“Right.”
“Not that I’d let him. You’re not ready to go off on your own yet. There are still significant gaps in your education.”
A slow smile crept across Daisy’s lips. “How come you want to buy me expensive clothes only to imagine me naked? Doesn’t make much sense, when you can see me naked most any time.”
Nick laughed a low guttural laugh. “You have to develop a keener sense for mystery and romance, my young lover. Yep, it’s going be quite a while before you can go out on your own. Now, why don’t you change out of these fancy clothes while I go make the salesclerk happy?”
“But I’ve never bought clothes that don’t even have price tags on them. These have to be way too expensive.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m way too rich. So make me happy and don’t complain so much. You’d think you’d never accepted anything from anyone before.”
Chapter Six
“It’s like being in an art museum.” Daisy stood in the center of the finishing room at Paddle Dreams Unlimited.
She’d had no idea what Nick had been talking about when he spoke of his shop. At least a dozen people worked in half a dozen rooms on canoes at various stages of construction. Visualizing the roughed-out frames in an earlier room as canoes had been difficult. But the beauty of these nearly finished products was beyond anything she could’ve imagined.
“No two are alike,” she said. “People actually put these in the water? Aren’t they afraid of banging them up?”
Nick and Tom Harrison both laughed at her. “A few people who buy these canoes are collectors, and those boats may never feel the water,” Tom replied, “but most buyers want something that is one of a kind that performs like a duck in water.”
“If they need repairing,” Nick added, running a hand across the hull of one of the three completed canoes, “the owner can always bring it back here and we’ll take care of it. The first year at no cost; after that they have to pay.”
“So why are these canoes so expensive? How do you get the colors to gleam like that? I didn’t see a painting room.”
“No,” Tom replied, smiling as if he was about to share a secret. “The color is there in the wood; we just have to be patient and skilled enough to let the natural qualities of the wood emerge. If you try to force it or shape it to fit your preconceived image, it won’t pan out.”
“Tom’s right, Daisy. Look at this grain closely.” Nick leaned over a canoe and pointed at a particular strip of wood. Daisy bent and narrowed her eyes.
“See how the grain undulates? The next strip is slightly different. It’s more linear. The grain and the color change as the craftsman sands each wood strip. That’s what makes cedar wood strip canoes so unique, and, depending on one’s desires, so time demanding. You could work these pieces of wood for days. So you have dark strips—nearly black, variations of reds and browns, even some yellows. Most of what we use is western red cedar; sometimes we’ll add Alaskan cedar to gain even more variation in color.”
“Such attention to detail. I can’t say I’ve ever thought about canoes before, but this is spectacular. And you supervise the entire process?” Daisy asked, turning to Tom.
“That’s my job. But the men and women you see working here know what they’re doing. Still, it’s good to have another set of eyes looking things over.
“While each canoe is unique, there are no flaws. No rough edges, not the slightest flaw from the finishing process.” Tom grinned. “Some of our workers want to run when they see me coming with my bucket of water and sponge. Dampening the wood causes the grain to rise. Scratches and poorly sanded areas turn darker than the surrounding wood, if you have good eyes to see. I have good eyes.”
Walking back toward Nick’s office, Daisy asked, “So how do you know the boat will float? I’ve seen some great looking horses that couldn’t run a lick.”
“That’s where I come in,” Nick said, waving to a young woman who had just looked up from her work, raised her goggles and smiled. She held a light power sander in her hand.
Daisy thought the woman smiled too boldly at her boss.
“While each of these canoes is unique, we are working with only so many models. Similar length, weight, strength and so on. We may make only a couple dozen of a given model. We don’t want to become the local factory outlet for canoes. Anyway, I’m usually fiddling around with design and testing models. Once the prototype is constructed, I take it to the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota to run it through its paces.”
“Really. Sort of like the exercise rider.”
“Would you like some more coffee?” Nick grabbed the pot and filled Daisy’s cup, Tom’s, and then his own.
“Have you ever had a boat sink under you?”
Nick smiled and shook his head. “If you’re halfway good at design, that shouldn’t happen. I’ve certainly had to make changes, but I’ve never had one sink because of poor design.”
“But they do sink?”
Nick frowned. “I forgot. You’ve never been in a canoe?”
Daisy shook her head.
“Like any small boat, canoes can swamp in heavy waves. If a storm is coming up, the wisest decision is to head for shore.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t let him scare you,” Tom admonished. “If he ever swamped a boat, it was to see what it was like. In water safety courses, the instructor will often ask you to tip over the canoe to teach you what to do in case it happens for real.
“What I like about Nick’s designs is their simplicity. A canoe is the simplest of boats: it’s a hull with whatever else is needed to hold it in place. Sometimes designers get carried away; Nick doesn’t. The result is a simple, elegant, serviceable form of water transportation.”
“I like your logo. The single paddle design with Paddle Dreams Unlimited in script is simple and elegant. Did you come up with that?” she asked, glancing at Nick.
Nick drank from his cup. “We both did. This is a joint venture. We both do just about everything there is to do in the building process. I just can’t get Tom to try one out.”
“Really?” Daisy cast an inquisitive look at Tom.
Tom glared at Nick before answering. “That’s a whole other story, Daisy. I’ll just say I got too damn wet too many times saving your friend’s ass while we served together in Special Forces. Now I only go near the water to take a shower.”
“They look so pretty.” Daisy looked at a picture hanging on the wall of Nick in one of his canoes with a forested island in the background. The place looked so remote and Nick looked so at home. That was a man she wasn’t sure she knew. “I’m not sure I could get in one. But it must be serene to glide along in the water without hearing the sound of an engine.”
“That it is. Maybe you’d like to come along when I test the next model. Is it about ready, Tom?”
“Soon. Another week or two at the most. Don’t press it, Nick. You know we can’t rush a good canoe, any more than a good wine, or a good...well, I’d best be getting back to work. Good meeting you, Daisy. We’ll be seeing you at the ball, right?”
Daisy stood to shake Nick’s partner’s hand. “I’ll be there. Nick has a hard time accepting no.”
Tom tipped back his head and howled. “Didn’t take you long to learn that one. I’m not sure no is in his vocabulary. Bye.”
She watched Tom Harrison enter the lobby and say something to the receptionist, who laughed and waved the man on. “I like Tom. He seems so at ease.”
“He doesn’t rile easily, but you wouldn’t want to be around when he does. So how about taking a canoe trip with me in a couple weeks or so?”
Daisy’s brow furrowed. “No, I couldn’t do that. I have to stay with the horses. I have a job that ties me down, remember?”
“Okay. I’m glad you liked the canoes. They are something else, aren’t they?”
“So, that’s it. You accepted my no. After what Tom said?”
Nick guffawed. “You two made me sound like some
domineering kind of guy.” His eyebrows arched. “I’m not into domination. Are you?”
“Certainly not.”
“Good. Anyway, you’ve now seen what I do besides race racehorses and watch the stock market.”
“At first when you talked about canoe building, I thought you were talking about a hobby, but I see now that this is your love. Do you know you talk about it using the same language you use to describe lovemaking?”
Nick’s brow furrowed. “I hadn’t thought about it quite like that.” He paused. “I suppose you’re right.
Chuckling, Daisy pointed at the various canoe designs covering the wall opposite Nick’s desk. “A shrink might point out how you spend much of your time drawing the shape of a woman’s most private part.”
Nick stared at the designs. His mouth fell open. “Well, I’ll be damned. The student is out-performing the master.”
Daisy stood and kissed Nick on the cheek. “I’d better get back to work myself. There are some questionable knees to check before evening.”
- o -
After Nick’s employees had gone home, he walked toward the large, airy sanding room where six canoes sat on sawhorses. It was there he’d find Tom. The man loved to rub sandpaper against wood. When others thought they were finished with the job or had given up on an unrelenting knot or scar, Tom would find a way to help the wood express its unique personality.
As Nick entered the room, Tom glanced up briefly and grunted. “Wondered when you’d get here.”
“So what do you think?”
“About what?” Tom took a step back and eyed a swirl in the grain before returning to rubbing it.
“About Daisy, of course. I’m not here to find out what you think about the weather.”
Tom stopped sanding and met Nick’s eager gaze. “It’s not important what I think. What do you think about her?”
“Come on, Tom. You know what I think. She’s beautiful in an understated way. She has an innocent charm about her, and yet the strength of a tigress.” Nick winced. “But she’s too young. There are times when I totally forget our age difference. It’s then that I soar like I’ve never soared before.”
Tom nodded. “That’s what I thought.” Idly he rubbed the sandpaper against the tips of his fingers. “So how young is too young? Do you even know her age?”
Nick shook his head.
“Why not? It would be easy to find on some record or another.”
“I’m aware of that.” Nick swung his legs over a sawhorse.
Tom grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this afraid of a little information. She’s surely over eighteen, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then her age is only a secondary matter. Hell, all you have to do is look into that woman’s eyes to know that she’s experienced more than most fifty-year-olds. I’ve seen that look. I grew up with it.
“What you see as innocence is often sharply honed wariness. I expect she’s not nearly as innocent as you think. Certainly Daisy’s naïve about a lot of things, simply because she hasn’t been exposed to much outside of her small world. But she’s shrewd. You better believe that.”
Nick crossed his arms over his chest. Shrewd. Certainly. She’d clearly had a plan to seduce him. The videos, the bikini line, her coming to him. But not deceptive. His brow furrowed. “So what do you think she’s after? My money?”
Tom shrugged. “That probably intimidates her more than anything. I expect you’re a window onto an entire new world for her. She’s from the streets, Nick. She doesn’t expect to land you. That thought has likely never even occurred to her. Regardless of age, she won’t see herself ultimately fitting into your world.
“If that’s what you want, you’ll have to convince her. And my guess is that won’t be easy.”
Letting out a deep breath, Nick stood up and stretched. “I don’t know what I want. You sure she won’t want me?”
Tom chuckled. “That would be a blow to your ego, wouldn’t it? She may not know what she wants at this point—but I guarantee you she doesn’t expect anything permanent, and if she thought you did, she’d run like hell. You’re hung up on age, old man. If you become more than a window for her, then she’ll probably get hung up on class differences, and maybe on not wanting you to see her past.
“In the long run, if you really want her, you’re going to have to convince her not only that you love her but that she deserves it and that she belongs.”
“Shit, I never knew you were a budding psychologist.” Nick shoved his hands in his pockets. “Why do you think all of that?”
“Because I’ve been there. That woman may be young, but she’s got a lot of pride. Probably hard earned against high odds. If you don’t respect her, she’ll walk away from you like you’re the plague.”
“She wasn’t overly excited with the stuff I bought her for the charity ball. Hell, most women would have been thrilled and gushing their thanks.” A wisp of a smile touched his lips. “Not my Daisy. She accused me of treating her like a high priced whore. Can you believe that?”
“Sure can. So you’ve already experienced the whiplash of her pride. A woman who has struggled hard to find something in herself to be proud of isn’t going to be impressed with your wealth. I expect Daisy Matthews won’t be bought with things. She’s done without all her life. She won’t want to get used to having more than she can afford to buy for herself, because you aren’t permanent.”
“So why does she accept owning horses with me?”
“Now that’s a smart question. You’ve touched her soft spot with the horses. I’ll bet she likely never dreams about a man like you, but she does dream about owning race horses. Besides, it’s clear you don’t know a damn thing about horses, so she’s earning her own way there whether or not she chooses to share your bed.”
“Chooses to share my bed? She’s the one who came to me wanting to gain from my experience. I didn’t...”
Tom walked over and tapped Nick on the shoulder. “Exactly. That’s what I mean. You chose her for the horses. She chose you for the bed, and she can un-choose you whenever she wishes without jeopardizing the horse business.”
Nick huffed. “She won’t just un-choose me.”
“The hell she won’t. You’re not used to being rejected, my man, but you better start wondering what it will feel like. Believe me. She does not see you as a permanent fixture in her life. She can’t.”
- o -
Daisy willed her heartbeat to steady. Was this what Cinderella had felt like before the clock struck midnight? The ballroom chandelier sparkled so intensely she couldn’t stare at it for any length of time without hurting her eyes. She’d never seen so many people so dressed up. Most of the men wore tuxes. Nick was stunningly handsome in his black tux; the fit showed off his firm body.
Tom Harrison and his wife, Thelma, were equally decked out. She liked both of them. They didn’t put on airs like some of the people she’d been introduced to that evening. Thelma was a substantia bouncy African American woman who made it clear she took no crap from anyone, including her husband. She seemed to know at least half of the people in attendance, and her booming voice could often be heard emitting laughter and occasionally venom.
“Come on, girl. You’re starting to glaze over.”
Daisy jerked her head up to see Thelma’s toothy smile. The woman stood beckoning.
“These two men can protect each other for a few minutes. Let’s visit the powder room; I think my face is slipping some.”
Daisy rose and followed her guide. The powder room, as Thelma called it, had gold plated faucets. Daisy stood and gaped at the blue and white tiled floor and walls. The entire décor provided a soft, lush atmosphere. In a bathroom, of all places. Daisy glanced at her reflection in the wash basin. What would the kids at the old group home think of her now?
“And who are you? Nick’s niece, or what?” inquired a drop dead gorgeous raven-haired woman. The petite stranger had the kind of body Daisy knew made
men go wild. Her ample bare cleavage left little to the imagination.
Before Daisy had a chance to respond, Thelma spoke up, her eyes gleaming. “Why, Claire, how nice of you to ask about Nick’s friend. This is Daisy Matthews. She and Nick own some racehorses together. I understand from Nick that Daisy’s an expert with horses and is busy teaching him a lot about the racing business.
“Daisy,” Thelma said, turning to her, “this is Claire Donaldson. She once thought she and Nick had something going, but I guess she came up short. It’s old history. And I do mean to emphasize old.”
“Well, I never. She doesn’t look old enough to be out of training bras. He’s no doubt infatuated with her because he can manipulate her into doing anything he wants. Horses!” Claire Donaldson obviously found it difficult to look down her nose while glaring up at Daisy, but she gave it her best shot. “You might be able to put diamonds on a gutter snipe, but you’ll never remove the stench of the gutter.”
The dark-haired woman spun on her heel and stalked from the room. “Don’t trip over your deodorant!” Thelma bellowed at the woman’s back.
Daisy wanted to laugh and cry. She’d never even had the opportunity to say hi. “Don’t mind her,” Thelma said. “She’s always been a jealous lush.”
Daisy crossed her arms and leaned back against the vanity. She took a deep breath. “I’ve heard worse, much worse. But maybe she’s not so far off. She sure had me pegged right away. Do I smell bad?”
Thelma laughed. “Tom’s told me some of your story, girl. At least what Nick’s shared with him. You had a rough time of it. So did Tom. So did I. I was raised in the projects. Tom comes from Woodlawn. We know the odors of rotting garbage, dried urine, winos—and of shattered dreams. Do we smell bad?”
“Of course not.”
“And neither do you. It takes guts to make something of yourself. I expect that’s part of what Nick finds attractive about you. You’re not some simpering female who’s looking for a sugar daddy.
“Now Claire? She’s never had anyone threaten her with a needle or a blade. She’s never had friends who were raped or killed. And she wouldn’t know how to fuck a man if she had to save her life; she’s the kind who only wants to lay there and fulfill her obligation while dreaming about signing a dozen checks or credit cards.
Willow Smoke (Riders Up Book 3) Page 10
