Daisy shot a glance at her husband, but obediently placed her armload of sticks at her feet as carefully as if they were a baby.
Oh, shit. From Daisy’s sucked-in breath and how stiffly she moved, Mia could tell it caused the woman pain. “Let’s go into the kitchen. I made sweet tea.” Turning her back, she headed back to the house, anger seething under the surface.
“Oh. You shouldn’t do for me, Miss Mia. Just ask, I’ll be happy to make it . . .” Her voice trailed off fearfully. “Next time?”
Oh, crap. She thought she was being fired. “Thanks, next time I will. I don’t quite have the hang of the simple syrup. You’ll have to show me. Let’s see if Cruz left us any chocolate chip cookies. I’ll give you some to take home to Charlie.”
She gave Cruz a meaningful glance as she went down the hall. He’d already painted the wall going up the stairs a soft, warm, misty gray, and was about to start on the opposite wall. He shook his head and raised his eyes.
He’d told her not to interfere, but how could she not? It had been obvious, just observing Daisy through the kitchen window earlier, that the woman was in a great deal of pain. Mia suspected at least a broken rib. Possibly worse.
She wasn’t just pissed, she was enraged.
Cruz clearly wasn’t used to dealing with a hundred staff problems a day. She was. And while Mia kept herself out of her employees’ personal lives, this was different. She couldn’t turn a blind eye to outright abuse. It was unacceptable on every level.
Daisy’s steps behind her were slow and deliberate.
“It’s way too hot to be working out there in the full sun. Sit down,” Mia told her, keeping her voice upbeat. “I’ll pour.”
“I like the sun. It’s full of vitamin D,” Daisy said defensively as she pulled out one of the ladder-back chairs at the table by the window and gingerly lowered herself into it.
“Oh, I wasn’t criticizing, it’s just—” Criticizing. Crap. “I really appreciate what you’ve been doing around here, and you’re way too valuable for me to lose you to heatstroke.” Shit, that didn’t sound any better. “I like you, Daisy. I don’t want you to get sick.”
Feet in clean but worn tennis shoes, pressed together, Daisy sat very straight, her hands clenched in her lap.
Mia took her time pouring the tea into two ice-filled glasses, enjoying the smell of fresh paint and the green smell of newly mown grass drifting in on the muggy air coming through the open windows and doors. Out in the hallway, Cruz was up on the ladder. It was sweaty work. His strong back flexed as he wielded the roller. She appreciated the fact that he liked wearing as few clothes as possible in this heat. Sweat gleamed on his skin, making it look like polished satin. She couldn’t get enough of him. She wanted to run her tongue up the grove of his spine, then bite him. All over.
Turning back, she carried the glasses to the table. “Let me know if it’s sweet enough,” she told Daisy cheerfully as she sat down.
Daisy curled her fingers around the base of the glass and gave Mia a small smile. “I’m sure it’s exactly right.”
Mia realized that with better care and the aid of a few Blush cosmetics, the other woman would be pretty and look years younger. Now she just looked worn to a nub and absolutely exhausted. Used up.
For once, Mia was at a loss for words—especially now, when diplomacy was called for. She needed a moment to formulate exactly how to approach the delicate and serious matter, and got up again to get the plate of cookies.
“He didn’t eat them all. But that’s only because I hid half the batch. Yay for us.” Sitting down again, she pushed her closed computer aside and made busywork of lining up a small stack of folders nearby. “I’m teaching myself to do things I’ve never tried before.” She gestured toward the folders, the small stack of DVDs. “Baking seems to be pretty easy. It’s scientific. Proportions, measurements, chemical reactions . . . Do you like to cook?’
Daisy smiled slightly. “We like to eat, and Marcel never did take a liking to being in the kitchen. Woman’s work. Men like their dinner on the table at six, don’t they?”
Mia circled her drink with both hands. “I don’t really know. And honestly? I wouldn’t care. If he wanted dinner at a certain time, I’d tell him to make us both dinner at six.”
They shared a smile.
When Daisy started to lift the full glass, she grimaced, then quickly dropped her hand back into her lap and subsided against the chair back.
“Daisy, do you need to go to the hospital?” Even for Mia, the statement was too direct, but she was afraid subtlety would be lost on the other woman if she was dealing with what Mia suspected she was.