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“We’ll call you in the morning.”
They all filed out after hugging her, men included. Once she was alone, she sighed and stretched out on her bed, too exhausted for anything. Her mind wouldn’t stop racing with the news of her having a half-sister. Violet and Iris were sisters to her as they’d all grown up together, the others in that house as well, but this was someone who she actually shared blood with. It was…different.
* * * *
She woke several hours later to find Violet had called a few times. After a much-needed shower, food, and unpacking her bags, Daisy sat on her couch, speaking to her sister via speaker phone.
“Do you want me to come home?” Violet questioned.
“No.”
“No?”
She tugged on a pair of pink fuzzy socks with eyeballs on each toe. “I mean, of course I want to see you, Vi. But you’re off doing important things.”
“Family comes first. You need me, I’ll hop the first flight home.”
“I’ll be okay, just a lot for me to take in and I’m worried because I still haven’t heard from Iris.”
“Me either, but I heard about that storm over the Rockies. You know she’ll be safe in the house. It’s older but for the most part it’s ready for winter.” A clearing of her throat. “Plus we can’t forget that she’s good with that outdoorsy stuff.”
Daisy laughed. “We all are. Remember we took classes and grew up in the outdoors.”
“Yes but you and I have grown accustomed to, I don’t know, indoor plumbing and electricity, whereas I think Iris is fine so long as she has Piros with her.”
That was true. Piros was their sister’s Vizsla, who she wasn’t without.
“Be safe, Violet. I’ll see you when you get home. Where are you off to next?”
“I’m always careful. From here I’m going to Djibouti.”
“Let me know when you’re leaving Papua and when you land in Djibouti.”
“Always, sister. You know, just because you share DNA with one of them, you’re not any less ours. We claimed you long ago and you’re ours first.”
“Love you too, Vi.”
“Ditto, Daisy. I’ll call you when I can.”
Her sister was gone and she exhaled slowly, not happy to be without them for the holidays. Thinking about the offer from Xaya and that group, she shook her head as she meandered into the kitchen and began pulling out pans for baking. Outside the small bungalow that she rented, snow blew around, making her world winter white.
She’d just turned on her KitchenAid when a knock came to her door. Making sure it was on the slowest speed so she didn’t overmix the batter, she padded to the door and pulled it open as she wiped her fingers off on the towel over her shoulder.
Holy shit.
She’d experienced a lot of things and a lot of fantasy visions in her time, but this wasn’t one of them.
Neither fantasy, nor expected.
The man who stood on her stoop was none other than Mr. Rhodes, the senior one, who’d called her ‘the help’.
“Can I help you?”
“Get your ass off my property. You have twenty-four hours to vacate.” He slapped a paper onto her chest that she caught by reflex.
“Excuse me?”
“Tell my son this is what happens when he fucks with me. You’re lucky I’m giving you the twenty-four hours.”
He strode down the shoveled walkway and slid into the back of an idling black SUV. It pulled away and she remained there, holding the sheet against her chest until the taillights were gone.
Uncertain of anything, she stepped back inside and read the letter.
The bastard hadn’t been lying. She had to leave. Daisy sank to the floor and cried. She didn’t know what to do or how to fix this. A few days before Christmas and she was being forced out of her home.
Correction.
Had been evicted.
Chapter Ten
Livingston fumbled for his phone, determined to stop the cursed ringing. He’d pretty much lived in his office as he struggled to come back from the shitstorm that had run rampant through his company.
“What?”
“Don’t fucking snap at me,” Hastings growled back at him. “I’m helping you best I can. This isn’t exactly my forte here.”
His brother had come home, yet together they still hadn’t been able to locate Bradford. Christmas had come and gone. Livingston was in a mood fouler than hell’s air. No brother, no Daisy, and no end in sight to this fucking mess.
“Sorry. What do you need?” Livingston shoved a hand through his hair.
“Nothing, he’s coming in.” His brother didn’t even ask.
“Hastings, I told you, damn it, I wasn’t seeing people.”
“Don’t give a fuck,” a deep voice announced from the doorway.
Spinning in his chair, Livingston stared at the man filling his doorway. Gareth Ericsson. Blond hair in messy disarray and blue eyes alive with flames, the man stalked across the room, didn’t slow, just bent and picked him up from where he sat in the chair and tossed him up against the wall.
