Free Spooning Daisy by Maggie McConnell Page A

might’ve been trumped. It was a very odd sensation that inconveniently started his blood flowing in the most unexpected place. “I brought turkey sandwiches,” he said, trying to ignore his misbehaving appendage.
    “No mustard, I hope.”
    Max responded with an expression reminding her of her predicament.
    “I can scrape it off.”
    “There’s no mustard.” His tone conveyed disbelief in the importance Daisy put on that condiment.
    “I don’t like mustard on turkey.”
    Not a contrite bone in Daisy Moon’s body! Max turned his attention to the deluxe cabin with its queen bed and adjoining bath. The sunny day spilled through the window, brightening the green walls. The cabin was small by hotel standards, but large enough to accommodate a sofa, vanity, and a chest of drawers, as long as you didn’t plan on doing the tango in between. There was even a small closet with an accordion door where he could stow his gear. Yep , Max decided, this will do just fine . And right about then he noticed the jar of baby food beside the opened tuna-size can of dog food atop the nightstand.
    While Daisy pulled the napkins from the bag, his eyes darted around the room. He stretched toward the bathroom for a peek inside. Seeing nothing obvious to explain the jar or the can, he leaned forward in his seat, inching toward the bed and its skirt to check out what might be lurking beneath.
    Sandwich in hand, Daisy turned and discovered Max with his chest pressed against his knees and his chin inches from the floor. “What in the world are you doing?”
    “I’ve, uh, always been curious. Are these beds bolted down?” He quickly lifted the bed skirt and discovered a solid pedestal supporting the mattress. “I guess this bed won’t be going anywhere.”
    Daisy held out the sandwich and a couple of napkins.
    “A pedestal bed is very practical,” he said, taking his lunch. “You don’t have to clean under it and you can’t lose things there.”
    Daisy stuck a straw through the plastic lid on a cup and handed the drink to Max. Then she sat on the small stool belonging to the vanity and unwrapped the paper from her sandwich. “You lose a lot of stuff under your bed, do you?”
    “Just the occasional woman.”
    “Maybe they’re hiding from you.”
    “Where would you hide some—”
    “Lettuce!” Daisy squealed, lifting the top slice of bread and peeling off the green leaf. She turned to Max. “Are you going to eat your lettuce?”
    Her smile was like a kid’s at Christmas, and Max was totally unnerved. He could find no evidence of either a baby or a dog, and yet there was Gerber and Mighty Dog. And now this lettuce thing. Could Daisy get any weirder?
    Wondering what Daisy planned for lettuce she wasn’t going to eat, Max opened his sandwich and peeled off his leaf.
    Daisy took both pieces and went into the bathroom.
    Max stared at the closed door. What the hell was Daisy doing?
     
    As she shook the water from her lettuce, Daisy caught her reflection in the small mirror. And oh, how she wished she hadn’t. She and tears had never gotten along; even happy tears turned her face into a puffy, splotchy mess sure to cause nightmares among young children. She wasn’t even going to start a discourse on her hair.
    She set torn pieces of lettuce in the shower stall with Elizabeth, then, reluctantly facing her reflection, eased a brush through her rambunctious curls.
    Sometimes she did have gorgeous hair, as Charity often said. And her green eyes could be spectacular when they weren’t squeezed between pregnant eyelids. As long as nothing upset it, her complexion had a creamy radiance like Belleek Irish porcelain. She was a bonny lass, her grandfather had always told her, although she rarely agreed.
    So why the hell didn’t Max tell her how bad she looked? Why that question suddenly popped up and where it came from, Daisy wasn’t sure, but it was there now, and it got her thinking.
     
    Max had only a few bites left of his sandwich