Wild in the Moment (13 page)

And Daisy, his heart had indelibly told him, was totally worth it.

He knew she had feelings for him…maybe not love yet? So he hadn't won her heart. So they had some problems. But he knew some of her built-in walls now. She had a fear of being ordinary—so obviously he had to find ways to show her that he was never going to treat her as ordinary in a million zillion years. And she had a fear that living in White Hills would doom her to boredom…so he had to find ways to show her that a small town didn't have to be staid.

Suddenly cars started honking. Two pickups stopped. One burly old-timer in a fur cap came barreling out of his truck, looking ready for a fight and furious as all get-out. “What the hell are you trying to do, Teague? Kill yourself?”

“Hey, Shaunessy. No, I'm just having a little trouble—”

“You're having more than a little trouble. You're stopping traffic. You're working on a ladder in a high wind. Now, whatever the hell you're trying to do, let's just get it done so we can all go home.”

“Exactly,” the bearded man behind him echoed, “what I was thinking.”

A couple more townspeople followed up behind him. He'd done work for a lot of them, of course. And although Vermonters could be stubborn and independent, they tended to pitch in when they saw someone in big trouble. It's not as if he would have given up if he'd had to do this totally on his own.

He wasn't giving up. Not on Daisy. Not until he'd tried every last thing he could conceivably think of first.

But it was possible—even probable—that trying to string three sets of banners across Main Street without some help would have taken him all night and then some.

When the townspeople saw what he was doing, he saw a lot of rolled eyes and private grins. But they helped.

Two hours later the job was done.

Then it was just an issue of waiting for Daisy to wake up in the morning and see what he'd done.

 

The next morning, Daisy rushed over to open the top oven. The smell of char scented the air. An entire tray of croissants was more black-topped than the highway. She pulled out the tray, smacked it on the counter and waved off the smoke in exasperation.

It wasn't as if she'd never had a baking snafu, but it was one thing to have a bad-hair day, another to have two nonstop mean days in a row. And that wasn't even counting bad hair.

Teague was the problem, of course. She tossed down the oven pads. What was going
on?
From the night they'd connected after the blizzard, no day had passed without their talking or being together. But he hadn't called. And she hadn't been able to reach him.

Last night, of course, she'd left town before dinner, driven the back roads to investigate the present she wanted to give him on Valentine's Day. Her heart lifted, just thinking about it—except that worry almost instantly replaced elation. Nothing exactly
had
to be wrong.

But she knew it was. Inside, outside, and every-other-way wrong.

“Daisy!” Harry hollered. “There's another one.”

She charged out from the kitchen and found another beaming face at the counter, waiting for her with a little wrapped package, blue and white, with a red bow. “I just brought you a little something, dear!” It was the grandmother with the plaid jacket.

“That's very kind,” Daisy said with total bewilderment. In the last hour—since seven that morning—three other people had brought her gifts. She knew all of them, in the way everybody knew each other's faces in White Hills, even if they weren't personal friends. But the first present had been a bar of honeysuckle soap, and the next had been some vanilla sugar scrub.

The grandma in the plaid jacket had wrapped up an oversize loofah. Overall, Daisy was starting to wonder if she was suffering from deodorant fade-out, since all these people suddenly seemed to feel she needed grooming and cleaning products.

“That's so kind of you,” she said again. “But you didn't have to give me anything.”

“Of course I didn't, dear. But we're all enjoying having you back home in White Hills so much. And your mom and dad and family aren't here right now, so it just seemed like you might need a gift today.”

“Today?” Daisy repeated.

The older lady patted her hand. “We all know,” she whispered, and then turned around.

Daisy wanted to question her—what exactly did
we
all know?—but the buzzer went off for the bottom oven in the kitchen. She sprinted in, grabbed her hot pads and yanked open the oven door. Her poached apples with vanilla and wine and cardamom and lavender buds simply couldn't fail—yet the pot had bubbled over and made a sizzling mess on the oven floor.

Harry showed up in the doorway. “Phone call for
you in the office. And if this keeps up, I swear I'm dragging my brother in from his vacation. I don't like working this hard. It's against all my principles.”

“I'll help, I'll help, and I promise, I'll get off the phone lickety-split.” But her heart was soaring higher than an eagle taking flight. The call was surely Teague. Okay, she was anxious and wary and thorny because he'd been so unreachable for the last two days. But as long as he was calling now…well, she wasn't totally appeased yet. But she was sure willing to be.

As she charged into the office, she realized her palms were wet. Realized her thought train: that she was willing to forgive him about anything. Realized that she'd only been separated from him for two days and yet she was wallowing in a palms-wet, can't-sleep, can't-think, constantly anxious state of mind.

She'd never suffered the symptoms before. She'd been wild before, but that seemed her nature. There wasn't much risk in doing something that came naturally to a body. Skydiving and taking off with an artist to another country and that sort of thing had never felt like a risk.

This
felt like a risk.

This
—God protect her—felt like love.

She grabbed the phone in Harry's office with her heart suddenly galloping at breakneck speed. “Teague?” she said breathlessly.

“It's Dad, Daisy. Not Teague. Who's Teague?”

“Dad.” She closed her eyes, took a breath, pinched back the fierce disappointment—and realized all over again that she was in love.

Love was ghastly and terrifying. Who knew? How come her sisters were so happy being in love and lov
ing? This wasn't fun. This was so damn scary she couldn't breathe.

“Daisy, are you there?”

“Yes, Dad. And it's so wonderful to hear your voice. I've really missed you!” That wasn't strictly true at the moment, but Daisy still meant it. She adored her dad. Her two sisters had cleaved more with their mom, but somehow she and Colin always had a special compatibility. When she got in trouble, he'd ream her out—but behind closed doors, he'd laugh with her, as well. He affirmed her spirit, her independence, even when he did the proper-dad-thing and yelled at her when she broke the rules. “Are you and Mom doing okay?”

“Your mom is fine. I'm fine. But I need to get something off my chest.”

“Shoot.” Daisy saw Harry motioning her to get off the phone, but she sank on the corner of the desk. A woman had priorities. If her dad needed her, that was that.

“Daisy, you told your mother about the divorce. You told your sisters. But you never said one direct word to me.”

Guilt bit with sharp teeth. “I never meant to hurt your feelings—”

“If you were having trouble with Jean-Luc, why didn't you say? I know you can handle yourself. I know you wouldn't have gotten a divorce unless the situation had become hell for you. But I thought we could always talk. I never met anyone who got so old they couldn't use support from family. Why haven't you called?”

“I'm sorry.” She took a breath, knowing she'd been avoiding her dad. “I know we're overdue a heart-to-heart.” She thought she'd conquered a lot of her pride, partly because of finding Teague. Talking with him.
Somehow telling him things she'd never have told anyone else. But there was a level of pride she still had trouble dipping beneath. That asking-for-help thing. That admitting when she was wrong. That admitting when she was scared.

“You're doing all right now?”

“Fine,” she told him, and then grappled for more honesty. “Well…not fine. Because a man entered the picture who I really care about. I wasn't looking. And I hadn't planned on looking until I had money, a job, my whole life back together. But now is when I found him.”

“You love this guy?” her dad asked gruffly.

So easily, so strongly she said, “Yes.” But she closed her eyes and added, “Dad, there was a reason I didn't tell you anything before. Everyone in the family's done so well with their lives—in spite of some terrible things happening, like with Camille losing her first husband, and Violet believing for so long she couldn't have a baby. I seemed to be the only one who really bungled things.”

“You didn't bung—”

“Yeah, I did. And I didn't want to be a disappointment to you.”

“You couldn't disappoint me, you goose.” Her dad talked a few more minutes about family business. How her mom had managed to plant a garden in spite of the heat. How Camille was loving being a stepmom to her hellion teenage twins and talking about starting up an animal shelter. How Violet couldn't talk about anything else but how wonderful the pregnancy was.

When Daisy hung up, she was smiling. Smoke was billowing out of the oven; Harry was exasperated with her, and no one was waiting on the impatient customers
at the counter. But as she dashed out to help, she felt so, so, so much better for having talked with her dad.

She
did
need to put her life back together, not go into any relationship as a dependent. But even with the fear she'd built up about repeating her bad judgment with men—she
knew
Teague was different. Knew his heart was honest, his ethics straight and true, his capacity for love generous and huge.

Yet as she charged into the restaurant to help put out fires—the table of seven near the far window looked downright furious at how long they'd been waiting—she suddenly stopped dead. That particular far window looked out on Main Street. The east side of Main Street. The side that led to the shops and main business district.

Maybe she'd glanced out the window earlier, maybe not—there wasn't much to see in those pitch-black hours before sunrise. But the watery sun had poked over the horizon now. She immediately saw the banners—all three of them.

 

HAPPY

BIRTHDAY

DAISY!

 

Loopy daisies and black-eyed Susans hung from both sides of the banners, climbing up the lampposts. And when she saw the banners, suddenly all sound seemed to stop in the café. Even the impatient family of seven was grinning. Staring at her.

Now she got it—all the customers this morning.

All the presents.

Only it wasn't her birthday or even close.

For an instant she couldn't move or breathe. It was another charming, impulsive gesture. Romantic. Gran
diose. Exactly what had given her an uneasy stroke when he'd given her the four-foot heart. And since this was bigger and even more public, she probably should be having a stroke times two.

Instead she sucked in a breath, took care of the impatient customers, and the instant she got a free second, she ran into Harry's office to use his private phone.

No surprise, Teague didn't answer—either his home phone or his cell. But this time she left a firm message. “This is Daisy. Either call me or I'm going to strangle you with my bare hands. And that's a promise.”

T
eague pulled over to the side of the road, braked and rolled down the window. The blast of cold air wasn't enough to wake him up, so he slapped his cheeks.

He
had
to get some sleep. He'd been burning the candle at both ends all week—and all for a good cause. He just had one more project to pull off before he could crash. It wouldn't wait because tomorrow was Valentine's Day.

As whipped as he was, his mood was still elated. This would get her, he thought. It was the Valentine's present of all Valentine's presents. All right. So it wasn't exactly romantic in the classic sense, but romantic was what showed love, right?

It's not like it was an appliance.

This was big. No one could call it ordinary. It was nothing like that lazy son of a gun would have given her—something she had to give back, something she
really had no use for. Daisy already had zillions of jewels and crap like that. She was suspicious of that kind of thing. He'd had to find something that would really, really be a surprise for her—and it damn well wasn't easy to surprise a woman who'd lived a lot higher than Teague ever dreamed of.

He put the truck in gear and plodded in, turning into the massive parking lot just before four. Barbara Vanhorn was waiting for him. She came on to anything in pants, wore her hair all moussed up, wore tight skirts to show off her legs. And she was a born saleswoman. Still she was okay to deal with.

“Teague, I was afraid you were a no-show.”

“Didn't mean to be late. Just been running a few minutes behind all day. You got the paperwork on my baby?”

“Of course. Come on into the office.” She sashayed into her cubicle. Steel-blue chairs, steel-blue desk, nothing there but the usual forms. “I could have done better for you.”

“I know you could have.”

“It's just…not the right toy for you, you know? You need something sexier. Classier. You could have blown me over with a feather when you said you want this.”

Teague suspected that sexy and classy started and ended her vocab on adjectives. At least when talking about her favorite subject. “This is what I want,” he said.

“And you've got it, hon. You just call me anytime.”

“Good.” It took a few minutes to fill out the fifty thousand forms. “I need this delivered first thing in the morning—like by eight. To the Marble Bridge Café. To Daisy Campbell. And under no circumstances are you to tell her who it's from.”

“We settled all this yesterday. Stop worrying,” Barb said.

“I mean it. I'm holding you to your promise. I want to tell her myself, but I just want to do it my own way.”

“Hey, where's your trust? You
know
me. I think this whole surprise is just darling,” she assured him.

When he stood up, he had the sixth sense she was going to wrap her arms around him and claim a big hug—for old-time's sake, and for the sake of the sale, and for the sake of it being a nice day. And any other old sake Barb could think up.

She was nice enough, but right then he didn't seem to want any boobs pushing against his chest but one woman's.

In fact, right then he didn't want to be kissed, hugged or flirted with by anyone except Daisy.

But, man, he was risking everything he had—everything he was—and he knew it. Valentine's Day didn't have to be the crunch, but a crunch was imminent. Once Daisy had enough money to take off, that was still her plan—unless a better plan surfaced damn fast.

He was hoping she'd think he was a better plan.

When he climbed back in the truck, he damn near forgot to shut the door—he was that exhausted. He got home. He knew he got home, because he heard the phone ringing. And ringing. And ringing. He seemed to have made it to the bed, seemed to still have his boots on, didn't care about the boots or the phone.

He suspected it was Daisy. She'd left messages before. Increasingly annoyed messages.

He just couldn't get it all done—his work, the surprises. Not and pull it all together before Valentine's Day. Besides which, he was a coward. Unless he could prove to Daisy that life in White Hills—life with him—
wasn't going to be ordinary or dull, a life where she could get back that pride in herself she'd lost with the French Creep…he knew he was going to lose her. He couldn't accept that. And for damn sure he couldn't face it until he had to.

So he let the phone ring. In fact, by that time, he didn't even open an eye. In his mind he heard her talking to him. These last few days he'd fiercely missed working with her. Missed sleeping with her. Missed talking with her. Missed her hoity-toity clothes and the way she arched her right eyebrow when she was teasing him. He missed the way she walked. He missed the shape of her mouth.

Even from the depth of sleep, Teague seemed to be replaying the obvious—not the obvious dream but the totally obvious truth.

He couldn't imagine living without her.

 

Daisy answered her cell phone only because someone rang three times already—which meant that someone obviously couldn't take a hint. She was
busy.
“What?” she spit into the receiver.

“Daisy! You've got to come down to the restaurant right now!”

“Come on, Harry. This is the first day I asked to have off. Jason's back. You don't need m—”

“It's not that. I don't need you to work. I just need you to come down. Now. Fast.”

She had her hands absolutely full with Teague's present, but to appease Harry—who after all, had been good to her—she shoved on shoes and sprinted downstairs.

She saw the crowd gathered at the front door, not a crowd in line for the restaurant but a crowd facing the stairs to the apartment, so her immediate thought was
uh-oh. When she reached the bottom of the steps, she counted heads. Not every single body in White Hills was sardined into the restaurant lobby, but it had to be close. Faces stared at her, wearing expectant expressions. Nosy expressions. Strangely worried expressions.

Daisy didn't need any internal conscience warning her uh-oh this time. She spun around to escape back upstairs—fast—and she would have made it, if Harry hadn't lumbered through the crowd and grabbed her hand. She assumed the point of all this lunacy was for her to see something in the restaurant, but instead of tugging her inside, Harry tugged her outside.

She was wearing navy wool slacks and a Valentinered sweater, respectable inside clothes, but naturally no coat or jacket. The wind blistered her ears before she'd taken the first step. A woman was waiting at the curb, wearing a skirt short enough to risk her rear end getting frostbite, a showy smile on her face. To her right were two townspeople holding cameras. The local newspaper—a weekly—had a snot-nosed kid holding a businesslike camera on her left. Obviously everyone was counting on her to react in some spectacle-like way, but for an instant Daisy couldn't pin down what on earth she was supposed to react to.

Then she got it. Or kind of. Behind the lady with the showy smile was…well, she had to squint to identify what it was. A vehicle, for sure. But not exactly a car or a truck or an SUV.

And then she remembered. It was one of those things the guys took to war. A Hummer. A used Hummer—truth to tell, it looked like a reinforced used Hummer—painted daisy yellow with a big red Valentine's Day bow tied prettily on the steering wheel.

Daisy closed her eyes tightly for a good long milli
second, thinking
no,
this couldn't be happening. She thought she'd loved him. She actually thought she'd loved him. But this…

This was the end of the line for Teague.

 

Teague knew he was dreaming. On the other side of his closed eyelids, there seemed to be bright light—which couldn't be, since he'd stumbled into bed just a few minutes ago in the pitch-black. But he figured the bright light was symbolic. Dreams were goofy like that. And the only time he dreamed at all was when he was so wasted tired that he couldn't make sense of anything, anyway.

Still, this dream was different. Powerful. Gripping. Whether it was symbolic or wishful thinking or plain old need, Daisy was there. He heard her whispering, “Teague? Teague!” in that exotic, sexy voice of hers. And her perfume wafted around him, the scent that always shot testosterone straight to his brain.

He wasn't completely surprised that Daisy was there, of course. He knew the Hummer'd do it.

The heart—he'd definitely wanted to give her the heart, but bottom line, giving your best girl chocolate on Valentine's Day wasn't exactly a headline-news idea. He needed the opposite of ordinary. He thought the birthday banners on Main Street was a better idea—partly because he couldn't believe her Jean-Luc would have done such a thing. Also the rest of the town would get off on it, he knew, so that Daisy'd be exposed again to how honestly nice people were in White Hills. It
was
nice to live in a place where people knew you, paid attention, watched out for you. It wasn't skinny-dipping in the Riviera, no. But they could do that kind of junk on vacations if she wanted. Daisy knew what it was like
to live with strangers and no one she could count on. He couldn't believe that would be her first choice ever again.

He'd heard feedback that the banner thing had gone over big—which was good—but Teague had known upfront that wasn't enough. He'd needed to come up with something to really give her a jolt. Dais had to be close to saving enough for a car down payment by now—had to be close to leaving. So the Hummer…well, it was a long way from the cool sports cars she'd likely driven in France, but the thing was, he'd driven with her. She needed to be surrounded by steel. She didn't need cute; she needed a vehicle that could get itself out of ditches, that could go uphill when nothing else could go uphill. He fully realized that Daisy wasn't worried about issues like that. It was his problem, that she drove like a bat out of hell.

Her issue, though, was that she wasn't an exotic flower. He knew she wanted to be—that she'd always wanted to be. But the truth was, his Daisy was no-nonsense to the bone. She loved working. Real work. She loved making something out of nothing, loved feeling challenged, loved getting her hands all messy in stains and varnishes, loved cooking herself rather than being waited on.

Teague couldn't imagine telling her that her self-image was goofy, that her dreams didn't fit her at all. But he thought, really thought, that the Hummer was perfect for her. She could go anywhere in blizzards or storms. Carry tools or wedding cakes. Daisy, being a doer in every way, didn't need a sports car that required constant attention, but a vehicle that enabled her to take off on any wild ambition she had.

Besides which, a Hummer
so
wasn't ordinary.

He smiled in the dream. Hell, it was hard not feeling high as the sky. When he'd gone to bed, his whole world looked precarious, the fear of loss hanging over his heart like a lead pendulum…but now everything was coming right.

Daisy'd quit talking. The warm body snuggled next to him made him smile all over again. He could feel her slow, soft tongue. Licking his cheek. Then his nose. Then his mouth.

She was hot for him. Really hot. It seemed like all his life he'd been dreaming about her warm, lithe body, about her warm, wet, lithe tongue. Almost like this. Not exactly like this, but almost.

Suddenly the “almost” part of the dream struck him as a tad disturbing. Because a cold, wet nose suddenly nuzzled his cheek.

And Daisy sure as hell didn't have a cold, wet nose.

His eyelids shot wide-open. The daylight pouring in the windows almost blinded him. From somewhere he could smell fresh coffee. And the affectionate female body lying in bed with him wasn't Daisy, but a dog. A young, scruffy mutt with black-and-white fur and brown eyes and no heritage to brag about—or several heritages to brag about, depending on one's point of view. The instant she discovered he was awake, her long, feathery tail started thumping at several thousand miles an hour. Someone had put a bushel basket next to his bed, filled to overflowing. Teague saw a powder-blue collar, a powder-blue leash, balls, pull toys, carpet cleaning products, kibble, and…he squinted…a powder-blue bowl with HUSSY II engraved on it.

“What the hell?” Teague muttered groggily, which made the puppy respond with ecstatic enthusiasm, leaping on him to lavish his entire face with kisses. “Aren't
you a darling? But whoa, baby, take it easy, take it easy…”

Only one person in the universe would have given him a pup named Hussy, and he promptly forgot the dog—because his real-life hussy was suddenly standing in the doorway.

Some guys fantasized about a woman in corsets and black lace. His fantasy woman was dressed in overalls, no shoes, thick floppy socks, and her thick, elegant hair looked determined to escape a ponytail. He couldn't speak for a second, because she was so darn beautiful she stole his breath. When it came down to it, she was so beautiful she was probably always going to steal his breath. Today, though, it was more than those gorgeous bones and lush mouth and exotic, sexy eyes. It was the vulnerability in her expression, the anxiety she couldn't quite hide—although God knew, she tried.

“You're in trouble up to your eyebrows, Larson,” she said sternly.

“I'm in trouble?
I'm
in trouble?! What is this dog?!”

“Your birthday present.”

“It's not my birthday until October.”

She cocked a foot forward. “This is relevant to what? You put up those giant Happy Birthday banners for me all over Main Street, and my birthday isn't until August.”

“What day?”

“The thirty-first.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don't distract me. You're going to take that car back.”

“The hell I am,” he said amiably. “Just for the record, is the dog house-trained?”

“They said she was, at the rescue place, but…” When Daisy opened the balcony door, the pup leaped down from the bed and galloped outside, only falling
over its feet once. “My take is that she's well people-trained. If you let her outside every ten minutes, she doesn't go in the house.” With the pup safely in the fenced yard, Daisy turned back to him and started up her rant again. “Nobody gives me a car, Teague. I don't want to owe anyone, ever again. You know I'm not rolling in money, but I've saved almost every dime since coming home. I can do without until I've got it together. I don't need charity.”