just like it always does, so you’d have this weird pulsing elbow. So this female tissue, well, it behaves normally, only it’s in the wrong place. That can cause a lot of pain. Especially once a month.”
“I get the picture,” he said.
Chance wasn’t sure whether Daisy’s endometriosis had anything to do with her decision to flee from his house and avoid him afterward. It certainly introduced a complication that would affect any man she married. But a guy worth his salt married for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.
Wait a minute. Why was he thinking about Daisy in connection with marriage?
They weren’t even dating, let alone close to becoming engaged. In fact, she’d just thrown him out of her apartment.
Elise regarded him shrewdly. “So have I put you off my friend?” she asked.
“You mean because she has this condition?” he said. “No.”
“I probably shouldn’t have said anything.” She stood up and carted her dishes to the counter. “Me and my big mouth.”
“I’m your brother.”
“Yeah, but she likes you.”
“You think so?” The observation lifted his spirits.
“I’ve seen Daisy around a lot of guys,” Elise said. “You’re different. It wasn’t anything she said or did, exactly. It was that, well, I could tell she was aware of you every second.”
He waited, hoping for more concrete details of the way she’d looked at him, or a comment she’d made after the party.
“You’re doing the dishes, right?” said his sister, seemingly unaware of his hunger for more details about the elusive Daisy.
ALL FRIDAY MORNING Daisy’s stomach churned. At first she thought she might be coming down with a virus, but toward lunchtime she got hungry.
It wasn’t the first time she’d felt queasy since the doctor changed her medication. It hadn’t helped that, lacking medical insurance because she was self-employed, Daisy had allowed a few weeks to elapse while she waited to have her new prescription filled through a cheap mail-order pharmacy.
Going on and off medication must have played havoc with her hormones. Yet she couldn’t justify the cost of another doctor visit when she felt certain the situation would resolve itself as her system adjusted.
“You feeling better?” asked her assistant, Sean, as he carted a collage from Gallery III into the back room. They had to take down one exhibit and put up the new one today.
“Yes. In fact, I’m starving,” she admitted. “Is that the last piece?”
“All done,” he confirmed.
Daisy stepped into the bare-walled gallery. She’d been visualizing the new exhibit ever since she’d arranged for the one-woman show months ago. It would be the artist’s first major exhibit in the United States, and invitations to Saturday night’s wine and cheese opening had been mailed last week.
Shakira Benjamin was a gifted African-American painter and teacher who’d had a studio in Germany before relocating to Mesa, near Phoenix, about a year ago. Daisy felt lucky to have her affiliated with the gallery.
“What now?” asked Sean, joining her. A recent college graduate, he wore his blond hair long and unstyled, hanging over the shoulders of a blue workshirt.
As usual, bits of sawdust clung to his jeans. The loft where he lived and worked on his wood sculptures was no doubt coated with the stuff.
“We’ll need to put these up.” She indicated a pile of rough-textured cloths in the three primary colors.
The artist’s acrylic paintings placed superrealistic images of people on impressionistic backgrounds, in sepia or black-and-white tones reminiscent of old photographs. The overall effect would be harsh without offsetting color on the walls.
Daisy’s favorite was a painting of two Native American children, one in traditional buckskin and the other in modern clothes, playing a game that resembled jacks. The blurry background might be viewed as either a cluster of ancient multilevel pueblos or as a modern cityscape.
“Okay, where do you want me to hang this?” Sean picked up a yellow burlap rectangle.
“I’ll show you.” Daisy fetched a folding ladder and placed it against the back wall. As she climbed, a momentary light-headedness made her halt. “Wow. I must be hungrier than I thought.”
“Do you want me to make a sandwich run?”
“In a minute.” After descending, she handed Sean a sketch she’d made, showing how the rectangles should be draped to complement the paintings. “Think you can handle it?”
“Sure.” His can-do attitude, which she’d appreciated when he first came here as a student intern, was the reason she’d hired him. Working alongside him, she had learned she could rely on his excellent artistic judgment.
“We probably won’t be able to finish mounting everything and adjusting the lights till tomorrow.” Daisy hoped the light-headedness was only a temporary phenomenon, because it was going to be a busy day. “I’ve got a commitment in the afternoon for a few hours, so we’ll have to do it early.”
“Okay by me.”
She didn’t mind that Elise and Phoebe had more or less coerced her into going shopping with them on Saturday afternoon. All the same, she hoped they found dresses quickly.
Bells jingled as the front door opened. Daisy brushed lint off her ivory blouse and calf-length, striped tan and blue skirt—one of her mother’s creations—and went to check on the visitor.
Bright daylight silhouetted Chance Foster’s well-built frame. Even when the door closed, the glare faded slowly, and it was a moment before she realized he was carrying a pizza and a carton of drinks.
His self-possessed stance and the welcoming indentation in his cheek couldn’t hide the hunger in his gaze. How could a man look so pleasantly accommodating and so virile at the same time?
“I hope you haven’t eaten,” he said.
Before Daisy could reply, Sean appeared at her elbow. “Wow!” he said. “You sent out?” Then he noticed Chance’s tailored suit. “Must be some snazzy restaurant if their delivery guys dress like this!”
“We aim to please.” Chance set the pizza and drinks on a low front table that held informational pamphlets. “Chance Foster. I’m a friend of Daisy’s.” Sean introduced himself, and the two men shook hands.
It would be rude to reject his offering of food after he’d gone to so much trouble, Daisy told herself. Besides, the scents of cheese and spices were enough to overpower even the most iron will. “Thanks,” she said.
“It’s Mexican-style pizza.” Chance cleared the pamphlets aside while Sean fetched folding chairs. Ordinarily Daisy ate in the back room, but it would be cramped for the three of them, so she didn’t protest.
A middle-aged couple wandered into the gallery. They smiled at the lunchtime tableau and began browsing through the Gallery I exhibit of beaded jewelry and headdresses.
The hot sausage and chili peppers on the pizza gave Daisy a moment’s pause. She was too hungry to resist, however, and found that they didn’t upset her stomach as much as she’d feared.
“I work a block away,” Chance explained to Sean. “I’m a family law attorney.”
“So how do you two know each other?” the young man asked guilelessly.
“His sister…”
“…lives next door…”
“…ran into each other…”
“…engagement party.”
They