“You’re insane if you think this is going to work.”
Daisy’s tiara wobbled to the side of her head as her gaze glued itself to the floor again. Her well-manicured fingers caught the delicate crown, righting it.
A protective urge flared to life inside Rick, but he tamped down the emotion. He’d never been very good at saving people. Didn’t his family and friends know that?
But his friend Ashlyn Reno, a.k.a. former town troublemaker, was just getting started. Her husband, the sheriff, of all things, merely sat back in his chair, evidently willing to wait out this new storm of inspiration.
“Here’s the thing,” Ashlyn said, her eyes wide with daring. “The quicker Daisy can get out of here, the quicker she can get away from that old dried-up fiancé of hers.”
“Ashlyn.” Rachel half laughed as she chided her friend.
“I’m sorry, the truth must be told,” she continued. “It’s not a pretty sight when an arrogant old fool salivates over a woman half his age. In fact, that’s downright disgusting.”
Her husband cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re willing to create a major Kane’s Crossing scandal because you object to Peter Tarkin’s drool?”
Ashlyn nodded, sending a saucy smile to the sheriff.
“That’s my girl,” he said, winking at her.
Rick cleared his throat. “As I was saying—”
By this time, Rachel had caught Ashlyn’s hell-raiser bug. She smoothed a strand of light brown hair from her forehead. “I’m warming up to this. Peter Tarkin has had a reckoning on the horizon for a while.”
Now it was her husband’s turn to protest. Matthew said, “So the man disapproved when you ran our horse farm while I was away, and he’s a bit of a misogynist, begging your pardon, Ms. Cox.”
Daisy crossed her arms over her chest, as if warding off the truth. The whole town had gossiped about Tarkin’s cavalier treatment of her ever since the engagement. Rick, busy hiding in his little cabin on the edge of Siggy Woods, busy trying to distance himself from life in general, hadn’t paid the news credence. He hadn’t really cared until Daisy had swept into the bakery today.
Not that he cared now, either.
As Matthew opened his mouth to continue, Rick tried to distance himself even more, especially since it was his big brother flapping his gums. The brother who couldn’t even admit to hoarding their dead father’s pride and attention. Not that Rick was bitter about it.
He cut across Matthew’s words. “I think Daisy knows more about this town’s history than you do,” he said, referring to Matthew’s recent bout with amnesia. Not more than two months ago, Matthew had returned home to Rachel and their daughter, claiming a loss of memory. He’d finally regained his senses, but he and Rick hadn’t ever ironed out what had happened between them so long ago. On graduation day. Before Rick’s time in the hot desert sun.
Something painful crossed Matthew’s brown eyes and, for a second, Rick thought he actually might be able to communicate with his brother, thought that they could, someday, sit down and talk about the tension between them.
But Matthew drew his mouth into a straight line, ignoring Rick. “As I was saying, Rache, do you really think flying Daisy away is going to solve the problem?”
Rick flowed back into the dark corner, his pride stinging. Vintage Matthew, the favored son. He’d slapped down younger brother once again. And Rick had deserved it.
Lacey, the stepsister who could take control of a situation even in a torn sweatshirt that had gone out of style two decades ago, slapped her palm on the counter. “I don’t hear any other ideas.”
Daisy held up a finger. “If I may say something?”
The room’s occupants blinked their eyes at Daisy, as if they’d all forgotten the reason for their rambling. Funny, but Rick had been aware of her the whole time. Aware of her light scent, her gleaming curls, her smooth skin.
Snap out of it, he told himself.
Daisy straightened her spine, tilted up her chin. “I believe St. Louis will do just fine. I even have a job prospect.”
Lacey gave her a thumbs-up sign. “So if Rick can manage to fly me and the local businessmen to our meetings every couple of days, maybe he can stop being so stubborn about it and volunteer to help around here.”
What was he, a mercy chauffeur? “Wait a minute. My Cessna’s due for its service.” Okay, so maybe he was stretching the truth a bit. His Cessna, his baby, was just fine. But all the same, “I can’t just up and fly out of Kane’s Crossing at the drop of a cowboy hat.”
He shot a glance at Matthew’s headgear, propped on his brother’s knee. When his gaze traveled higher, their eyes met, clashing.
“That’s okay,” said Daisy. “I’ll just take a commercial flight.”
Shame suffused Rick’s skin, marking him with stubborn rage. Why couldn’t he just offer to help? Why couldn’t he step away from his inner hermit—the one who liked to hide in that cabin by the woods—and be a savior?
Because he’d tried that before, and the results had been irreversible. Soul crushing.
Nick Cassidy finally spoke up from a corner booth, where he’d been watching Main Street from the window. “A commercial flight will make it easy for Peter Tarkin to track you down, Daisy.”
Rachel spoke up. “But let’s be fair here. We’re asking Rick to put his life on hold while Daisy gets established in St. Louis. He wouldn’t just drop her off and leave.”
She glanced at him as if asking, “Right?” It smarted that his sister-in-law was even wondering.
Nick stood, his boots scuffing across the floor as he walked toward Daisy. “Here,” he said, slipping a wad of money into her hand. “Whatever you do, this should keep you for a while.”
Daisy shook her head. “I can’t possibly—” Then she stopped, probably remembering that she wasn’t carrying a purse. Besides, she couldn’t go home now, not for money, clothes or apologies.
“No worries,” said Nick. He looked at Rick.
Dammit. He’d always admired Nick Cassidy, especially with the way the man had cleaned up corruption in Kane’s Crossing while empowering the citizens of the town. Having his friend watch him like this was almost as bad as having a big brother glaring at his wayward sibling.
Funny. He could almost bear that sort of attitude from Nick, but never from Matthew.
As Daisy stared at the money, biting her lower lip, Nick reached in his pocket again.
“No,” said Rick, holding both palms outward, as if warding off an approaching enemy. “I won’t need your money.”
Damn. He’d just committed himself. He knew it by the way the women were smiling at him, by the way Nick and Sam were regarding him with a gleam of respect in their gazes. By the way his brother was nodding his head.
Rick averted his glance before Matthew could affect him.
Lacey swaggered over to hug him. “Rick’s got that bulging trust fund from our parents, remember? Money isn’t what makes him ornery.”
No, life had made him that way. From their deceased parents, Matthew had inherited the horse farm and the Louisville business until he’d disappeared from Kane’s Crossing. With Rick’s blessing, Lacey, the stepchild, had taken over the business. Rick had only been bequeathed money—something that hadn’t required brains or trust.
Subtly, so no one could see, he squeezed Lacey’s arm and disengaged himself from her embrace. Then he walked toward Daisy. She watched him wide-eyed, just like she had in high