Chapter Four

      “So let’s start with where you’re from. Originally, I mean.”

      Daisy shifted, uncomfortable with Mr. Fulton’s scrutiny and with having to talk about her background. She sat across from him in the hotel dining room, trying to decide if there was some polite way for her to get out of this. After all, she’d come to Turnabout to make a fresh start, not dredge up the past.

      Still, he’d been kind to her, and this was the first thing he’d actually asked from her in return. Determined to focus on his kindness, she sat up straighter and smiled. “If you’re asking where I was born, it was in a little community called Bluewillow, Texas. I didn’t live there long, though.”

      He scribbled a few strokes, then glanced up again. “Well, then, where did you grow up?”

      “We traveled around a lot—Father was a peddler, even then. Most of the time, our wagon was our home. Then, when I was about four, my mother’s health began to go downhill, and traveling became difficult for her. So the two of us went to live with her mother while she tried to recuperate.”

      “And where was that?”

      “New Orleans.” Daisy brushed at the tablecloth, smoothing away a wrinkle. That wasn’t a part of her life she wanted to elaborate on. “Do you think the folks around here are really going to want to read about this stuff?”

      His smile had a cynical twist to it. “I find that people everywhere have an infinite curiosity about the lives of others.” He poised his pencil over his pad again. “How much time did you spend in New Orleans?”

      “Eight years.” Eight of the most smothering, uncomfortable years of her life. “Then I went back to traveling with my father.”

      “Only you? What about your mother?”

      Daisy nudged the lamp on the table about a quarter inch, not quite meeting his gaze. “She passed on when I was eight.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      There seemed to be genuine sympathy in his voice.

      “Thank you,” she said. “Mother was a good person, you know, the kind who always tries to see the best in everyone. She was real pretty, too. Want to see?” Without waiting for his answer, she lifted the locket from beneath her bodice, then slipped the chain over her head. Opening the catch, she smiled at the picture, then handed it to Everett.

      He studied the picture for a moment, his expression unreadable, then handed it back to her. “You’re right. She was quite lovely.”

      Daisy carefully slipped the locket back over her head, feeling slightly disappointed at his lack of reaction. “What about you? I mean, I know you don’t have a locket, but do you have any kind of pictures or likenesses of your family?”

      “No. Now let’s get back to the interview.”

      She smothered a groan. If only the meal would come so they could end his string of uncomfortable questions.

      “If I’m doing the calculations properly,” he continued, “it sounds as if you spent another four years with your grandmother after your mother passed on.”

      “That’s right. Father thought it best to wait until I was older to resume traveling with him.” She tried not to dwell on that.

      “Understandable.”

      That pronouncement stung. It hadn’t been understandable to the grieving child she’d been. To her, it had felt like a second abandonment.

      But Everett was already moving on to his next question. “Once you resumed traveling with your father, did you enjoy it?”

      Daisy relaxed. This was a topic she was happy to talk about. “Very much. It gave me a chance to meet lots of wonderful people and to see places I’d never have seen otherwise. There are so many interesting folk out there, and they all have their own story to tell.”

      “Stories? Now you sound like a reporter.”

      She grinned. “Not at all. I’d be too fascinated listening to what they had to say, I’d forget to write anything down.”

      His smile warmed for just a moment, then he seemed to come to himself, and he resumed his cynically amused expression. “If you enjoyed all that traveling, why did you decide to settle down?”

      “Because I’m not twelve anymore.” She leaned forward. “Because I want friends and a family of my own and to be part of a close-knit community.”

      “So why here?”

      “Simple—because this is where there was a place that I owned the deed to.” She realized how flippant that sounded. “But I’m glad that was the case,” she added quickly. “Turnabout seems like a nice town with lots of friendly folk. A good place to put down roots.”

      “You speak as if you plan to make Turnabout your permanent home.”

      Hadn’t he heard anything she’d told him the past twenty-four hours? “I sincerely hope so.”

      “You don’t think you’ll miss the traveling life?”

      She understood why he’d ask that, but he’d learn eventually that she wasn’t that girl any longer. “Not at all. I’ve discovered I’m more of a homebody than I thought.” Assuming she found the right home. “The idea of setting down roots, creating a cozy homeplace, someday starting a family of my own—well, that kind of life has a whole lot of appeal to me.”

      “Does that mean that after you went back on the road with your father, you found yourself missing the life you had with your grandmother?”

      She