The Bride Raffle (20 page)

“T
hank you, Gus.” With relief and chagrin, Daisy took Gus’s hand in hers. She shook it. “I truly appreciate your help.”

“Pshaw. T’weren’t nothin’,” Owen’s helper told her. “I’m happy to help you bring over your things from the stable.” He aimed his jaw toward the trunks and crated books he’d helpfully delivered to her at Mrs. Sunley’s home, where Daisy had been staying. “You’re welcome anytime. If you need anything else, you just call on Gus Winston. I’ll come a’running straight over.”

“I strongly doubt Miss Walsh intends on needing anything more from
you,
Mr. Winston,” Mrs. Sunley said from her perch in her favorite chair. Regally she dismissed him. “But you may continue to flatter her at will, if Miss Walsh agrees to it.”

Daisy couldn’t help blushing. Mrs. Sunley could be blunt at times, and even quite salty in her remarks. But she was also remarkably kindhearted. Mrs. Sunley’s crusty demeanor hid a gentle and compassionate woman of some means—a woman who had, surprisingly, been the first to offer Daisy lodgings when she’d arrived, forlorn and tear-stained, at Thomas’s
offices a few days ago. Since then, Daisy had grown very fond of Mrs. Sunley.

“See that?” Mrs. Sunley pointed at Daisy. “You’ve already put some color back in her cheeks. Hurry up!” she instructed Gus. “Do it again! Flatter her some more, you dimwit!”

The poor stable helper stammered, clearly at a loss.

“That’s all right, Gus,” Daisy said, coming to his rescue as best she could. She released his hand. “You’ve done enough.”

“Hmmph. You deserve a lot more, is what I say.” Hat in hand, Gus eyed her compassionately. “After the low-down way Mr. Cooper treated you, I reckon you might need some mollycoddling.”

Unfortunately, his remark only reminded Daisy of the kind things Owen had done—bringing her hot ginger tea, hauling wood for the stove, rubbing her feet after a long day’s tutoring.

With a frown, she shook herself from those recollections. They wouldn’t do her any good now. Now everything had changed.

Maybe she should have stayed at the stable a bit longer, Daisy thought bitterly. Maybe she should have stayed to hear Owen enumerate all the reasons he could not love her. Maybe then she would have found it easier to carry on without him.

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Winston,” said Mrs. Sunley.

“All I mean is, everybody was plumb happy a week ago,” Gus went on, undeterred, “and now everyone’s wretched miserable!”

That piqued Daisy’s interest. “Owen is miserable?”

“I’ll say!” Gus nodded fervently. “He’s ornery like the last bear at a honeycomb, too. Grumbles like there’s nothin’
but bees in his life.” The helper shook his head. “And poor Élodie—”

“Well,
do
have a fine afternoon, Mr. Winston!” Mrs. Sunley bustled toward him, literally herding him toward the door with her impressively unfurled fan. “Thank you again! Goodbye!”

Concerned, Daisy followed them. “‘Poor Élodie’?” she repeated. “What’s the matter with Élodie? Is she all right?”

On the front porch, Gus faced her. He cast a tentative glance at Mrs. Sunley, then put on his hat. “That little girl just misses you sorely, Miss Walsh, that’s all I meant,” he said with noticeable kindness. “I ain’t never seen Élodie take a shine to nobody the way she did you, and that’s the truth.”

“Élodie will be fine!” Mrs. Sunley boomed. “Off you go!”

As though fearing for his manhood, Gus legged it back toward the stable. Watching him go, Daisy sighed. It was bad enough that she missed Owen. Missing Élodie was terrible, too.

When she’d left Owen’s home, Daisy had been too distraught to properly consider Élodie. Now Daisy wished anew that she’d talked with Élodie herself. She wished she’d told the little girl that she loved her and would miss her. She wished she’d apologized for everything…everything that might have been for all of them, and now would never be.

“You know, I’d actually begun to think of us as a family,” Daisy confided to Mrs. Sunley in a wistful tone. She clutched the porch railing, remembering. “Me and Owen and Élodie, I mean. I know it’s silly. I scarcely spent two weeks in their company! All the same, I can’t help wishing we could have—”

“Thinking about what might have been is no good for anyone,” Mrs. Sunley announced. With fierce practicality, she strode back inside. At the doorway, she noticed Daisy hadn’t followed. She doubled back. “You’ve got to go on with your life, child.” Her voice softened. “Anything less will ruin you.”

At Mrs. Sunley’s insightful tone, Daisy started. She glanced at her companion, belatedly remembering that Viola had outlived both her husbands. Undoubtedly, those difficult times had taught Mrs. Sunley a few things about being resilient.

“Besides, any man who wants you ought to earn you,” the older woman went on, aiming a puckish glance in her direction. “Unless Owen Cooper can conjure up a powerfully impressive show of love and devotion, I guess he’s already had his chance.”

“Well, you do have a point there.” Daisy couldn’t deny that. She couldn’t think of anything Owen could do that would restore her faith in him. Her trust had been sorely damaged. “But we oughtn’t bandy that about
too
much, lest we tempt fate. Mr. Cooper
can
be mighty persuasive when he wants to be.”

Thanks to his scoundrelly, too-charming past.

She’d truly believed that past was behind him, Daisy couldn’t help remembering. How could she have been so wrong?

Drawing in a bolstering breath, Daisy put her hand on her belly. She
had
been wrong, she reminded herself. She guessed she’d have to live with that. Thanks to Owen, she now knew she was strong enough to do that…even if she didn’t want to.

As she turned to go inside, a glimmer of movement caught her eye. Daisy squinted. Far down the street, she glimpsed a
familiar red-haired woman getting into a hired carriage. At her side, a nattily dressed man with a bowler hat helped her alight.

“Mrs. Sunley…” Daisy pointed. “Isn’t that Miss O’Neill?”

The widow looked. “Hmmph. Maybe. It’s no concern of ours.”

What a peculiar reply. “Who’s that man with her?”

“Some highfalutin fellow from the East.” Mrs. Sunley’s disparaging sniff made her opinion plain. “Astair Prestell.”

Astair Prestell
. Fascinated, Daisy stared. She’d expected to catch a glimpse of that renowned speaker when she’d gone to collect her earnings from Conrad at the Lorndorff Hotel. Then, she’d been disappointed. Now, she kept watching.

“Have Miss O’Neill and Mr. Prestell been spending a great deal of time together, then?” she asked.
Maybe that meant,
Daisy thought,
that Miss O’Neill had decided against setting her cap for Owen.
“Mr. Prestell
does
seem quite Miss O’Neill’s type.”

“Male? Unmarried? Upright and breathing?” A head shake. “Yes. He quite does.” Mrs. Sunley gestured. “Come along now.”

“I wonder where they’re going in that carriage?”

“You won’t have to wonder for long,” Mrs. Sunley opined. “Miss O’Neill has a mouth on her like a roadrunner has feet. By nightfall, the whole town will know where she went and why.”

Daisy grinned. “I thought Miss O’Neill was your friend!”

“She is.” Mrs. Sunley folded her fan with a snap. “That doesn’t mean I can’t see what’s right in front of me. I like
you
all right, too, but I can still see you’re addlepated over Mr. Cooper.”

Daisy winced. She clenched the porch rail more tightly.

“
And
I can still see you’ve got a hopeful future,” Mrs. Sunley added in a gentler tone. “Why don’t I make us some tea?”

Decisively, Daisy straightened. “No, thank you. I’ve just decided—there’s someone I need to see.”

“Not Owen Cooper, I hope! I used to like
him,
too, until—”

“No, not Mr. Cooper,” Daisy assured her. She hurried to Mrs. Sunley, then gave her a hug. “Thank you. For everything.”

The older woman blinked. Then she bristled. She brandished her fan, waving it like a weapon. “Off! Off! That’s enough.”

Smiling to herself, Daisy ended her embrace. Then she went inside to fetch her hat. Within moments, she was on her way.

“And so that’s why,” Élodie told an astonished-looking Mrs. Archer, “we need a new plan, to set things right again.”

“I see.” Mrs. Archer glanced around Élodie and Papa’s front room, taking in the unread newspapers, cast-off clothing and haphazardly abandoned home-keeping projects that Élodie and her father hadn’t had the vitality to take care of. “Evidently, I missed a great deal while I was away visiting in Avalanche.”

“Yes, you certainly did!” Élodie assured her. “While you were spending time with your sister, Papa fell in love with Miss Walsh. Miss Walsh fell in love with Papa. We all started thinking up names for my new baby brother. I learned to sew, knit, embroider and even cook soup! But then Miss Walsh left us.” She heaved a sigh, still feeling poorly about that. “I
told
Papa he could fix it. Because he can fix
anything!
But he only gave me a hug, with those faraway eyes of his, and he
told me, ‘Not this time,
mon petit chou
,’ even though I
know
he could do it.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Archer frowned, appearing deep in thought. “I believe he could fix things, too. The question is… Should he?”

Élodie frowned. Loyally, she said, “Of course he should!”

“And you say you’re getting a new baby brother soon?”

“Well, I think it will be a baby boy. Papa does, too,” Élodie confided, feeling relieved to have someone to unburden herself to. Papa was awful these days at listening to her. All he did was mope around and work at the stable from dawn till dusk. “Miss Walsh said we had at
least
six or seven months to wait before we found out for sure.”

“Six or seven months?” Mrs. Archer looked at her piercingly. “Are you sure she said ‘six or seven months,’? Not longer?”

“I’m sure. Because when Miss Walsh told me that, I remember feeling sorry we might not have the new baby in time for Christmas.” Suddenly remembering something else, Élodie drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes widened. “Only I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody about that! About the baby, I mean. Oh, no! I—”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, dear,” Mrs. Archer gave her a warm smile and a pat on the hand. “I’m not just ‘anybody,’ after all. And you had to tell me so we could make up a new plan.”

Excitedly, Élodie sat up. “Then you’ve thought of one?”

“Yes. I’ve thought of one.” Wearing a decisive expression, Mrs. Archer cast a thoughtful glance toward the stairs leading to the stable. Her gaze shifted to the shuttered window, beyond which Morrow Creek went about its usual workaday routines. “But it will require
very
careful handling this time—
more so than even our last plan. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

“Oh, yes!” Feeling more eager by the moment, Élodie smiled. “If it will make Papa happy again, I’m ready for anything!”

“Good.” Mrs. Archer nodded. “Then here’s your part…”

U
pon reaching the door of his office at the
Pioneer Press
, Thomas waved his hand. He showed Daisy inside. “Here we are!”

“Thank you, Thomas. I’m so happy you could see me.”

“Naturally I could see you! You’re my sister.” Trying not to show his concern at Daisy’s increasingly careworn appearance, Thomas perched himself casually on his desk, in a pose suggested by Miss Reardon. She had mentioned that his employees and visitors might find him less “stiff” if he came out from behind his desk occasionally. Thomas had learned to enjoy his new stance. He adjusted his spectacles. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine! Fine,” Daisy assured him. “I’m very well.”

Thomas didn’t believe her. It didn’t take a man of huge intellect to glimpse the dark shadows under her eyes…the lines of fretfulness on her face and the paleness of her complexion.

In the days since Daisy had arrived at his office, upset and essentially homeless, his sister had only gotten worse,
it seemed. Further worried by that fact, Thomas crossed his arms.

“So…everything is fine. You’re well. And you decided to pay me a visit to assure me of that? That’s very thoughtful.”

“Yes.” Daisy gave him a wan smile. She folded her hands in her lap. “I was talking with Mrs. Sunley today—don’t make that nasty face, Thomas, she’s a lovely woman!—and something she said gave me an idea. An idea I’ll need
your
help with executing.”

“Anything you want.” Thomas meant it. “After all, it’s because of me that you’re here in Morrow Creek at all.”

Unhappily so, too,
Thomas thought, feeling partly responsible for that, as well. He knew that Daisy had left her publisher, Barker & Bowles. He knew that she’d parted ways with Conrad Parish, her former speaking-engagements tour manager. He knew that she’d suspended her cross-country speaking tour.

He knew, most remarkably of all, that she was having a
baby,
because Owen Cooper had told him so. What Thomas
didn’t
know was when Daisy would tell him that extraordinary news herself—when she would confide in her elder brother as she ought to do. The fact that she hadn’t yet upset and worried him.

At first, Thomas had thought he’d understood everything. Especially after Cooper had corralled him in his stable and delivered him an unstinting message
not
to upset Daisy. Thomas had thought it patently obvious: the two of them were in love.

But now, since Daisy had abruptly left the Coopers’ home, Thomas felt much less certain about his original assessment—and much more apprehensive about his sister’s future prospects.

“All right, then.” Brightly, his sister eyed him. “Here it is—I’d like a job, Thomas. A position at the newspaper, to
be precise.” Daisy sat up straighter. “I could write about home keeping! With recipes! You said yourself the raffle was absurdly popular. Surely your readership would enjoy learning more.”

“I’m sure they would.” Worriedly, he gazed at her. “You are a wonderful writer and a talented homemaker, with a great deal of expertise to share. But is now truly the best time for this? You seem so—”
Miserable,
Thomas thought.
Hopeless
. He tried again. It was no use. “You seem so very unhappy.”

Daisy appeared stricken. “Well, that’s why I want to keep busy. That…and the fact that I can’t rely on Mrs. Sunley’s kindness forever. Nor can I stay stuck in one place, refusing to move ahead. I’m moving on! That’s why I want your help.”

“And what do you think Owen Cooper would say about this?”

“Owen?” Daisy’s mouth dropped open. She shook her head. “He has nothing to do with this. This is
my
life. My life alone.”

My life…on my own,
Thomas heard, and felt doubly sorry.

How would Daisy manage with a baby…and no husband? Thomas had to tread carefully though, lest he upset Daisy even further.

“Mr. Cooper wants to take care of you,” he said gently. “I realize you’re having some…troubles right now, but surely before too much longer you and Mr. Cooper will reconcile?”

“I can’t imagine it. The fact is, you’re wrong, Thomas. Owen never wanted to take care of me.” Daisy stared at her hands, twisting them in her lap. “I realize it may have seemed that way at first. It did to me. But Owen had…other plans.”

Baffled, Thomas watched her. “He had plans to marry you.”

His sister scoffed. “Please. I seriously doubt that. I realize Owen Cooper can be powerfully persuasive at times, but—”

“He asked my permission to marry you,” Thomas insisted, certain on the matter. “That day in the stable? Remember? That’s what he wanted to talk to me about. He wanted to ask for your hand in marriage. Since I’m your nearest male relative, I was in a position to—”

“Owen asked to
marry
me?” Daisy appeared dumbfounded.

“Yes.” Her gob-smacked expression made him grin. “He did.”

“When?”

“That day, in the stable, a week or so ago.” Thomas frowned, not understanding why his sister was so surprised. Surely Cooper hadn’t kept his intentions to himself? “The day you served us lemonade and jumble cookies, and Miss Reardon came with me to call on you and Mr. Cooper, with Miss O’Neill.”

“Why?” Daisy’s astounded gaze swiveled to his. “Did Owen say why? Did he think I had a huge dowry? A family fortune?”

At that, Thomas laughed outright. “Quite the opposite. In fact, Owen spent much of his time assuring
me
he could provide for
you,
should the need arise. He seemed…unsure how you would respond. He seemed to be under the impression that you and Mr. Parish had some sort of connection to one another. But if that wasn’t the case, Owen said, he hoped to beg for your hand himself.”

Feeling frightfully curious, Thomas peered at his sister, trying to gauge her expression. He’d discussed this matter at length with Miss Reardon, during which time they’d concluded that Daisy could not possibly have been attracted to someone like Conrad Parish…but she could definitely love Owen Cooper.

“So,” Thomas probed, “which man will it be? Mr. Parish? Or Mr. Cooper?” He considered things further. “If it’s Mr.
Parish, then you’ll have to catch a train to chase him, because he’s already left town. According to the frightfully loquacious Miss O’Neill, Mr. Astair Prestell dismissed Mr. Parish on very short notice. Miss O’Neill says that Mr. Prestell has agreed to speak at the Independence Day picnic, which is why he is still here in town. It will be quite a coup for us all!” Thomas blinked, belatedly realizing he’d lost the thread of his conversation. He regrouped, then smiled at Daisy. “If it’s Mr. Cooper who’s your choice, then… Well, no worries at all!”

“No worries?” Daisy quirked her lips, appearing deeply regretful. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Why not? As Virgil said, ‘Love conquers all things,’ does it not?” Thomas angled his head at her. “
I
think it does.”

“Leave it to you to offer up ancient quotations.”

“Daisy…” Patiently Thomas waited until she looked at him. “Do you love Mr. Cooper? If you do, that’s truly all that matters. From there on, all you need is the courage to act.”

“Aha. ‘Fortune favors the bold,’ then?”

“See? Mr. Virgil has much to offer us all.”

Daisy smiled. “But
I’ve
never been bold, Thomas. Never.”

“Hmm. I don’t know about that.” Thomas mulled it over, chin in hand. “You wrote a cookery book of your own. You left home and embarked on a cross-country speaking tour. You jumped off a train and came here. You took on the challenge of tutoring a little girl and her curmudgeonly father.” He couldn’t help grinning at that. “And you just barged in here and demanded—
demanded!
—that I give you a position at my newspaper. If those aren’t bold actions, I don’t know what are.”

“But I didn’t do any of those things for
myself!
” Daisy protested. “I did them for Barker & Bowles. Or for Conrad. Or for Élodie and Owen. Or for—” She broke off, cradling her belly. Then she glanced up at him. “The point is… I’m afraid.”

“Everyone is afraid sometimes.” Thomas smiled at her as encouragingly as he could. “You mustn’t be too hard on yourself for that. Besides, you’re living in the Wild West now! There’s no place like this territory for being bolder than ever before.”

“You’re always the optimist.” Appearing unconvinced, Daisy shook her head. “But because I was
so
afraid before, I think I misjudged Owen horribly. And now it’s too late to fix it.”

“It’s never too late,” Thomas promised her. “Never.”

His sister seemed to consider that for a moment. Then she gave him a teasing smile. “Really? It’s never too late?” Daisy asked. “Is that what you tell yourself when you delay, yet again, with telling Miss Reardon how you truly feel about her?”

Caught, Thomas fussed with his trouser braces. “Well…” He grinned at his sister. “Let’s tackle one issue at a time, shall we? Exactly how,” he pressed, “will we cope with Owen Cooper?”