The Heiress. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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look in Jack’s eyes as he bent to chastely kiss her lips at the conclusion of the ceremony, he didn’t know, either. But he was determined to do the right thing by her and their baby. That was something, she supposed.
“WE’RE NOT DRIVING HOME?” Daisy asked in disappointment as Jack turned the SUV away from Lake Tahoe and onto the highway that would lead them to the Reno airport.
“No.” Jack set the trip computer on his dash. “That would take several days. I need to get back to Charleston.”
“So I’ll drive.”
He slanted her a look and said dryly, “We’ve done that already. You took off without me.”
Daisy gave him a smile of exaggerated enthusiasm. “Great,” she said, settling deeper into her comfy leather seat. “So how long is this all going to take?” she asked wearily, wishing she had a bed she could just curl up in.
“It’s around four hours from Reno to Dallas–Fort Worth, where we change planes, and another four or so to Charleston. Our flight leaves at midnight. We’ll fly all night and be home by morning.”
Daisy didn’t particularly enjoy sleeping on airplanes, but she reluctantly conceded that was probably better than staying in a hotel and trying to play it cool on what was, technically speaking anyway, their wedding night. So maybe, she decided as Jack busied himself switching on the radio, flying home tonight wasn’t such a bad idea after all…
Jack had booked them into first-class, so they had comfortable seats and plenty of legroom. Daisy was so exhausted she slept on both flights and so did he. When she was awake, she kept herself busy reading, as did he, which meant conversation was at a minimum, and suited Daisy just fine. However, once they landed in Charleston that changed. “How do you want to do this?” Jack asked as they strode through the airport terminal toward the baggage claim.
“Do what?” Daisy asked as she struggled to keep up with his longer strides.
Jack gave her a sidelong glance, and noticing she was struggling, shortened his steps to a slower pace. He took her camera bag and put it over his shoulder, gallantly relieving her of that weight, which left her with just her purse. “I promised Tom I would take you to see him as soon as you got back.”
That might have been Jack’s priority—it wasn’t hers. Especially given the way she still felt about her biological father. Sighing, Daisy consulted her watch. With the three-hour time difference, and the additional time they had spent in the DFW airport changing planes, it was nearly noon, eastern time. Daisy felt grimy and exhausted and nowhere up to another confrontation with Tom Deveraux. “I really want a shower,” Daisy said as they grabbed their luggage off the carousel and headed for the exit.
“Then we’ll go to my—our—place,” Jack said. “We can both get cleaned up and then call Tom and see where he wants to meet—the office or home.”
Daisy tried not to think how intimate “our place” sounded. Never mind how close and cozy their life ahead might be. Daisy studied Jack’s face, realizing she wasn’t about to get out of this meeting with her new husband’s “boss.” “I want to meet at Tom Deveraux’s office,” Daisy stated stubbornly. “It’ll be shorter, less personal, that way.”
Jack lifted a curious eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to get to know him, that’s what your search for your real parents was all about.”
Daisy’s heart hardened a little more as she followed Jack’s lead across the hot pavement to the short-term parking lot. “I probably would want to get to know them if they were strangers. But given the way both Iris and Tom abandoned me, and lied both to and about me, even and especially when both knew how very much I wanted to find my real parents and was looking for them, I really don’t have any interest.” Her feelings had been crushed enough already by the fact Iris hadn’t wanted her, and Tom Deveraux hadn’t even cared enough to find out if she was his child. But instead had been content to let Daisy grow up without so much as ever guessing at her and Tom’s connection. Never mind being as loved as his legitimate children, or made to feel a part of his family, or told she had four half siblings, who as it turned out, she had gotten to know and befriend anyway. Instead of making her feel wanted and loved for the first time in her life, Tom and Iris had left her feeling even more rejected and forsaken. Listening to their excuses, or worse—realizing neither of them felt they really owed her an apology—just made her feel worse. Which was why, of course, Daisy had run away. So she wouldn’t have to help Iris and Tom feel better while she was made to feel even worse than she already did.
His expression unsympathetic, Jack walked to the end of the row and stopped in front of a decade-old red sedan. The vehicle looked familiar to Daisy, with a few exceptions. The hood and door were now painted the same fire-engine red as the rest of the car. In fact, the whole vehicle looked as if it had had a paint job. The dent was gone from the fender. Even the upholstery had had a good cleaning.
Jack shrugged at her stunned look. “You’ve been driving my car, I’ve been driving yours,” he explained.
Daisy could see that. And even as she admired the way he had given as good as he got in assuming the use of her vehicle without her okay, she did not like his presumptuousness in messing with a good thing without her blessing. Daisy scowled at Jack. “I didn’t give you permission to fix it up.” She had liked her secondhand car the way it was. The vehicle’s noticeable disrepair had gotten under countless skins. It’s new spiffed-up appearance would not.
Jack merely quirked an eyebrow and looked at her without an ounce of regret. “You should have thought about that before you left it with me,” he said.
MAYBE IT WAS BECAUSE she had been raised in such a big, cold, forbidding house, but Daisy had always liked small, cozy places. Jack’s home on the beach, a mile or so down from Chase and Bridgett’s and Maggie and Gabe’s, was just what she would have ordered, if she could have afforded to buy a home for herself at that point. The one-story beach cottage was one hundred and fifty yards away from the ocean and built in typical Low Country fashion, with a high, deeply pitched roof and gabled front door. It was small—Daisy guessed no more than twelve hundred square feet, if that. But pretty and very well maintained. Obviously built before it became fashionable to have the parking area beneath the house, the building had dark-gray siding, snowy-white trim, shutters and door and a light-gray roof. Palmetto trees shaded the front of the house, which faced the street. Hedges of tall, neatly trimmed flowering bushes insured maximum privacy from the neighbors on either side, despite the relatively small lot sizes.
“Do you rent this or is it yours?” Daisy asked as they parked in the small gravel driveway and got out.
“It’s mine,” Jack declared with no small amount of pride as he unlocked the door and led the way in. “I’ll show you around and then go back and get the luggage.”
Curious to see how he lived, Daisy followed. The first thing she noticed was that there appeared to be nothing antique or exceedingly valuable in the home—the furnishings were all sturdy, attractive, department-store stock. There were miniblinds, not heavy velvet draperies, on the windows, and practical off-white ceramic tile on the floor.
To the left of the foyer was a living room with a white stone fireplace, to the right a masculinely appointed study complete with a large desk and leather chair, computer, printer, fax and copier, a wall of built-in bookshelves and several black-metal vertical files. The living room had a sectional sofa in the same slate-gray hue as the exterior of the house, an impressively outfitted entertainment center, upholstered reading chair and matching ottoman and not much else. Behind that was a surprisingly well-equipped kitchen and dining area at the rear of the house. A laundry room was located in the middle, just off the covered back porch. Farther down the hallway that ran the width of the home, was a single bathroom with a tub and shower combination, commode and sink all located in a very tiny space, and what appeared to be not just the master bedroom but the only bedroom, Daisy noted.
Daisy studied the king-size bed, with the brown, burgundy and taupe paisley sheets and coverlet. It looked comfortable and seemed to dominate the room. How comfortable