Now, as she tried to match Rick’s long steps, Daisy could feel the wind being sucked from her burning lungs. God, she was out of shape. The reminder shamed her, but she wasn’t about to admit her weakness to Rick.
As if sensing her troubles, he slowed down. Daisy flushed, wanting to sprint ahead of him to prove that she wasn’t overweight, that she wasn’t anything less than she used to be.
A signpost increased in size as they walked closer to it. Broken Wing, 1/2 mile, it said.
Rick peered down at her. “That’s nothing.”
She didn’t miss the tacit question in his statement. Can you make it, Miss Huff-and-Puff?
“Good,” she said. “I can use the exercise.”
She’d meant it to be a joke, but somehow the flippant comment ended up thudding between them.
She was more aware than ever of his lean body, the corded muscles of his arms, while he’d looked over the Cessna. Why had she even put the subject up for inspection?
Rick stopped, and so did Daisy. The lack of sound from her suitcase wheels underlined his silence. When she peered over her shoulder at him, he’d all but disappeared in the shadow of the signpost.
“You look fine just the way you are,” he said softly.
Right, she thought. But she didn’t say it out loud. He had to be lying. After all, a guy who’d drop everything to fly her away from trouble had to have some kind of chivalrous streak, even if that guy was Rick Shane.
She heard the scuff of his boots before he emerged from the darkness. When he did enter the muted moonlight, he was expressionless, his eyes night-shaded and guarded.
She watched him walk past her, and she noted the joust-approach wariness of his stride. It was almost as if he moved with a shield in front of his body, the shoulder-slung duffel bag primed to defend against anyone who got too close.
When he noticed that she hadn’t moved, he stopped. “We can rest.”
“Do you need to?” she asked.
He grinned sardonically and shook his head, waiting for her to catch up.
Thank goodness he hadn’t pursued the weight thing. When she’d come back to Kane’s Crossing this year, after losing her spokesmodel job, most people had looked at her with pity. Is that Daisy Cox? their eyes seemed to ask. The years sure haven’t been kind to her, poor thing.
Daisy knew she’d put on about thirty pounds worth of insulation since she’d last been in town. She didn’t need anyone to tell her, especially since Peter had always reminded her that he wanted Miss Spencer County for a wife. In fact, he’d put off the wedding once because Daisy hadn’t been in shape. Maybe it had been her subconscious at work. Who knew? But after the first wedding delay, Daisy had gained more and more padding, perhaps hoping the nuptials would be put off indefinitely.
It hadn’t worked. Peter had merely hired a dietitian and decided that, after the honeymoon, Daisy would begin to aerobicize in earnest, whittling her body back down to her glory-day slimness.
There were so many reasons to run away.
Wind rustled through the cornstalks, slapping her cheeks with cold. She gave an involuntary shudder, though she wasn’t sure it was due to the elements.
She wouldn’t go back to the old days. Not for the world. Being slender wasn’t worth the price she’d had to pay. It wasn’t worth the tearstained look of guilt she’d seen in the mirror day after day, after eating too much and then forcing it out. It wasn’t worth waiting until Coral would go to bed, then raiding the kitchen cupboards until she’d filled herself with so much food that she had to get rid of it.
Don’t think about that, she told herself. Those days are over. You’ve got control now.
Rick’s voice shook her out of the past. “There’s something up ahead.”
It was an eighteen-wheeler, the first they’d seen. They stepped to the side of the road, and Rick held out one side of his jacket to protect her from the rush of air and gravel as it roared past.
“Thank you,” she said.
He shrugged and regirded himself with the duffel bag. When they stepped back onto the road, he spoke.
“I heard Tarkin has a place in Lexington. Why did he decide to settle in Kane’s Crossing instead?”
Idle chatter. She wasn’t sure he really cared, but maybe conversation would steer her thoughts away from focusing on her weight. “Peter wanted to settle in a small town. He said it would be a good place to raise kids.”
“A real family man, huh?”
Daisy gave an unconcerned laugh, relieved that she’d never have to sleep with Peter. She’d been dreading the prospect, happy that at least he’d wanted to wait until they were married to consummate their union. “Imagine. Mrs. Peter Tarkin. I can’t believe it almost happened.”
Their steps had slowed, almost as if they’d chosen to take a walk down a country lane together instead of being stuck out here in each other’s company. Even the mist had lifted a little, offering glimpses of dark blue sky.
Rick said, “You got yourself into a real mess, Daisy Cox.”
“I suppose I did.” She switched her grip on the suitcase handle. “And I can’t believe it got this far. Maybe it started after I was crowned Miss Spencer County at the tail end of high school. I guess that’s when I said goodbye to Kane’s Crossing, hello to the world and the chase for Miss America.”
Daisy swallowed. “Needless to say, my sister’s dreams of fame didn’t materialize. I lost the Miss Kentucky pageant.” But she hadn’t lost the weight Coral had advised her to get rid of.
Stop. She wanted to small-talk with Rick for the sole fact of avoiding the ache of her past. All she was doing now was bringing it back.
“So,” she continued, determined to switch gears, “after the whole beauty-queen thing, I went from job to job, supporting me and my sister.”
Rick’s voice was rough, low, when he asked, “Can’t she work?”
The question took Daisy aback. “She shouldn’t have to. It was my turn to take care of Coral. After all, she never let me forget that she could’ve had a wealthy law practice if only she’d used her college scholarship instead of raising me.”
“Sounds like emotional blackmail.” Rick glanced at her, a hard look.
Daisy took great pains to avoid making eye contact. “Don’t say that. She gave up so much to make my life what it is.”
Still, her justification sounded exactly like what it was. A justification. Coral could’ve gotten a job after the Miss Kentucky debacle. With both of them employed, they might’ve been able to pay off Peter Tarkin’s loan.
But Daisy’s pride wouldn’t stand for it. She said, “Coral worked her fingers to the bone to put me through my pageants.”
“You must’ve wanted to win pretty badly then.”
No, she hadn’t wanted that at all. One of Daisy’s first memories came to mind. She’d won a children’s pageant—she couldn’t have been more than five or six—and instead of feeling happy about the crown, Daisy had looked at Coral’s face in the audience. Her sister’s pleasure had been worth every caked-on inch of makeup, every hour she’d spent rehearsing her little Liza Minelli showstopper talent song. Granted, Daisy’s collective prize money had helped them get through the years, but it hadn’t been enough. Coral had aided the pittance by working double shifts as a waitress, staying up late hours going over the checkbook to find ways of saving money.
But then