regretted the lawsuit. But he had hospital bills and now he couldn’t work, which meant he’d have to hire someone else to do his job. On top of that, he was out $647 when he’d given the golf clubs back to Tina . . . who, by the way, had visited him in the hospital three times , not to mention the visit he’d made to her condo after his release.
Besides, Daisy obviously had money. She had just sold an expensive house in an expensive neighborhood and she owned a Lexus—until it was stolen. Still, she’d been the executive chef at a posh restaurant, undoubtedly well paid. Bottom line, Daisy could well afford $25,000 to help him out of the predicament she’d put him in.
Not only that, Daisy still hadn’t apologized for all the damage she’d caused—or, more recently, for accusing him of being a thief and a stalker—although she’d had plenty of opportunity this afternoon when he’d bought her lunch.
“That’s right,” Max said to the mirror. “I bought her lunch.” It didn’t matter that he’d had ulterior motives; she still got fed, which was obviously all she cared about. When it came down to it, for all the pain and suffering she’d caused him, Daisy was getting off pretty damn easy.
If only she’d told him why she wanted to leave Mama Mia’s. Never mind that fleeing from Jason was a little pathetic—although he actually did understand. Those few minutes they’d spent quibbling over her drinks could’ve been spent escaping. And Max wouldn’t have this brace on his leg or a scar above his eye or Daisy on his hands.
But not for long . Max patted aftershave on his neck and cheeks. Tomorrow they docked in Ketchikan and Daisy would be off the Columbia and on a southbound ferry to Bellingham. Max would be in Daisy’s cabin, on his way to Haines. Like two ships passing, they’d never see each other again.
Chapter Eleven
“T his place is busy,” Daisy said while she and Max waited at the hostess station for a table. A wall of windows port, bow, and starboard showcased the reason most were on this ferry—cloud-piercing mountains, voluptuous spruce, and diamond-blue waters. All washed by a golden sun beginning to drop in a cerulean sky, but far from sunset. Nowhere in that vast wilderness was the tiniest evidence of human intrusion. Alaska wasn’t called the Last Frontier for nothing, Daisy thought, entranced by the landscape.
Max looked around the dining room as if he hadn’t already noticed the crowded tables or the waitstaff hustling from one place-setting to the next like hummingbirds to nectar—pouring water, delivering food, clearing dishes. Happy voices rose above the background noise of silverware on porcelain and congenial conversation as a casually dressed foursome entered the room.
“Captive audience,” Max said. “Not a lot of options.”
A half frown. “I think the food is pretty good.”
“That’s right. You had a hot date here last night.”
Daisy’s intended retort was thwarted by the hostess.
“Reservations?”
Daisy looked at Max, rolled her eyes, and said no.
“Table for two?” the sunny hostess asked, pulling menus and a wine list from the rack without waiting for confirmation.
With Daisy and Max following, the hostess wended her way between diners and oases of plants while cutting through spheres of translucent amber shining down from the ceiling. They arrived at a far table crowded against a wall in a partial alcove. She handed each their menu, promised a waiter, then left, still smiling.
“Well, it’s not the greatest table,” Daisy remarked, scooting her chair in. “We should’ve made reservations.”
“I like it.” Max pushed up the sleeves of his cobalt-blue sweater and landed his elbows on the table. “I’ve got my back covered and I can see all the action.”
“Expectin’ trouble, Hopalong?”
“I like privacy,” Max explained, his voice deep and his words slow. “Besides, it’s the food I care about.”
“Dining out should be
Besides, Daisy obviously had money. She had just sold an expensive house in an expensive neighborhood and she owned a Lexus—until it was stolen. Still, she’d been the executive chef at a posh restaurant, undoubtedly well paid. Bottom line, Daisy could well afford $25,000 to help him out of the predicament she’d put him in.
Not only that, Daisy still hadn’t apologized for all the damage she’d caused—or, more recently, for accusing him of being a thief and a stalker—although she’d had plenty of opportunity this afternoon when he’d bought her lunch.
“That’s right,” Max said to the mirror. “I bought her lunch.” It didn’t matter that he’d had ulterior motives; she still got fed, which was obviously all she cared about. When it came down to it, for all the pain and suffering she’d caused him, Daisy was getting off pretty damn easy.
If only she’d told him why she wanted to leave Mama Mia’s. Never mind that fleeing from Jason was a little pathetic—although he actually did understand. Those few minutes they’d spent quibbling over her drinks could’ve been spent escaping. And Max wouldn’t have this brace on his leg or a scar above his eye or Daisy on his hands.
But not for long . Max patted aftershave on his neck and cheeks. Tomorrow they docked in Ketchikan and Daisy would be off the Columbia and on a southbound ferry to Bellingham. Max would be in Daisy’s cabin, on his way to Haines. Like two ships passing, they’d never see each other again.
Chapter Eleven
“T his place is busy,” Daisy said while she and Max waited at the hostess station for a table. A wall of windows port, bow, and starboard showcased the reason most were on this ferry—cloud-piercing mountains, voluptuous spruce, and diamond-blue waters. All washed by a golden sun beginning to drop in a cerulean sky, but far from sunset. Nowhere in that vast wilderness was the tiniest evidence of human intrusion. Alaska wasn’t called the Last Frontier for nothing, Daisy thought, entranced by the landscape.
Max looked around the dining room as if he hadn’t already noticed the crowded tables or the waitstaff hustling from one place-setting to the next like hummingbirds to nectar—pouring water, delivering food, clearing dishes. Happy voices rose above the background noise of silverware on porcelain and congenial conversation as a casually dressed foursome entered the room.
“Captive audience,” Max said. “Not a lot of options.”
A half frown. “I think the food is pretty good.”
“That’s right. You had a hot date here last night.”
Daisy’s intended retort was thwarted by the hostess.
“Reservations?”
Daisy looked at Max, rolled her eyes, and said no.
“Table for two?” the sunny hostess asked, pulling menus and a wine list from the rack without waiting for confirmation.
With Daisy and Max following, the hostess wended her way between diners and oases of plants while cutting through spheres of translucent amber shining down from the ceiling. They arrived at a far table crowded against a wall in a partial alcove. She handed each their menu, promised a waiter, then left, still smiling.
“Well, it’s not the greatest table,” Daisy remarked, scooting her chair in. “We should’ve made reservations.”
“I like it.” Max pushed up the sleeves of his cobalt-blue sweater and landed his elbows on the table. “I’ve got my back covered and I can see all the action.”
“Expectin’ trouble, Hopalong?”
“I like privacy,” Max explained, his voice deep and his words slow. “Besides, it’s the food I care about.”
“Dining out should be
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