Chasing the Sun (35 page)

It took two more dunks before Jack’s head and arms were clean of blood. Careful not to put too much weight on his injured leg, he levered himself back onto his feet, then bent and picked up the hatchet. He glared across the water at Brady. “You threw a damn hatchet at me?”

They were close enough now that Brady had no trouble hearing the words, or recognizing the furious accusation in Jack’s voice.

“I threw it at the bear,” Brady yelled back.

“A goddamned hatchet? What the hell good was that supposed to do?”

Brady grinned, delighted to be arguing with his little brother, rather than burying him. “I was out of cartridges and didn’t have a spare cylinder.”

“You could have killed me.”

Brady shrugged.

Which only seemed to fuel Jack’s anger. “Well, here. I don’t need it anymore.” And hauling his arm back, he heaved the hatchet across the creek.

“Christamighty!” Brady sputtered, ducking as the blade skimmed by. “What are you doing?”

“Same thing you did to me, you idiot!”

“I was trying to help you, not kill you!”

“Having fun down there?” a voice called out.

Brady whirled to see Hank and several ranch hands grinning down at them from the bluff rising at his back.

“See you got dinner,” Red yelled, pointing at the dead bear. The other hands dissolved in laughter.

“If you girls are through playing catch with that hatchet,” Hank called, “why don’t we haul Jack out and go home. I’m hungry.”

Twenty

JESSICA AND MOLLY FOUND DAISY ALONE IN THE GARDEN, down on her knees, vigorously digging up beet starts. She’d already made a shambles of half a row, and was starting into a second when they arrived.

It was a lovely afternoon for gardening, Molly thought, as they moved down the flagstone walkway. After two blustery days, it was a relief to see the sun again and feel a warm, dry breeze instead of that chill dampness that seemed to soak into her very bones. There wasn’t a cloud in sight and the clear sky was such a vibrant blue it would be an almost exact match to Brady’s eyes. Although, to be honest, Molly had always found her brother-in-law’s icy stare a bit disturbing. She much preferred the warm, velvety brown of her husband’s.

“Daisy,” Jessica called, weaving around the raised beds toward the woman attacking the ground with a spade.

Daisy’s head jerked up. “Any word?”

Jessica shook her head. “Not yet. But soon, I’m sure. Where are Ben and Elena? Weren’t they out here with you?”

As they drew closer, it was obvious that Daisy had been crying. Swiping a wrist over her eyes, she rocked back on her heels. “They went to the pasture. Dougal said the wind uprooted a tree and Ben wanted to see. Oh, look what I’ve done,” she said, apparently only then aware of the decimated seedlings she’d left in her wake. “I’m so sorry. I just started digging and I—I ...” Her voice broke.

Tucking up her skirts so they wouldn’t drag in the dirt, Jessica crouched beside her. “It’s all right, dear. We always have more beets than we can eat, and we can certainly plant more if need be. Come.” Taking Daisy’s arm, she helped her stand. “There’s a bench by the fruit trees. Let’s sit over there so you don’t ruin that pretty dress.”

In truth, it was an ugly dress. Even though Molly had little fashion sense, she could see that brown wasn’t Daisy’s color. Yellow would be better with her lovely hazel eyes. And the fit was atrocious—at least a size too big for her small frame. Molly suspected Daisy wore oversized clothing to distract from her full bustline. Not that it did so. The woman had a form any man would look at twice, no matter if she wore burlap or satin. Molly, with her own slim, less-endowed figure, tried not to feel too gawky around her. It was Jessica, with her flair for style and color, who was the fashion plate of the family, although her hats were sometimes a bit overwhelming.

Once Jessica had Daisy settled between them on the stone bench under the greening fruit trees, she gave her one of the lace-edged hankies she always seemed to have hidden somewhere on her person. Daisy mopped up, then gave a shaky smile. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be brave about all this, but I keep thinking—”

“Then don’t,” Jessica cut in, and rather curtly, Molly thought, which was a clear indication of how worried she truly was. “Tears will avail you nothing. And in any event, we have something to discuss with you.” She pulled the crumpled poster from her pocket. “Are you aware of this?”

Daisy read it then groaned. “Oh, God.”

“You knew him?” Jessica pressed. “This Bill Johnson person?”

“Yes. I knew him.” Daisy looked up with a grim, humorless smile. “I killed him.”

Molly met Jessica’s look of shock. Trying to keep her voice from betraying her alarm, she asked, “Why, Daisy? What happened?”

“He was after Kate. He intended to sell her to a brothel.” Daisy explained about finding Edna Tidwell dead at the bottom of the stairs at her boardinghouse, and how when she went upstairs to the room she shared with Kate, she caught Johnson bent over Kate’s bed. Ignoring their gasps of shock, she added in a flat, unemotional voice, “When I pushed him away from her, he tried to choke me. So I shot him. Twice.”

“My word!” Jessica put an arm around Daisy’s shoulders. “You poor dear.”

Molly rose, unable to think as well sitting as she did standing. Movement fueled her mind. “Then what happened?”

“A friend was with me. A d-dear friend.” Daisy’s voice grew more animated and tears again flooded her eyes. “She took care of... everything.” In a faltering voice she told how they had packed hers and Kate’s belongings, then put Daisy’s bloodied coat on Edna Tidwell and the pistol in the dead woman’s hand. “So it would appear that Edna had killed him. Then my friend took us to a nearby church where the pastor hid us until we left to come here.”

“Smart woman,” Molly mused, pacing before the bench.

“I don’t know what I would have done without her help.”

Stopping before her, Molly held out her hand. “May I see the poster again?”

Daisy handed it over.

After skimming it, Molly nodded. “I thought so. There’s nothing here that actually accuses you of Bill Johnson’s murder. They only want to question you about it, perhaps to see if you witnessed anything.” She returned the paper to Daisy. “It sounds as if your friend’s ploy worked.”

“Do you think so?” Daisy asked hopefully.

“No matter,” Jessica cut in, waving that aside. “We can’t know for certain you’re not a suspect, so we can’t take the risk of responding to the inquiry. What’s important is that we figure a way to keep you and Kate safe.”

“I thought we were safe. San Francisco is over a thousand miles away.” Daisy stared down at the poster in her hands. “How did you even get this?”

Plucking the paper from Daisy’s lax grip, Jessica folded it and slipped it back into her skirt pocket. “Stanley Ashford. That bloody bastard.”

“Jessica!” Molly gasped in astonishment. Even the stricken Daisy gaped at the usually oh-so-proper-Englishwoman’s use of harsh language.

Jessica gave a dismissive shrug. “Well, he is.”

Molly sent Daisy a wry smile. “She’s right. He is.”

“Think, ladies,” Jessica persisted. “We must devise a plan.”

Molly resumed pacing. Jessica pursed her lips and frowned into the distance. Daisy seemed more deflated that ever, and even the flies circling the compost pile in the corner of the garden appeared to have lost their vitality.

“I’ll simply have to go back,” Daisy announced after a lengthy pause. “I’ll have to tell them what happened and that I killed him in defense of my daughter.”

“Absolutely not,” Jessica protested.

“Too big a risk,” Molly agreed.

“Then I’ll leave.”

“And go where?”

“New Orleans.”

“Have you family there?”

“No.”

“Then why New Orleans?” From what Molly had heard, New Orleans was no more safe than wild San Francisco. Perhaps even worse, with all the carpetbaggers and Reconstruction troubles. And hadn’t they been having riots there between freedmen and Southern sympathizers?

“I—well—it’s complicated.” Daisy let out a weary breath and seemed to deflate even more. “There’s something I need to do in New Orleans. I have to get on a ship, you see.”

“No, I don’t see.” Jessica sounded curt again, but this time, rather than showing impatience, she sounded a bit angry. “We’re trying to help you, dear. But you must be open with us so we can. Ship going where? And why?”

“Rome.” Daisy seemed to be at war with her own thoughts, but after twisting Jessica’s fine lace hanky into a wrinkled knot, her need to confide in them apparently overcame her reluctance to speak. “You said I should be singing on a stage—a real stage.”

Molly nodded. “And so you should.”

“Well, I have a chance to do that. And train with Madame Sophia Scarlatti in Rome.”

Jessica reared back in surprise. “The Sicilian Songbird?”

“You’ve heard of her?”

“I actually heard her sing once, although I was a child and have no memory of it. My mother said she was phenomenal. But I thought she no longer sang.”

“She doesn’t. But she trains others, and she’s offered to train me.”

Molly heard a note of pride in Daisy’s voice. And no wonder. She had heard of the Sicilian Songbird, too, and although she had never heard her sing, Molly knew the woman was renowned for her exceptional voice. That she would acknowledge Daisy’s gift by offering to train her was high praise indeed. “Daisy, that’s wonderful.”

“It’s been my dream to sing on a stage for as long as I can remember. I-I can’t just let it go.”

“Certainly not,” Jessica said.

Molly nodded her agreement. “And it’s actually the perfect solution to this Bill Johnson debacle. By the time you complete your training, the whole thing will have probably blown over. How long is the training, by the way?”

“Two years. Then for three years after, I tour with Madame Scarlatti’s troupe.”

“Even better.” Jessica beamed, as if everything was all settled. But when she saw Daisy’s spirits hadn’t lifted as well, she tilted her head to study the younger woman’s face. “Something is still bothering you, isn’t it?”

“Jack,” Molly guessed.

Daisy nodded. “Yes, Jack.”

“What does this have to do with Jack?”

Daisy gave a brittle laugh. “Nothing. That’s the problem.”

“You’ve fallen in love with him,” Molly surmised. “And you don’t want to leave him.”

Daisy stared down at the fingers twisting in her lap.

“Then don’t leave him,” Jessica said in exasperation. “Take him with you.”

“It will be difficult enough trying to manage the training and traveling and tending Kate, without having to worry about Jack too.” That laugh again, with an edge of pain and despair that caught at Molly’s heart. “Not that he would be there to worry about. Jack has his own dreams, and I wouldn’t ask him to give up his plans for me, any more than he could expect me to give up mine for him.”

“Have you asked him?”

Daisy shook her head. “I’ve told him nothing. Jack is ...” She paused, a sad look in her eyes. “Impulsive. He would want to go along with us. And he would. For a while. Then that need to escape, to explore, to keep moving, would pull him slowly away from us, and one day we’d look around, and he’d be gone. I know this because it’s happened once already and it nearly killed me. I can’t put Kate through that. I won’t.” With trembling fingertips, she brushed fresh tears from her cheeks. “Better to go our separate ways now before she becomes too attached. Although it may be too late already. Jack’s absence has upset her more than I thought it would.”

“What a mess,” Jessica said with a sigh.

Molly idly watched two sparrows flit among the branches of a tall pine outside the fence and thought about dreams, and taking chances, and making hard choices. Everyone thought being a healer was her dream, but it wasn’t. It had been her father’s hope, not hers. Thinking back on it, Molly wondered if she’d ever had dreams of her own. No doubt at one time she had, but they’d been buried so deep so long ago, she’d never really had a chance to explore them. Now her dream of having her own children would have to be buried too. Not out of choice but circumstance. In neither case was the decision hers to make. How much harder it must be for Daisy to have to decide between a lifelong dream and taking a chance on Jack.

Molly turned back to her friends. She wished she knew Jack better and how deeply his feelings for Daisy ran. She knew so little about men. The only one she had ever truly known was Hank, and he was such a rock and so steadfast in his emotions that Molly had no doubt of his feelings for her. If Daisy didn’t have that same unquestionable belief in Jack, then perhaps she was right to pursue her own dreams rather than live in the shadow of his. A terrible choice, though, and one Molly was grateful she had never had to make.

“So what are you going to do?” Jessica asked.

Daisy took a deep breath and let it out. She seemed to re-inflate a bit, as if in having discussed her problem with Molly and Jessica, she had gained the strength to make a decision. “Now that Jack has so generously provided the money I need, I’ll go on to New Orleans. I’ll find someone to come with us on tour to watch over Kate. Then by month’s end, Kate and her nanny and I will be off to Rome.” She gave them a brave smile, and added, “I can scarcely wait.”