrected.
The merchant entered carrying enough boxes to suggest he'd either purchased half of Cheyenne or intended to move into her workshop permanently.
"Please tell me you haven't bought out every supplier in the territory."
"Only the reasonable ones."
Flint chuckled from near the shelves.
Julian either didn't hear him or chose not to acknowledge his existence. Knowing Julian, it was probably the latter.
The merchant set down a crate with a thump and grinned broadly. "I have news."
The excitement in his voice immediately caught Daisy's attention. "What happened?"
"The Sheridan House."
Daisy straightened. "The hotel?"
"The very one."
A flutter of excitement rushed through her.
The Sheridan House wasn't just another boarding house. It was one of the largest hotels in Cheyenne, serving wealthy travelers, railroad executives, cattle buyers, and anyone important enough to expect luxury while crossing the territory.
"Julian..."
"They want regular shipments."
Daisy simply stared at him. "Regular shipments?"
Julian nodded, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Soap," he said, setting down another crate. A second followed. "Candles." Then a third. "Salves."
He dusted off his hands and grinned.
"And if everything goes well, they're already discussing increasing the order before winter."
Daisy covered her mouth.
She couldn't speak.
She had spent years building this business one careful step at a time. One customer became three. One store led to another. Every shipment had been earned through long hours, careful budgeting, and more persistence than she'd ever imagined possessing.
For so long, people had looked at her blindness and seen limitations. This business had become her answer to that. Every candle, every bar of soap, every order shipped out into the world was proof that her life hadn't ended when she lost her sight.
Now the largest order she'd ever received sat right in front of her.
Julian's laughter filled the workshop. "There she is."
Daisy lowered her hand. "What?"
"That look."
"What look?"
"The one where you're trying very hard to remain sensible while you're secretly celebrating."
A smile spread across her face despite her efforts. "I learned caution through experience."
Julian pointed toward her. "No, you learned stubbornness through experience. The caution came later."
"That's probably true."
Grinning, he held out his hand near hers.
Daisy accepted it immediately, and before she knew what he intended, Julian spun her carefully in a small circle. The movement was quick enough to surprise her and gentle enough not to unsettle her balance.
Daisy laughed, the sound echoing through the workshop.
When the laughter faded, Julian launched into practical matters. Quantities, delivery schedules, supply costs, and storage concerns quickly replaced celebration. Daisy listened closely, asking questions and mentally calculating how much additional work the order would require.
The answer was quite a lot.
Longer days in the workshop, more supplies, possibly even hiring occasional help if production continued to increase.
The prospect should have been intimidating. Instead, it thrilled her.
By the time they'd worked through the details, Julian sounded nearly as pleased as she was. "You've earned this, Daisy."
Unexpected emotion tightened her throat. "Thank you."
"You built it."
She shook her head. "You helped."
Julian waved away the compliment. "I carried boxes."
"You carried a great many boxes."
"An important distinction."
Their discussion continued while Julian gathered his paperwork and tucked it back into his satchel. As he fastened the buckle, he glanced toward the doorway and frowned. "Where did your watchdog go?"
Daisy blinked. "Flint?"
"He disappeared halfway through our conversation."
Daisy frowned. Now that he mentioned it, she hadn't heard Flint's voice in quite some time. Normally, he found a reason to comment on everything. Whether he was teasing, arguing, or offering an opinion nobody requested, silence wasn't usually one of his habits.
Strange.
Julian eventually gathered the last of his things and headed for the door. "I'll come back tomorrow."
"With more boxes?"
"Naturally."
Daisy smiled and listened to the wagon roll away.
Once the sound faded, the workshop grew silent again. The excitement of the afternoon remained, but another feeling had quietly worked its way alongside it.
Curiosity.
After finishing a few tasks, she returned to the house and quickly discovered Flint wasn't in the kitchen, the parlor, or anywhere else inside.
She eventually found him in the backyard repairing a section of fence. The steady rhythm of the hammer should have sounded productive. Instead, each strike carried enough force to suggest the fence had personally offended him.
Daisy stopped a few feet away. "You're being remarkably helpful."
The hammer paused. "I've been informed that's one of my better qualities."
Something about his voice made her tilt her head. She moved closer. "Julian secured a large order."
"I heard."
"The Sheridan House." She couldn’t help herself and smiled once more. "It could double production by winter."
"That's good."
The words were correct, but the tone wasn’t.
Most people who cared about her would have sounded excited. Nathan would already be calculating how much extra work she was taking on. Clara would have demanded a celebration. Even Julian had looked ready to announce the news to the entire town.
Flint simply drove another nail into the fence. "Very good," he repeated.
For some reason, the response felt strangely flat.
Daisy frowned.
She considered asking what was wrong. Then Flint drove another nail into the fence. Hard enough to make the board protest. Perhaps it was simply one of his moods. He'd been carrying plenty of those lately.
Still, as she listened to the hammer strikes continue across the yard, a small question lingered stubbornly in the back of her mind.
Why had Flint gone so quiet the moment Julian arrived?