For a winter Saturday morning, it was a nice one. On the small, shallow pond near Clint’s house, Rafe and his boys were ice skating, but in Rafe’s case, it wasn’t skating; it was a manly struggle to stay upright.
This gathering was just what Clint needed. In the week since the unnerving lunch with her parents, Daisy had finished loading all the necessary software onto the new computer and had given him basic instructions on how to use it—with delicious promises to help anytime he got stuck, which he planned to do as often as possible.
Clint’s education had been her “overtime project.” She’d already transformed his handwritten spreadsheets into a computerized thing of beauty, had checked every receipt with his entries—no errors on his part, he thought smugly—and had assured him they were ready for the audit.
The downside was that since she’d finished, Daisy had spent most of her time in her own office dealing with other clients and, of course, the festival.
Although he still saw her every day, Clint was surprised by how much he missed her. He liked having her around the house.
It had been a long wait for their weekend together, but when Rafe called and asked to bring the boys skating, Clint couldn’t refuse, so he invited Daisy, too. Later this evening, he’d have her all to himself.
He could hardly wait.
“I think his career as a professional figure skater may be limited,” Clint said when Rafe wobbled again and almost fell. “Be careful out there, old man.”
Rafe just laughed and kept on skating. Lilah said, “But my husband definitely gets good-sport points. He’s doing it for the boys.”
Family meant the world to Rafe, and that included his foster boys. There wasn’t anything the man wouldn’t do for them, and they all knew it.
“He’s such a special person,” Daisy said, coming over to stand next to Clint. “Do you skate?”
“No. Never learned. Don’t want to now.” He looked at her. She was wearing an orange fleece—synthetic fleece—jacket that made her even prettier than usual. For a moment he just drank in the sight of her, then he smiled slowly. These past few weeks together had been the best of his life.
“Ahem,” Lilah said loudly. “I think I’ll sit down for a minute.”
Lilah’s comment snapped them both out of the spell that surrounded them.
“Are you okay?” Clint asked. “Is it too cold out here for you?”
“I’m fine. I’ll just sit a while on the bench,” Lilah said airily, but the smile she flashed Clint was mischievous.
After Lilah had settled on the wooden bench, Clint turned his attention back to Daisy, whose face was quite a bit pinker than it had been. “Do you skate?”
“I have, but I outgrew my skates.”
He glanced down at her small feet and arched his eyebrows at her.
“I had my last pair when I was six,” she told him. “I simply hated skating. So while everybody else skated...”
“What are you doing?” he asked her when she reached down and gathered up a handful of snow. He took a step back. “You’re not going to throw that at me, are you?”
Daisy laughed and knelt, gathering more snow. “You’re not very trusting, are you? No, I’m going to build a snowperson.”
“Snowperson?”
Daisy tipped her head so she was looking up at him. Her eyes twinkled as she said, “Hey, I’m politically correct.”
Clint smiled and watched her work for a moment. “Want some help? I’m pretty good at building snowpeople.”
She considered his offer for a moment. “What qualifications do you have, Mr. Bolton? I’ve never seen you build one, so how do I know you’re any good? I’m an expert snowperson builder. I can’t be caught working with amateurs.”
Clint pretended to ponder her question. “I’ve had experience with sculpture. That’s all this is, a snow sculpture.”
Daisy shook her head. “Doesn’t count. Your sculptures could have been horrible. There was some reason you stuck to painting.”
“True.” He glanced at his friend and the boys. Seeing that Nick had stopped skating and was now sitting on the bench with Lilah, Clint had an idea.
“Hey, buddy. Want to help build a snowperson?” he asked.
Nick grinned at him. “Sure.”
The boy joined Clint and Daisy, and Clint put an arm around his shoulders. “I brought a reference.”
Daisy smiled at Nick. “Oh, good, someone to vouch for Clint. He tells me he can build snowpeople, but I’m not sure he can.”
Nick started amassing snow. “Of course he’s good at it. Clint is good at everything.”
Daisy stood and considered Clint. “Hmm. Is that a fact?”
“I seem to remember you telling me the same thing recently.” Clint raised one eyebrow, which made Daisy both laugh and blush.
“Um, yes, I think I may have.” Without taking her gaze off Clint, she asked Nick, “So do you think we should let Clint help us?”
Nick nodded so enthusiastically the hood of his jacket bobbed up and down. “You bet. Clint is the best.”
“I completely agree,” Daisy said softly. “Clint is the best.”
Clint smiled at her. In the past few weeks, he’d had so much fun with Daisy. He’d also started to feel...happy. It wasn’t an emotion he had a lot of experience with, but he really liked it.
In his opinion, his life had really begun when he’d met Rafe and Jake. Being with them, becoming friends, had given him the confidence he needed to succeed. But now they were both establishing their own families with women who loved them.
Clint had started to think he was missing something until Daisy had danced into his life. She was so full of energy and laughter and spark that it made his life seem so much fuller. He woke up each day excited about seeing her. In only a few short weeks, she had changed his world.
Without thinking, he lightly touched her face, then leaned forward and kissed her.
“Clint!” Nick shrieked. “Daisy is your girlfriend!”
On Monday night, the town hall was packed. Daisy couldn’t have been happier as she watched people continue to stream inside. The festival was this weekend, so they only had a few days for the final preparations.
She’d woken up this morning half afraid that no one would show up for this last meeting, but thankfully, she’d been wrong. She had one more chance to touch base with the committees, meet and explain the program to the craftspeople. After this, they’d be ready to decorate town hall inside and out, set up the booths, and help the participants think of ways to display their work. It would be a very busy week, and Clint’s audit fell right in the middle of it.
The festival would open Friday evening at six and run through Sunday. Daisy only hoped they could draw in enough people during that time frame, since repainting the old building properly, scraping and priming the peeling clapboard, was an expensive proposition.
She was thrilled by the response from the craftspeople. The committee had garnered potters and woodcarvers, jewelry designers and a famous glassblower, not just from Texas but from Oklahoma and New Mexico. The ones who lived close by had managed to make it here for the meeting, and the rest had promised to show up early on Friday.
But her biggest hope was Clint. Although he was convinced no one was going to buy his paintings, Daisy knew better. People were going to snap them up.
Even though Clint had no interest in a gallery show in Dallas, he had agreed to let her parents’ friend, Bunny, help price the pieces. Daisy had taken digital photos of each canvas and sent them to Bunny. Although this wasn’t the best approach, it was all they could do.
Bunny had been enthusiastic about Clint’s work. All last week, she’d tried repeatedly to get Clint to agree to have a show in her gallery, but he kept saying no. Finally, Bunny had given up, saying that if she couldn’t woo him with fame and fortune, then nothing would make him change his mind. She’d realized that the only reason Clint was participating in the festival was to help his own small town.
Once Bunny had stopped pressuring him about the show, the two of them began to argue enthusiastically about prices. Again, it was Bunny who caved, suggesting sums high enough to reflect the quality of the work but moderate enough that thrifty Texas folks could afford them. Daisy had already set aside two paintings for herself, and her parents, brother, and both sisters had earmarked others. Heck, at this rate, Clint really wouldn’t have much left to sell to outsiders. The Banks family was building a monopoly.
Speaking of Clint, he should have been here by now. Daisy stood on tiptoe to scan the crowd milling around the hall. He still hadn’t arrived. She could hardly wait to see him. They’d spent Saturday and Sunday together, but she’d only seen him briefly this morning when she’d stopped by the ranch to gather up all the papers for the audit. One of his sheep was sick, so he’d been distracted. He’d said hi, given her a quick kiss, and run out of the office to meet Rafe in the barn.
“So where is Clint?” Marjorie asked loudly as she bustled toward Daisy. “He’s a vital part of this festival. If he drops out, many people will be upset.”
Daisy took it that one of those people would be Marjorie herself. “He’ll be here. He wants to check over our three-section extravaganza for the sheep demonstration and also see where his paintings will be placed.”
Daisy’s words obviously did nothing to allay Marjorie’s concerns, since the older woman continued to frown at her. “Daisy, if that man stands us up—”
“You’ll what?” a familiar male voice asked from behind Daisy.
Daisy smiled and spun around. She was on the brink of hugging Clint when she caught herself. Oops. That wouldn’t do—the whole town would officially know they were involved. Sure, people might suspect at the moment, but they didn’t know for certain. If she hugged Clint, they would.
“Hi, Clint,” she said brightly.
Clint smiled briefly at her and looked back at Marjorie. “What will you do, Marjorie?”
Undaunted, Marjorie moved closer. “You know the town is counting on you, Clint. I was afraid you were about to let us down. This is important. You owe this community.”
Daisy’s hackles went up. “Excuse me, Marjorie. Clint doesn’t owe us anything. He has kindly done everything we’ve—I’ve—pushed him to do for us. Don’t threaten him.”
Marjorie’s frown faded slowly and was replaced by something resembling glee. “I knew it. I knew you two were seeing each other. Karen Montgomery said she couldn’t believe it, but I knew. Why else would you have taken him to the diner to meet your parents?”
Daisy was stunned. She was still angry at Marjorie for her earlier comment, and now she was unsettled by this new turn of events. “Marjorie, I don’t think—”
Marjorie’s eyes were sparkling. “So, is it serious?”
It was now painfully obvious that Marjorie wanted a gossip scoop. Daisy groaned and turned to Clint. “I’m sorry that...”
Her voice trailed off when she realized he was smiling. At her questioning look, he shrugged. “What else can we expect in Falling Star?”
“So?” Marjorie prompted again.
“You’ve caught us. Daisy and I are dating,” Clint said. He gave Daisy a sidelong glance, then focused on the older woman. “Now, we’re trusting you to keep it to yourself. We know what an honorable woman you are, so I’m sure if you give us your word that you won’t tell a soul, then you won’t.”
Daisy struggled not to laugh at the earnest expression on Clint’s face. He’d apparently taken lessons in manipulation from her. He was playing Marjorie against herself and laying it on thick. On the one hand, Marjorie did staunchly maintain how trustworthy and honorable she was. She often held herself up as a standard she expected others to match.
On the other hand, she loved to gossip, and news that Daisy and Clint were dating was too juicy to keep to herself. Her friends would eat it up, and Marjorie would be raised to queen bee status for uncovering the truth.
Watching Marjorie struggle with her internal conflict was a sight to see. “I, um, I don’t really see why it should be a secret,” she said. “There’s no harm in people knowing.”
“But we’re asking you, as an honorable woman—and our close personal friend—not to tell them,” Clint said. “Will you agree?”
A couple of seconds ticked by, then Marjorie blurted out, “Fine! I won’t tell anyone!” She paused again. “What if somebody asks me? May I confirm—”
Clint fixed her with his gaze, moving in a little closer. “If anyone asks you, tell them you have no idea.”
As Marjorie stomped away, Daisy chuckled. “Clint Bolton, you are one devious man.”
Clint shrugged. “It won’t last. Before the evening is over, everyone here will know. I just wanted her to think about what she was doing before she did it.”
Daisy glanced around the room. Most people were busy building booths and painting signs, but a few were looking their way. Clint was right. By the end of the evening, she was sure that word would have spread.
Which pleased her to no end. She wanted people to know. She was proud of Clint. More importantly, she knew firsthand what a wonderful man he was. It was about time the rest of the town discovered how smart, witty, and kind Clint was.
Still, she knew Clint might not be too happy about their relationship becoming public knowledge. She glanced up at him. “It doesn’t bother me, but I guess it would bother you.”
The old Clint, the man she’d met just a few short weeks ago, would have scowled and ranted about the gossips in this town. But he’d changed since then. Daisy had witnessed his transformation, and this new Clint was much more understanding.
“Actually, it doesn’t bother me in the least. I don’t care if people know.” He glanced around the room, then nodded toward Marjorie, who was making a beeline for a group of townsfolk. “She’s about to spill our secret right now.”
Daisy nodded. “I’m afraid she is.”
“Are you positive you don’t mind if people find out?” Clint asked her.
Nothing would make Daisy happier than having the whole town know about them. “Not at all. I welcome it.”
“Hey, Marjorie!” Clint hollered.
Marjorie, along with everyone else in the room, turned their way.
“Thanks for keeping our secret,” Clint said. Before Marjorie had a chance to spill the beans, Clint gave Daisy a look of pure mischief.
Then he kissed her—in front of the entire town.
And Daisy kissed him back. What else could a woman do?
On the day of the audit, Clint wasn’t sure what he expected when Daisy pulled up in front of his house, but it wasn’t what he saw. Daisy always dressed nicely, but today she was in full accountant war-gear. Tailored navy suit, matching pumps with moderate heels, tan briefcase, hair pulled back neatly and secured at her nape.
“I’m intimidated just looking at you,” he said, taking her briefcase.
Daisy laughed and tapped him on the arm. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“Isn’t he a sight?” Martha beamed at him as if she’d never seen him in a suit before. Now that he thought about it, she probably hadn’t. “He should dress up more often.”
Wearing the pinstriped suit he’d bought, reluctantly, for Rafe’s wedding, Clint turned to look at his friend and housekeeper. “Yes, the sheep would really appreciate it.”
Behind him, he heard Daisy laugh, the sweet sound touching him like a caress. “They might. I know I do.”
Clint turned to face Daisy. She looked so neat and prim and proper that he wanted to kiss her until she melted.
“Well, in that case...” He leaned down, and ignoring the little laugh from Martha, planted his mouth on Daisy’s. It was a token kiss—the melting would have to wait.
In the past few days, he’d stopped worrying about people knowing how much he cared for Daisy. This woman had come to be a very important part of his life, and the other people he cared for might as well know it.
“Hmm, nice,” Daisy said. “But don’t you want to see how the audit turns out before you kiss me?”
The audit was the last thing on Clint’s mind. “It’ll be fine. The return is correct; we have all of the required documentation, and thanks to you, everything is organized and easy to read.”
“Breakfast,” Martha said, bustling toward the kitchen. “You two can’t head off on such an important day without a full stomach.”
Although Clint would have preferred to be alone with Daisy, he couldn’t disappoint Martha, so he and Daisy followed her to the kitchen. Martha had made a pot of fresh coffee plus scrambled eggs, brown-sugar oatmeal, homemade wholegrain toast, sausage patties, and mixed fruit. Daisy and Clint dug in while Martha and Joe headed off to feed the hands.
“She’s a wonderful cook,” Daisy said. “This is fabulous. I usually don’t like oatmeal, but hers is special.”
Clint nodded. “She’s a special lady. And Joe’s a great guy.”
“And so are you,” Daisy said, holding Clint’s gaze. “You really are. I can’t tell you what these last few weeks have meant to me. I’ve never felt like this before.”
For the first time in his life, Clint wished that words came easily to him. He wanted to tell Daisy just how much she meant to him, but he couldn’t think of the right way to put it. So he settled for the truth. “I’m not a guy who can say a lot of fancy things, and I’ve never been comfortable talking about my feelings.”
Daisy patted his right hand. “I know. It’s okay.”
Clint shook his head and forged on. “But you’ve made me come alive, Daisy Banks. It’s like I was stuck out in the rain and cold for years, and now you’ve brought me into the warmth and light.”
Tears formed in Daisy’s eyes. “Oh, Clint. I feel the same way.”
He knew she did. This was something he needed to tell her, something he needed her to hear before the audit or the festival or any of the other things they were doing together. It was important for her to understand that what he felt had nothing to do with gratitude.
“I’ve never said this to anyone in my life, but I love you,” he said slowly, finding the words much easier than he had thought.
The tears in Daisy’s eyes overflowed. Clint leaned forward with a napkin and dabbed at them. “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Daisy shook her head. “I’m not crying because I’m sad; I’m crying because I’m happy.”
Clint had never understood “happy tears” because to him it seemed kind of odd, but he was glad that was why she was crying. “That’s a relief.”
He waited, hoping she would say she loved him back, but she just kept crying and smiling at him. Clint started to get nervous. Maybe she didn’t love him back. Maybe she liked hanging around with him, but she didn’t love him.
Maybe he was an idiot and had misread the signals. Finally, he said, “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, I just thought...”
Daisy seemed confused for a moment, then with a little yelp, she jumped into his lap and rained kisses on his face. “Clint, I love you, too. I’ve thought it so many times over the last few weeks that I guess I assumed I’d said it a million times. I love you, I love you, I love you...” She halted to kiss him deeply.
Clint had been scared, but now he felt as if nothing could ever frighten him again. At the moment, nothing would make him happier than spending the day in bed with Daisy, but he knew they had to get going.
With a self-conscious flurry of activity, Daisy grabbed her briefcase and climbed into his truck. Amarillo was a significant drive from Falling Star. On the way to the IRS office, as if she was trying to distract them both from thoughts of love, Daisy chattered about the festival and his paintings. Clint surprised himself by joining in. She made him want to talk. She made him believe she cared about his opinions and wanted to hear them.
It was one more reason he loved her.
When they reached the building that housed the IRS office, they made their way to the waiting room. They weren’t alone. Uncomfortable-looking people thumbed through documents, fidgeted, and sighed. Clint didn’t feel uncomfortable. A lot had happened since he’d opened that letter and panicked. Now they were prepared. Or, Daisy was prepared, and Clint trusted her completely.
When it was finally their turn to meet with the auditor, Clint was calm and collected. Since he’d prepared the original return, he was the one who explained it carefully and quietly, showing the spreadsheets and neatly bound documentation to the auditor. He answered the man’s questions and dealt with the concerns that had caused him to be audited in the first place. All the documentation was there, and everything added up.
“I told you it would be fine,” Daisy said, practically dancing to the sidewalk when they left. “Piece of cake.”
“Only because of the way you made everything so clear,” Clint told her. Her professional demeanor had vanished. Now she reminded him of an elf. He’d wanted to say, “Only because you looked so cute.”
He glanced around. It was rare that he found himself in Amarillo, and he wanted to celebrate with Daisy. “How about we treat ourselves to something extraordinary? Something we’ve never done before.”
She linked her arm through his as they walked to the truck. “Like what?”
Clint scanned the territory. “Let’s explore the area.”
They climbed in the truck and drove around Amarillo. Clint knew the city somewhat, but he didn’t know a good place to eat. A few minutes later he nodded toward a restaurant. “How about I treat you to the first lunch I’ve had in years anywhere except Jake’s Place? Well, except for a sandwich I ate when I was still running away from you.”
Daisy laughed. “You’re on. And I promise not to tell Jake, not about today or the sandwich.”
The restaurant was run by a young couple, and the food was innovative and delicious. They knew better than to compare it unfavorably to Jake’s offerings. Each restaurant was different. When they’d finished, Clint said, “Any museums in Amarillo?”
“Yes, in fact,” Daisy said, “and one of them is a little gem. It’s been here for decades, and it has quite a collection.” She fluttered her lashes at him. “Since you’re an emerging artist, you’d probably enjoy it.”
Clint loved museums. Loved analyzing the painting styles of other artists. But thinking about it for a second, he realized he’d better start thinking about somebody other than himself. “Not unless you’ll get the same kick out of it that I will.”
Daisy looked up at him. The cold had made her cheeks pink, which only enhanced the deep green of her eyes. “I enjoy museums immensely, but no one ever wants to go with me. We took a family trip to New York one summer. Mom wanted to go to plays. Dad was totally fixated on the appointments he had with business associates. Chase wanted to see the Yankee game because they were playing the Rangers, and my sisters headed straight for Macy’s. All alone,” she said, putting on a Little Match Girl face, “I went to the Metropolitan Museum, and I got so excited that I was late getting back to the hotel room. My folks were close to calling the police.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
“And they let you go out alone?” Clint was astounded. Her parents seemed to be the overprotective kind, which had made him envious.
Daisy grinned. “After all those years in a small town in Texas, they didn’t know any better.” Her smile broadened. “And I didn’t tell them. Maybe,” she said, suddenly sounding shy, “someday we can go to New York or Chicago or Boston and pig out on museums.”
He couldn’t wait for that “someday, maybe,” moment, and not just for the museums.
The one in Amarillo was everything Daisy had said it would be—small, but fascinating. The paintings were diverse and well executed. Clint wandered silently through the rooms, examining brush techniques and painting styles. Daisy stayed by his side, but for once, she was quiet, letting him fall under the spell of the art.
He couldn’t tear himself away until some inner signal caused him to glance at his watch. “We’d better start for home,” he said and ushered her out the door.
“I guess so,” she said at last and gave him another one of those smiles that made his heart somersault, “before my parents call the police. Actually, in this case it would be Martha calling the police. There’s still so much festival business to be taken care of before Friday night.”
“I’ve had a great day,” he told her on the way to the truck.
“In spite of the audit?”
“I even enjoyed the audit.”
“No kidding? Maybe we can get one next year, too.”
He growled as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders so tightly he almost lifted her off the street. “You are a devil, Daisy Banks, and I love you to distraction.”
When they reached the ranch, he said, “Thank you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for saving my reputation with the government—”
Daisy laughed. “I bet you say that to all the CPAs who help you ace an IRS audit.”
Clint shook his head and leaned toward her. “No, ma’am. Just you.” Then he kissed her, slowly, wishing he had time to do a lot more.
The porch lights flicked on, and he pulled away. “Busted,” he said. “Remind me to talk to Martha about leaving me alone when I’m kissing you.”
“Will do.” Daisy unbuckled her seat belt and pushed open her door.
“Want to come in for a minute?” Clint climbed out of the truck and was heading to Daisy’s side when the front door of the house opened. Martha and Joe stepped onto the porch followed by an older woman. Clint glanced at them, called out a hello, then froze. Slowly, he turned his attention back to the group on the porch. Martha was obviously nervous; Joe was frowning, and the older woman was—
“Looks like you have company.” Daisy had slipped up beside him. “I have to be going home, anyway.”
Clint kept staring at the woman as Daisy gathered her belongings from the truck and waved goodbye to Martha and Joe. He walked her to her car and waited while she got it warmed up.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said with a bright smile. “Dream about me tonight.”
Clint watched her drive away, then looked back at the woman. His heart was racing, and anger tore through him. Every instinct told him to flee to Rafe’s house, somewhere safe. He didn’t want to talk to her. Didn’t want to see her.
But he was too old to run away from his problems, so, reluctantly, he stepped toward the porch. When he reached the steps, he gazed up at the woman, ice running through his veins.
“Hello, Mother,” he said.