happen to Thorn—that is, to Mr. Dawson.
“That boy of yours causing you worry again? Better nip his mischief in the bud, or he’ll turn 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?
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