Spooning Daisy by Maggie McConnell Read Free Book Online Page A

Daisy felt the beginning pricks of their cold, wet assault. She started to shiver. “I guess it would be stupid to stay here.”
    Adam offered his cocked elbow. “You have to let go of the rail.”
    Daisy glanced at her frigid hands, still throttling the teak. “You never know when the next wave will hit.”
    “I guarantee smooth sailing.”
    She looked skeptical.
    “If not, I know where the lifeboats are. I’m a veritable cornucopia of information, and someone you otter know.”
    Daisy smiled. If only Charity could see her now—cold and shivering but moving on, taking risks, letting go . . . as soon as she could unclench her frozen fingers. Maybe Charity had been right. Maybe Max Kendall—however much she never wanted to think about him again—had actually done her a favor. No date could ever be as disastrous as that encounter.
    “Go ahead, ask me anything,” Adam said.
    “There is something I’m curious about. The initials in front of the ship’s name, Columbia . What does the M/V stand for?”
    “And here I thought you’d be asking about the lost gold.”
    “The lost gold?” Her eyes opened into saucers before she realized the joke. “Okay, I’m gullible.”
    “Better gullible than jaded,” Adam said. “And the M/V stands for maritime vessel. Now may I escort you inside?”

Chapter Seven
    D aisy woke in the dark, disoriented; she had to think where she was. When she started to rise, the cabin swirled and she fell back into bed. Was she seasick?
    The Inside Passage had been unusually rough last night; she felt every subtle vibration, every infinitesimal thrust and retreat of the ship as it fought the waves. But the bottle of wine she and Adam shared at dinner had been tranquilizing; her head barely hit the pillow before she was out like a light.
    She dismissed the possibility of a hangover. Three glasses of wine spread over four hours would hardly put her under the table. No. It must be the sea; her inner ear simply wasn’t accustomed to constant rocking.
    She took deep breaths and the dizziness subsided. She slowly rolled her head toward the bedside clock; the illuminated numbers glowed red: 4: 28.
    The last she remembered knowing the time was about ten o’clock last night. She and Adam had finished their crème brûlées. Daisy went to the ladies’ room and while there, looked at her watch. She’d been surprised by how late it was. Time flies . . . When she returned to the table, they finished the wine. After that, her recollection was spotty.
    She switched on the bedside lamp; soft light washed the soothing seafoam-green walls. Feeling steady, she eased out of the sheets and into her slippers. Without a single wobble—perhaps she had finally found her sea legs—she walked the short distance to her window and parted the damask curtains.
    Towering lights illuminated the dock, banishing the night as workers moved into and out of her sight, readying the ferry for its Alaskan journey. No wonder she was steady—they weren’t moving. A slight shudder and Daisy felt the engines come alive. Barely in her view, a line of cars started to advance. This must be Columbia ’s first port, Prince Rupert in British Columbia.
    Releasing the curtains, she turned toward her cabin. The best available, it was still small. On the lower deck were passengers without a cabin. She seemed to remember them from last night, rolling out their sleeping bags in the ship’s solarium—mostly the young and adventurous who didn’t mind sleeping among strangers or sharing communal bathrooms. Daisy shuddered at the thought. Besides, she had Elizabeth to think about. She couldn’t exactly cart her around and she wasn’t about to leave her unattended in the open where anybody could snatch her. And Daisy wasn’t good at roughing it. This cabin was about as rough as she cared to get. As it was, she had brought her own sheets and pillow for the bed, thanks to a television exposé about hotel sheets and body fluids that didn’t