The Wingman Read online

  “You two are getting on my nerves,” Daff complained Friday evening two weeks later. They had enjoyed dinner at the farm, and the sisters were all three crunching their way through a gigantic bowl of popcorn and watching reruns of Friends. “So you lost your boyfriends, whatever, it’s not the end of the world.”

  “He was my fiancé!”

  “He wasn’t my boyfriend!” Daisy and Lia exclaimed at the same time, and Daff rolled her eyes.

  “Like I said, whatever. You’re getting off your asses tonight, and we’re going out.”

  “There’s nowhere to go in Riversend,” Lia grumbled, and Daff pinned her with a no-nonsense glare.

  “Get changed.”

  “I have nothing to wear, and your clothes won’t fit me, so don’t even suggest it,” Daisy warned. “Besides, if we go out and run into Shar tonight, I’m going to hit her. So it’s probably best if we just stayed home.”

  A week ago, Daff—sick of Daisy’s moping around—had confronted Zinzi regarding where Shar had obtained her information about Daisy and Mason. The woman had confessed to a simple and uncomplicated case of eavesdropping. The news had sent Daisy into an even worse spiral of despair when she comprehended how completely she had authored her own destruction. How positively and irritatingly Shakespearean.

  “We won’t run into Shar; her husband dragged her away on some gross four-week-long seniors’ cruise. Rumor has it the old guy bought a boatload of Viagra before he left. She’s going to hate it.” All three of them took a moment to enjoy the thought of Shar trapped on a prolonged cruise with senior citizens and her horny ancient husband, before Daff snapped back into bossy mode. “Go home, get changed, we’ll pick you up on the way.”

  “I really don’t feel like—”

  “You’re going. Both of you,” Daff interrupted Daisy.

  “Fine, but only because I’m really bored,” Daisy relented. She wasn’t bored. She was just apathetic and sad. Really, really sad all of the time. It frightened her, this deep and abiding melancholy; she couldn’t remember ever feeling this way before, and she wanted it to end. She wanted to wake up one morning and feel lightness in her soul, and contentment and happiness in her heart. She wanted to turn around and greet Mason with a smile and a kiss and be grateful for what she had. But all of that seemed so far out of reach that just thinking about it made her plummet even further into complete and utter misery.

  She hungered for just the sound of his name, and she heard it often. Her father spoke of the work he was doing around town, donating money and resources, and his own manual labor, toward renovating some of the more faded landmarks. Thandiwe said he’d come into the school to speak with the students. Daff mentioned him now and again, she’d seen him at MJ’s, Ralphie’s, and out in Knysna at a popular local night spot, a different woman on his arm each time. Even her mother and Lia spoke of him, of how he had called after news of the broken engagement had spread through town, to ask if they were okay and if they needed anything.

  The only person who never saw him, or heard from him, was Daisy. And she knew that it was deliberate. He was avoiding her; maybe she had embarrassed him with her declaration of love. Who could blame him, really? She was a total stranger to him, and a few weeks of fake dating couldn’t change that fact. So why couldn’t she accept that reality and move on?

  Maybe because, despite all those warnings and reminders she had given herself to the contrary, it hadn’t felt fake at all.

  Ralphie’s. Great. Of course it would be Ralphie’s; there was literally nowhere else to go. Daisy sighed and reluctantly climbed out of the car, pulling her too-short and too-tight skirt down surreptitiously. She was trying new things, and this skirt was part of the wardrobe that she had bought a week after Mason had so roundly rejected her. Tight, black, and a smidgeon too far above knee, it clung to her hips and butt a little too lovingly. She’d combined it with a sparkly black scoop-necked top, black stockings, and shoes that were an inch too high. She left her hair wild and loose, and for the first time appreciated the carefree look it gave her. Daff had done her makeup, telling her the outfit called for smoky eyes and “fuck me red” on the lips. Daisy wasn’t so sure about the red, but it did make her lips look plumper, which wasn’t a bad thing, she supposed.

  They were slammed with that familiar wall of heat and sound when they entered the door . . . and greeted by a cacophony of enthusiastic wolf whistles. Daisy’s first instinct was to take a step back and allow her sisters the spotlight, but after just a second’s hesitation, she stepped forward in unison with them and greeted the crowd with a vivacious grin. The male eyes scanned all three of them with equal amounts of appreciation, and it felt quite . . . liberating.

  The whistles and catcalls drew his attention, and Mason lifted his gaze from their deep contemplation of his beer to the commotion at the front door and froze.

  “Christ,” he swore shakily, and Spencer—who sat with his back to the door—watched him in concern.

  “What?”

  “What the fuck is she wearing? She’s going to cause a riot in that getup!” Spencer glanced over his shoulder, and his eyebrows climbed to his hairline, before he added his appreciative whistle to that of the adoring male crowd.

  “Hellooo, Dr. Daisy,” Spencer growled, and Mason’s brow lowered.

  “Hey! Stop staring at her like that.”

  “I can’t help it; that skirt is killing me. And that top does great things for her ti—”

  “Don’t say it!” Mason interrupted viciously, and Spencer turned his gaze back to his brother.

  “What?” he asked, all innocence. “She’s hot.”

  “I know that,” Mason said. “I don’t know how none of you saw that before. Why does she have to shimmy her way into a skirt that ends just below her ass cheeks for you to see it now?”

  That skirt was way too high, and it took every ounce of willpower Mason possessed not to march over there and throw his jacket over her to cover her up. She hadn’t spotted him yet; she was still smiling—God, what was that shade of red on her lips? It should be illegal!

  “I have to go,” he said, getting up and reaching for his wallet. He had successfully avoided her for weeks, trying to get back into the dating game but finding every woman who Spencer set him up with unappealing and boring. He needed just a little more time before he was able to face her without saying or doing anything stupid. Just a little more time to get his shit together.

  “You can’t keep avoiding her forever, you know?” Spencer predicted, and Mason shrugged.

  “No clue what you’re talking about.”

  “I think I’ll ask Daisy to dance,” Spencer said, and Mason snorted.

  “Good luck with that; she doesn’t dance.”

  “Well, that definitely looks like dancing to me,” Spencer said, and Mason’s head flew up. Just in time to see Daisy shimmying against some douche bag in a plaid shirt and jeans. The guy looked like Christmas and all his birthdays had come at once, and then, as Mason watched, she did it . . . She actually pulled a few chicken dance moves and then laughed at herself for doing it. Her laughter was so contagious that it invited her partner and everybody else in the immediate vicinity to join in, and when she leaned into the guy to whisper something in his ear, Mason felt his blood boil. When the guy tipped his head back to laugh and started doing the chicken dance too, Mason knew that she had “confided” her so-called dance weakness to him.

  He felt outrageously betrayed by that, like she had taken something that was theirs alone and shared it with the masses. And it was crazy, irrational thinking like that, which meant he had to get out of here immediately.

  “Mason!” Shit. Lia had spotted him. Her screech could be heard over the noise and music, and Daisy’s head snapped around and her eyes found him immediately. Not hard to do when he was standing up and obviously watching her. He couldn’t tear his gaze from hers, and she never broke eye contact as she leaned toward her partner to say something to him, before battling her way through
the crowd to make her way toward Mason.

  He couldn’t move, not even when Lia got to him first and gave him a hug and a kiss. He responded automatically, keeping his eyes on Daisy. Always Daisy. Forever Daisy.

  And then she was there. So close. Too close . . . And he was vaguely aware of Spencer and Lia discreetly edging away from them to allow them as much privacy as they could get in a place like this.

  “Mason.” That was all she said, and he nodded, before forcing her name out. A name he had futilely forbidden himself from even thinking over the last few weeks.

  “Daisy.”

  “It’s so nice to see you.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he tried not to flinch from her touch. She went up onto her toes and attempted to brush her lips across his cheek. He didn’t bend down to meet her halfway, and instead her mouth grazed his neck, and he tensed even further.

  She removed her hand, and he mourned the loss of her touch.

  “You’re dancing,” he pointed out, desperate to keep everything casual. Just a couple of acquaintances, reacquainting themselves.

  “Yes. As you so kindly pointed out, I’ve spent way too much time mulling over the past, so I figure it’s time for a change, right? Time to grow up and try new things.”

  What new things?

  “Your skirt’s too short,” he said, and she bent backward and craned her neck to try and see her own butt.

  “You think so?” she asked, sounding remarkably unconcerned, where before she would have gone into spasms of doubt and insecurity over it.

  “Your ass is hanging out.”

  She laughed at his words, still much too lighthearted. “Well, you always said I have a nice bum, so I’m showing off my best asset. No pun intended.” Her voice was light, inviting him to share the joke, but he found himself incapable of even smiling right now, and her smile faded while the laughter died from her eyes. And Mason immediately felt like a prick for extinguishing that inner light. “Are you still angry with me? Won’t you forgive me? I know I was wrong to use Shar’s bitchiness as an excuse to end things with us. And in the end, it was literally all my fault.” Daisy laughed bitterly. “Do you want to hear something hilarious? It was me. I’m the one who told Shar about us. Zinzi overheard Daff and I talking in the powder room. And that’s where Shar got all her information! I’m so sorry, Mason.”

  “Don’t,” he said gruffly. “Don’t keep apologizing. You have nothing left to apologize for.”

  “We were friends,” she said, her voice mournful. “And I hate losing your friendship.”

  “We weren’t friends,” he growled. “You told me that once, remember? We were never merely friends, Daisy.”

  “Then what were we?”

  “Nothing.” But that was a lie, and he shut his eyes before admitting the truth. “Everything.” When he opened his eyes it was to see her back as she walked away, never having heard his truth.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Daisy cast a nervous glance around her and conceded that she had made a stupid error in judgment in coming to Inkululeko on her own so close to sunset. Thomas had been relieved and happy to see her and had gratefully accepted the antihistamines she’d brought for little Sheba. The boy had called her at the practice, distraught because his dog was sneezing and vomiting nonstop. Symptoms that had developed practically overnight. Daisy promised to come and see Sheba after work, and one look had confirmed some kind of allergy. She had given the dog a shot, told Thomas how to administer the antihistamines, and advised him to bring Sheba into the clinic on Wednesday for a checkup.

  Now, it was fully dark as she slowly drove through the maze of dilapidated shacks, and she uneasily acknowledged that most of the people staring at her were unfamiliar, none of the friendly faces she usually saw at the clinic. It was Monday evening and nobody knew she was here; her father had been busy with his last patient when she’d left, and Lucinda had taken a half day.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she took the corner and left the settlement behind, but the dark road back to town yawned threateningly ahead of her. The poor condition of the dirt road made it impossible for her to drive at a speed that would have made her feel a little more comfortable, and as she crept her way forward, the only light on the road coming from her headlights, she cursed herself for her stupidity. She looked down to search for her phone, her intention to tell someone where she was, and when she looked back up it was to see several armed men step onto the road in front of her car.

  She wasn’t about to stop and sped up, but her tires spun on the gravel, unable to find the required traction, and the car fishtailed dangerously.

  Oh my God, this can’t be happening!

  Mason cursed when the annoying frickin’ ringtone that Spencer had programmed onto his phone jerked him from his work on the Ducati Diavel Walkaround that he’d been endlessly tinkering with for weeks.

  He grabbed the phone with one greasy hand—it read “unknown caller,” which annoyed him even more—and uncaring of the smears he left on the screen, put it on speaker.

  “Carlisle,” he grunted, grabbing a cloth.

  “Mr. Carlisle?” The voice was female, hesitant, and familiar.

  “Yeah, it’s Mason Carlisle.” He reached for a rag and wiped his hands.

  “It’s Thandiwe Modise.”

  “Thandiwe? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked, immediately on alert.

  “I’m fine, but you told me to let you know if I heard of anything that could be threatening to the clinic or Dr. Daisy. I’m worried; she came to the township this evening—”

  “She what? Alone?” Mason could feel his blood start to boil. What was wrong with the foolish woman? How could she go out there on her own after hours on a Monday evening?

  “She brought medicine for a boy’s sick dog. I heard that there might be some trouble. We’re worried. Some of the tsotsis”—thugs—“were seen following her.”

  “Is she still there?” Mason felt a chill settle over him as his heart thudded sluggishly in his chest.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “If she is, keep her there, don’t let her leave. I’m on my way.” He hung up before she had a chance to respond and grabbed his jacket. She’d better be okay. Better be safe and well and whole so that he could shake some sense into her before wringing her little neck.

  He took the Jeep and broke the speed limit to get to the dirt road that led to the township. He was halfway down that road when he saw the commotion up ahead. A large crowd of people, cars and lights everywhere. A panicked sound broke free from his tight throat, and he stopped the Jeep and nearly fell out of it in his haste to get to the scene. There was shouting, a lot of angry shouting, and he shoved his way through the crowd, desperate to find Daisy. Where was she?

  “Daisy!” He couldn’t contain himself anymore and shouted for her, and the crowd quieted, finally spotting him. “Where’s Dr. Daisy?” he asked, sensing no threat from them.

  “Mason?” He nearly went to his knees at the sound of her voice and turned on wobbly legs to find the crowd parting to let her through, Thandiwe supporting her. His eyes drank in the sight of her; her clothes were a mess, her face was tear streaked, and was that a fucking bruise forming on her jaw? He tensed, feeling a murderous rage settling over him like a cloak. He was going to end the motherfuckers who had hurt her.

  “Oh God, are you bleeding?” he asked—spotting the bright splash of red on her dress. Her eyes dropped to her side, and her hand automatically clamped over the spot.

  “Just a little,” she admitted, her voice sounding shockingly weak. He made a harsh sound in the back of his throat and made his way to her, wrapping a gentle arm around her waist. She leaned against him, trembling violently, telling him that she was hurt, shocked, and terrified without saying a word.

  “Who did this?” he asked, his voice lethal, and an old, familiar-looking man stepped forward.

  “We caught the tsotsis and we called the police. We warned them many times to stay away from th
e doctor and clinic, but they think we’re just old men or women. They think we’re weak. They don’t care about our words, but we showed them.” There were murmurs of agreement in the crowd.

  “Mr. Mahlangu and everybody else saved me,” Daisy whispered. “They came out and risked their lives for me.”

  “Who did this? Where are they?” Mason asked single-mindedly.

  “Dr. Daisy is hurt, and you should take her to the hospital,” Thandiwe advised calmly. “The police and ambulance are on their way, but you’ll probably get her there faster.”

  It was all the distraction Mason needed, especially when Daisy sagged against him even more, and all thought of retribution fled as her well-being became his number one priority. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the Jeep.

  “I’m too heavy,” she protested.

  “You’re in enough shit as it is,” he warned frigidly. “Don’t add to it by talking crap.”

  Daisy snuggled closer; she was cold, hurt, and in shock and so relieved to be in his arms again. She could tell that he was livid, but she had never felt safer.

  She shuddered as she recalled those terrifying moments after she had left the township. Her car had spun out of control, and before she’d known it, she was off the road and being dragged out by vicious hands. They had ransacked the car and taken money, torn her jewelry from her, and when she had fought back, one of them had hit her. Another had pulled a knife out and cut her . . . She sobbed at the thought. They would have done more, so much worse, but the taxies and old, broken-down cars had shown up, and the shouting had started. So many wonderful and brave people had come to her aid. Thandiwe had pulled her aside, while the crowd had proven that when good outnumbered evil there was no way evil could prevail. Before she knew it, the young men—boys, really—had been tied up and shoved to the side of the road. And then, mere minutes later, Mason had shown up. She had never been happier to see him.