“Miss Montgomery?” A sharp, reedy voice pierced the quiet. “If the mountain won’t come to Mohammad, then Mohammad will…”
A woman appeared at the threshold, her small, sharp eyes narrowing behind thick spectacles, which she promptly lowered to the tip of her hawkish nose. She took her time looking him over—from the nightshirt to his exposed legs—before finishing, with ominous finality:
“...come to the mountain.”
Must come, he mentally corrected her.Mohammad must come to the mountain…
Well, at least his brain wasn’t completely useless. He’d only forgotten the important matters. Like who he was. Where he lived. His entire damned life up until this moment.
Having no plausible explanation for his presence or his lack of trousers, he wisely held his tongue.
He might have misplaced his identity, but he hadn’t forgotten the value of discretion. And if Daisy had already devised some explanation, anything he might say to the contrary would only worsen her predicament.
The older woman standing in the threshold, however, had no such reservations.
“What sort of immoral behavior are you exposing young Gilbert to? He’s naught but a child!” Her voice rose an octave, shaking with righteous fury. “I would think that you, of all people, would know better than to…” The quivering hand she clutched over her chest made it seem as though she might faint dead away.
He doubted it.
“As I live and breathe,” she continued, each word landing like a gavel striking a courtroom bench, “your dear AuntTheodora would be rolling in her grave to witness such goings-on.”
Her bright, beady gaze returned to him, pinning him with all the force of an executioner’s axe, and then swung back to Daisy.
“Pray tell, why is there a naked man standing in your kitchen?”
“He isn’t naked, Mrs. Farley!” Daisy’s brother, Gilbert, pointed out while Daisy stepped forward as if to shield him.
"Wait. Please." Daisy lifted a hand, her voice steadier than he expected, but edged with wariness. "This isn’t what you think it is."
But even to his own ears, she sounded uncertain. Apologetic.
Because of him.
His very presence had placed this woman—his savior—in a precarious situation.
"Oh?" Mrs. Farley’s voice dripped with disapproval. "Then, by all means, enlighten me."
He opened his mouth—only to realize he had nothing to say.
Curse it all, he didn’t know his own name, much less a plausible explanation that might appease this fire-breathing octogenarian.
Daisy, however, was scrambling, her eyes darting about the kitchen as though the perfect excuse might be hiding behind the sugar tin.
Mrs. Farley’s lips pursed into a thin, judgmental line. “I should have known something like this would happen the moment your aunt passed.”
Daisy’s head snapped up. “That was nearly four years ago!”
Mrs. Farley sniffed. “What difference does that make? I imagine this unseemly side of your character would have come to light eventually.”
Daisy’s nostrils flared, but Mrs. Farley charged ahead.
“I warned Theodora. I told her, 'That girl needs a husband before she gets too old.' But no, she insisted you knew what was best.” She wagged a gnarled finger. “And now, left to your own devices, you’ve fallen into a life of sin.”
“I have not fallen into a life of sin!”
Mrs. Farley arched a brow, clearly unconvinced.
Daisy’s jaw tightened. Then she lifted her chin and declared, “This man is… my husband.”
