Spooning Daisy by Maggie McConnell Page A

of seagulls floating on invisible winds, chasing the fleeing night. The rhythmic slap-slap-slap of a jogger came toward her then faded behind, a nod of greeting exchanged as he passed. Skirting the occasional puddle, along with the occasional stalwart passenger cocooned in a lounge chair, Daisy stopped at the forward observation deck, outside the solarium with its glass walls. She looked east toward the city of Prince Rupert and the pink and golden glow rising off the horizon; she watched until the sun crowned, birthing a new day. Continuing her walk, she rounded the corner to the starboard side, where a blast of wind flailed her curls about her face.
    “Oh, maaaan !” Blinded, she pushed into the glass door of the solarium and cleared the hair from her face. In climate controlled comfort, she headed toward the heart of the ship, her eyes drifting over sleeping bodies, each claiming a small piece of the solarium like a squatter.
    Something familiar snagged her gaze. She stopped and cocked her head, fighting the urge to run. Craning her neck, she focused on the snoozing bundle only a few lounge chairs from where she stood glued to the speckled teal carpet. Pushing out the side of the unzipped sleeping bag was a socked foot. The attached leg seemed to be wrapped in a hard plastic brace or splint with Velcro fasteners, but the sleeping bag prevented Daisy from seeing above the calf.
    She jumped at the sudden rattle of dishes and the accompanying raft of voices from the awakening cafeteria. Daisy was tempted to go with her first urge and flee, but curiosity forced one step, then another.
    Inch by painstaking inch, Daisy crept between empty loungers and sleeping passengers toward the object of her dread. As she closed the gap, her heart leapt into her throat.
    She stopped short of the socked foot. Her gaze traveled the length of the bundle and rested on the face at the other end. Stubbled, just like the first time she’d seen it. And, yes, still pleasing—as if that mattered—in spite of the discontented furrow marring its brow. But near the hairline, above the temple and just tickling the forehead, was a healing wound she’d not seen before.
    Or had she? She thought back to the brown stains on her cashmere sweater, the grimace on this same face, to the blood flowing over an anguished blue eye. It all belonged to the man looking most uncomfortable in the chaise before her.
    Of all the places Max Kendall could be, of all the boats, what was he doing here, on hers ? And why in the world hadn’t he booked a cabin? Probably too cheap , she figured, remembering their disastrous date and how Max insisted she finish her drink. If only they’d left when she wanted, she lamented yet again, before deciding this was not the time or place to be lamenting anything. She’d verified her fears and now she needed to get out of there, fast. If Max woke and saw her . . . well, she didn’t want to think about his reaction. The lawsuit hanging over her head said all that needed to be said about Max Kendall’s spite.
    As if retreating from a snoozing bear, Daisy slowly backed her way to the next lounge chair and was starting to turn for the exit when the ship bellowed its departure. She froze as those around her woke. Her eyes locked on Max’s face, expecting at any second to meet his blue eyes . . .
    But his eyelids stayed shut without so much as a flutter. Daisy stared, disbelieving her luck, before those moving around jolted her senses. Feeling their questioning gazes, she spun from the scene and headed quickly for the outside door.
    Why did she look back?
     
    Max scarcely believed his eyes. Was that his date from hell? He blinked and Daisy disappeared through the door, tassels of red hair streaming behind her. Impossible , he insisted, although he didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d just seen the woman who’d put him in this splint and given him a new scar and forced him into the cattle car of the observation deck. Of all the