The Wingman

by Natasha Anders

  Spencer didn’t say anything; he kept his gaze focused on his coffee.

  “I feel like such an idiot,” he confessed after a long silence. “I thought she was the one, man.”

  “I know.”

  “So last night was a colossally stupid idea.” The abrupt change in subject threw Mason, and it took a moment for him to regroup.

  “Things didn’t go too well with Daffodil McGregor, did they?” he asked with a slight grin, and Spencer huffed.

  “I don’t know, man, at times she seemed to really enjoy dancing with me, but afterward it was like she didn’t even know I was there,” Spencer said.

  “Pretty much like it’s always been, then?”

  “Yeah, sorry again for saddling you with the other one.”

  “Daisy,” Mason reminded, and Spencer nodded.

  “Yes, her. I felt like a bit of an asshole when she overheard our conversation,” Spencer admitted, and Mason’s brow lifted.

  “Only a bit? Spencer, the whole messed-up situation didn’t sit right with me from the beginning. She’s a nice lady; she didn’t deserve any of the shit we piled on her last night.”

  “I said I was sorry,” Spencer grunted defensively, and Mason swallowed down a surge of irritation. His brother was a clueless idiot, but he was a hurting clueless idiot at the moment.

  “To me. Not to her, and she’s the one who deserves the apology.”

  “It’s not like I’ll see much of her again. Like you said last night, the McGregor sisters don’t run in our circles, and that one is the least sociable of the three, so we’re even less likely to see her.”

  “About that.” Mason absently patted Cooper’s head, which was resting on his knee, while the dog stared up at him with slavish devotion. Having never had a dog of his own before, the last year with Coop had been eye opening. It was awesome having a buddy to hang out with during the day but also wholly uncomfortable being the animal’s whole world. For someone who had never had anyone or anything so defenseless depend on him before, Mason still felt somewhat awkward in his new role of sole caregiver to a dog.

  “About what?” Spencer prompted, and Mason’s train of thought came back on track with a bump.

  “You’ll likely be seeing a bit more of Daisy McGregor than usual over the next couple of weeks. I’ve agreed to be her date to her sister’s wedding.”

  “Daisy McGregor’s date?”

  “Yes.” Mason took another sip of his—now cold—coffee and grimaced before setting it aside. He got up and moved around his kitchen, getting a pot of coffee brewing, while keenly aware of his brother’s eyes boring into his back.

  “Why?” Spencer asked, the word a study in perplexity.

  “Because she asked me.”

  “Even after overhearing the conversation between us? The chick must be more desperate than I thought.”

  “She’s not desperate.” Mason found himself defending Daisy, even while admitting to himself that maybe she had been a little desperate to make the proposition in the first place. “She’s just . . . clever. This way she has a date for her sister’s wedding but without any commitment or emotional entanglements.”

  “I’ll be damned.” Spencer’s voice sounded almost admiring. “She used your guilt against you, didn’t she?”

  Mason turned to face his brother, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible.

  “You want some breakfast? Bacon and scrambled eggs?”

  “I could eat. So how will this whole wedding date business work? I mean, people will know right off the bat that it’s just a pity thing on your side.”

  Mason didn’t respond to that, he grabbed the eggs and bacon from the fridge and got busy preparing breakfast.

  “Unless she doesn’t care that people will see right through the charade?” Spencer speculated.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mason said, irritated with his brother’s persistence. “It’s not your concern.”

  “I feel kind of responsible,” Spencer countered. “I mean, it’s my fault you got mixed up with her in the first place.”

  “It is,” Mason agreed with equanimity, while vigorously beating the eggs before dumping the lot into a pan. “But I’m fully capable of taking care of myself, and I wasn’t coerced into doing this. So don’t worry about me; little Daisy McGregor is hardly a threat to me.”

  “Little.” Spencer sniggered and Mason glared at him.

  “Stop being such a shallow dick, dude. No more snide comments about her; she’s going to be my sort-of girlfriend for a couple of weeks, and I expect you to be on board with that. Got it?”

  “Sometimes you’re still such a soldier,” Spencer groused, pouring two cups of coffee from the now-percolating machine and placing a mug on the counter closest to Mason. “Barking orders like a general.”

  Mason thought about that before acknowledging to himself that he would always be a soldier. It was ingrained, and he had felt most useful and most alive when he was fighting side by side with his brothers-in-arms. That said, it wasn’t a lifestyle he could, or would, be able to maintain. It came with too much emotional baggage, and if Mason hadn’t left the service when he had, it would have claimed the entirety of his soul.

  He divided the eggs and bacon between two plates and slapped one down in front of Spencer, before picking up his coffee and joining his brother at the island again. He casually tossed Cooper an extra piece of bacon, which the dog downed in one gulp before immediately looking up for more.

  “That’s all you get,” Mason chastised. “And that’s only because we’re jogging it off later. Go lie down.”

  The dog gave him a reproachful look before slinking off to the kitchen rug and lying down, keeping a hopeful eye on the eating men.

  “You’re going jogging in this weather?” Spencer asked, and they both glanced out the kitchen window to the torrential downpour outside. It had been threatening to rain for days and had finally started sometime during the night.

  “I’ve run in worse,” Mason responded succinctly.

  “Seriously?” Spencer looked both impressed and horrified. “Care to elaborate?”

  “No.”

  Spencer cast him a curious sidelong look before shrugging and forking down more of his eggs and bacon. The men ate the rest of their meal in silence.

  “Good morning, Thomas,” Daisy greeted the young boy with a huge smile. “How’s Sheba doing today?”

  “Good, Dr. Daisy. See?” He pointed to a spot just above the small brown dog’s tail, indicating the healing patch of skin there. Just a week ago the patch had been crusty and seriously inflamed. Sheba, indeed, looked to be on the mend.

  “Oh, you’ve been taking good care of her, Thomas. Well done.” The boy beamed at her praise, and she gave the little crossbreed dog a cursory once-over to ensure no other problems.

  “Keep using the ointment until it’s finished and bring her back to me in a month, okay? And we’ll see if her fur grew back.” She was happy that the dog seemed to have overcome the mild case of mange that had been developing. “Don’t forget to keep her out of the sand and make sure her bed is clean and dry.”

  “Yes, Dr. Daisy.” Thomas nodded, his thin shoulders squaring as he practically bristled with pride that the doctor trusted him with the task. He was only about eight and had showed up a week ago at the free animal clinic that Daisy and her father ran every Saturday at the Inkululeko informal settlement just outside of town. The boy had been distraught that his beloved pet was in distress and, while his mother waited outside, had carried Sheba in himself and explained the problem in the most adult way he could. Daisy had respected him enough to respond to his seriousness with equal gravity.

  Patient after patient followed Thomas. They were always slammed at the clinic, and despite the bad weather, today was no different. The workload kept Daisy and her father busy the entire morning, with barely a word spoken between them as they administered vaccinations, took care of minor ailments, and caged a few of the more serious cases in
their van for further treatment at her father’s veterinary practice in town. They treated everything from cats and dogs to cart horses, goats, chickens, and even a cow. By the time they closed shop they were exhausted, filthy, and smelly.

  “You coming around for dinner tonight, Daisy?” her father asked as they climbed into their van.

  “Uh, no,” she said, thinking about her “date” with Mason Carlisle. Something she had successfully managed to push to the back of her mind while she was working. She was still considering canceling it, but the later the day got, the less likely it seemed that she would do the sensible thing and save herself some embarrassment.

  “All the wedding stuff getting to you?” her father asked with a grimace as he carefully navigated the muddy dirt road that led back into town. “Don’t blame you. If I have to hear one more conversation about bouquets and shoes, I think I’ll lose my mind.”

  “I have an appointment,” Daisy mumbled, trying to keep her flush under control.

  “A what?”

  “A . . . a thing. An appointment,” she said. Grabbing her bottled water, she took a thirsty gulp and focused her attention on the passing scenery. The narrow dirt road was lined with thick forest on either side, but once they hit the tar road just outside of town, the view opened up to include ocean. It really was a gorgeous part of the world. It wasn’t called the Garden Route for nothing.

  “An appointment? On a Saturday night?” Her father sounded confused, and she sighed.

  “It’s a casual thing.”

  “With Tilda?”

  “No. I have more than one friend, you know?” she huffed, and he threw her a quick look, surprised by her curt response. Daisy avoided his gaze and dragged out her phone for the first time that day. She never had time to check it while she was at the clinic. Her eyebrows flew up as she registered the insane amount of messages and missed calls—most of them from Daff and Tilda.

  The messages were all similar:

  So what did you and hunkalicious Mason C get up to last night???? CALL ME. That one was from Daff.

  Tilda: OMG!!! Did you REALLY leave with Mason Carlisle last night? Whaaaaat? Details ASAP!!!

  Another one from Daff: Did you see him naked? Did you shag his brains out? You dirty, dirty girl!! I. Am. SHOCKED! Daisy snorted at that one. Daff knew that Daisy was awkward around men and that she was unlikely to even have kissed Mason Carlisle.

  She shook her head and pocketed the phone again, not in the mood to read any more of the crazy messages.

  Her father had gone quiet after she’d snapped at him, and feeling guilty, Daisy opened her mouth to apologize, but he spoke before she could.

  “Do you have a date, by any chance?” Daisy nearly swallowed her tongue in shock.

  “I . . . what? Why would you think . . . who told you that?” Her father threw her another one of those sharp, assessing glances that never seemed to miss much.

  “Daff was very chatty at breakfast this morning. She said something about Mason Carlisle?”

  “Daff was up for breakfast this morning?” Daisy asked, stalling and genuinely surprised. Her sister always took full advantage of the weekends and never missed the opportunity to sleep in, especially after a night out.

  “She was just coming home, I think,” her father said with a shrug. Ah, well that made more sense. “So . . . Mason Carlisle?”

  “We were just talking.”

  “And he’s the one you’re seeing tonight?”

  “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “The whole world has seen him in his underpants,” her father muttered, and Daisy’s lips twitched. Of course that would be the first thing on her father’s mind. “What kind of man parades around in his underwear in public?”

  “He’s also a decorated soldier,” she reminded him.

  “Then there was that nasty business with him and that drug addict pop star last year.”

  “That was just rumors.” Daisy hoped. There had been speculation in a number of the gossip rags that a certain pop princess regularly did drugs with her bodyguard, after which they had depraved orgies.

  “Hmm, Tim Richards still insists to this day that the Carlisle brothers were the ones who vandalized his store twenty years ago.” This town had a long and unforgiving memory.

  “He never had any proof of that, Daddy,” Daisy said, and her father shrugged again.

  “So do you like him?”

  “Daddy, he’s a friend. Well, more like acquaintance really. Nothing more.”

  “You know I only want what’s best for my girls.” So why was he okay with Lia marrying Clayton? She knew her father didn’t like the guy and she couldn’t understand why he hadn’t revealed that to Lia. She was about to ask him when he drew the van to a stop outside her house.

  “Be careful around that man, sweetheart,” her father said. “He has seen and experienced things that you can’t even begin to comprehend. And all that war and death can do irreparable damage to a man’s psyche. I doubt he’d be great boyfriend material.”

  His words made Daisy pause. Mason seemed as well adjusted as the next guy, but her father was right, the man had seen combat, and Daisy had to wonder how much of Mason Carlisle’s affability was just a front.

  “Don’t worry, Daddy. Nothing’s going on between us.” It was sweet that her father would even think that a guy like Mason Carlisle would have any romantic intentions toward Daisy. She was vanilla and he was decadent fudge with roasted almonds, caramel swirls, chocolate sprinkles, and a cherry on top. But her father was her father, and he thought his daughters were all beautiful. The fact that Daisy was his not-so-secret favorite made him even more protective over her.

  She leaned over and planted a kiss on his craggy cheek.

  “Have fun with Mom and the girls tonight. I hear they’re fine-tuning the place settings. It’s going to be a big night.”

  He grimaced comically.

  “Why do you get to sit out of these things?” he groused, and she laughed.

  “Because I have ‘nothing of value to contribute,’” she quoted good-naturedly. She had deliberately cultivated that image early on, knowing her sisters and mother would inevitably start leaving her out of any and all wedding planning. Suggesting pizzas for the menu and trifle for dessert had been the last straw as far as Lia was concerned.

  “If you can’t be serious about this, then I don’t see how having you here is of any benefit at all.” Lia’s complaint after Pizza-gate. And that had been that. Daisy was included in the bridesmaids’ stuff but now thankfully managed to avoid anything else wedding related.

  “If I resorted to your dirty tricks there’d be tears and hysteria.” Her father sighed, and Daisy grinned.

  “Face it, old man, you’re in it for the duration. Have fun.” She grabbed her bag and left the car with a cheeky salute. She watched him drive off before turning back to her house. Immediately the situation with Mason Carlisle sprang to the forefront of her mind again. She wouldn’t call it off. She’d meet him and tell him face-to-face to forget about her stupid idea.

  It seemed like the mature thing to do. Just a shame that her stomach was flipping around in crazy circles at the thought of seeing him again and this time without the comforting filter of a nice alcoholic buzz to bolster her courage. She couldn’t very well be tipsy every time she saw him, and without that little bit of so-called Dutch courage, she feared she would become a tongue-tied moron around him. Just her usual self, really.

  She sighed as she let herself into the house, picking up her excited dog as she made her way to the living room.

  “Did you miss me, Peachie Pie?” she asked her dog, in what she knew was an obnoxious high-pitched baby voice, but she was quite unable to help herself. “Did you miss me? Peachie Pie wants some walkies? You do, don’t you?”

  Peaches was practically wriggling herself out of Daisy’s grip in her excitement, and Daisy put her down for fear of dropping the squirmy dog.

  “I’ll grab a shower, and then we
’ll go for a walk, okay?” The rain had let up for a bit, but judging by the gunmetal-gray clouds still brooding above the town, it was just a temporary reprieve. Luckily Peaches didn’t require much exercise, so a quick walk around the block would do the trick.

  Daisy had a fast shower and changed into slouchy gray sweatpants, a pair of neon-pink Wellingtons, a fleecy hoody, and a raincoat to match the Wellies. She clipped on Peaches’s harness and leash, and they were good to go.

  Sadly, Daisy’s idea of a quick walk around the block was immediately scuttled by Peaches, who stopped at every random bush, pillar, and post to have a sniff. It was an exercise in frustration, and her dog seemed completely oblivious to both the cold and the impending downpour.

  “Come on, Peaches,” she implored for the umpteenth time when, approximately halfway around the block—about fifteen minutes from home—the first fat droplets of rain began to fall. Turning around would be pointless since it would take the same amount of time as just continuing on.

  Peaches glanced up at Daisy before dawdling on, sniff-sniffing her way along at a snail’s pace. The rain was getting heavier and—horribly—some of the icy water had found its way down the top of one of her boots. The wind was starting to pick up too, and Peaches, finally realizing that she was wet, cold, and uncomfortable, stopped walking completely and trotted back to Daisy to be picked up.

  Visibility was practically nonexistent as the rain began to sheet from the sky. Daisy remained on the grassy verge of the sidewalk, trying to stay well away from the street in case any cars came along. She wanted to avoid being splashed or run over. Both equally unpleasant prospects right now. But most people knew better than to be out in this weather, and only two cars had passed her since she had started on this rash endeavor.

  She tucked the shivering Peaches closer to her chest and trudged on for another few minutes, when she heard the sound of an engine coming up behind her. The car didn’t slow down, and naturally there was a huge puddle right beside the road at the exact spot Daisy happened to be passing. The car was going at such a speed that it didn’t really matter how far away from the road she was, she was still completely soaked by the disgusting muddy water.