him.”
“Honey—”
“Honey nothing. You and whoever it is that you work for,” she rolled her eyes while poking her finger into his chest, “like Senator Starr for something involving selfish gain, I’m sure. And you want me to like him too.” She pushed him again. Putting his hands up, he plopped onto the foot of the bed. She looked slowly around the room, making him nervous he’d missed something—a spot of blood.
“It stinks in here.” Daisy wrinkled her nose before gripping the Sheriff with her stare. “I’m playing along for now, but I’m warning you. I really like him, and I won’t let you or the voice on the other side of the telephone,” she paused enough to cause him worry again, “turn him into some sort of twisted political monster. Clear?”
Out of all the puckey he'd given, taken and stepped in throughout his life, somehow God had seen it fit to give him Daisy as a daughter. He had no idea how he hadn't screwed it up, but she'd become something infinitely better than him. His current actions gambled all that. And for what?
He didn’t completely understand Gwen’s intentions for Starr, but had to admit that twisted political monster might be among them. He cursed himself mentally. Of course Daisy's fate would be caught up with Starr's. But all of that would have to wait. Currently the pot threatened to boil over and everyone but himself seemed intent on turning up the heat. She tapped her foot, waiting for him to respond.
“Clear.” He stood while adjusting his hat and allowed Daisy to straighten his tie. “Now I’ve got a message for you, missy. As you witnessed today, this town’s dangerous. Just because it’s dressed up nicer than Del Rio don’t mean it can’t be just as deadly.” He ushered her toward the door, eager to get further from the dead man on the balcony. “I don’t mind you being out and about with Starr. You’re right about one thing. I like him.” He flashed her his only smile, the one her mother says looks like a grimace.
“Lord willing, he’ll take you off my hands for good.” Her eyes flashed. “But watch yourself. This town’s hotter than a chili cook-off.” The reference to cooked meat in such close proximity to his charred mole caused him to choke. “Just remember what I taught you, and when I say jump, you jump.”
“Fine.” She stepped into the hall. “But I’m not doing any jumping in these shoes.”
~~~
Head spinning, a snooty gala had been the last place Starr wanted to spend his evening. The course of the day’s events had stoked his righteous anger, and these people were the logical target. But more than pointing blame, he longed for space to think. He'd landed waist-deep in muck with nearly a half dozen strangers’ hands offering to pull him free.
Granted, at the moment one of those hands looked infinitely more appealing than the others. Having exited the carriage first, he turned to stabilize Daisy. Her legs hid beneath a flowing evening gown the color of red wine. While she descended the three steps to the ground the dress worked its effect on him, her hips swaying against the tight yet not restrictive fabric. The garment rose to a high waist tucked beneath her breasts and ended with straps perched precariously on the verge of shoulder and upper arm.
As much as he wanted to focus solely on her, his mind rattled with the events of the day. The whole city threatened him, concealing violent secrets. G.W. had given him more information than he had wanted to know, even while concealing most of it. Lickter had filled him in on the evening’s events and the auction to be held the next day. Told him about Oleg’s dark past and his monstrous weapons of war about to be sold to the highest bidder. Now it was his responsibility to convince the citizens of Texas the truth about Oleg Rodchenko before it was too late. But no one knew how late too late was or what it meant.
The truth about Rodchenko remained the biggest mystery. Was he
“Honey—”
“Honey nothing. You and whoever it is that you work for,” she rolled her eyes while poking her finger into his chest, “like Senator Starr for something involving selfish gain, I’m sure. And you want me to like him too.” She pushed him again. Putting his hands up, he plopped onto the foot of the bed. She looked slowly around the room, making him nervous he’d missed something—a spot of blood.
“It stinks in here.” Daisy wrinkled her nose before gripping the Sheriff with her stare. “I’m playing along for now, but I’m warning you. I really like him, and I won’t let you or the voice on the other side of the telephone,” she paused enough to cause him worry again, “turn him into some sort of twisted political monster. Clear?”
Out of all the puckey he'd given, taken and stepped in throughout his life, somehow God had seen it fit to give him Daisy as a daughter. He had no idea how he hadn't screwed it up, but she'd become something infinitely better than him. His current actions gambled all that. And for what?
He didn’t completely understand Gwen’s intentions for Starr, but had to admit that twisted political monster might be among them. He cursed himself mentally. Of course Daisy's fate would be caught up with Starr's. But all of that would have to wait. Currently the pot threatened to boil over and everyone but himself seemed intent on turning up the heat. She tapped her foot, waiting for him to respond.
“Clear.” He stood while adjusting his hat and allowed Daisy to straighten his tie. “Now I’ve got a message for you, missy. As you witnessed today, this town’s dangerous. Just because it’s dressed up nicer than Del Rio don’t mean it can’t be just as deadly.” He ushered her toward the door, eager to get further from the dead man on the balcony. “I don’t mind you being out and about with Starr. You’re right about one thing. I like him.” He flashed her his only smile, the one her mother says looks like a grimace.
“Lord willing, he’ll take you off my hands for good.” Her eyes flashed. “But watch yourself. This town’s hotter than a chili cook-off.” The reference to cooked meat in such close proximity to his charred mole caused him to choke. “Just remember what I taught you, and when I say jump, you jump.”
“Fine.” She stepped into the hall. “But I’m not doing any jumping in these shoes.”
~~~
Head spinning, a snooty gala had been the last place Starr wanted to spend his evening. The course of the day’s events had stoked his righteous anger, and these people were the logical target. But more than pointing blame, he longed for space to think. He'd landed waist-deep in muck with nearly a half dozen strangers’ hands offering to pull him free.
Granted, at the moment one of those hands looked infinitely more appealing than the others. Having exited the carriage first, he turned to stabilize Daisy. Her legs hid beneath a flowing evening gown the color of red wine. While she descended the three steps to the ground the dress worked its effect on him, her hips swaying against the tight yet not restrictive fabric. The garment rose to a high waist tucked beneath her breasts and ended with straps perched precariously on the verge of shoulder and upper arm.
As much as he wanted to focus solely on her, his mind rattled with the events of the day. The whole city threatened him, concealing violent secrets. G.W. had given him more information than he had wanted to know, even while concealing most of it. Lickter had filled him in on the evening’s events and the auction to be held the next day. Told him about Oleg’s dark past and his monstrous weapons of war about to be sold to the highest bidder. Now it was his responsibility to convince the citizens of Texas the truth about Oleg Rodchenko before it was too late. But no one knew how late too late was or what it meant.
The truth about Rodchenko remained the biggest mystery. Was he
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