“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to launch another rescue effort and come looking for you two.”
He rather liked the idea of her searching for him. “Sorry to make you worry. I should have skipped the walk so I didn’t have to interrupt your meeting earlier.”
She shrugged. “It’s fine. We were able to get back on track eventually.”
There were two other women inside. He recognized one as Bea Romero, Cruz’s ex-wife. He had met her briefly after he showed up at Casa Del Mar with Cruz. She had been effusive in her gratitude. Though they had just met, she had hugged him tightly, thanking him for saving Cruz’s life. Several examples of her artwork were displayed at the house and there was that photograph outside his room of Daisy, her sister, her niece and her aunt.
“Hello again.”
She waved with a friendly smile.
The other woman made a small noise that finally drew Daisy’s attention. “I’m sorry. This is my aunt Stella.”
The woman couldn’t be more than a decade older than Daisy. She was pretty in an elfin, winsome sort of way, though she had circles under her eyes and an air of fatigue. He wondered if she’d had a recent health crisis.
“Stella, this is Gabriel Ellison.”
She had a warm smile, despite the other signs of illness. “Gabriel. How wonderful to meet you.”
“Gabe. Please.”
“Gabe. I very much enjoy your documentaries.” A little furrow appeared over her eyebrows. “Enjoyable isn’t exactly the right word, I suppose. Compelling fits better. Once I start one, I can’t stop watching and I always learn something, whether I want to or not.”
“Thank you.” He still found it surprising when people knew of his work. Most of the time, he felt like he worked in obscurity.
“Are you working on anything now?” Daisy’s aunt asked in what sounded like a deceptively innocent voice.
“Stella.” Daisy said her aunt’s name like a warning.
“What? I was just asking.”
“I’m actually considering a couple of projects. I’m suddenly interested in the artist Marguerite.”
It was a calculated risk and not very nice of him. He saw panic flicker momentarily in Daisy’s eyes and tension steal over her features but no hint of reaction other than polite interest in the expression of her aunt or sister. As he suspected, they didn’t know Daisy’s secret identity.
“Oh, that would be fascinating. I would love to find out who it is. My theory is Marguerite is a man,” Bea said. “An old guy.”
“Really?” Stella looked disbelieving. “I can’t believe that, with her sensitivity and elegance. It’s definitely a woman. Do you have any leads into who it might be?”
Daisy looked trapped, suddenly, like a tiny mouse cornered against a kitchen baseboard by a giant wielding a broom and a dustpan.
Regret swamped him. He had vowed to keep her secret and the first thing he did was bring it up with her family members. He was about to change the subject but she beat him to it.
“My aunt and sister were actually wondering if you might be interested in filming a short commercial promo for the fund-raiser we’re doing at the end of the month,” she blurted out. “We are hoping to generate more interest and awareness in Open Hearts throughout Northern California, both from potential donors and from the population we’re trying to serve.”
The moment she said the words, he could tell she didn’t want to, especially when Bea and Stella both looked at her in shock and surprise.
No doubt she was only using the topic as a diversion, to keep her aunt and her sister from finding out the truth about Marguerite.
Again, he had to wonder why she was guarding that secret like it was a stolen masterpiece.
What was she so afraid of? They seemed like very nice people. Did Daisy really think they would shun her for finding incredible success as an artist?
He felt guilty enough about bringing up the topic she so desperately wanted to avoid that he was compelled to make amends. “Sounds intriguing, especially as the foster care crisis is a cause close to my heart. I might be interested.”
He saw the three women exchange glances. “Really?” Stella asked, eyes wide.
It wasn’t usually the sort of thing he did, but he might be willing to make an exception in this case, especially if it would help further his own cause, finding out more about the intriguing Daisy McClure. “Sure. I would love to help out. I would have to set one condition, though.”
Again, the women exchanged glances. “What would that be?” Daisy asked, a subtle thread of apprehension twining through her voice.
She thought he was going to blurt out her secret. He probably deserved her suspicion, considering he had brought up the topic in the first place, but it still hurt a little that she didn’t trust him to protect her.
“None of my regular crew is around, so I’m going to need an assistant. Daisy, how about it?”
She looked shocked. “I don’t know anything about making a documentary.”
“But you know about Open Hearts.”
“The money side of things. That’s it. Nobody wants to see that kind of boring information.”
Stella frowned. “Why do you always underestimate your contribution? We would truly be lost without you keeping us on track.”
“Stella would be the best one to help you,” Daisy insisted. “She’s the founder and organizer of the charity and does most of the nitty-gritty work.”
“The very reason I can’t have her working as my assistant on a promotional shoot,” Gabe said. “She’ll be one of the sources. No. It definitely has to be you.”
She glared at him, her usual calm reserve nowhere in evidence. He had to admit, he loved breaking through her composed veneer and drawing a reaction out of her.
“You have to help him, Daisy,” her sister urged. “This is an opportunity we can’t turn down. Think of how wonderful it would be if we had a promotional spot created by none other than Gabe Ellison himself. The publicity alone surrounding the promotion would be fantastic. You can’t say no.”
Daisy frowned at all of them but especially at him. “What if I don’t have time right now?”
Bea scoffed. “You’re always saying how busy you are. I don’t get why. You should have more time than any of us! You work a job with regular hours that you can walk away from at the end of the day, you don’t have kids and you don’t have a husband or an ex-husband to deal with.”
“Bea.” Her aunt’s voice was full of censure.
“Well, she doesn’t. Daisy uses her packed schedule as an excuse for everything. She never has time for lunch, she’s busy in the evenings when we want to go to dinner, and heaven forbid we want to do something on a weekend. I’m so over it. This is a big deal. Gabriel Ellison agreeing to produce a promotional shot for us is a big deal.”
“I know that,” Daisy said stiffly.
“Then maybe you could adjust your important schedule a little just this once.”
Ouch. He didn’t realize he was poking at old scabs. As he watched, Daisy seemed to curl into herself, like her namesake flower trying to protect itself from harsh conditions.
Stella stepped in to smooth the waters. “You don’t have to if you really don’t have the time,” she said, gripping Daisy’s hands in hers. “But it would be wonderful if you could make it work.”
Daisy drew in a deep breath, looked at her aunt and her sister, then faced him with her shoulders tight.
“I’m happy to help you,” she said, though her body language conveyed exactly the opposite.
“Daisy, I’m sorry,” Bea began.
She ignored her sister. “What do you need me to do?”
He didn’t want to be the cause of discord between them. He almost told her to forget it, that he would call his actual assistant and see if Gina could come out for a few days to he
lp him.
“We won’t have much time, maybe a one-minute spot that local television stations can air as part of their public service announcements, right?”
“Exactly,” Stella said.
“I suppose my first step will be to find out everything I can about what you do. Can you send me all the background information you have?”
“We have a press packet, as well as the website that I maintain in my copious spare time,” Daisy said.
Her younger sister winced a little but said nothing.
“Sounds like a good place to start. If you could send me that, I’ll do some digging on my own and come up with some ideas.”
“Thank you so much,” Stella said. “This is so exciting! I’m thrilled you’re even considering it.”
“I’m happy to do it. This recovery has been making me a little bit crazy. This will give me something worthwhile to focus on. Apparently, I’m not very good at doing nothing. But don’t worry. We’ll come up with something great.”
At least now he would have more than just the dog tying him to Daisy. Maybe while they were working on the promotional spot for Open Hearts, he might be able to convince her to let him do a longer piece on Marguerite.
It was worth a try, anyway.
16
BEATRIZ
Bea knew she owed her sister a big apology. She had picked up the phone half a dozen times since the day before, when she had been rude to Daisy about her busy schedule. Each time she set it down again, not knowing how to find the right words.
Daisy was so private, so contained. Sometimes it drove her crazy.
She loved her sister deeply and admired her for many things. In reality, Daisy had been more of a mother to Bea than even Stella had been, always watching out for her, taking care of her, giving her advice. She remembered plenty of times when they were small when Daisy was the only solid thing she had to hang on to.
That was probably why it hurt so much when Daisy shut her out of her life. Her sister kept her emotions so carefully controlled. Sometimes she would give anything to have Daisy yell at her or get angry at a driver who cut her off in traffic or cry when she was having a bad day.
Some part of her also wished she could be more like Daisy, at least in that respect. Bea’s emotions always seemed close to the surface, ready to bubble over into laughter, sadness or snippiness, as she had demonstrated the day before.
She needed to talk to Daisy before things got even more awkward between them. She reached for her phone to call, just as the timer went off on the oven. Later, she promised herself. She would call later to clear the air.
She opened the oven to check on the chocolate chip cookies currently sending out their delicious aroma through her kitchen.
Shane had texted her an hour ago, asking if he could bring his team over to watch some highlight films in her screening room since the team couldn’t cram into the living space of the guesthouse.
Of course she had agreed, despite the awkwardness that still lingered between her and Shane.
Who hadn’t she pissed off this week? she wondered.
At least she would have cookies for the team. She was one of the unofficial team moms and took her responsibilities seriously.
She was scooping the cookies from the tray to the cooling rack when the doorbell rang. “Coming,” she called, then wiped her hands on a dish towel and hurried to the front door.
She expected to find members of the Cape Sanctuary high school football team. Instead, only her ex-husband stood on the porch, carrying a guitar case.
Of all the lousy timing. Why did he have to come tonight, when Shane would be there shortly with his team?
She had gone over her conversation with Shane hundreds of times since the night they kissed and still didn’t think she was wrong to take Cruz’s phone call, especially when her child was involved.
If Shane couldn’t see that, the problem was his, not hers. That didn’t mean she needed Cruz to be hanging out in her house right now, the first time she had really seen Shane since that night.
“Cruz! I wasn’t expecting you. I’m afraid Mari is spending the night with Aunt Stella. They’re going to dinner and a movie later tonight.”
“I’m not here to see Mari. I’m here to see you.”
She could feel her stomach muscles tense. There went all the calm she had tried to attain through yoga that morning.
Why couldn’t he get the message that she didn’t want to reconcile with him?
The timer went off with the next batch of cookies before she could answer. She looked back at the kitchen and Cruz gestured with the hand not holding the guitar.
“Go ahead. Take care of that. Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”
Without waiting for an invitation, he walked inside, closing the door behind him. With a sigh, she headed back to the kitchen, aware of him following close behind.
“I’m making cookies for the high school football team. They’re coming over in a moment to watch films.”
“Don’t let me stop you. I don’t want to be in the way but I need your input for a song I’m working on. You were always so good at helping me get unstuck.”
That was an approach he hadn’t yet tried, enlisting her help with songwriting. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“This won’t take long, I swear.” She wasn’t at all surprised when Cruz followed her and snatched up one of the cookies from the previous batch off the cooling rack.
“Mmm. Delicious. I always loved your chocolate chip cookies.”
She had never been much of a cook but liked to bake treats once in a while for parties and gatherings. Chocolate chip cookies became her specialty. She could make them without a recipe and used to bake a batch every time he had a gig for him to take and share with the band.
She had tried hard to be a perfect wife. Maybe too hard.
He ate it in two bites and reached for another. “They are as delicious as I remember,” he said around a mouthful. “You could seriously go into business baking and selling these, babe.”
“I have a career, remember?”
“I’m just saying, if you get tired of the art thing, this would be a good fallback.”
The art thing was her passion and her soul. It wasn’t a career; it was who she was. She would have liked to think that a musician, a fellow artist, would recognize that.
She would like to think a lot of things about Cruz Romero but reality had taught her not to be surprised by anything.
“The team is going to be here within the next half hour. I can give you that much time but that’s it. What do you need?”
He sat on one of the bar stools and watched while she spooned cookie dough onto a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper for the next batch.
“I’ve hit a wall. To be honest, I’m stuck. I haven’t been this stuck in a long time.”
She knew that feeling well in her art. The hardest part for her was facing a blank canvas and trying to grab hold of only one of the thousands of ideas tumbling through her head.
“Why do you think you’re having trouble?”
“I’ve been messed up since that idiot came at me with a knife. Every time I pick up my guitar to work on a song, I keep going over and over in my head that moment when I thought I was a goner.”
Compassion replaced some of her annoyance. He could have died. She didn’t like thinking about how close he’d come. It was only natural for an experience like that to mess with his head.
“Maybe you should give yourself a little more time. There’s no rush to come up with a new album, is there? Your last one only came out four months ago.”
“You know how it is. I always want to be working on the fresh stuff.”
Yes. She did know how it was, especially with Cruz. The grass was always greener for him, in many other arenas of his lif
e besides his songwriting.
“I don’t know how you think I can help you.”
“You were always so good at talking me over the hump when I was stuck. Remember how hard you worked with me on ‘Baby Don’t Go’?”
That had been early in her marriage, when he had listened to her opinions. It had also been one of his biggest hits. Not that she was petty about it or anything.
“Let’s hear what you have so far.”
Cruz played a few bars. The song was a ballad, lyrical and sweet, about love and pain and loss. It hit a little too close to home for her.
“Sing it again,” she said.
He did and she thought again how evocative his voice had always been. He could wring emotions out of a marble statue.
He was a good songwriter but had a few consistent weaknesses.
She came around and looked at the scribbled music he’d set on the kitchen breakfast bar.
“I think you need a different bridge here,” she said, pointing to the sheet music. “What if you went...” She sang a couple of lines a little differently, changing a couple of words to tweak the emphasis.
His eyes immediately lit up.
“You mean like this?” He followed her example, adding his own unique style and flavor. She could sense the magic in the song. This one was going to be another hit; she could tell right away.
“Yes. And instead of going down in the last bar of the chorus, what if the notes went up? It puts more of a positive spin on it.”
He tested it out and she knew even before she saw his sudden grin that she was right.
“That is actually perfect,” he exclaimed. “Just what I needed. How do you always get to the heart of things so quickly?”
She would be lying if she said she wasn’t flattered by his approval. Once, it had been the most important thing in her world.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s only your songs. I doubt I could help anyone else. I guess I know your voice so well, I know what works for you and what doesn’t.”
The Cliff House Page 17
