Chasing the Sun

by Kaki Warner

  After Hank left, Jack sat for a time staring into the fire and trying to figure out what his brother had been trying to tell him. Daisy was definitely not biddable. His swollen lip was proof of that. And he’d already made a costly mistake, which was why he was in the situation he was in now. But in not accepting Kate as his daughter, was he committing another?

  Or maybe Hank was talking about Elena after all.

  She was definitely biddable. And kind and generous. And she would never swing a fist at him, even if he did look at her chest. Which he almost never had. Which, now that he thought about it, seemed a little odd.

  So why did he have such strong feelings for her? Why couldn’t he let her go like she wanted? And why couldn’t he remember a thing about her chest?

  Hell if he knew.

  With a sigh, he rose and headed up the stairs.

  Outside the door to his bedroom he paused, thinking he might have heard a noise coming from the kid’s room across from his, some unknown and unidentifiable sound that he should probably investigate.

  Moving quietly, he stepped across the hall and eased open the door.

  The room was dark except for the faint moonlight coming through the thin curtain. The kid was snoring again. Jack went over to make sure she wasn’t suffocating, and found her sprawled on her back, arms thrown wide, palms up. She had the tiniest hands, yet every finger seemed perfect. Her skin looked like pale marble, and he wanted to touch her cheek but was afraid it would wake her. Instead, he tucked her toy cat against her side in case she woke up and looked for it.

  She. The kid. His daughter. Kate.

  An odd feeling, like a small whirlwind, moved through his chest. For a moment he experienced that same jolt of exhilaration and heart-pounding panic he’d felt last year just before he’d dived off the bow of the clipper into the cool, crystal waters off Tasmania. He was spiraling again toward unknown waters. But this was his most terrifying plunge yet.

  What in God’s name was he going to do with a daughter?

  Eight

  KATE’S CRIES AWOKE HER.

  Even though Daisy was still groggy with sleep, the part of her mind that never rested—the mother part—came instantly alert, taking only a fraction of a heartbeat to register that the cry was not one of distress, but impatience.

  I want up. I’m hungry. Come get me. Now.

  Staring dully at the patterns of light and shadow across the beamed ceiling, Daisy waited for her body to wake up. She felt horrid, aching in all kinds of places from that wretched buggy ride and her first jaunt on horseback in several years. Her head throbbed, her bruised cheek hurt, her throat burned from all the tears she had shed into her pillow, and the last thing she wanted to do was go out and face the Wilkins family.

  The dream that had brought her here now seemed like a cruel hoax, another harsh reminder—it’s not going to happen, Daisy. Give it up. Go back.

  But back where? San Francisco? To another saloon? A brothel? Not with the death of Bill Johnson hanging over her head. She couldn’t return to Quebec either. The farm had been sold long ago. There was nothing left there for her.

  No, she couldn’t go back. She’d come too far to give up now. But she hadn’t thought it would be so hard.

  Kate’s wails grew louder.

  Probably couldn’t find Kitty. With a sigh, Daisy threw back the covers and sat up. She sat for a moment, scanning the luxuries surrounding her. Stone fireplace, upholstered chairs, thick rugs, a balcony, and an indoor water closet with a hot water bath. She had never been in a room so grand. These people were rich. Surely they would help her if Jack wouldn’t.

  Jack.

  Even now, despite the anger that still smoldered within her, the pull was so strong that just knowing he was near made her thoughts scatter. He was part of her now, in her bones and marrow, forever in her memory as the first man she had ever loved.

  And he didn’t even remember her. How sad was that?

  Abruptly Kate’s crying stopped.

  Daisy tensed, listening.

  Silence.

  Concerned but not yet alarmed, she rose. The room was cold, making her shiver beneath the thin cotton of her gown. Since she had no robe, she pulled on her worn gabardine coat and padded across to the door that led into Kate’s adjoining room. Quietly she eased it open, hoping to find that her daughter had fallen back to sleep and she had a few more moments to herself.

  Instead, she saw Jack, wearing nothing but trousers and a bemused look, hunkered on his heels beside the crib, engaged in a silent staring match with Kate through the slats.

  Surprised and wondering what he was up to, Daisy paused in the doorway, watching him slowly walk two fingers up the side of the mattress and through the slats to poke Kate’s toe.

  Kate looked at her toe, then at him.

  He withdrew his fingers just as slowly, walking them back down the side of the mattress and out of sight.

  For a moment, nothing. Then Kate inched her foot forward in silent invitation, her gaze pinned to the spot where his hand had disappeared.

  The fingers came up again to poke her toe.

  Kate jerked her foot back.

  The fingers went away.

  Hesitantly, Kate slid her foot forward again. This time when the fingers came up to poke her toe, she giggled.

  Daisy was utterly amazed. Not only that Jack would engage in such fanciful play, but that Kate would allow it.

  But then, Jack instinctively knew how to charm.

  Bracing herself, she stepped into the room.

  Kate saw her and grinned. “Ma-ma-ma-ma.”

  Rising in one fluid motion, Jack turned to face her. There was such a mix of expressions on his face Daisy couldn’t tell what he was thinking, which was rare with Jack.

  “What are you doing in here?” she asked more harshly than she’d intended.

  “I heard her crying and came in to see if she was okay.” A smile started, spreading from one corner of his mouth to the other until his entire face was involved, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his dark brows slanting upward over the bridge of his nose and his fine teeth showing white against the dark stubble on his sun-darkened face. “I believe it now,” he said in a wondering voice. “I wasn’t sure but when I came in and she looked at me, I knew. It was like looking into my own eyes, Daisy. She truly is my daughter.”

  She let out a breath, not aware that she’d been holding it until her lungs demanded air. “I told you she was.” Shutting her mind to the lure of that smile, Daisy pushed past him to lift her daughter from the crib. “Thank you for your concern, but she’s fine. You needn’t stay.”

  When he didn’t move, she had to step around him to carry Kate over to the trunk of clothes. As she passed by, the scent of him wafted over her—that tangy, musky, morning scent she remembered from those crisp fall dawns when the fog pressed against the windowpanes, narrowing the world to just the two of them waking up in each other’s arms.

  The memory of it brought an almost physical pain.

  She felt him watching as she knelt beside the trunk to sift through the baby items Jessica had generously left for Kate’s use. At first Daisy had wanted to refuse, but the enticement of seeing her daughter clothed in dresses as lovely as she deserved proved too much.

  Pulling a peach dimity with a satin sash from the pile, she held it up to Kate. It looked beautiful with her rosy cheeks and blond curls and appeared to be the right size. Setting Kate on the floor, she began stripping off the baby’s nightclothes.

  “You can’t leave,” Jack said.

  She tilted her head to look at him, prepared to argue the point. But he wasn’t even looking at her. He was totally focused on Kate, and his expression stilled her words. She’d seen anger, grief, desire, laughter, even drunken befuddlement on his face. But never this raw, open vulnerability.

  Jack was incapable of dissembling. He might not always be wise or deliberate in his thinking, or was sometimes too ready to take chances or follow his whims, but he wa
s always honest in his emotions. The face he presented to the world was a true reflection of what he felt. And what he was showing now as he looked at his daughter almost made Daisy weep.

  Had he ever looked at her with such joy and wonder and yearning?

  Ignoring Kate’s squirms and giggles, she hurriedly dressed her in fresh pantalettes. “I can’t stay, Jack.” Not with a man who didn’t love her, who didn’t even remember her, who only wanted her here now because of her daughter.

  “Why not?”

  He walked toward her, his limp less noticeable than the day before. But even with that small imperfection, he moved with all the strength and grace she remembered. Seeing him without his shirt, she realized he was more muscular now and leaner. But she would have known those wide sloping shoulders, the long curve of that back, those strong hands even in her sleep. Especially in her sleep.

  Hunkering down beside her, he reached out to twine his finger in one of Kate’s curls.

  Grinning, Kate tipped her head back to watch his hand.

  “Stay. Just for a while.” Turning his head, he looked directly into Daisy’s eyes and smiled. “Please.”

  That was one of his greatest allures. When Jack looked at a woman, his attention was total, as if she were the only person in the room, the only person of importance. It was flattering and intimate and addictive. Even knowing it was the way he treated every woman, it sent a thrill through her. And that smile ...

  Daisy forced her attention back to dressing Kate.

  “You can’t take her from me, Daisy. Not yet.”

  It’s not you he wants, she reminded herself. Once he wins over Kate’s wary heart, he’ll probably walk away from her too.

  A feeling of desperation seized Daisy. She wanted to run. She wanted to stay. She wanted him to move back and give her space to breathe.

  “I have to go,” she said.

  “Give me a little more time. That’s all.”

  “I have plans, Jack.” When he didn’t respond, she looked up to see his expression wasn’t so kindly now. And she knew that within the last few seconds something valuable had been lost.

  “I’ll pay you. I know you need money. How much will it take to keep you here for a month?”

  “Jack—”

  “How much? I’ll pay whatever you ask.”

  Kate, sensing the rising tension, began to fuss again, her smoky blue eyes darting from her mother to her father. Daisy tried to reassure her with a smile, even though she felt like crying herself.

  “Just a few weeks,” he argued. “That’s all.”

  “Yes. All right. Two weeks.” At that moment she would have agreed to anything to put some space between them. “Then I have to go.”

  With a curt nod, he rose and left the room.

  As the door closed behind him, she took in a shaky breath, telling herself she had done the right thing. She had over six weeks before the opera company left for Rome. Surely she could allow Kate a little of that time with her father.

  And maybe by then she could finally put the man out of her life.

  After she got herself and Kate washed and dressed, they headed downstairs. It was slow going because Kate insisted on walking without help, inching toward the edge of each tread before hopping down to the next.

  Daisy didn’t mind. She dreaded the day to come—the curious stares, the probing questions, the speculative glances. She was happy to put it off as long as possible.

  The main room was empty, the house quiet except for the low murmur of voices coming through an open arched doorway on the far side of the dining area. Daisy assumed it led into the kitchen. After Molly had tended her bruises last night, she hadn’t gone back downstairs for supper, but had taken her meal in her room. Mentally preparing herself, she took Kate’s hand and walked through the archway.

  It was the grandest kitchen Daisy had ever seen, big enough to handle a dozen workers and equipped lavishly with a huge cookstove, two sinks, and enough cabinets to store the belongings of three families. In the center of the room stood a well-used dining table, and seated at the far end were Jessica and Molly, speaking quietly over a plate of muffins and two steaming teacups.

  Daisy had no doubt they were discussing her and Kate. Pasting on a smile, she said, “Good morning.”

  Their heads came up. But instead of guilty looks, they gave Daisy welcoming smiles. At least Jessica did. Molly was more reserved, not from a lack of friendliness, Daisy suspected, but more as part of her nature. Less a talker than an observer, Molly had eyes that missed nothing, much like those of her husband, the towering and intense second brother, Hank. Even though Daisy hadn’t spent much time with that couple the previous day, she sensed they were both highly intelligent. Molly certainly seemed more logical in her thinking than Jessica, who appeared a bit high-strung and emotional in comparison.

  Daisy liked them. With the exception of Brady, the overly protective, rather intimidating oldest brother, she liked all of the family she had met. Her unannounced arrival with Kate had been a shock, but they had handled it surprisingly well, and she was grateful.

  “How did you sleep?” Jessica rose to add another plate and mug to the table. “We sent the children out to the barn to see the new foals so they wouldn’t wake you. They can create quite a stir running through the house.”

  “Children?” Daisy glanced inquiringly from one woman to the other. She vaguely remembered Jessica answering the door with two babies on her hips, but didn’t remember if Molly had any.

  “Four.” Jessica sent a quick look at Molly, who was staring fixedly at Kate. “A son, a daughter, and twin boys. Four years, two, and one. In that order.”

  “How wonderful.” Smiling, Daisy waited for Molly to respond.

  Molly’s return smile seemed a bit forced. “Only my niece and nephew. So far.”

  Sensing she’d blundered onto a sore subject, Daisy busied herself pulling out a chair. After settling Kate on her lap, she said, “I want to thank you again, Jessica, for the lovely dresses.” She beamed proudly at her daughter. “Kate has never looked so pretty.”

  “Oh, I think that child would look beautiful no matter what she wore.” Bustling about, Jessica soon had a chair with an elevated seat for Kate and the ever-present kitty, a wide bib tied around Kate’s neck, and a bowl of oatmeal set before her. “Now what would you like, Daisy? Coffee or tea?”

  She took coffee and a muffin. While Kate gobbled her breakfast, Daisy answered Jessica’s and Molly’s questions as best she could, or at least the ones she felt comfortable answering.

  She was hesitant to reveal her opportunity to train with Madame Scarlatti. Part of it was pride—she didn’t feel she had to justify her reasons for needing help from her child’s father. Jack had a responsibility to Kate too.

  But she also didn’t want to open herself to ridicule. Few people understood her passion for music. Most viewed her singing abilities as a nice entertaining talent but hardly the kind of thing one should devote one’s life to. Other than her mother and Mr. Markham, no one had ever taken her music that seriously. Not even her father. Jack knew her only as a saloon singer. He might not be willing to give her money if he knew it was to be used to hire a nursemaid for his daughter while her mother traveled through Europe performing on stage. She couldn’t risk it.

  And she certainly couldn’t tell them that she was fleeing San Francisco because she’d killed a man.

  So she evaded any pointed questions about why she needed the money by explaining she had lost her position and her place of residence and needed funds to hold her and Kate over until she reestablished herself. Mostly that was true. And mostly Jessica accepted it. Daisy wasn’t so sure about Molly.

  As they were cleaning up the dishes, an accented voice said, “Buenas días, niñita.”

  Daisy turned from the sink to see a woman she hadn’t met standing beside Kate’s chair. She was dressed as a nun and was one of the most beautiful women Daisy had ever seen. Her presence immediately changed the atmosphe
re in the room. Jessica seemed flustered, Molly even more reserved.

  Daisy noted the newcomer seemed less interested in the ladies than in Kate, her face reflecting an odd expression of wistfulness as she studied the child drawing circles in the last of the oatmeal in her bowl.

  “Good morning.” Jessica sounded almost too jovial. “Morning prayers are over?”

  “Sí.” Despite the smile, the dark, almond-shaped eyes glittered as if she were fighting tears. “So this is little Kate,” she said, her gaze still pinned to the child. “She is very beautiful.” She glanced at Daisy. “You are a lucky woman.”

  “Yes, I am.” Daisy felt a shiver of unease. The woman seemed kindly enough, although there was something ...

  “She is much like her father.” The nun brushed a fingertip over Kate’s blond curls. “And more than just the eyes, I think.”

  And suddenly Daisy knew. In an instant, doubt became certainty, hitting her so hard it almost drove the air from her lungs.

  It was her. The woman Jack loved.

  Oh, God.

  The ground seemed to shift beneath Daisy’s feet. Pressing a palm against the countertop for balance, she struggled to quiet the terrible thundering in her chest.

  A nun. He’s in love with a nun.

  It was unbelievable. Ridiculous. So ironic she would have laughed out loud if she hadn’t been so close to tears.

  Perhaps sensing Daisy’s turmoil, Jessica stepped forward to hurriedly usher the nun around to an empty chair. “Would you like some tea? A muffin?”

  Daisy could see the woman was crippled, but took no comfort in that. None of this wretched situation was the nun’s fault. Daisy had orchestrated her own humiliation by becoming involved with Jack in the first place, then by showing up here uninvited, expecting ... what?

  “Elena is an old friend of the family,” Jessica explained. “She—”

  “I know who Elena is,” Daisy cut in. “I just didn’t know she was a nun.”