Daisy slapped at his arm, her face turning scarlet. “I’ll hop,” she said again. Which she proceeded to do, although each hop jarred her injured foot. By the time she made it to the foot of the stairs, she was forced to stop and rest. And Temple didn’t go without her.
“Let me help.” He looped an arm about her waist. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your friend. Forgive me?”
She clutched the banister and stopped. “Friend? Oh, you mean Mickey? His dad and older brother are shrimpers. Mickey’s allergic to shellfish, of all things. Disappointed his dad. He’d planned to retire and turn the boat over to his boys.”
“Well, life doesn’t always go according to plan,” Temple said.
“Are you thinking of your father, or Miranda and Rebecca?”
“Us, I meant. Do you believe in predestination?” He fixed her with a somber, blue stare. “Like certain things are meant to be and certain people are meant to meet— and fall in love?”
Daisy leaned on the banister and rested her bandaged foot on the carpeted step above. “I don’t want to believe in that theory. If I truly believed everything that happened was preordained, then I’d have to admit God—or the Fates—didn’t like me enough to give me a mother who’d stick around. You think someone decided before you were conceived to let you watch your father die? I choose to believe we make our own destiny.”
“Then my destiny is you.” Temple brushed a thumb across Daisy’s mouth and replaced it with his lips a moment later. The kiss lasted long moments.
When at last he pulled back to breathe, Daisy gazed into his eyes with a look of bemusement. “Wasn’t kissing me choice number two, Wyatt? That tells me you aren’t a man of logic.”
“No? It’s logical to me. If you and I are the masters of our own fate, I need to give you an incentive to drop anchor in my port.” Growing more serious, he said, “When we get upstairs, I don’t know what we’ll find with regard to Rebecca. What’s clear is that you’re the best thing that’s happened to either of us since she was born.”
Daisy reached up and brushed the fall of wet hair off his forehead. “I thought… the other night… that you didn’t want me.”
“Whatever gave you a crazy idea like that? No. Don’t tell me. Can you manage a few more steps?”
As she glanced upward and groaned, Temple scooped her into his arms and dashed headlong up the stairs with all the fervor of a twenty-year-old—not stopping until he stood outside the door to 215. He set her down with great care and rained soft kisses on her face. “Give us a chance to work things out?”
Daisy smiled her most loving smile, but as he curled his hand and raised it to knock, she reached up and stayed his fingers. Drawing his hand to her lips, she kissed his knuckles and whispered, “I’m not as brave as you think.”
“You leapt into the ocean to save Rebecca. You took on her ogre of a dad in court. You popped a man holding a gun upside the head with a sand bucket. I can’t imagine what would frighten you, sweetheart.”
“Your mother.” Daisy tensed.
“My mother?” Temple couldn’t help it. He laughed.
Before Daisy could explain about being intimidated by the Saks Fifth Avenue queen, the door in front of them flew open, and the object of her concern greeted them, looking positively frazzled.
Daisy couldn’t believe this was the same woman who’d come to her house. The high heels had been kicked off, the suit jacket was wrinkled, the perfect hairdo limp. The woman’s granddaughter—formerly sweet child that she’d been—sat on the couch, brows lowered and arms crossed, kicking her feet.
Temple and Daisy gaped. They spoke the girl’s name sharply and together.
She looked up, smiled and launched herself into Temple’s arms. “Daddy,” she screeched, “and Daisy.” She peered over her father’s shoulder and said in an impish voice, “I knew you’d both come. I just knew it.”
Mrs. Wyatt aimed an accusing glance at her son. “Honestly, Temple, I’m afraid I have to side with Glendon Davis. Rebecca is spoiled rotten. Things will change once we get her home.”
“I don’t wanna go home.” Rebecca pulled Temple’s face around with both hands, forcing him to look at her. “I like it at Daisy’s. Can’t I stay with her when you visit your old hotels? Pipsqueak needs me. ‘Sides Daisy and me are gonna build a sand castle big enough for a princess.” Her eyes clouded. “I mean, we’ll get to if they keep those bad guys in jail.”
“They will, honey.” Temple kissed her nose. “But I don’t know if you deserve to build sand castles. You frightened everyone with your behavior tonight.”
“I’m sorry.” She hung her head.
Daisy had dropped down on the arm of the chair and was resting her injured foot on the lamp stand. The slight shake of her head and her frown caught Temple’s eye.
“What?” he asked.
“Kids deserve the truth,” she said, “and I just wondered how long the police can hold those men without proof.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Temple frowned. “I had a call from the police right before the storm. They got a full confession from Shaw. I assumed you’d been notified.”
“No. I had no idea.” Daisy smiled at Rebecca. “You bet we’ll build that sand castle. Maybe this time your dad will help.” Daisy nudged Temple with her good toe.
“Rebecca is coming home with me in the morning,” Mrs. Wyatt said as she took a seat on the couch. “What’s all this about bad guys? Would someone care to enlighten me?”
“First of all, Mother,” Temple admonished, “I want you to tell me what’s going on. I don’t recall our discussing your departure date or your taking Rebecca with you. My understanding was that you wanted to come for a visit.” When his mother twisted her diamond ring and looked guilty, Temple set Rebecca down and said, “Honey, why don’t you take Straylia into the other room and put him to bed. I think we adults need to chat.”
Rebecca glanced from her father to her grandmother to Daisy, then she sighed. “Do I hafta shut the door? I promise I won’t listen.”
“Rebecca,” hechided.
She pouted prettily. “Darn, kids never get to hear the good stuff.”
Temple smiled. “When we’re finished, I’ll read you a story.”
“I want Daisy,” Rebecca said. “She’s got funny stories about the water babies. She makes me laugh.”
Love shone in the look Temple bestowed on Daisy. “She makes me laugh, too, honey,” he said, “and I thought I’d forgotten how. But it’s up to her, Rebecca. We can ask, but we can’t tell Daisy what to do. And we can’t throw fits to get our own way, either.”
“I know,” Rebecca said. “I won’t do it again.”
The fact that everyone, including Temple’s mother, stared at her made Daisy squirm. “My stories are nothing special,” she murmured. “But sure, I’ll come in and we’ll make one up. I’ll pretend to be Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby, and you can be Tom.”
Satisfied, Rebecca hugged her and skipped off.
“So tell me about Shaw,” Daisy demanded, the moment the door closed behind Rebecca. “By confession, do you mean he admitted to blowing up the yacht?”
Temple sat in the chair beside Daisy. He closed his eyes and smoothed a thumb and forefinger over his eyebrows.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, laying a compassionate hand on his shoulder. “It must be hard for you to talk about all this. I’ll ask the police later.”
“No. It needs to be said. It’s just so hard to believe. Miranda and Rebecca were innocent victims. Domingo, too, in a way. Halsey Shaw was using DeVaca’s resorts to store drugs. It was a slick deal. The big drug lords would bring their families for a vacation and set up a buy. Apparently it’d been going on for two years. Then Shaw got greedy. He started tapping Domingo’s till and heisting jewels and got himself fired. About that time, Domingo’s son figured out Shaw’s game. He wanted to be cut in. Except it was Shaw who had the contacts, so the only way sonny could get in on the deal was to get his hands
on the resorts—which meant eliminating his father.”
“Then DeVaca was only being nice to Miranda, like you thought?”
Temple shook his head. “No. I was wrong about their relationship. If I’d known for sure, I would’ve moved on them earlier and kept them from taking the yacht. DeVaca’s daughter claims her dad planned to marry Miranda, and that her brother saw the marriage as an added threat to his inheritance. He sent Shaw to blow up the yacht. By going shrimping in Rum Row, you foiled their plans. Shaw and a man named Lopriori had hung out in the Row for two days. You were so close to the yacht the second day, he thought he could get two with one blow, so to speak.” Temple heard Daisy draw in a sharp breath. He clasped her hand. “I know—it’s scary when I think what might have happened.”
“When I heard them make contact with the yacht, I hauled anchor. They must’ve thought I’d kept going.”
Mrs. Wyatt broke in for the first time. “We’re grateful you didn’t. I’ve never believed in rewards, but if anyone deserves one, you do. I hope Temple was generous.”
Daisy stood and limped toward the door. “I think this is where I came in. I don’t want a dime of his money, Mrs. Wyatt.”
Temple reached out and grabbed Daisy’s arm, pulling her into his lap. “Hush, Mother. Daisy taught me that there are some things money can’t buy.”
Mrs. Wyatt smoothed her skirt with a nervous hand. “I was only trying to help. The bottom floor of her house isn’t finished. And I thought she could use some new clothes.”
Temple looked horrified that his mother would be so rude. He circled Daisy’s waist with his arms, hoping to hold her in place while he searched for a way to apologize.
But Daisy laughed. “Since Temple got shot and Rebecca regained part of her memory, I haven’t been home long enough to do any laundry. I dug these things out of my ragbag, Mrs. Wyatt.”
Temple jiggled her a bit. “Shouldn’t you practice calling her Mother?”
Daisy avoided the woman’s sudden frown, but the frown seemed focused inward. “What do you mean, Rebecca’s regained part of her memory?” she asked. “Should she be in therapy or something? What part of her memory is still missing? Oh, this is awful.”
Temple couldn’t answer his mother. “I’m not sure, unless Daisy’s referring to Rebecca not remembering Miranda or the accident. When you called and said she was having a nightmare, we thought she might have regained that part, too.”
“Seems it wasn’t a nightmare,” said Mrs. Wyatt. “I found out she threw a tantrum because she didn’t want to leave here. Glendon said we have to stop spoiling her.”
Daisy touched Temple’s jaw to get his attention. “You should visit Dr. Rankin again. I saw him briefly when Rebecca and I stopped to buy your flowers. He noticed her progress and said he’d like to run some tests. He mentioned a type of amnesia. I forget the name he used, but it’s where the victim completely blocks out all memory of a particular incident. For instance, a painful experience.”
“I read about that when I stopped by the medical-school library,” Temple said. “Part of me would rather she didn’t remember. Part of me wonders what I’ll do when she gets older and her friends ask her about her mother”
Daisy’s eyes darkened in sympathy. “You need to discuss these things with her medical team. Rebecca remembers her school, her friends, even her maternal grandparents. It’s a good start. She’s lucky she has you, Temple—family’s important to you “
“Thank goodness, you’re sensible, Miss Sloan,” piped up Mrs Wyatt. “Rebecca will do fine once we get her home.”
Temple gazed at his mother for a full sixty seconds before he spoke. She began to shrink under his steady gaze.
“I’m not going back to San Francisco, Mother. Neither is Rebecca. We’re staying here in Galveston.” He eased Daisy off his lap, then rising, slipped his good arm around her and continued to gaze at his mother.
“Why, what do you mean?” the older woman blustered. “San Francisco’s your home. Wyatt Resorts is headquartered there.”
“It’s your home, Mother. All I have is an apartment. A cold empty apartment. A home should have love and laughter, kids—plural,” he said, slanting Daisy an oblique look, “and a pet or two.”
Daisy ceased to look apprehensive as the light began to dawn.
“And a pony?” a young excited voice asked. Rebecca poked her head out from the bedroom, makings Temple and Daisy laugh.
Mrs. Wyatt sank slowly against the couch cushion. “Did you invite me here thinking to spring a wedding on me? Temple Wyatt, how dare you? I didn’t pack one thing suitable to wear to my son’s wedding.”
“She hasn’t agreed to marry me yet, Mother.” His gaze was on Daisy now, and her eyes widened in surprise. “I realize this isn’t the most romantic proposal a woman could receive,” Temple murmured. “Both of us are short a limb and half-drowned, as well.”
He let go of her long enough to step to the bedroom door, grasp his daughter’s hand and bring her into the living room. Then he knelt before Daisy and said, “I figure there’s less chance of you turning me down in front of witnesses. So, here goes—Daisy Sloan, will you be my wife and the mother of my children?”
Rebecca jumped up and down and cried, “Yippee! This is better than a pony.”
Daisy’s eyes filled with tears. She scrubbed at them, her face blossoming into a huge smile. “I will,” she agreed, “but the ceremony’ll have to wait until I’m on two feet again. I’ll be darned if you’re going to carry me down the aisle over your shoulder.”
Temple kissed her. He winked at his mother over Daisy’s shoulder, pulling away only long enough to suggest the older woman do the honors of telling her granddaughter a bedtime story. “A very long, very detailed story,” he said.
“I don’t know any stories,” Mrs. Wyatt protested.
“You might start with the tale of the Taj Mahal,” he muttered as he molded Daisy to him for another kiss.
Mrs. Wyatt stuttered indignantly. “Who told you? Why, I never… How long have you known?”
It was obvious the answer to that question would have to wait a while. Temple and Daisy were totally immersed in one another.
“Rebecca,” the older woman cooed, “let’s go into the bedroom. Grandmother will tell you about the most beautiful dress. I saw it last week at a children’s boutique. White organdy. Long, with puffed sleeves. The perfect dress for a flower girl.”
“Grandmother, you’re silly,” Rebecca said, giggling. “Girls aren’t flowers. They only borrow names from flowers. Daisy told me that.” She spoke as if Daisy’s word was all the proof she needed. “I think I’ll be a water baby. They have pearl necklaces, and seaweed skirts.”
Outside, the storm wound down and blew itself out. The two who had braved it out of love surfaced from a kiss long enough to smile conspiratorially.
“I’m afraid my mother’s in for more surprises,” Temple whispered. “Picture this—the queen of boutiques juggling cat, dog and kid, not to mention Sal Coletti, for two weeks while you and I go to Charlotte Amalie on our honeymoon.”
Daisy did picture it for about two seconds. Then Temple saw to it that she had other things on her mind.
EPILOGUE
THE WYATT RESORT on Galveston Island was in its fifth year of operation. It had taken a year to build, with all its peaked roofs, curved lacy balconies and elegant chandeliers. From the day it opened, rooms were in such demand that Temple Wyatt was forced to move his office to the Strand. As he did, he recalled fondly how Daisy had tried to get him to lease space there that first night he’d moved in on her, lock, stock and baggage.
Sloan House was fully renovated now. The final touch would come on Christmas Eve when Daisy opened his special gift—the restored replica of the Cutty Sark. Temple couldn’t wait to see her face. She’d never dreamed it could be repaired.
Temple glanced at his watch, then out his office window. Speaking of his wife, she should have been here twenty minutes ago. They were going t
o miss the kickoff feast for Dickens on the Strand if she didn’t hurry. Temple loved the Victorian Christmas festival, but he didn’t like these confining itchy wool waistcoats all the businessmen on the Strand had to wear throughout the festival. He did like seeing Daisy dressed up in her taffeta hooped skirt and short velvet jacket over a creamy lace blouse. She hated the bonnet. So did Rebecca Like as not, they’d both be swinging them by the ribbons when they finally waltzed in.
Ah, thank goodness. There they were. First out of the car was Rebecca, quite the young lady. She still didn’t remember the accident, but at the suggestion of the medical team, she’d been told quite a bit about Miranda. Temple took a wreath of flowers out to Rum Row every year on the anniversary of her death. Maybe next year he’d let Rebecca go with him.
His mouth turned up in a smile. Rebecca was having quite a time containing her three-year-old brother. Kemper Everett Wyatt, named for both Temple’s and Daisy’s fathers, had hit the birthing room feet first and hadn’t stopped running since. His breech delivery had been hard on both Daisy and a very worried dad. Because of that, Temple had decided two children were enough. But on Halloween night, in the midst of a dozen trick-or-treaters, Daisy told him fate had other plans. How typically Daisy, to cuddle up behind him and drop a bomb like that when he had ten of Rebecca’s friends ringed around the table—and him up to his elbows in popcorn balls. He grinned widely at the memory.
Jerking open the office door, expecting to scoop up his rambunctious son, Temple was astonished when Daniel Coletti walked in, with a classy-looking brunette on his arm. “Surprise!” Daisy chirped, herding the kids in behind the couple. Before Temple could ask the name of Daniel’s latest—he’d come home each winter escorting a woman prettier than the one before—Daisy jumped in to say, “Temple, meet Mana Francine. She and Daniel are booked into the honeymoon suite at the Tremont.”
“The Tremont?” Temple was more stunned by that than news of the marriage. “My new manager of the Wyatt Lisbon is staying at a rival hotel?”
The Water Baby Page 25
