Wild in the Moment

Ten

Carrying a dripping spatula, Daisy charged over to the window dividing the kitchen from the café. It wasn’t even eight in the morning, yet people were pouring in as if there were no tomorrow.

Her lavender-lemon shortbread cookies were good, but not this good.

The café always drew a good morning crowd, but traditionally they were the coffee suckers, the commuters desperate for a fast cup or the retirees gathering for the daily fight about politics. This was…well, everyone. All ages.

“More cookies, Daisy!” Harry bellowed over the transom.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Or she was trying to. She hadn’t slept well because of worrying about Teague, so she’d come in bleary-eyed-prepared to bake. But damn. Not prepared to need quadruple batches of her shortbread cookies.

She sprinted back to her bowls and oven mitts and cookie sheets, too far to hear what people were saying and too busy to ask Harry what was going on. The shortbread recipe had passed down from her dad’s family-the Scots side-but her mom had put the French flair to it, richening it up with the sneaky hints of lavender and lemon. The cookies weren’t sweet so much as intense. Addictive. Particularly since she had the best source for the best lavender in the universe-her sister Violet.

A blast of cold air indicated more customers pouring in, and Daisy shook her head. As good as the cookies were-and she knew perfectly well that her skills as a baker made them darn near fabulous-there was still no explaining the high demand in the café this morning.

Harry showed up in the doorway. “I could use you a few more hours, if you want the work. Hell, Daisy, I had no idea you were gonna bring in this many customers when I took you on part-time.”

Again she glanced over the transom window. Standing-room only. Every booth was filled. And the door was opening yet again. “For Pete’s sake, what on earth are all these people doing here?”

“What do we care? They’re buying-although I have to admit,” Harry wiped his brow, “I’m not used to working this hard. I wish to hell we hadn’t let Jason take off for a few days. And Janelle can’t do the tables by herself.”

“I can see that. But what’s the deal? Schools aren’t closed today, are they? Or is it some historical person’s birthday that I don’t remember…?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Come on, Daisy. You know what they’re here for.”

She didn’t. Not only was she running on half empty, but she’d been too busy to think ever since they opened the café that morning. “I have no idea,” she insisted.

“They know all about the heart. The big four-foot chocolate heart. And now they want to know what you’re going to do about it-and then what Teague’s going to do next.” Harry waited for that to sink in before adding, “You didn’t think it’d escape anyone in White Hills when UPS brought that package in, did you? The whole town’s been watching Teague and you spend time together.”

She gulped. All this buzz was about her?

Someone called Harry’s name and he turned back to the bustling café she went back to her cookies and baking, pulling out croissants, three loaves of buttermilk-lavender bread, another round of cinnamon clusters, and of course more cookies. But her heart kept sinking.

She’d called Teague last night, sure his feelings would be hurt if she didn’t-he’d want to know she’d found the heart. But he must have fallen dead asleep, because he didn’t answer. She left a message, trying to express an exuberant thanks and hoping to catch up with him this afternoon. But now…

Unease kept rippling through her. Last night she’d been ruffled by a feeling of déjà vu, and now here was a second déjà vu, even more upsetting and nettling than last night’s. She wanted to be thrilled over the heart. What woman wouldn’t be charmed by such an extravagant romantic gesture?

Except, last night, her first thought was how many times Jean-Luc had done something like this-tried to pull the wool over her eyes by doing something effusively romantic. For years she’d built up a knee-jerk response. Gift, trick. Get a gift, look over your shoulder for the trick-because something was going to hurt and soon.

She knew that Teague was nothing like Jean-Luc. She knew. And it certainly wasn’t Teague’s fault that his gift had turned into a spectacle. He couldn’t possibly understand how sick and shaken she felt about being the focus of attention. As a kid, God knew, she’d done wild things to get attention, but then she’d married Jean-Luc, the master of public, flashy gestures. So many times Jean-Luc had pulled off some grandiose gift or event in a big public way-as if to show everyone how much he loved her-when they couldn’t afford that kind of extravagance. When she’d been working two or more jobs to pay for his last “wonderful” gesture.

Daisy just couldn’t seem to stop feeling as if she were floundering. She’d just learned the harsh lesson that when a man felt obligated to shout how much he loved a woman…he likely didn’t.

She heard the sheriff’s booming voice, glanced out and saw George settling at his usual center seat at the counter-he always had his first cup at the café-only this morning Harry and Janelle were both running to keep up with the other customers. With everyone else so busy, Daisy brought out the pot and a fresh plate of cookies-but she mentally braced. To expect George not to flirt and tease was like wondering if the sun was going to come up in the morning.

Sure enough, George said immediately, “So. I hear you’ve got yourself a beau.”

“Beau? Isn’t that a term that died out before the Civil War?”

George just grinned at her attempt to divert him. “So maybe we need a different term than beau. How about victim? Here you’ve been in town less than three weeks and already you’re breaking hearts.”

She was living up to her old reputation, he meant, which stung her conscience even more. She might have been careless with boys back in high school, but she’d grown up. So much so that the idea of hurting Teague in any way bothered her terribly. “Look, George, the heart was a joke. I’ve been doing some work with Teague, and I let on how much I love chocolate.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really, that’s all it is!”

“Yeah, well, my ex-wife let on lots of times how much she liked chocolate and I bought her plenty, too. But nothing like a four-foot heart. That had to cost some. And Teague-he’s usually the most practical guy in town. Practical, serious, quiet, sticks to himself. For him to make a big gesture like that-oh, baby, you’ve got him hooked with a capital H.”

Daisy frowned. The comment made her realize that the townspeople didn’t know the real Teague. For darn sure, he was sturdy and strong and practical, but he wasn’t all that quiet and didn’t naturally have a loner personality at all. He also had a whole personality side that he didn’t show easily to others-the side that bought a mutt named Hussy a pink collar. The side that made him lie about his expenses so a wheelchair-bound customer could afford him. The side of him that listened to a down-on-her-luck divorcee-such as herself-and somehow didn’t make her feel bad for the failure she’d made of her life. The side that somehow wormed her into telling him the truth, because a woman just knew that she could trust him.

A white-haired lady in a plaid flannel shirt sat down next to the sheriff, clearly hoping to join the conversation and sniff out more gossip. “Teague did my deck a couple years back. Did a great job, he did. I tried to fix him up with my granddaughter, but he just wouldn’t bite, even though she’s cute as all can be and smart besides.”

“Lorena?”

“Yes, Lorena,” she concurred to the sheriff, then turned back to Daisy. “Teague, he said, he’d learned the hard way that marriage wasn’t for him. No one could live with him, he said. He’d tried, he said. It’s not like he was against marriage, but somehow the woman always ended up mad at him, he-”

“Said,” Daisy finished for her. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, one of those shortbread cookies, dear. When I heard about that big chocolate heart, I almost died…”

Daisy didn’t hear the details about how she almost died, because she zipped back in the kitchen for another batch of the cookies. When she returned, the lady in the plaid jacket was still going on as if she’d never left.

“So I said to Sue Ellen, I said, some girl must have hurt him bad. He jokes about being bullheaded and all, but that’s not a bad quality in a man. What girl wants a man with no backbone, right, dear? So that can’t be the real reason. Some girl had to really stab his heart so bad he was afraid to try again. Or maybe that girl zapped his confidence in the sack, do you think?”

Daisy blinked, opened her mouth, closed it again. She glanced at George, whose mouth was twitching.

“Um,” she managed to say.

“Well, whatever she did to him doesn’t matter. The point is, he’s finally over it if he’s chasing after you. But you’d better snap him up before the rest of the girls realize he’s on the market, you know?”

“Thanks for the advice. Would you like coffee with your cookie?”

“Oh, no, dear, I don’t drink much coffee, not with my cholesterol.” She scooped two more butter-laden cookies on her plate and smiled. “Are you hoping he’ll propose?”

“Yeah, Daisy,” George echoed, “Are you hoping he’ll propose?”

A very rough morning was followed by a rough noon hour, and from there the day went seriously downhill. Around two Daisy started phoning Teague. She wasn’t scheduled to work with him that day; he was doing some kind of one-man carpentry work, she didn’t remember exactly where. Wherever, he always traveled with his cell phone so customers could always reach him.

Not today. She called at two. Then at two-thirty. Then at three. Then three-thirty. He simply didn’t answer and his voice mail didn’t activate. He was always reachable by phone.

Except for today.

Damnation, where was he?

“Teague,” the mayor said, “It’s not that I have anything personal against your doing this. I just don’t think I’m the one you should be asking permission from.”

Teague sighed. The mayor, Peter Strunk, had only been in office since November. In the true spirit of Vermont, where nobody really wanted government if they could avoid it, the people had elected a mayor who wasn’t likely to interfere in much of anything. The problem with a wishy-washy leader, though, was that he was…well…wishy-washy.

“Look,” Teague said, “there’s no reason this has to be so complicated. I just want to put up some banners on Main Street for a few hours. Not even a whole day. I’ll put them up myself. I’ll take them down myself.”

“I know, you said all that.” Peter had the hen-pecked look he got when he had dinner with his wife. “That’s not the issue. I think your idea is charming. I have no objections to it at all. I can’t see what harm it would do-”

“So all I need is your permission.”

“But the things I’m in charge of-the things a mayor is supposed to do-there’s nothing about this kind of thing.”

“Mayor,” Teague said patiently, “I’ve asked everyone else. I started with a cop, who sent me to the sheriff. He was gone, but at the office there, somebody said I had to go to the courthouse to get a permit. Then I went to get a permit, but they said they gave permits for things like parades and all, but for an individual request like this, they didn’t know. The bottom line is nobody seems to be able to give me a yes but you.”

“But I’m not sure…”

Teague stood up. “I know you’re not sure.” He pulled on his jacket, which he’d never thought he’d have to take off-but who’d have guessed he’d waste almost two hours in the mayor’s office? “So the deal seems to be this. Maybe I can’t get a ‘yes’ out of anyone, but no one’s given me a ‘no’ either. So I’m doing it. If somebody uncovers that this is a major felony I’m guilty of, then put me in jail-but don’t do it until Saturday, okay?”

“Just hold on, there. I know there have to be safety regulations-”

“I’m sure there are. But I think I’ll just go with common sense, rather than waste another whole day trying to figure them out. You have a good day, now, Pete.”

Bureaucracy. It was enough to make a man want to move to Alaska. Teague bolted down the courthouse steps and slugged his hands in his pockets against the sharp-shooting wind. Forecast had been for a clear day with no wind. Naturally, it was snowing hard and the wind was fierce as a temper.

He’d missed the whole afternoon’s work, but he figured he could make that up by working late tonight. He just had to pick the projects where the owners were gone or on vacation. And although this day had been totally frustrating so far, he glanced at his watch-he still had a good hour of daylight left.

He parked his truck at the far edge of Main Street’s business section. Traffic wouldn’t quite qualify as rush hour-there was no rush hour in White Hills-but just before dinner, lots of vehicles were cuddled tight at every light, and most of them were crabby. Moms who’d been kid-caring all day, dads who’d just put in nine hours straight, everybody tired of slushy roads and dark evenings. When Teague carted a ladder from the back of his truck, a couple of people honked a hello at him, but no one paid him much attention.

The three main shopping blocks of Main Street were gussied up with old-fashioned gas lights. Before Christmas, the lampposts had been decorated with wreaths and lights, but every season there seemed some excuse to string a banner across the road. It was a challenging job for one man to do alone, particularly when he had to stop traffic now and then to accomplish it. But, hell. If a guy had to risk breaking his neck for a woman, the woman should at least be worth it, right?

And Daisy, his heart had indelibly told him, was totally worth it.

He knew she had feelings for him…maybe not love yet? So he hadn’t won her heart. So they had some problems. But he knew some of her built-in walls now. She had a fear of being ordinary-so obviously he had to find ways to show her that he was never going to treat her as ordinary in a million zillion years. And she had a fear that living in White Hills would doom her to boredom…so he had to find ways to show her that a small town didn’t have to be staid.

Suddenly cars started honking. Two pickups stopped. One burly old-timer in a fur cap came barreling out of his truck, looking ready for a fight and furious as all get-out. “What the hell are you trying to do, Teague? Kill yourself?”

“Hey, Shaunessy. No, I’m just having a little trouble-”

“You’re having more than a little trouble. You’re stopping traffic. You’re working on a ladder in a high wind. Now, whatever the hell you’re trying to do, let’s just get it done so we can all go home.”

“Exactly,” the bearded man behind him echoed, “what I was thinking.”

A couple more townspeople followed up behind him. He’d done work for a lot of them, of course. And although Vermonters could be stubborn and independent, they tended to pitch in when they saw someone in big trouble. It’s not as if he would have given up if he’d had to do this totally on his own.

He wasn’t giving up. Not on Daisy. Not until he’d tried every last thing he could conceivably think of first.

But it was possible-even probable-that trying to string three sets of banners across Main Street without some help would have taken him all night and then some.

When the townspeople saw what he was doing, he saw a lot of rolled eyes and private grins. But they helped.

Two hours later the job was done.

Then it was just an issue of waiting for Daisy to wake up in the morning and see what he’d done.

The next morning, Daisy rushed over to open the top oven. The smell of char scented the air. An entire tray of croissants was more black-topped than the highway. She pulled out the tray, smacked it on the counter and waved off the smoke in exasperation.

It wasn’t as if she’d never had a baking snafu, but it was one thing to have a bad-hair day, another to have two nonstop mean days in a row. And that wasn’t even counting bad hair.

Teague was the problem, of course. She tossed down the oven pads. What was going on? From the night they’d connected after the blizzard, no day had passed without their talking or being together. But he hadn’t called. And she hadn’t been able to reach him.

Last night, of course, she’d left town before dinner, driven the back roads to investigate the present she wanted to give him on Valentine’s Day. Her heart lifted, just thinking about it-except that worry almost instantly replaced elation. Nothing exactly had to be wrong.

But she knew it was. Inside, outside, and every-other-way wrong.

“Daisy!” Harry hollered. “There’s another one.”

She charged out from the kitchen and found another beaming face at the counter, waiting for her with a little wrapped package, blue and white, with a red bow. “I just brought you a little something, dear!” It was the grandmother with the plaid jacket.

“That’s very kind,” Daisy said with total bewilderment. In the last hour-since seven that morning-three other people had brought her gifts. She knew all of them, in the way everybody knew each other’s faces in White Hills, even if they weren’t personal friends. But the first present had been a bar of honeysuckle soap, and the next had been some vanilla sugar scrub.

The grandma in the plaid jacket had wrapped up an oversize loofah. Overall, Daisy was starting to wonder if she was suffering from deodorant fade-out, since all these people suddenly seemed to feel she needed grooming and cleaning products.

“That’s so kind of you,” she said again. “But you didn’t have to give me anything.”

“Of course I didn’t, dear. But we’re all enjoying having you back home in White Hills so much. And your mom and dad and family aren’t here right now, so it just seemed like you might need a gift today.”

“Today?” Daisy repeated.

The older lady patted her hand. “We all know,” she whispered, and then turned around.

Daisy wanted to question her-what exactly did we all know?-but the buzzer went off for the bottom oven in the kitchen. She sprinted in, grabbed her hot pads and yanked open the oven door. Her poached apples with vanilla and wine and cardamom and lavender buds simply couldn’t fail-yet the pot had bubbled over and made a sizzling mess on the oven floor.

Harry showed up in the doorway. “Phone call for you in the office. And if this keeps up, I swear I’m dragging my brother in from his vacation. I don’t like working this hard. It’s against all my principles.”

“I’ll help, I’ll help, and I promise, I’ll get off the phone lickety-split.” But her heart was soaring higher than an eagle taking flight. The call was surely Teague. Okay, she was anxious and wary and thorny because he’d been so unreachable for the last two days. But as long as he was calling now…well, she wasn’t totally appeased yet. But she was sure willing to be.

As she charged into the office, she realized her palms were wet. Realized her thought train: that she was willing to forgive him about anything. Realized that she’d only been separated from him for two days and yet she was wallowing in a palms-wet, can’t-sleep, can’t-think, constantly anxious state of mind.

She’d never suffered the symptoms before. She’d been wild before, but that seemed her nature. There wasn’t much risk in doing something that came naturally to a body. Skydiving and taking off with an artist to another country and that sort of thing had never felt like a risk.

This felt like a risk.

This-God protect her-felt like love.

She grabbed the phone in Harry’s office with her heart suddenly galloping at breakneck speed. “Teague?” she said breathlessly.

“It’s Dad, Daisy. Not Teague. Who’s Teague?”

“Dad.” She closed her eyes, took a breath, pinched back the fierce disappointment-and realized all over again that she was in love.

Love was ghastly and terrifying. Who knew? How come her sisters were so happy being in love and loving? This wasn’t fun. This was so damn scary she couldn’t breathe.

“Daisy, are you there?”

“Yes, Dad. And it’s so wonderful to hear your voice. I’ve really missed you!” That wasn’t strictly true at the moment, but Daisy still meant it. She adored her dad. Her two sisters had cleaved more with their mom, but somehow she and Colin always had a special compatibility. When she got in trouble, he’d ream her out-but behind closed doors, he’d laugh with her, as well. He affirmed her spirit, her independence, even when he did the proper-dad-thing and yelled at her when she broke the rules. “Are you and Mom doing okay?”

“Your mom is fine. I’m fine. But I need to get something off my chest.”

“Shoot.” Daisy saw Harry motioning her to get off the phone, but she sank on the corner of the desk. A woman had priorities. If her dad needed her, that was that.

“Daisy, you told your mother about the divorce. You told your sisters. But you never said one direct word to me.”

Guilt bit with sharp teeth. “I never meant to hurt your feelings-”

“If you were having trouble with Jean-Luc, why didn’t you say? I know you can handle yourself. I know you wouldn’t have gotten a divorce unless the situation had become hell for you. But I thought we could always talk. I never met anyone who got so old they couldn’t use support from family. Why haven’t you called?”

“I’m sorry.” She took a breath, knowing she’d been avoiding her dad. “I know we’re overdue a heart-to-heart.” She thought she’d conquered a lot of her pride, partly because of finding Teague. Talking with him. Somehow telling him things she’d never have told anyone else. But there was a level of pride she still had trouble dipping beneath. That asking-for-help thing. That admitting when she was wrong. That admitting when she was scared.

“You’re doing all right now?”

“Fine,” she told him, and then grappled for more honesty. “Well…not fine. Because a man entered the picture who I really care about. I wasn’t looking. And I hadn’t planned on looking until I had money, a job, my whole life back together. But now is when I found him.”

“You love this guy?” her dad asked gruffly.

So easily, so strongly she said, “Yes.” But she closed her eyes and added, “Dad, there was a reason I didn’t tell you anything before. Everyone in the family’s done so well with their lives-in spite of some terrible things happening, like with Camille losing her first husband, and Violet believing for so long she couldn’t have a baby. I seemed to be the only one who really bungled things.”

“You didn’t bung-”

“Yeah, I did. And I didn’t want to be a disappointment to you.”

“You couldn’t disappoint me, you goose.” Her dad talked a few more minutes about family business. How her mom had managed to plant a garden in spite of the heat. How Camille was loving being a stepmom to her hellion teenage twins and talking about starting up an animal shelter. How Violet couldn’t talk about anything else but how wonderful the pregnancy was.

When Daisy hung up, she was smiling. Smoke was billowing out of the oven; Harry was exasperated with her, and no one was waiting on the impatient customers at the counter. But as she dashed out to help, she felt so, so, so much better for having talked with her dad.

She did need to put her life back together, not go into any relationship as a dependent. But even with the fear she’d built up about repeating her bad judgment with men-she knew Teague was different. Knew his heart was honest, his ethics straight and true, his capacity for love generous and huge.

Yet as she charged into the restaurant to help put out fires-the table of seven near the far window looked downright furious at how long they’d been waiting-she suddenly stopped dead. That particular far window looked out on Main Street. The east side of Main Street. The side that led to the shops and main business district.

Maybe she’d glanced out the window earlier, maybe not-there wasn’t much to see in those pitch-black hours before sunrise. But the watery sun had poked over the horizon now. She immediately saw the banners-all three of them.

HAPPY

BIRTHDAY

DAISY!

Loopy daisies and black-eyed Susans hung from both sides of the banners, climbing up the lampposts. And when she saw the banners, suddenly all sound seemed to stop in the café. Even the impatient family of seven was grinning. Staring at her.

Now she got it-all the customers this morning.

All the presents.

Only it wasn’t her birthday or even close.

For an instant she couldn’t move or breathe. It was another charming, impulsive gesture. Romantic. Grandiose. Exactly what had given her an uneasy stroke when he’d given her the four-foot heart. And since this was bigger and even more public, she probably should be having a stroke times two.

Instead she sucked in a breath, took care of the impatient customers, and the instant she got a free second, she ran into Harry’s office to use his private phone.

No surprise, Teague didn’t answer-either his home phone or his cell. But this time she left a firm message. “This is Daisy. Either call me or I’m going to strangle you with my bare hands. And that’s a promise.”