Chapter Twenty-Four #2
The effort produced mixed results.
She measured ingredients for supper, wiped down counters that were already clean, and reorganized kitchen supplies she could've found blindfolded, which, Flint supposed, wasn't much of a challenge for her.
Every so often, she paused and tilted her head toward the front door, listening beyond the rain as though sheer determination might summon hoofbeats from the storm.
Flint noticed every time.
By the fourth or fifth attempt, he set down the dish he'd been drying. "He'll be fine."
Daisy folded the towel in her hands. "I know. Nathan's been riding these roads longer than I've lived here," she said. "He knows every shortcut, every washed-out crossing, and every stubborn farmer likely to ignore a doctor's instructions."
A faint smile touched Flint's mouth. "That's a surprisingly detailed list."
"Spend enough time around my brother, and you learn where the real dangers are."
The humor faded as quickly as it appeared.
She turned her face toward the front door again.
Flint watched her standing there, listening.
Nathan drove her half mad. He lectured. He hovered. He carried concern like a full-time profession. Daisy complained about him often enough that an outsider might've mistaken irritation for annoyance.
Nobody who truly knew her would make that mistake.
Nathan mattered.
So did Clara, Wyatt, Samuel, and Ruth.
Daisy loved people fiercely and worried about them with equal determination.
During recent weeks, he'd spent plenty of time thinking about the danger Amos posed to him. Watching Daisy listen for her brother's return forced him to confront a harder truth.
The threat no longer belonged to him alone. Every stranger asking questions in town. Every rider lingering near the property. Every mile Amos's men pushed their search farther across the territory added another burden to shoulders that already carried enough.
Daisy deserved evenings spent arguing with Nathan about supper and laughing at his complaints about impossible patients.
Instead, she stood listening to a storm and wondering whether her brother would make it home safely.
Flint looked toward the dark window where rain blurred the world beyond the glass and felt the familiar certainty return.
Leaving her would hurt.
Staying carried consequences that reached far beyond him.
They ate at the kitchen table beneath the warm glow of the oil lamp while the wind swept across the yard and rattled the shutters hard enough to make the walls creak.
A flash of lightning illuminated the window, followed by a heavy clap of thunder.
Daisy flinched.
The reaction lasted only an instant before she recovered and reached for her coffee again, yet Flint noticed it immediately.
He set down his fork. "You alright?"
She paused, as though deciding how much she wanted to admit. "I've never cared much for storms."
Flint studied her across the table. "Since you lost your sight?"
Her fingers traced the handle of her cup before she answered. "Everything feels different during a storm." A faint smile touched her mouth. "Which probably sounds foolish considering I can't see any of it."
"It doesn't sound foolish."
"The sounds change. Rain swallows familiar landmarks.
Wind carries voices farther than usual. Thunder makes distances harder to judge.
" She turned her face slightly toward the nearest window.
"Most days, I know exactly where I am without thinking about it.
During a storm, the world feels less certain. "
Understanding filled him.
He'd spent weeks watching her move through life with remarkable confidence, memorizing spaces and navigating them with a skill that made people forget she was blind. Storms stripped away some of those familiar markers, leaving her without the certainty she relied upon.
Without giving himself time to reconsider, he reached across the table.
Daisy's hand slid into his almost immediately. The ease of it stole whatever breath remained in his lungs.
Her fingers curled around his, warm and trusting, and neither of them seemed eager to let go.
Rain drummed steadily against the house while thunder rolled across the prairie.
The silence between them carried none of the awkwardness that had haunted them after Flint first arrived. Weeks of shared meals, late-night conversations, and quiet companionship had transformed that silence into its own language.
Daisy brushed her thumb across the back of his hand. The gesture felt so familiar that it caught him off guard.
During recent days, she'd kept a careful distance between them, answering his questions, sharing meals, and carrying on conversations without offering him the easy affection he'd once taken for granted. Flint had told himself he deserved that distance.
Yet here she was, reaching for him without thinking about it.
The simple trust in that touch settled deeper than the kiss beside the creek ever had.
A kiss belonged to stolen hours and lingering feelings. This belonged to ordinary life. And Flint had grown far too attached to that.
"Tell me," she said softly.
Flint already understood what she wanted.
The conversation had been put off between them ever since she learned Amos Grady's men were hunting him.
Maybe it had been waiting much longer than that.
He looked down at their joined hands. "What do you want to know?"
Daisy gave a quiet huff that carried a hint of amusement. "You've spent enough time around me to know that's a dangerous question."
Amusement tugged at him. "Fair point."
"I want the truth, Flint." She squeezed his hand gently. "All of it."
Flint stared at their joined hands while rain rattled the windows. The words sat heavy in his throat. Once he started talking, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop.
Daisy waited. She never rushed him when the truth mattered.
Finally, he let out a slow breath. "Amos started small."
Her thumb brushed across his knuckles. "Small usually grows teeth."
A reluctant smile flashed. "Yeah. Turns out you're right about most things."
The teasing faded almost as quickly as it appeared.
Daisy traced her thumb across the back of his hand. "I've wanted to ask about him since the day you arrived."
Flint lifted his head. "What changed?"
A faint smile touched her mouth, though it carried little amusement.
"I finally ran out of ways to avoid it. I mean, I knew enough already," she said quietly.
"Nathan worried whenever his name came up.
Wyatt looked ready to saddle a horse every time a stranger rode through town.
Then you arrived bleeding all over my brother's sofa.
" Her fingers curled more firmly around his.
"I wasn't sure I wanted the details after that. "
Flint understood. The truth had sharp edges.
Daisy turned her face toward him. "Who is he?"
He leaned back in his chair and listened to the rain hammering the roof. "The strange part is that a lot of people would tell you he's a good man.
That's because most people meet the version Amos wants them to meet." His gaze drifted toward the dark window. "He remembers birthdays. Asks after your family. Donates money whenever a church roof needs fixing. If a ranch burns down, Amos is usually one of the first men offering help."
"That sounds suspiciously thoughtful."
"It does." The humor faded. "Then a payment comes due."