out just as bad as his daddy,” Tilly opined with a triumphant gleam in her eye. She seemed never happier than when she managed to find a new opportunity to remind Daisy of all the shortcomings of her late husband. As if she could ever forget. The scars—both the physical marks and the bruises he’d left on her heart and her soul—would never go away.
Sometimes Daisy missed Mrs. Powell, who had been the cook when she herself was a waitress. The older woman had been a crank and a bully, but her bullying tactics hadn’t been so full of innuendo and malice as Tilly’s were. Besides, Mrs. Powell had seemed to hate just about everyone, so spread her vitriol around generously, insulting and belittling everyone who crossed her path. Tilly had only one target, and struck it as often as she could.
Daisy wished no one had ever told Tilly about her late husband when the waitress had moved to town after her own engagement to a local rancher had been broken off. But in such a small community it was inevitable someone would have told the younger woman Daisy’s sad marital history. After all, everyone knew he had been an abusive tyrant—toward her and Billy Joe, and toward the schoolteacher who William had eventually gone to jail for attacking. For most people in town, that history was a reason to treat her with kindness and compassion, showing understanding for the difficulties she’d faced. But with Tilly, any flaw or shortcoming in Daisy was something to be pounced on and mocked.
“Billy Joe’s been good as gold,” Daisy replied, striving to keep the defensive note out of her voice, even after Tilly’s face took on a skeptical look at her assertion. “It’s just that I had set him to a task, and I want to make sure he did what I told him to.” That wasn’t a lie, was it? She had given him the task of watching over the wounded man, after all.
Tilly bent to peer out the narrow opening of the serving window between the kitchen and the dining room. “Looks like all the noon crowd’s gone, so go ahead and take your break, why don’t you? Reckon I can handle anyone who happens to mosey in while you’re away. But you won’t be late getting back to prepare supper, will you? Mr. Prendergast might come in to check, and you know he’d ask when you left. I wouldn’t want to lie.” She made no attempt to hide the malice in her tone, and Daisy knew Tilly would be delighted to have any opportunity to show her in a poor light to their employer.
Daisy stifled a huff of exasperation, not wanting the other woman to see that the needling had gotten under Daisy’s skin. Of course Tilly would think tattling to their boss would further her ambition to replace Daisy as cook.
“You’ve never had to cover for my lateness, and today will be no different,” Daisy said evenly. She pulled off her hotel apron. It was all she could do to keep from running out the door, but she managed to walk casually until she was out of sight of the hotel.
She concentrated on looking calm and at ease, but in truth she was a bundle of nerves, worrying about the state she’d find Dawson in when she returned home. And those nerves only got worse when she got further down the road and caught sight of two men heading in the opposite direction: Dr. Walker and Sheriff Bishop.
Were they coming from her place? Had the sheriff discovered she was sheltering a fugitive?
“I saw Doc Walker and Sheriff Bishop walking back toward town from this direction,” Daisy said by way of greeting as her eyes adjusted to the dusty gloom of the barn.
“They were just here,” Thorn said, answering her unspoken question.
“And...?” She couldn’t believe the sheriff hadn’t insisted Thorn do the rest of his recovering in a jail cell.
Her patient shrugged. “The sawbones said I was healing up well as could be expected, though he thought the wounds looked a little inflamed. And the lawman told me to watch my step around you,” Thorn added evenly, his expression giving away nothing. “The sheriff knows why I was riding with the outlaws, ma’am, and I believe I satisfied him that he has no cause to worry about your safety or Billy Joe’s, as far as I’m concerned. He says the bank president and teller are recovering well, too.”
Relieved, Daisy let out a sigh, feeling tension draining from her shoulders. But along with the relief was curiosity, wondering what he had told Bishop that he hadn’t told her. The town sheriff wasn’t an easy man to satisfy when it came to anyone or anything that threatened the safety of Simpson Creek, Yet Dawson had apparently managed to set his concerns to rest, at least for the time being. It was an impressive feat, and it made her feel a little better about her own decision to let Dawson stay. Even if he didn’t feel he could share his full story with her, the fact that the sheriff was content with it gave her a real sense of comfort.
Suddenly the sound of his stomach rumbling in the silence reminded her that it was long past noon and the man before her might be hungry. “Here,” she said, reaching inside her reticule and bringing out the plate of chicken and dumplings she’d wrapped in heavy paper and brought from the hotel, careful to carry it so that the food wouldn’t spill over the plate inside its wrapping. She’d stopped at the house long enough to fetch a fork and napkin from her own kitchen, knowing she didn’t dare borrow them from the hotel under Tilly’s all-seeing gaze. As it was, she’d have to make sure the waitress saw her bring the plate back. It would be all too like the woman to spread a rumor that she’d stolen it. “I brought your dinner.”
He eyed it, but made no move to take it from her. “Did you already eat at the hotel?”
She dropped her gaze from his. “No. But I’m not hungry,” she added too quickly before her stomach betrayed her by rumbling, too.
“Miss Daisy, it’s not nice to fib to your guest, even out of politeness,” he chided gently. “That’s your dinner, isn’t it?’
She nodded, eyes still downcast. She hadn’t dared take more than the usual modest portion she usually consumed, for if she’d placed a hearty man-size portion on the plate, Tilly might have noticed and suspected that something was up. And if her suspicions were raised, she was the sort to poke and prod until she found an answer. Once Tilly started digging around to try to find answers, Daisy might as well invite the waitress home to meet Thorn Dawson there and then, because there would be no hiding the secret from her any longer. Nor would there be any way to keep her from spreading the story all over town, and putting the worst, most damaging slant on it that she could. The only way to prevent that disaster was to keep Tilly from suspecting anything at all, for as long as Daisy could.
“Then why don’t you sit down here and eat it?” he said, gesturing toward the cot.
“Oh no... I couldn’t...” she mumbled.
“Couldn’t what, eat in front of me? Just because you don’t have enough for both of us? Please, don’t let that stop you. It hasn’t been all that long since I ate that big breakfast you left for me, so I’m not hungry, but sounds like you are. You’d be keeping me company,” he coaxed.
Uneasily, she sat down on the end of the cot. “What...what’s Billy Joe doing?” she said. “I expected to find him in here with you. I hope he hasn’t been plaguing you with his chatter.”
“Not a bit,” Thorn assured her. “He brought me my breakfast just as you instructed, then went back in the house when the sheriff and the doc came. You might find he’s gone back for more shut-eye. Growing boys like him need their sleep.”
Her patient was probably right, Daisy realized. Billy Joe seemed able to stay awake all night if one of his pals loaned him a penny dreadful to read, but he could be almost impossible to wake up in the morning. Some
