The Bride Raffle (21 page)

W
ith all his strength, Owen hoisted a fresh beam into place. He squinted at the stable’s ceiling, gauging the beam’s positioning, then nodded to himself. Everything looked fine.

He’d been planning to make some improvements to the place for a while. Now, faced with the need to stay busier than ever before, he’d decided this week was an appropriate time to act. Already sweating in the July heat, Owen tromped back to his work area. He gathered some nails, preparing for his next task.

Maybe if he labored hard enough, he thought, he would stop thinking about Daisy. Maybe if he strived and hammered and cut, he would cease feeling lonely without her. Maybe he would stop listening for the sound of her laughter. Maybe he would no longer hope to see her, stirring a pot upstairs, at the end of the day, with a welcoming smile on her face and a kiss for him.

Maybe those things would happen, Owen reasoned as he stared at his next length of lumber and prepared to measure
it. Or maybe he would simply lose his wits while hoping for them.

Either way, he couldn’t bear to be idle. So he worked.

“Yoo-hoo!” A knock came at his stable door. “Mr. Cooper!”

With a disgruntled frown, Owen glanced up. Miss O’Neill strode down the hay-strewn aisle toward him. Her fiery hair looked as recognizable as her toothy grin and flirtatious wave. “I’d
hoped
I’d catch you here today!” Stopping in front of him, Miss O’Neill touched his arm, ostensibly to steady herself. “With all the hullabaloo outside, I’d worried I’d miss you.”

“Do you have laundry to deliver?” Owen asked, perplexed.

“No, silly!” She gave him a playful wallop. “I’m not making deliveries
today
. It’s Independence Day! Did you forget?”

Owen reckoned he had. “I’ve been busy. Working.”

“So I see!” She sent an unmistakably admiring gaze toward his musculature. “I guess I ought to have known you wouldn’t take a day from your stable—at least not without some coaxing.”

Her hinting could not have been broader. Owen did not have the patience to indulge her. “Was there something you wanted?”

“Why, for you to stop working and escort me to the annual Independence Day town picnic, of course!” Companionably, Miss O’Neill looped her arm in his, trying to lead him away from his work area. “I know you don’t usually attend, Mr. Cooper, but since we’ve gotten so much
closer
over the past few weeks, I—”

“I’m not attending.” Purposefully, Owen disengaged her arm from his. He patted her hand for emphasis. “I have work to do.”

“Surely
today,
of all days, you don’t!” With a coquettish smile, Miss O’Neill tried again. “Please come with me. I’ve been so counting on it! Now that Miss Walsh is no longer here—”

“The answer is no. Independence Day is one of my busiest days here at the stable. Whether Miss Walsh is still here or not is—” At the thought of her, Owen felt his heart turn over. He wished Miss O’Neill had not mentioned Daisy. “No. Just…no.”

“Are you
sure?
” Miss O’Neill simpered. “Last chance!”

“I assure you,” Owen told her. “You’re a very charming woman, but nothing could pull me away from my stable today.”

“Nothing?” She sighed. “Truly? Not even a willing woman?”

Damnation, she was brazen. That was hardly like her. Granted, Miss O’Neill could be forward, but… “No. Nothing.”

“Well, all right, then.” A pout. “Goodbye, Mr. Cooper!”

With that, Miss O’Neill sashayed out. For a long moment, Owen watched her leave, wondering if he was a fool to refuse her invitation. He’d already lost Daisy…but he’d remembered, despite himself, how nice it could be to have a woman around. Miss O’Neill had made it more than plain that she wanted him. He had every opportunity, he realized, to move on with a new life.

But if that new life couldn’t include Daisy, Owen knew, he didn’t want it. Those were the facts. So he went back to work. Putting Miss O’Neill out of his mind was easy. Forgetting Daisy was not. Somehow, Owen would have to do it all the same.

Downstairs outside the stable, Élodie waited with bated breath for Miss O’Neill to emerge. The moment she did, Élodie and Mrs. Archer both surged forward, eager for any news.

“Well, Abbey?” Mrs. Archer asked. “What did he say?”

“He said no.” Miss O’Neill grinned at that. “I swear, I did my best to offer a winning invitation, but he was adamant. I may as well have been a horse myself, Owen was so uninterested.”

Privately, Élodie felt reassured by that fact. When Mrs. Archer had announced this portion of their plan to her, she’d been justifiably skeptical. But it appeared to have worked.

“I almost overplayed my hand,” Miss O’Neill confessed. “I was
quite
forward. But I assure you, Owen wants no other woman.”

“Excellent.” With her usual pride in a scheme well executed, Mrs. Archer nodded. “I wouldn’t take his rebuff too much to heart, Abbey. We all know you’re a fine woman.”

“As long as Mr. Prestell knows it, that’s all I care about!” Miss O’Neill crowed. “Speaking of whom…I must dash! Astair and I have important plans together. I mustn’t be late.”

She exchanged goodbyes with Mrs. Archer, then hurried away. Watching Miss O’Neill leave, Élodie bit her lip.

“All right, Élodie.” Mrs. Archer turned to her. “Are you ready for your turn? Do you remember what to say?”

Earnestly, Élodie nodded. “Yes, I do. I’m ready.”

Then she drew in a steadying breath and headed inside.

On the day of the Independence Day town picnic, Daisy opened the door at Mrs. Sunley’s home to find her brother and Miss Reardon both standing on the porch, wreathed in smiles.

“Hello!” Thomas said. “Are you ready to go?”

“No.” All the same, Daisy opened the door wider. She gestured for them to enter. “I’m not at all sure about this.”

“That’s why we made a plan!” Thomas said. “Remember?”

“I know, but…” Daisy wrung her hands, casting a faltering
glance at Miss Reardon. She and her brother truly did make a handsome couple—whether they realized it or not. “I don’t think it’s a
good
plan. I’m no good at subterfuge to start with—”

“It’s not subterfuge,” Miss Reardon chimed in. “It’s strategy. And although I wish we’d had time to bring in Mrs. Archer and Miss O’Neill, for their expertise with tactical details, I truly believe time is of the essence. You must act!”

Thomas’s gaze dipped to Daisy’s growing belly. He did not have to add a similar exhortation. Daisy already knew how her brother felt about her delicate condition—and her best chance of continued happiness, too. During their talk at the
Pioneer Press
offices, Daisy had finally confided in Thomas about her baby—and her fears that she’d ruined her chances with Owen, besides. To her relief, her careful and conservative brother had become her greatest ally…even going so far as, with Daisy’s permission, to bring in Miss Reardon to help them plan.

Now their strategy was set to come to fruition—but Daisy had begun having second thoughts. “I know we agreed that I would attend the Independence Day town picnic with you today. But I still don’t understand how that will help me reconcile with Owen. He won’t even be there! Everyone knows Owen doesn’t—”

“He’ll be there,” Thomas interrupted, full of certainty.

“Leave that to us,” Miss Reardon promised. “All right?”

Still, Daisy hesitated. After her talk with Thomas, she’d realized that she’d been wrong about Owen. She hadn’t needed strength enough to
leave
him; she’d needed strength enough to believe he wouldn’t hurt her, the way Conrad had, to believe that Owen
must
have had another reason for behaving the way he had. Now Daisy
did
believe that. All that remained was find
ing Owen and telling him so…at the Independence Day town picnic.

At least, that’s what Thomas and Miss Reardon assured her.

Doubtfully, Daisy gazed at them. Then she lifted her chin. If nothing else, she reasoned, Élodie would be at the picnic. Daisy could find Élodie, apologize for leaving so abruptly and maybe assure herself the little girl was doing fine. That way, even if Owen wasn’t at the picnic—and she personally doubted he would be—the event wouldn’t be an utter loss.

“All right!” Daisy said. “Let’s have ourselves a picnic!”

S
wearing under his breath, Owen glared at his most recently placed beam. It looked crooked. Hellfire. He guessed this was what he got for trying to work while his heart was broken.

With the stable bustling around him, he put his hands on his hips, feeling exasperated. Down the aisle, Gus placed the next boarding horse in a stall. He saw Owen watching, tipped his hat with a downright sullen motion, then kept on working.

Evidently, Gus was still irked at him over Daisy’s being gone. Well, Owen thought, Gus could go on being irked from now till next Sunday. There was no undoing what was already done.

With a sigh, Owen swiped his arm across his brow. His stable was already half-full. Business promised to be especially profitable this year. That should have pleased him. It did not.

“Papa?” Élodie approached, looking somber. “Are you busy?”

“Nope.” Deliberately, Owen dragged himself from his own bad temper. “I’m never too busy for you,
mon petit chou.
”

His daughter appeared tentative. Also, troubled. By now,
it occurred to him, she and Mrs. Archer should have been on their way to the town picnic. Maybe Mrs. Archer had canceled today?

If so, Élodie would be powerfully disappointed.

“What is it?” Owen pressed. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, I was just wondering…” Élodie’s innocent gaze lifted to his. “What’s a bastard? Because I heard some of the ladies at the pharmacy saying Miss Walsh was having a bastard baby.” She inhaled a gulp of air. “But when I asked Mrs. Archer about it, she only shushed me.” Owen felt himself gaping. Élodie cast him an inexplicably…wily?…glance. “’Course, she was one of the ladies saying those gossipy things, so maybe that’s—”

“Mrs. Archer said—” Owen broke off at a sputter, feeling wrathful enough to spit nails. “They said Daisy’s baby was—” He rounded on the empty space surrounding him and Élodie, needing a target for his rage. He stumbled for more words, fists clenched.

“I’m sorry, Papa!” Élodie put up both hands in a peaceable gesture. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. I only thought—”

“I’m not angry,” Owen said to reassure her. Then he realized the truth. He
was
angry. Damn angry. He was angry enough to raise hell with the whole town. “I’m furious.”

“Why? Is a bastard baby a bad thing?” Élodie pulled a face. “Because it
sounded
like a bad thing, the way those ladies were all whispering about it. I felt plumb sorry for Miss Walsh.”

Owen growled at the thought. If people in town had been slandering Daisy… Well, they’d have him to answer to. The whole all-fired lot of them. He knew just where to find them.

At the annual Independence Day gala town picnic.

“That’s why I reckoned I’d better ask you,” Élodie said. She gazed up into his face. “I knew
you’d
know what to do.”

Surprised and humbled by her constant faith in him, Owen gazed down at her. Looking at his daughter’s earnest face and loyal demeanor, he was startled to feel…remorseful.

He’d spent so much time trying to ensure Élodie’s future, it occurred to Owen just then, that he hadn’t spent enough time seeing to her days as they were right now. He’d labored so hard, for so long, to free his daughter from the potential heartache in her future that he’d overlooked the very things that were happening to her right at this moment—like listening to a person she loved be maligned for being brave enough to have a baby all on her own, in a town where she scarcely knew anyone.

Poor Daisy,
Owen thought. Even if he couldn’t be with her the way he wanted to be, she damn well deserved to be treated with respect and kindness. She deserved…more. More than this.

“If you don’t know what to do,” Élodie said further, balling her fists in perfect imitation of his fighting stance, “then I’ll bet
I
do! I’ll tell off those ladies, but good! If you say that’s a bad name to call someone, Papa, I’ll do it!”

Shaking his head at her pugnacious demeanor, Owen put his hand on Élodie’s shoulder. He gave her a comforting squeeze.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll take care of this.”

“You will? Are you sure?” His daughter appeared relieved, yet still fretful. “Because it’s a mighty big problem. As near as I could tell,
all
the ladies in town were talking about it.”

At that, Owen closed his eyes.
Daisy needed him,
he realized. He’d be damned if he would let her down. If no one else would defend her, he swore to himself, Owen Cooper would.

“I’m sure,” he told Élodie. He hugged her. “You put that word clean out of your head, you hear? You won’t ever need it.”

His daughter smiled. Vigorously, she nodded. “All right.”

“Now, run upstairs and get your parasol and your fancy shoes and…and whatever else people take to the Independence Day town picnic.” Helplessly, Owen gestured. “Hurry, or we’ll be late.”

Élodie’s eyes widened. “We’re going to the
town picnic?
”

Her excited squeal drew all eyes to them. At first, Owen scowled. Then he nodded firmly. “Darn tootin’, we are.”

“Hurray!” Waving her arms, Élodie ran upstairs.

From the nearest stall, Gus led in another boarding horse. Then he leaned both arms on the gate. “You ain’t leavin’, boss,” he drawled. “Tell me another stretcher, ’cause I ain’t buyin’—”

“You put up a sign, lock up the place and go home, Gus.” With an expansive wave, Owen added, “Hell, go to the picnic!”

“What? You’re pullin’ my leg!” His helper gestured. “I’ll be damned if there ain’t folks lined up down the street, wanting to board their horses and park their buggies here. If you don’t take their money, they’re liable to head straight on down to—”

“Don’t care. Let them leave.” From a nearby peg, Owen snatched up his hat. “Some things mean more than money.”

Gus boggled. He grinned. “All done savin’ up for a rainy day, boss? Fixin’ to enjoy yourself in the sunshine a spell?”

“Something like that,” Owen allowed, then grabbed his coat.

With her heart pounding in excitement, Élodie raced upstairs. Once there, she flung open the window shutters. She leaned out to give Mrs. Archer their prearranged signal.

On the street below, Mrs. Archer beamed. She signaled too. Then she picked up her skirts and bustled to the square.

Everything was set! Nearly overcome with excitement, Élodie hurried to her bedroom. In a trice, she’d assembled her parasol, her best ruffled gingham sunbonnet, and a necktie for Papa. Downstairs, he’d looked handsome, of course—as usual—but Élodie reckoned this occasion called for something a mite fancier than his usual homespun attire.

Clutching those items, she hurried back to her father. She still didn’t know what a “bastard” was, it occurred to her on the way. Miss O’Neill had suggested the correct vocabulary for her talk with Papa, and although Mrs. Archer had shied away from that particular term, in the end the two older women had agreed.

Doubtless, Élodie reasoned, that word meant something scurrilous. She wasn’t stupid; she’d seen the look of ferocity on Papa’s face. But Élodie couldn’t understand what a tiny, innocent baby could do to deserve to be called names. Besides, by this time next year, Élodie’s new baby brother wouldn’t be worried about that. He’d be enjoying the town picnic, too!

Heartened by that thought, Élodie flew downstairs. It had been a near thing, her misunderstanding Papa’s notions about loving someone again—and Élodie spilling the beans about that misunderstanding. But now, things were almost fixed. Élodie had
not
ruined things between Miss Walsh and her papa—and she’d have herself a brand-new family by the end of the day to prove it!

Humming with excitement, Élodie spotted Papa waiting for her in the stable. She headed directly toward him. They might never have gone together to the Independence Day town picnic before…but judging by the determined look on Papa’s face right now, their first visit would be
plenty
memorable.

With Daisy securely hastened off—in Mrs. Sunley’s capable company—to the Morrow Creek town square for the picnic and all its frolics, Thomas took Miss Reardon’s arm. Together, they left in the opposite direction to finish their part of their scheme: making certain that Owen Cooper wound up at the picnic, too.

“Oh, dear!” Miss Reardon blushed with the effort of walking quickly, her breath coming faster. “I
do
hope we haven’t set ourselves too difficult a task! Mr. Cooper can be so troublesome at times. If we can’t convince him to come with us, so we can present him to Daisy, as we’ve promised…we’re sunk!”

“Don’t worry, Mellie,” Thomas told her. “We’ll do it.”

“But how can you be sure?” She turned her beautiful gaze to his, her skirts swishing along as she moved. “We shouldn’t have promised! We should have waited for Matilda and Abbey to help.”

“I don’t need help,” Thomas proclaimed. “I’m sure.”

“But the situation is so significant!” Miss Reardon said. “We
cannot
fail. There is nothing more important than love.”

“That’s right,” Thomas agreed, reveling in the feeling of her arm in his. “Love is absolutely the most important thing.”

And that’s when it struck him: here he was, chasing through the streets like a madman to assure his sister’s loving union with Owen Cooper…when his own potential love stood ignored, right beside him! Abashed to realize it, Thomas stopped.

“Thomas, what are you doing? Come
on!
We must hurry.”

Pulled back by his arm, Miss Reardon stopped, too. She gazed at him, with her merry eyes and her arresting demeanor, and Thomas knew right then that he could dawdle no longer.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “Time is wasting. That’s why I have to say, I’m wild about you, Mellie. I think about you all the time. I want to be with you night and day. And when all this is finally finished,” Thomas swore, “I promise I will love you—”

“I already
do
love you,” Miss Reardon declared. Then suddenly, with full measure of wonderment and delight, she was kissing him. She was kissing him as Thomas had dreamed of kissing her, so often, if only he could find the courage.

It was marvelous. Better than all his dreams combined.

“There.” She smiled at him. “It’s about time we had that settled between us. We’ll talk more later. You can tell me again how spoonily you think of me.” Another impish grin. “In the meantime, let’s hurry. There’s the stable, straight ahead!”

Miss Reardon grabbed his hand. Thomas let himself be led, dazedly feeling like bursting into poem or song.
Mellie had kissed him,
he thought in a dither.
Mellie properly loved him!

By his side, she appeared lively, too. Surely this was a good omen for the day. But then they reached the stable, Thomas tried the door…and all his good cheer faded into dust.

“It’s locked.” He looked around, baffled. “The stable is closed.” Thomas chased the perimeter. “No one is here at all.”

“But how can that be?” Miss Reardon asked, following him.

“I don’t know. Owen Cooper nearly never leaves here.”

Thomas scratched his head, pondering it. Miss Reardon gazed at him in equal befuddlement. Almost at once, they came to identical—and identically worrisome—conclusions on the matter.

“If Mr. Cooper isn’t here,” Mellie fretted at the stable door, “then how can we bring him to Daisy at the town picnic?”

Sobering quickly, Thomas frowned. “We can’t.”

At the thought of his sister, alone and expectant at the gala town picnic—at
his
urging—Thomas wanted to groan with dismay. What had they done? Worse, what were they to do now?