by Lori Wilde
Travis shook his hand and offered Kael a shy grin.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kael.”
‘‘No mister, just Kael.’ ’ Obviously Daisy had done a fine
job raising him. It couldn’t have been easy, playing both
mother and father to her sister’s kid.
You and Daisy could have a child of your own by now.
The thought, like a lonely phantom, passed through his
mind. His sadness intensified, and he experienced a sudden
deep regret for the life choices he’d made.
They drove down the street, silence, like an accusation,
hung between them.
“How’s the beekeeping business?” Kael asked, desper-
ate to fill the emptiness with conversation.
“All right.”
“I thought maybe the harsh winter might have caused
you some trouble.”
“We lost a lot of bees,” Travis said solemnly.
“Really.” Kael frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“But we’re doing fine,” Daisy insisted, and Kael knew
she was bluffing. Was Hightower Honey Farm in serious
financial straits?
“If you need any money...” Kael made the offer even
though he knew he risked riling Daisy.
She gave him a sharp look, and Kael read her thoughts.
Not in front of Travis.
At one time they’d shared an uncanny mental telepathy,
as if their minds traveled the same track. Apparently the
ability still existed. Kael pursed his lips and looked out the
window.
“What do you want to do about the station wagon?” he
asked, turning on Market Street.
Daisy stared down at her hands, and Kael knew she had
no money for a wrecker or car repairs. Damn the stubborn
woman. If she’d allow him, he would take care of every-
thing. But being essentially on her own since age sixteen
had made Daisy reluctant to accept help from anyone, but
most especially from him.
Travis raised his head and stared at the car crouching in
the shallow ditch. “What happened to the green monster,
Mom?”
“Transmission went out,” Daisy mumbled, “but let me
worry about the car, son.”
Kael pulled over on the shoulder, engine idling. ‘ ‘Do we
haul it to the shop now, or do you want me to take you
home?’ ’
She rubbed her temple with her fingers. “Would you
take us home? I need time to sort things out.”
“You got it.”
Kael knew how much effort it took for her to make that
simple request. He also knew that he was going to have the
car towed and the repairs made behind her back and let the
chips fall where they may.
He drove out of town, taking Highway 183 to Spur 115.
How many times had he driven this road with Daisy riding
shotgun beside him? A melancholy sensation tightened his
chest, and he sneaked a glance in her direction. She was
staring out the window, her arm resting across Travis’s
shoulder, her chin held high.
She was more beautiful than he remembered, with that
long, red hair glowing in the sunlight, her peaches-and-
cream complexion bronzed to perfection, her full lips
pursed into a determined pout. Man alive, but he wanted
to pull the truck over, drag her out the passenger-side door
and kiss her until she begged him to come back into her
life.
But Kael knew that would never happen. Daisy High-
tower was a woman of strong convictions. It was one of
the things he admired most about her. Once she made a
decision on an issue, she could not be swayed to change
her mind. And seven years ago she’d made up her mind to
end their relationship.
During that time, Kael had cloaked his pain by com-
pletely focusing on bull riding. He’d lived and breathed
rodeo. There had been no other lady to steal his heart since
Daisy Hightower. Oh sure, he’d garnered a few expressions
of affection from women, but he had not allowed anyone
to get close enough to bum him the way Daisy had. A man
could only take so much suffering before he turned his back
on love.
And then bull riding had been taken from him. He’d lost
that love, too, just as surely as he’d lost Daisy.
A hot, hard sensation billowed inside him. Regret, re-
morse, sadness, sorrow. Guiding the pickup toward High-
tower Honey Farm, which bordered his family’s ranch on
the north, Kael Carmody found himself wishing for a sec-
ond chance.
He killed the engine. More memories swept through him
as his gaze drifted over the farm.
The house begged for a fresh coat of paint, and the fence
required stretching, he noted. Grass grew ankle-deep and
tree limbs needed trimming. The place fairly cried out for
a man’s touch.
At least she hasn’t found someone to replace me. Startled
at the direction his mind had taken, Kael shook his head.
He recalled sitting right there on that same front porch
swing with Daisy. They had kissed and giggled and held
one another until Aunt Peavy came out on the porch with
a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade and a tray of choco-
late chip cookies.
He remembered helping Daisy and Aunt Peavy in the
apiary, uniting colonies, cleaning the hives, clipping the
queens. A humming noise rose in his memory as did the
sweet pervasive aroma of honey.
Yes. Hightower Honey Farm brought back a lot of old
feelings. Feelings that could never be recaptured. But
maybe, just maybe, Daisy would allow him to be her friend.
He hated to think he’d completely lost her from his life.
“Hey, Travis, why don’t you carry this sack inside for
your mother?” Kael reached into the extended cab and
handed the boy a small sack of groceries.
Travis nodded, took the sack and climbed to the ground.
Daisy started to follow suit, but Kael laid a restraining hand
on her shoulder.
“Wait. I’d like to talk to you alone.”
Daisy hesitated, wariness reflected in her eyes.
“What do you want?”
Kael swallowed. “The farm needs work, Daisy.”
“I’m doing my best,” she snapped. “You think it’s
easy? Running a business, raising a seven-year-old?”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m very aware of how hard
you work.”
“Then what did you mean?” Daisy’s green-eyed gaze
had a hard edge to it.
“You could use a man around here.”
One eyebrow shot up high on her forehead. “Oh, no,
Carmody, you’re not about to weasel yourself back into my
life.”
“There you go, jumping to conclusions. I can see you’re
still the same old Daisy Hightower.” Irritation snapped
through Kael. He’d forgotten just how hardheaded this
flame-haired woman could be. ‘ ‘I have absolutely no inten-
tions of pursuing you.”
“Ha!” Daisy folded her arms over her chest.
Irritation transformed into something darker, deeper, as
&nbs
p; he remembered the event that had ended their relationship.
Swallowing back bitter words, Kael met her stare.
Daisy didn’t even blink. She leaned over the seat and
started pulling out grocery sacks. She sat them on the
ground outside his truck.
“I’ll get those.” He opened the door and walked around
the pickup.
“I assure you I can unload my own groceries.”
She was one tough cookie. He had to give her that. But
even the hardest of cookies crumbled under the right con-
ditions.
‘ ‘I simply want to help. Let me pay for having the green
monster repaired.”
“No way. It’s not your problem.”
“Daisy, I care.” He reached out a hand to touch her, but
she shook him off.
“You don’t owe me anything, Kael Carmody.”
“I was hoping to be your friend,” he said softly, real-
izing that was true. If he couldn’t have her as his lover,
then he’d settle for anything, in order to be near her.
“You and I could never be friends, Kael.” She slammed
the pickup door, and the sound echoed the finality of her
statement.
“Daisy.”
“Please,” she said, “do us both a favor and stay out of
my fife!”
Chapter Two
Daisy’s chest hurt, and tears burned her eyes. Clutching
two grocery sacks, she stumbled into the house.
“Mom?” Travis looked up from the kitchen table where
he was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Daisy?” Aunt Peavy wiped her chubby hands on her
apron then adjusted her thick glasses and peered at Daisy.
“I’m fine.” Daisy gritted her teeth. Resting the sacks on
the table, she spun on her heels and marched back outside
for another load.
Thankfully, Kael’s pickup was halfway down the road
leaving a dust cloud in its wake. The setting sun glinted
off the shiny chrome, announcing to the world at large that
Kael Carmody had indeed returned home to Rascal.
Daisy’s bottom lip trembled.
Don’t you dare cry, Daisy Hightower. Haven’t you shed
enough tears over that man?
Swiping her hand under her nose to ward off the water-
works, she hefted the remaining sacks and trotted back in-
side.
“Are my poor old eyes deceiving me, or did I spy Kael
Carmody in our driveway?” Aunt Peavy asked.
“It was Kael,” Daisy confirmed with a sigh.
There was no mistaking the delight that graced her aunt’s
wrinkled features. “Well, why didn’t you invite him inside,
dear?”
“Auntie, I don’t want Kael getting any ideas.”
“That past history is water under the bridge. No reason
you and he can’t be friends.”
Oh there was a very good reason all right. It hurt too
damned much to even sit next to him in the pickup cab
much less see the man on a regular basis.
Daisy didn’t respond. Instead, she started stacking gro-
ceries into the pantry.
“I guess he came home to recover from that knee in-
jury,” Aunt Peavy mused.
“I guess so,” Daisy muttered.
“He has a really cool belt buckle,” Travis chimed in.
“It’s gold and huge and has a picture of a cowboy riding
a bull on it.”
“Kael’s a famous bull rider with the rodeo,” Aunt Peavy
told him.
“Really?” Travis’s eyes widened. “Wow.”
Daisy didn’t like the way her son’s face lit up with ad-
miration. She hated to think the boy could be enamored
with the likes of Kael Carmody.
“Yes, and he got hurt very badly climbing up on those
bulls,” Daisy said.
“I wish I could watch him.” Travis chewed his sand-
wich, a dab of purple jelly smeared across his cheekbone.
“Kael Carmody’s bull riding days are over,” Daisy said,
surprised at the wistful feeling that wafted through her.
Even though Kael’s career had been the catalyst that had
tom them apart, she knew how much rodeoing had meant
to him. She could only guess at how awful he must be
feeling, cut off from the thing he loved most.
Dam it, why did she have to live next door to the man?
Running a hand through her hair, Daisy hoped Kael
wouldn’t be staying in Rascal for very long. Surely his
wanderlust would soon take over and he’d leave. Just as he
had seven years ago.
Except this time there was no dream to chase.
“Daisy?”
She blinked and stared at Aunt Peavy. “Beg your par-
don? What did you say?”
“What are we going to do about the green monster?’
“I don’t know.”
Daisy rubbed her temple again. Her head throbbed re-
lentlessly. Her responsibilities were never ending. It seemed
there was always a crisis to handle, finances to fret over.
The past winter she’d battled a bad bout of foulbrood that
had infected the apiary. She’d lost thousands of bees in that
outbreak. Also, the recent drought had decreased the num-
ber of flowering plants and greatly affected honey quality.
In fact, her colonies were the weakest they’d ever been. It
would take her a year or more to fully recoup her losses.
“How will Travis get to school in the morning?” Aunt
Peavy asked.
“He’ll have to take the bus, and I’ll see if Jess Carpenter
can give me a tow to Willie’s garage in the morning,” she
said.
“I’ve got a little money stashed away,” Aunt Peavy of-
fered. “It’s not much, but it’ll help pay for repairs.”
“But that’s your Christmas money,” Daisy protested.
“It’s only May. I’ll have plenty of time to save more
cash for Christmas.”
Daisy mulled over the idea. She hated taking money
from her aunt, but right now she had little choice. They
had to have a vehicle, and borrowing from Aunt Peavy was
far more preferable to accepting assistance from Kael Car-
mody!
‘ ‘Down in the dumps’ ’ just about covered the way Kael
Carmody was feeling. Seeing Daisy Hightower again yes-
terday afternoon had done nothing to alleviate his unhap-
piness. In fact, it was painfully obvious he’d made a very
bad choice seven years ago. He’d picked bull riding over
love, and now he had neither and a bum leg to boot.
Kael swallowed the last swig of beer. So what if it was
only noon? His parents were throwing a party in his honor,
and he wanted nothing more than to escape, and alcohol
offered a convenient method for the time being. He remem-
bered now why he hadn’t come back to Rascal before.
The memories were just too painful. Over the years he
would either visit his parents at their condo in Corpus
Christi or they’d come to see him on the rodeo circuit. Until
the accident he’d had no desire to return home. Glancing
over his shoulder at the rambling ranch house where he’d
grown up, Kael hitched in a heavy sigh.
Music bla
red from the windows. Dozens of cars were
parked in the driveway and around the side of the house.
The smell of barbecue lingered in the air but he wasn’t
hungry.
No one had even seemed to notice he’d slipped away
from his own welcome-home party. After fielding a million
questions about his injury and his failed career, claustro-
phobia had descended upon him. He’d tolerated as much
autograph signing and backslapping as he could muster,
then he’d mumbled something about getting fresh air,
grabbed another beer from the cooler and disappeared out-
side.
He’d gone to the bam and stripped the protective tar-
paulin off his motorcycle. He’d purchased the Harley with
money from his first PRC win. The vehicle looked as fresh
and new as the day he’d bought it. One of the ranch hands
fired it up periodically and performed the minimum main-
tenance required.
Damn! How he wanted to ride the powerful motorcycle,
to feel the hard metal between his legs, the wind rushing
through his hair, the engine vibrating throughout his body.
Yet another experience the accident had robbed from
him.
Except it hadn’t been an accident. He’d willingly
climbed upon that wild Brahma. Had proudly strutted his
way to the shute, accepting kisses from women and admi-
ration from men.
He had risked his health, his future, for the glory of the
moment. At the time he hadn’t regretted it. Back here in
Rascal with Daisy Hightower still nursing a grudge right
next door, Kael held a whole new respect for regret.
But there was nothing he could do to change the past,
and right this minute he wanted to ride that Harley so badly
he could taste it. Kael tilted his head and eyed the motor-
cycle. What could it hurt? A ten-minute ran through the
pasture.
His leg throbbed like a son of a gun, but he didn’t care.
What did he have to lose? Jutting out his chin, Kael ma-
neuvered the motorcycle from the bam. His hands caressed
the glossy finish. He straddled the seat.
You could make your leg worse.
The thought floated through his mind, but he pushed it
aside. How could things possibly be worse? Hell, he should
live it up while he had a chance. He’d discovered the hard
way that life was far too short and that nothing, but nothing,
