Those steady, intense eyes never left her face. I like that phrase. Making a memory. Doesnt happen to me often. Not like that.
Not for me, either. But Im not going to be in White Hills for long. Thats for positive. She smiled briskly. Sheesh, weve got to get dressed. Clocks ticking. Were going to have people knocking at the door in a matter of minutes.
Yet when she moved toward the doorway, he didnt seem inclined to budge. He didnt touch her. Teague didnt seem the kind of guy whod touch a woman who hadnt specifically invited it. But trying to cover herself with his carpenters apron suddenly seemed humorously foolish. She hadnt minded his seeing her naked last night. Shed wanted him to. Shed wanted to be naked for him, with him. But this morning her fanny felt as if it was hanging naked in the wind in every sense.
Daisyyou really dislike White Hills that much?
Hed asked the question seriously, so she answered in kind. Actually, I always loved it. At least when my family was here-we were always close. But for me, living in a small town She shook her head.
You find it boring?
Notboring. But I always felt as if I were living in a fishbowl. Everybody knows everybody elses business. If you wore a red dress to a funeral, everyone in a three-county radius would know it. You cant make a mistake. You cant want something different. You cant beanonymous. You have to fit the mold.
Whats the mold?
The mold isbehaving like everyone else behaves. Around here, the most excitement on a Saturday night is watching tractors drive by and the high school football game. Women still hang out their wash. Guys wash their cars on Sunday afternoon. People pay their bills, raise their kids, compete for the coolest Christmas decorations.
And all thats bad?
Not bad. Not bad in any way for most people. She struggled to explain. My mom used to say that I was the only daughter she misnamed. Daisy. The ordinary flower. When I could never seem to do anything ordinary. I think I came out of the womb wanting to dance until dawn. And there was no one to do that with. Not here.
You really hated growing up here. He didnt make it sound like a question. Good thing. Because it wasnt.
Not hated. I love my parents, and my sisters and I were always thick as thieves. And honestly, I liked the town. It just didnt like me, she said frankly, and then grinned. You wont like me, either, when you get to know me better.
His eyes seemed to pick up a challenging gleam. You sound very sure of that.
Oh, Im dead sure of it. Neighbors used to say I was as restless as a leaf in a high wind. Mamas used to make their teenage boys go inside when I was driving by, just to protect them from the influence of that wild Daisy Campbell.
Now youve got me scared, he said dryly.
They both chuckled-and then both hustled to get dressed and get the house back in order before the snowplows arrived.
Daisy knew perfectly well that she hadnt really scared him, but she hoped-from the heart-that shed gotten through. She wasnt the kind of woman that a nice guy married. Not a nice guy who was into roots and settling down in a house with 2.2 kids and a basketball hoop over the garage and an SUV. She was the kind of woman who a guy wanted to have an adventure with.
Like theyd had.
Last night.
But good guys didnt last-not with her. Whether it was her fault or theirs, Daisy didnt know. Right then it didnt matter. It just mattered that shed made sure Teague was warned off before either of them could be hurt-particularly because she was going to be stuck in White Hills for a while.
For his sake, and hers, she intended to stay far away from Teague Larson.
Five
Teague trudged down Main Street. Since the blizzard two weeks ago, thered been no bad snowstorms, but no temperature melt, either. The sludge and crusty ice were piled so high you could barely find a decent place to park-which is why hed been stuck walking the last three blocks. Usually he liked winter, but typically by late January, the snow had dirtied up; people were sick of bundling in winter gear; the thrill of Christmas was over and everybody was broke.
Teague trudged down Main Street. Since the blizzard two weeks ago, thered been no bad snowstorms, but no temperature melt, either. The sludge and crusty ice were piled so high you could barely find a decent place to park-which is why hed been stuck walking the last three blocks. Usually he liked winter, but typically by late January, the snow had dirtied up; people were sick of bundling in winter gear; the thrill of Christmas was over and everybody was broke.
Actually, he wasnt. He was making more money than he had time to spend-a totally unjust state of affairs-but blizzards had a way of soliciting business. When people were stuck in their homes, they tended to look around more, see the cracks, hear the groans. He swore half the town had called him, hoping to get a major rehab project going over the winter. More to the point-for him-was that working nonstop the past two weeks had kept his mind off Daisy Campbell.
Sort of.
Hands in his pockets, he passed by Carcutters Books, then Rubys Hair Salon. After Rubys, he crossed the road, automatically bending down to save little Tommie Willis from falling-that kid was always getting away from his mother, and the pavement was extra slick this afternoon. Still, he barely noticed the child or the storefronts.
She was still in White Hills, because everywhere he went-customers, gas station, hardware, grocery store-people were buzzing about the glamorous, prodigal daughter come home. But hed driven out to the farmhouse countless times. No one was there and no phone had been hooked up.
It wasnt as if he assumed they had a big thing going. He didnt. But she distinctly hadnt called him. Its not as if he were hoping for the earth and the sun. He just wanted to find out if she could possibly, conceivably, want to turn his nights inside out ever again in this century.
The wind whipped around his neck, slapped his cheeks red. Thats how his heart felt. Slapped. Obviously he hadnt turned her nights inside out. And since he knew he functioned best solo, he had no explanation for his heart feeling so roughed up and skinned.
He hiked on, his ears freezing because he forgot his hat-he always forgot his hat. He was headed for Karen Browns store, a place called Inner Connections. Hed never been inside the decorating place, never planned to, never wanted to. But hed taken out a wall in John Cochrans house, and they wanted a bay window, and Mrs. Cochran was housebound because of some recent surgery and she wanted some swatches.
Teague had no idea what a swatch was, but the interior decorating store-Karen Black, or whoever, did curtains and upholstery stuff-was supposed to have them. Lately he couldnt seem to escape this kind of exasperating problem. All his clients werent as sweet and frail as Mrs. Cochran, but lots of women wanted decorating ideas to go with their carpentry and rehab projects.
Ask him, the whole thing was dumb. When you had a good-looking window, why cover the thing with a bunch of fabric?
He trudged past the barber shop, then Lambs Feed Store, then the cleaners. First place on the next block was the Marble Bridge Café. In the spring and summer, the café set Adirondack chairs outside so the locals could sip brew and fight about politics, Vermont-style. Teague wouldnt mind popping in for a fast coffee-and to warm his hands-but he wanted to get this torturous swatch thing over with. Maybe after. Assuming he survived the decorating store. Assuming someone was there who could explain about the swatch thing. Assuming
He stopped dead, then backed up three paces.
Something was odd. He wasnt sure what snagged his attention, but walking down Main Street was invariably like listening to his own heartbeat. He knew how it was supposed to sound. He knew how it was supposed to look.
The Marble Bridge Café was one of those places that never failed to be predictable. By this time in the afternoon, Georged be sipping free coffee at the counter, his sheriffs hat on the hook inside the door. The place would smell like something burned, because Harry Mackay-whod owned the café for the past forty years-invariably started talking and forgot what he was cooking. People didnt come for the food unless they were desperate, anyway. The café was primarily a breakfast and lunch place that Harry kept open through the afternoon because he had nothing better to do. In the early part of the day, it was a place to hang out, to fight about politics, to read the paper. It was tradition. And traditionally, by late January, Harry hadnt taken down the Christmas lights; tired garlands were sagging from the windows; and the linoleum was muddy from people charging in with boots all day.
The garlands and lights were there.
The floor was the color of dirty snow.
The sheriff was sipping free coffee.
Teague couldnt fathom what was different-and then realized there were people inside. By this time in the afternoon, the clientele had usually thinned out. Today at least half the booths and tables were occupied. Maybe Harry had a sale on burned food?
The thought struck his funny bone, but Teague would still have continued on if he hadnt suddenly spotted a woman behind the counter. Not Janelle or the other part-time waitress who worked for Harry. Not anyone hed ever seen in the café before. And he immediately pushed open the door.
Several called out greetings. He answered or nodded, but he hadnt taken his eyes off the woman. Her back was to him, but he could still tell that she wasnt a normal woman-at least not normal by Marble Bridge Café standards. Her height clocked in around five-seven and she had glossy dark hair, worn shoulder length, the kind of hair that swayed when she moved and sifted colors in the right light. She wasnt wearing jeans and an L.L. Bean sweater, which was the winter indoor uniform in White Hills. Not that hed know designer clothes if they bit him in the butt, but he guessed the silky blue shirt and slacks cost the moon and then some.