Chapter Sixteen
Flint had spent most of the afternoon trying not to think about Julian Mercer.
It would've been easier if the man had given him a reason to dislike him.
Instead, Flint found himself sanding a fence rail that didn't need sanding while his mind wandered back to the workshop for the hundredth time.
The fence had been repaired hours ago. He'd replaced two loose boards, reinforced a leaning post, and tightened wire that hadn't actually needed tightening.
Now he was running sandpaper over weathered wood simply because it gave his hands something to do.
Unfortunately, it did nothing to occupy the rest of him.
Across the yard, the workshop door stood open to catch the afternoon breeze. Every so often, Daisy's laughter drifted outside, carried on the scent of beeswax and lavender. The sound reached him even from where he worked, and each time it did, something tightened unpleasantly in his chest.
Julian had left nearly an hour ago.
Daisy was still smiling.
Flint dragged the sandpaper across the rail and immediately regretted the thought. It wasn't fair. Julian hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, that was the entire problem.
If he had been arrogant, Flint could have dismissed him.
If he'd been dishonest, selfish, or the sort of man who enjoyed hearing himself talk, Flint would've found fault easily enough.
Instead, Julian was hardworking, respectable, and genuinely invested in Daisy's success.
He spent his days helping her secure suppliers, negotiating contracts, and finding new customers for her business.
He looked at her the way sensible people looked at someone they admired.
Meanwhile, Flint had arrived on Nathan's doorstep half dead and with enough trouble behind him to endanger everyone in the house.
The comparison wasn't particularly flattering.
With a muttered curse, he tossed the sandpaper onto the porch rail and rubbed the back of his neck. At almost the same moment, the workshop door opened.
Daisy stepped outside, carrying a small wooden crate against her hip.
Even from across the yard, Flint recognized the steady confidence in her movements. Three years ago, he would've known her by sight alone. Now he knew her by the rhythm of her footsteps, the tilt of her head when she listened, the way she navigated familiar spaces without hesitation.
Before he could think better of it, he was already crossing the yard. "Daisy."
Her face brightened immediately. The reaction should not have affected him as much as it did. Yet every time she smiled after hearing his voice, he found himself wondering how a man was supposed to protect his peace of mind under those circumstances.
"I've got it," he said, reaching for the crate.
Daisy tightened her grip. "I can carry a box, Flint."
"I know."
"Then why are you trying to take it?"
"I'm helping."
"No," she said dryly. "You're stealing it politely."
A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
She wasn't entirely wrong.
Daisy surrendered the crate, and together they headed toward the storage shed, Flint carrying the box while Daisy walked beside him. Despite all his efforts to keep his distance, he found himself absurdly pleased by the arrangement.
"Julian seemed pleased."
"He should be." Pride warmed Daisy's voice as they reached the shed. "The Sheridan House order changes everything."
Flint set the crate down just inside the doorway and straightened. Dust motes drifted through the late afternoon sunlight slanting through the boards. "You built that."
Daisy was quiet for a moment. When she answered, her voice had softened. "I had help."
Flint already knew who she meant.
"Julian helped," she said. "Nathan, too. Clara, whenever I needed her."
Flint nodded and looked away. She hadn't meant anything by it.
She was simply giving credit where it was due.
Still, he couldn't stop the uncomfortable thought that followed.
Every person she'd named had contributed something useful to her life.
Julian found customers. Nathan protected her.
Clara and Wyatt supported her whenever she needed them.
And Flint brought trouble.
Before he could dwell on that observation any further, Daisy pressed a folded sheet of paper into his hand. "I need lamp oil tomorrow."
He unfolded the list and frowned. "You want me to go into town?"
A smile tugged at her mouth. "I want you to buy lamp oil. The trip to town is merely an unfortunate side effect."
"Those seem like very different requests."
"They aren't."
"They absolutely are."
Daisy laughed. "There are instructions."
"There appears to be an entire military campaign."
"That's because you ignored the instructions last time."
Flint glanced down at the page. "I bought lamp oil."
"You bought enough lamp oil to illuminate half of Cheyenne."
"In my defense, your measurements lacked precision."
Her smile lit up her whole face. "They contained numbers."
He couldn’t resist teasing more. "They contained tiny numbers."
"They were perfectly normal numbers."
Flint shook his head. "That's a matter of opinion."
The smile lingering on her face made something inside him tighten. It wasn't only that she was happy. It was how easy she seemed around him lately. The guarded distance when he'd first arrived was slowly disappearing, replaced by familiar teasing and comfortable conversation.
For one dangerous moment, he allowed himself to enjoy it.
Then Daisy reached out and squeezed his forearm lightly. "Thank you, Flint."
The simple sincerity in her voice swept away every pleasant illusion he'd been entertaining.
She trusted him.
After everything he'd done, after everything he'd become, Daisy still looked at him as though he were someone dependable. Someone worth asking for help. The thought should have felt like a gift. Instead, it did its best to smother him, because he wasn't entirely convinced she was right.
***
By evening, Nathan returned home looking like a man who had personally lost a fight with the entire town.
He tossed his hat onto a chair, dropped heavily onto the kitchen bench, and accepted the plate Daisy slid in front of him without so much as a greeting.
"I've spent twelve hours being kicked by children, bitten by dogs, and insulted by grown men."
Daisy poured him coffee. "In that order?"
"No. The dog was considerably more polite than the men."
A laugh escaped Flint before he could stop it.
Nathan pointed his fork in warning. "Don't encourage me."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Nathan speared a piece of potato with unnecessary force. "We've always been impossible."
"Separately," Flint agreed.
Nathan nodded solemnly. "Now we've joined forces."
The look they exchanged was so absurdly pleased with itself that Flint lifted his coffee cup in salute. Nathan immediately tapped his mug against it, sealing the alliance.
Across the table, Daisy muttered something about opening a boarding school for overgrown children.
For the first time all day, Flint laughed without forcing it. The sound surprised him almost as much as the warmth that followed.
After supper, Daisy carried Julian's shipment records upstairs, determined to spend the evening calculating inventory and production schedules. Flint watched her disappear around the landing before turning toward the parlor.
Unfortunately, Nathan intercepted him halfway there.
The doctor was leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms folded across his chest, which immediately put Flint on edge.
In the weeks since arriving at the Whitmore house, he'd learned that Nathan only adopted that posture when preparing to lecture, interrogate, or otherwise make himself difficult.
"What?" Flint asked.
Nathan studied him for a moment. "What do you mean?"
"That mood."
Flint frowned. "I don't have a mood."
Nathan looked genuinely insulted. "Flint, I've spent half my life diagnosing people. I can identify a mood faster than I can identify pneumonia."
"I'm perfectly fine."
"Interesting."
Flint already disliked where this was heading. "Why?"
"Because that's exactly what Mrs. Hensley's husband said before she struck him with a frying pan."
Flint rubbed a hand across his forehead. Nathan's sense of humor had always been peculiar. Most people told jokes. Nathan disguised them as medical observations and waited for everyone else to catch up.
The doctor pushed away from the counter and grabbed his coffee cup. "What's bothering you?"
"Nothing."
Nathan took a sip.
Flint folded his arms.
Neither spoke.
The silence stretched long enough to become irritating.
Nathan sighed. "You know, most patients become considerably easier to deal with after they stop bleeding."
Flint glanced toward the staircase. The house remained quiet. Daisy was still upstairs, likely sorting paperwork and making ambitious plans for her business.
The question slipped out before he could decide whether asking it was a mistake. "Is Julian courting her?"
Nathan lowered his coffee cup.
For one brief second, his expression remained blank.
Then a slow smile appeared. The sort of smile a man wore when he'd just stumbled across information he intended to enjoy.
"Oh."
Flint regretted the question immediately.
Nathan looked delighted. "You're jealous."
"I'm not."
"You absolutely are." Nathan shook his head.
"I asked one question."
"And managed to sound miserable while doing it."
Flint considered walking away. Unfortunately, leaving now would probably be interpreted as confirmation.
Nathan seemed to recognize that as well because he settled into a chair and made himself comfortable. "Julian's a good man."
The words landed harder than Flint expected. He looked away toward the window.
Nathan continued as though reading directly from a list of Flint's personal irritations. "Reliable. Honest. Hardworking. Owns a legitimate business. Pays his taxes."
Flint narrowed his eyes. "You're enjoying this."
"A little."
Nathan didn't even attempt to deny it. After a moment, however, some of the amusement left his face. "Julian respects her."
Flint gave a short nod. Of course he did. Anyone with eyes respected Daisy.
Nathan rolled his coffee cup between his palms. "Do you know how hard she fought for the life she's built?"
The question carried enough weight that Flint looked back at him. Nathan wasn't talking about Julian anymore.
"She lost everything," Nathan said quietly. "Her sight. The future she thought she was going to have. The confidence that used to come naturally to her."
His gaze moved briefly toward the staircase.
"I watched her spend months convincing herself she'd become a burden. Then years teaching herself she hadn't."
Flint said nothing.
"That business wasn't handed to her. Neither was her independence. Every bit of confidence she has now, she earned."
The kitchen felt strangely smaller.
Flint already knew where this conversation was headed. "So?"
Nathan met his gaze evenly. "So don't be the reason she loses any of it."
Nathan wasn't warning him away from Daisy. In some ways, that would've been easier. Instead, he was asking something far more difficult.
If Flint intended to be part of Daisy's life, he needed to be certain he wasn't bringing destruction with him.