The Water Baby

by Roz Denny Fox

  In the second or two it took her to drop the curtain, Daisy’s irritation dissipated. It was a small island, and he was a big boy. Goodness, the man owned his own plane and jet-setted all over the world. Anyway, it was nothing to do with her if he skipped off to Timbuktu for a day.

  Technically she was his landlady. Period. And even that was even more than she’d bargained for when she’d impulsively gone to bat for Rebecca.

  Easy to say that his whereabouts were none of her business, but when seven o’clock rolled around and he hadn’t yet returned, Daisy began to worry in earnest. Nothing in this town stayed open past six except bars and restaurants. She stared at the table she’d set so nicely for three. Surely he wouldn’t go elsewhere to eat without giving her a call. Then again, she really didn’t know him.

  That was evident when she’d rummaged through Rebecca’s suitcase earlier and found nothing but dresses with matching hats, purses and even shoes. Not one pair of shorts or jeans or long pants of any sort. Had it been an oversight, or did he expect his daughter to be a fashion plate twenty-four hours a day?

  As if that wasn’t annoying enough, her jambalaya was done to perfection. “Damn you, Temple Wyatt. Five more minutes and we’re going to eat without you. Aren’t we, kid?” There was no response from Becca.

  Before even the first minute had passed, though, a car pulled up outside. Almost immediately sneakered feet pounded up her back steps.

  Temple burst through the door. “Sorry,” he breathed. “The time got away from me.”

  “No problem.” Daisy rose and coolly walked across to the stove. “I haven’t even put the French bread in the oven. Go wash up.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right back.” He smiled at his daughter who was seated on the floor petting the cat. Her response was to bellow and scamper away to hide behind Daisy’s legs. Temple sighed, his shoulders slumped as he backed away.

  “Careful, sweetie,” Daisy murmured to the girl, “I’m working with hot stuff here.”

  Becca ignored the plea and held up her arms, wanting to be picked up.

  “I’ll leave,” Temple said. “I just wish she’d…” He swallowed hard, let the sentence hang and strode from the room.

  Daisy picked Becca up and set her on the edge of the sink. “Come on, kiddo. We’ve gotta wash cat off your hands.” When she said “cat,” Daisy could have sworn the girl looked right at Troublemaker and then opened and closed her hand as if she wanted to touch the animal again. Her breath caught. Where was Temple? Was Rebecca’s small act significant? She would’ve liked some corroboration on that and several other things that had happened today.

  The minute Temple returned and they sat down to eat, she blurted, “I think Becca’s aware of animals. This morning she seemed to react to the koala you brought. Just a minute ago I’d swear she responded to Troublemaker. That’s my cat,” she said when Temple looked blank. “I should have said something before you went to see Dr. Rankin. I, uh, assume that’s where you spent the afternoon?”

  “No. But I’ll make it a point tomorrow. Are you positive? What did she do?”

  Daisy slipped an ice cube into Becca’s bowl of jambalaya to cool it more quickly. Where had he been for three hours if not with Dr. Rankin? Not that she cared personally, she reminded herself. It was general curiosity.

  She frowned. “I’m not positive they’re conscious reactions,” she said as she ladled the shrimp stew into Temple’s bowl. “Maybe it’s only my wishful thinking.”

  “Mine, too. I’ll call first thing to see if Dr. Rankin has time to talk. Until then, if you’d jot down what you saw in that journal you’re keeping, it’ll be easier to tell him exactly.”

  “Writing isn’t as easy for me as telling, but sure, I’ll try. Good heavens, look—her bowl is empty. She seems to like jambalaya.” Daisy tipped it so he could see.

  Temple stared. He’d barely taken a bite. “It’s spicy enough to light up my nose. I know I said Rebecca liked flaming things, but I try to put out the fire first. Are you sure she didn’t dump it on the floor?”

  “You’re not tied to the chair,” Daisy said, her hackles rising as she ripped the foil off the loaf of garlic bread. “No one’s forcing you to eat. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the way I remember it, you invited yourself to supper.”

  “I’m only teasing you.” Temple might have said more, but he was interrupted by someone banging on the kitchen door. “Could it be lover boy?” Temple smirked. “Can’t you picture his reaction when he sees us sharing a meal?” He calmly helped himself to two slices of bread.

  Daisy rolled her eyes and called, “Come in.” Then she lowered her voice. “Daniel isn’t a violent man. It’s just… you have to act that way on the docks or get drummed out of the fleet.”

  As it turned out, the visitor wasn’t Daniel Coletti. A younger, more wiry version of the man they’d been discussing poked his head through the opening.

  “Yo, Daisy.” He stepped inside and closed the door. “I wanna talk about leasin’ your boat. Oops! Sorry. Didn’t know you’d be eating. I can stop back later.” Large almost black eyes made a sweeping assessment of Daisy’s guests before the young man’s straight brows came to a V over his hawkish nose, and he grasped the doorknob to leave.

  “Stay,” Daisy ordered. “Come. Join us. I fixed jambalaya.”

  “You’ve got company. I don’t want to horn in.” That last sounded a little sullen.

  “He’s not…” She was going to say, “company,” but in the time it took her to choose her words, Temple yanked out a chair and said smoothly, “I live here. And you are…?”

  “Sal Coletti.” Scowling, he drew a hand through his thick black hair. “You’re the Californian, right? Dan’l mentioned you.”

  Temple’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll bet he did. You must be the little brother. Grab a bowl out of the cupboard, sport. No need to run off on my account. Although, if you want any hide left on your tongue,” he confided, “you’ll sneak out and grab a burger.”

  Daisy sniffed indignantly. “Don’t listen to him, Salvatore. This is really quite mild.” She glared at Temple and dug out another place setting.

  Sal’s puppy-dog gaze followed her a moment, then he deliberately wedged the remaining chair between Daisy and Temple, obliging Temple to move against the wall.

  “You sure you want to lease the Lazy Daisy, Sal?” Daisy asked as she filled his bowl. She appeared blissfully unaware of the undercurrents between the two men as she went on, “I don’t want there to be trouble between you and Daniel because of me.”

  Sal fingered the pack of cigarettes rolled in the sleeve of his navy T-shirt. “In case you haven’t noticed, Daisy, I’m all grown up. Daniel still acts like a mother hen.”

  Daisy passed him the bowl, looking stem as she broke off a piece of bread and slapped it on his plate. “Who took care of you and put food on the table and clothes on your back after your dad died and your mother crawled into the bottle, Sal?”

  His eyes flashed a moment, then he lowered his gaze. “How long do I hafta pay for being the youngest kid? I’ve hauled nets for him since I got out of high school. He wouldn’t let me drop out of school, or I’d have my own boat by now.”

  Daisy nipped at her bottom lip. “I don’t think Daniel considers it a debt. He wants a better life for you both.”

  “That’s just it. We don’t see eye to eye. I don’t happen to think there is a better life. I love what I do.”

  “But, Sal…” She glanced at Temple, who sat quietly eating. Unconsciously her eyes begged for his support.

  What the hell, Temple thought. He’d throw in his two cents’ worth. “You’re fighting a losing battle, Daisy. What Sal’s saying now—isn’t that almost verbatim what you told Daniel last night?”

  “Yes. But I was mad at him. Later I started thinking about the flip side. About those years when the pickin’s are slim and I barely make ends meet. Equipment costs are on the rise. It’s darned tough getting reliable help. And sometimes the weather’
s terrible all year.”

  Temple reached for his water glass. “I run into the same problems building resorts. Land prices skyrocket. Unions are always on my back. Weather forces delays. That’s business.”

  Sal ignored Temple. His gaze remained fixed on Daisy. “I’m reliable,” he said. “Give me a chance.” Reaching over, he grasped her hand. “Plenty of guys support families shrimping. You know I could.”

  Daisy stared disconsolately into his dark eager eyes. Why hadn’t she seen before that he had a crush on her, like Daniel said? “It’ll only be until Becca gets well. Rebecca,” she corrected, tugging her hand from Sal’s as she darted a glance of apology in Temple’s direction.

  He saw that she’d sidestepped the real issue—that Sal wanted more from her than a boat—and conveyed it with his eyes over the rim of his glass.

  Pretending she didn’t know what the look meant, she fixed Becca another slice of bread. “The boat’s ready any time you are, Sal.”

  He punched a fist in the air. “All right! I promise you won’t regret this. I’ll even report in every night.”

  “Well, now that’s settled,” Daisy said briskly, “let’s eat. Later we can draw up some kind of a contract.”

  “I have a broad-based lease upstairs in my briefcase that would probably work.” Temple made the offer against his better judgment.

  “Really?” Daisy eyed him dubiously.

  “Yes, really. I’m always looking to lease or buy new property. In fact, I ran across a likely spot today.”

  “Here? In Galveston?” Daisy blanched.

  He anchored her with a cool gaze. “I build quality resorts. I’m not proposing anything sleazy, for goodness sake. I don’t flout local ordinances and I don’t ask for special concessions.”

  “Hmm.” She picked up her fork and stabbed a plump shrimp. “Then what do those high-priced lawyers of yours do to earn their keep?”

  Temple’s laughter bubbled up from his belly.

  Sal’s sidelong glance skipped from one to the other. Clearly their byplay eluded him, and he resented it.

  Temple found the young man’s resentment sobering. Last night Daniel had declared his kid brother half in love with Daisy. Not true. Sal Coletti was full-blown headover-heels in love with her. Temple doubted she knew how serious this kid’s feelings really were.

  He should probably warn his naive landlady. But just as he opened his mouth to suggest that Daisy might want to give the situation and the lease more thought, he caught her disapproving stare. It struck Temple that if she hadn’t been willing to accept the truth from Daniel last night, no way in hell would she listen to a newcomer like himself. Lowering his gaze, he went back to eating the now cold, but still spicy-hot jambalaya.

  “Outsiders are always waltzing in here, buying up our land, positive they can make a killing,” Sal blustered. “My advice, Yank, is to check out their lousy track records before you throw your money away.”

  Temple paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. He wanted to laugh again. Imagine, the kid warning him off. He’d bet his last white shirt that Sal Coletti’s remark had nothing to do with business. He was being cautioned to stay away from Daisy Sloan.

  “Is that your way of saying Yankee, go home?” Temple ate an entire spoonful. Damn, but this dose was really loaded with cayenne pepper. It nearly burned a hole through his palate. His eyes watered.

  Daisy smiled and touched a napkin to her lips. Tempting though it was, she wouldn’t tease him about his low tolerance for spicy food in front of Sal. Tension was already thick between those two. Couldn’t Temple see that Sal was just trying to be protective? Brotherly, even. Daisy thought it was a sweet gesture and said as much.

  “Sweet!” Temple choked on his disbelief. “Excuse me, please,” he said, folding his napkin and rising. “I’ll leave you two to your mutual-admiration society. I have work to do. Coletti.” Temple dipped his head curtly. “We’ll meet again, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t bank on it.” Sal made no pretext of friendship.

  “Salvatore! You’ve got no call to be rude. Apologize.” Daisy met and matched the young man’s scowl.

  “Too late, he’s gone,” Sal said, brightening.

  She turned and saw it was true. Temple had left the room. “What is it with you and Daniel both treating one of my boarders so badly? Have you two gone loco?”

  He pushed his bowl aside and stood. “Maybe it’s you who’s gone loco. Who is this guy, and what do you know about him?”

  She drew back stiffly. “He’s a man who offered us a blank lease to fill out on the Lazy Daisy. That’s assuming you and I can strike a deal.”

  His bravado slipped a notch. “Aw, Daisy, you wouldn’t renege. I already told all my friends. Loren Bonner said he was willing to keep the same schedule he had with you. I thought we were set, Daisy.”

  “Me, too, Sal. But I don’t need added stress.” She indicated Becca who had gobbled up her second bowl of jambalaya and was nodding off in her chair. “If you’d like to trade problems with Temple Wyatt about now, I’m sure he’d be willing.”

  “I get your point,” he mumbled. “Me and Dan’l—we just don’t understand why the kid latched on to you.”

  Daisy sighed. “It’s all very complicated. According to Dr. Rankin, it was because I was the last person she saw before the yacht blew up and she went into shock.”

  “That’s something else. This whole thing has the guys in the fleet spooked.”

  “My mistake was in not sticking with the fleet,” she told him. “Then again, if I had, Becca wouldn’t have survived.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. She’s a cute kid. But we’d all feel better if the Coast Guard had found that speedboat. Just as well you got your feet grounded in sand for a while.”

  She gave his arm a punch, happy to get the conversation back on a more even keel. “Spoken like a man who wants my boat,” she teased. “Hey, I’ll clear the table if you go ask Wyatt nicely for one of his lease forms.”

  “Done.” Sal swaggered toward the door leading to the stairs.” “‘Cept I won’t promise nicely. I save that for babes like you and old ladies.”

  “Listen, tough guy,” she called, “I don’t fit either of those categories, and if you call me a babe again, the lease is automatically terminated. Got that?”

  She waited, but there was a suspicious silence from the hallway. Mouthy kid. He’d learn she meant business.

  Much later, after the deed was done, the lease signed and her kitchen spotless, Daisy slipped into a mild case of the blues. For some years she’d been in control of everything to do with the Lazy Daisy, and every aspect of her own life. With her signature on that form, she suffered a vague discomfort that this was somehow the beginning of the end. The end of what, she couldn’t say, but it was an unsettling reaction. So unsettling that she didn’t want to go upstairs. Instead, she gathered up the sleeping Becca and went outside to watch the sun go down.

  THE MOON WAS OUT, full and bright when the silence in the house drove Temple downstairs to see what had become of Daisy and Rebecca. He found them on the front porch, idly rocking in the creaky old porch swing.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said. “It’s a nice night for moon-watching. Mind if I join you?”

  The magnolia-scented night remained silent except for the rhythmic squeak of the wooden swing.

  Temple labored to see through the shadowy darkness; The porch was screened. Rebecca’s eyes were closed. She looked content on Daisy’s lap, cuddled in a quilt he vaguely recognized as being from her room at home. A wave of nostalgia swamped him, along with disappointment. He shifted the two thin books he held from one hand to the other. Obviously once again he was too late to read Rebecca a bedtime story.

  Moonlight reflected off the shiny surface of the top book, and Daisy felt a stab of sadness. Toying with one of the girl’s blond ringlets, she whispered, “Poor kid conked out the second she finished dinner. I’m afraid I’ll wake her getting her upstairs.”

  “I’ll c
arry her. Are you ready to go now?”

  “No, not yet.”

  He picked up on the listlessness in her tone. “Are you all right?”

  Again, silence.

  “Did Rebecca get into mischief? I meant to come down earlier, but I wanted to wait until your new partner left. Maybe I expected to hear a champagne cork hit the ceiling or something. So, did the form work?” Temple went fishing without apology.

  Daisy slowed the swing. “No mischief. No champagne. And the form was almost too easy. Is that all there is to forming a partnership?”

  “Ah.” There was a world of understanding in his one-word reply. He leaned against the porch rail, making sure he didn’t put the full weight of his back on the upper screen, and waited for her to elaborate. It wasn’t like her not to spit out what was on her mind.

  When she went back to swinging and staring at the moon, Temple wondered if he’d been right about the things that were bothering her. “Business partnerships can be a lot like marriages,” he ventured a bit cynically. “Some work well and last forever. Some fail and end in divorce. In either case, it helps to know a partner intimately first. How well do you know Coletti?”

  A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “It’s none of your business of course—but not that well, Wyatt. And we’re talking a partnership of a few months, tops. Not forever.”

  Temple couldn’t say why he felt relieved. He just did. Until he recalled how blissfully ignorant he’d been of women’s wiles when he’d charged headlong into marriage with Miranda. “I’m probably not the best person to give advice on partnerships,” he said, straightening away from the rail. “It’s a big leap of faith any way you look at it. Maybe you’d like to be alone to think things out. What time do you want to take Rebecca up? I’ll come back for her—say, at 9:30.”