Tempted by Dr. Daisy by Catherine Anderson Page B

heads up. I’ll keep out of your way.’
    â€˜OK. We might see you later.’
    â€˜No!’ she said, but he’d hung up. So what now? Should she go out? Leave the house and come back after dark? ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, she’s just a child, she’s not poisonous! Get a grip,’ she told herself, and finished the pile of ironing, then made some lunch and went out into the garden and started weeding.
    She’d been there half an hour when there was the sound of the back door opening, and Ben’s voice saying, ‘This is my new garden—or it will be. It’s a bit of a jungle.’
    â€˜It’s very messy,’ a childish voice piped, and Daisy’s heart turned over. She sounded so like Freya…
    â€˜Yes, it is messy, isn’t it? Shall we make it tidy?’
    â€˜Yes! Me do it, Daddy! Me do it!’
    She stayed there, frozen, trowel in hand, listening to the soft rumble of his voice as he talked to Florence. Should she go inside? Say something? Tell him she was there? Or carry on and say nothing? No. He’d hear her then. Would he talk to her?
    She stuck the trowel in the ground and brushed off her hands. Maybe she’d just creep inside and pretend—
    â€˜Hi.’
    She lifted her head and saw Ben leaning over the fence, a tentative half-smile on his face as he searched her eyes. He must be standing on something, she thought, and got stiffly to her feet.
    â€˜Hi. How was your walk?’
    â€˜Great. We saw lots of bluebells, and a squirrel, and then we had some lunch, and now we’re going to clear up the garden. I don’t suppose you’ve got a broom, have you?’
    â€˜Sure.’
    She found it in the shed and passed it over, waiting for the invitation to meet Florence, hoping it wouldn’t come yet longing to see the little girl who was so excitedly helping her daddy clear up the messy garden.
    No invitation was forthcoming. Instead he smiled and disappeared behind the fence, and left her standing there staring into space.
    â€˜Basket case,’ she muttered, heading for the conservatory, and she went inside and put the kettle on. Ten seconds later she got a text from him.
    Tea would be nice if you’re making one.
    She rolled her eyes. Tea, indeed. And no doubt biscuits, and something healthy for Florence. Apple juice? She opened the fridge and found an unopened carton of apple juice, and poured some into a little mug, then made two mugs of tea and put the chocolate biscuits on the tray and took them out.
    â€˜Tea’s up,’ she yelled, and he appeared at the fence, his little mini-me on his shoulders, both of them grinning happily.
    â€˜Daisy, this is Florence. Florence, meet Daisy. She’s my neighbour. She has good biscuits.’
    Florence giggled and squirmed on his shoulders, and he clamped her legs firmly in his hands and disappearedwhile Daisy tried to get her breath back and unclamp the hand that was pressed over her mouth.
    Why on earth had she done this? She should have refused to make the tea, told him to sling his hook and gone out—or just gone out earlier and let him sort his own broom and refreshments.
    He was at her gate, letting himself in and holding Florence by the hand. She had one arm round his leg, which was obviously making walking difficult, but he just went slowly and accommodated her as she giggled and hung on, and Daisy’s heart squeezed. She was so like him!
    â€˜We’ve decided the garden’s a bit much for us,’ he said with a wry grin. ‘We think it needs a gardener.’
    â€˜I think it needs a chainsaw and a gang of landscapers,’ she said drily, unfairly angry that he’d had to catch her outside and trap her like this.
    â€˜Sounds like a plan, and then we’ll have a lovely garden for you, won’t we, Florence?’
    â€˜I like this garden,’ Florence said shyly, looking around her with eyes like saucers. ‘It’s