The Bride Raffle (4 page)

T
orn between outright worry and gleeful exuberance, Thomas Walsh paced across the crowded train-depot platform in Morrow Creek. By now, he knew, Daisy should have arrived. The first westbound train had already come and gone. There’d been no sign of his sister aboard it. He hadn’t had a letter or a telegraph wire contradicting their plans, either. So where was she?

Wondering exactly that, Thomas peered through his spectacles at the train track. Not even a puff of smoke drifted along the horizon, foretelling the imminent arrival of the next train. All that stood between him and the apparent raw edge of the territory were dozens of Morrow Creek residents, a large quantity of festive bunting, several painted signs and the town’s amateur musical troupe, which Thomas had employed to—

Well, the specifics of the greeting he’d arranged for Daisy didn’t bear thinking about right now. The important thing was, everything had gone off without a hitch…even if it
had
gotten a bit out of hand, the way things sometimes did for Thomas.

He didn’t really mind that, though. The plain truth was that the festivities surrounding him were responsible for his current state of exuberance. He’d pulled off another coup at the
Pioneer Press!
Since he’d begun writing about the imminent raffle drawing, circulation had gone up over two hundred percent. The presses were working overtime. Thomas—and his boss, Adam Crabtree—couldn’t be anything but cheerful about that. At least
he
couldn’t…until he spied a certain broad-shouldered, dark-haired, dauntingly familiar Morrow Creek resident moving toward the depot: the livery-stable owner, brawny Owen Cooper. Owen surveyed the assemblage through his unnervingly perceptive gaze, joined the throngs on the platform, then examined the crowd again, clearly searching for someone.

Whoever it was, Thomas felt sorry for them. Owen’s presence was naturally intimidating. The man was pleasant to him—if a bit reticent. Still, it was impossible to mistake the stable owner’s assured stance, agile movements and sheer strength for anything less than what they were: elemental shows of raw, male primacy. Women felt that dominance; men respected it. Even Thomas, whose naturally high spirits suddenly felt somewhat quashed by Owen’s presence, had to admit he was intrigued by the man.

Curiously, Thomas leaned sideways for an improved view. He watched avidly as Owen stalked through the assemblage. If not for the fact that Owen was a devoted father and a capable businessman, it occurred to Thomas he might have feared the man. As it was, he
liked
his neighbor. He had no reason to—

Oh, no. Owen turned his head. He’d spied Thomas.

He squared his shoulders and headed directly for him.

Gulping back an apprehensive breath, Thomas made himself hold his ground. Surely Owen Cooper had no quarrel with him! During his time in Morrow Creek, they’d scarcely exchanged more than pleasantries on the street. More than likely, the stable owner didn’t even know who Thomas was. Not precisely. That meant that his formidable gaze couldn’t possibly be directed at Thomas himself. There had to be someone nearby him. Someone else, who—

“Walsh!” Owen’s voice boomed across the platform.

Thomas discovered an urgent need to be elsewhere. He swiveled, searching for an escape route. But by now, more than a few inquisitive Morrow Creek residents had stopped what they were doing to watch the unfolding drama between their eastern newspaper editor and their steadfast local stable owner.

“Walsh!” Owen’s sure-footed strides rapidly consumed the space dividing them. Their neighbors scattered to make way, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Don’t pretend you can’t see me, Walsh. I have a bone to pick with you. I intend to be heard.”

One of the women near Thomas nudged her companions. The three women exchanged avid glances, the kind of glances filled with feminine interest and fluttery flirtatiousness that Thomas himself, as a bookish editor, rarely received. The realization discouraged him. Why should Owen Cooper have all the fun?

Bravely Thomas turned to confront the stable owner. Instantly, he realized exactly why Cooper had all the fun—at least in a manner of speaking. The man might not be prone to frivolity or chitchat, but he
was
handsome, tall and probably possessed of a decent income, thanks to his thriving stable business. No wonder the women in town were all aquiver over him.

Not that Cooper appeared to notice. Neither did he appear
to discern the respectful glances he drew from the men on the platform, all of whom watched their exchange with interest.

Nervously Thomas smiled. He’d fought hard to be respected here in Morrow Creek. He didn’t intend to back down now. “Mr. Cooper!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think you were coming down to the depot for today’s celebration. What can I do for you?”

“You can call off this harebrained raffle drawing. Right now.”

Thomas blinked. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “Call off the drawing?” he repeated. “But I can’t possibly—I mean, so much has gone into it! The signs, the band, the bunting… Surely you can see how much effort I’ve put in.”

Vigorously, Thomas gestured at the ever-increasing crowd. When Daisy arrived and saw all the hoopla he’d arranged for her, she’d be downright thrilled. He just knew it. He loved his younger sister. He wanted dearly for Daisy to be happy.

“If you go through with this raffle drawing,” Owen said in an unwavering tone, “I guarantee you’ll regret it.”

“Wh—” Feeling dry-mouthed, Thomas yanked his collar. Owen probably didn’t intend to be so scary, he reminded himself. The man couldn’t help looking so big and tough. At least he sounded civil. So far. “Why would I regret it? Exactly?”

“Because your little ‘bride raffle’ drawing has pulled in every unsavory character from here to Tucson.” Owen’s signifying nod encompassed everyone on the depot platform. “You must have noticed them—they’re the ones carrying whiskey bottles down Main Street, packing six-shooters and looking for trouble.”

“Trouble?” Thomas swallowed hard. He glanced around the platform, looking for those rabble-rousing gate-crashers whom Owen had mentioned. He felt certain all of a sudden that Owen Cooper was the kind of man who recognized
trouble when he saw it. Even though, as far as Thomas knew, Owen had never been in a lick of trouble himself. “They’re looking for trouble?”

“Or for a ‘bride for a week,’ whichever comes first.” Hardfaced, Owen gestured at a nearby sign. “That’s what you promised to raffle off, isn’t it? A woman who would behave like—”

“Like my
sister!
” Thomas interrupted. Fraught with nervous tension, he waved his hands, giving an anxious chuckle. Clearly, Owen Cooper had misunderstood this event. “I promised to raffle off a series of lessons from my sister, Daisy Walsh! You know—the renowned home-keeping expert and cookery-book author?”

Owen appeared not to be familiar with Daisy’s métier or reputation. His dark brows only drew down even farther. “Some of the men have…
misinterpreted
what you’re offering.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible. I’ve been writing about Daisy for weeks now.” Thomas felt relieved to know what the problem was. “I’m duly proud of her, of course, and, well, one thing led quite naturally to another. Before I knew it, I was fashioning a contest to coincide with her arrival here in—”

“A ‘contest.’” Owen’s uncompromising stare made Thomas feel suddenly uneasy. “With your
sister
as its prize?”

“You make it sound so…insalubrious!” Thomas laughed. He dared to poke Owen in the ribs, man-to-man style. He nearly dented his finger in the process. Owen didn’t so much as crack a grin. “I didn’t mean any harm by it. I’m sure Daisy will approve of the raffle drawing, once she gets here. Speaking of which, where in the world is that train? The next one should be—”

Owen didn’t care about the vagaries of train travel. “What safeguards do you have in mind? For your sister’s safety?”

“Safeguards? I can’t imagine needing any. This is Morrow
Creek! We all know one another. At most, Daisy will need protection from all the eager women who won’t win the raffle drawing but will nonetheless want lessons from her.”

At his quip, the ladies nearby nodded. A few of them even carried treasured copies of the
New Book of Cookery and General Home Keeping: with Recipes and Formulas for All Occasions, Both Informal and Grand,
which they’d brought to have autographed by Daisy. Any one of them, Thomas knew, would be thrilled to be tutored by his sister in the home-keeping arts.

Patiently, Owen waited for Thomas to look at him again. Then he asked, “What if a man wins the drawing instead?”

“A man?” Thomas blinked. “Why would a man want to win a series of cooking lessons? Men don’t cook. For myself, I mostly have dinners at my boardinghouse kitchen or at the Lorndorff Hotel. I imagine most bachelors in town behave similarly.”

“You’re right,” Owen agreed, jutting his jaw pugnaciously. “The men I’m talking about aren’t interested in cooking.”

Thomas reckoned that proved his point nicely. “Then it goes doubly that they wouldn’t enter the drawing, doesn’t it?”

“You can’t honestly believe—” With apparent frustration, Owen broke off. He glanced at the ladies nearby. “You can’t be that naive, Walsh. We should discuss this in private.”

“Why?” Feeling better now, Thomas met the stable owner’s gaze squarely. “If you’re suggesting my
sister
would behave in anything less than a perfectly respectable fashion, then…”

Then I’ll have to defend her honor. Somehow.

Thomas gulped, hardly thrilled with the idea of engaging in fisticuffs. While he was very skilled at editing, he was not typically the sort of brutish, hands-on man who started brawls.

“I’m not suggesting anything of the kind.” Thankfully, Owen kept his hands relaxed at his sides. He didn’t appear
ready to deliver a sockdolager yet. Perhaps, despite what appeared to be a natural skillfulness at intimidation, the stable owner was not a born brawler either. “You’re not listening.”

Was Owen Cooper gritting his teeth? Thomas didn’t know and just then he didn’t care. Because as he stood there trying to decide, he heard the distant wail of a train whistle. It must be Daisy’s westbound train, he reasoned. It was almost here!

“I’m listening,” Thomas said. “And what I’m hearing is that
you
wish you’d entered the raffle drawing! But don’t worry, Mr. Cooper. It’s not too late. There’s still plenty of time to slip your name in the raffle box. In fact, I’ll see to it myself!”

“I don’t want to win anything,” Owen insisted. “All I want is for this tomfoolery to be ended, before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” Thomas joked. “For you to enter?”

Owen Cooper shut his mouth. He gritted his teeth so hard, they ought to have shot sparks from his clenched jaw.

Well, that answered that question. For whatever reason, Owen was opposed to Thomas’s raffle drawing. But the event had to go on. Thomas refused to alter his grandiose plans now.

“I thank you for your opinion, Mr. Cooper. I truly do.” In a peacekeeping gesture, Thomas held up his palms. “But I believe your worldview is a tad more…
dismal
than mine. I have faith that no one will enter into the raffle drawing inappropriately.”

“Is your ‘faith’ going to keep your sister safe?”

Thomas frowned, having no answer to that. As it turned out, he didn’t need one. Miss Reardon, one of his part-time typesetters at the
Pioneer Press,
came forward. Protectively, she wrapped her hand around Thomas’s arm, startling him.

“You stop being such a spoilsport, Owen Cooper!” Miss Reardon raised her chin, appearing, it occurred to Thomas, quite magnificent in her kindness and courage. “Just because
you
always believe the worst of everyone doesn’t mean it’s right!”

Owen lowered his voice. “Is that so?”

Miss Reardon quailed. Then, even more magnificently, she rallied. “I’m afraid it is. You know how fond I am of you, Mr. Cooper, but a fact’s a fact. You’re a hard man, no mistake.”

Owen tipped his hat. “I’m very sorry to have upset you, Mellie. I didn’t mean to.” He nodded at Thomas. “Walsh.”

The stable owner turned, then headed for the other end of the train-depot platform. Feeling contrite and suddenly warmed all over by Miss Reardon’s unexpected friendship, Thomas waved.

“Wait, Mr. Cooper!” he called out in a burst of goodwill. “Don’t you want to meet the lady of the hour?”

Owen Cooper’s unyielding gaze met his. For an instant Thomas thought he glimpsed a certain…
loneliness
in the man’s face. It was affecting, even to a man who’d formerly feared him. But then Cooper scowled more deeply, the women surrounding him nonetheless swooning quite openly, and Thomas quit feeling sorry for him altogether. Owen Cooper didn’t need his sympathy.

Owen Cooper didn’t need anyone’s sympathy.

He wasn’t likely to get it, either—not with his set-apart ways, growling attitude and suspicious manner of thinking.

“My sister, I mean,” Thomas clarified, cheerfully gesturing toward the incoming train. “Miss Daisy Walsh! Cookery-book author and home-keeping expert extraordinaire!”

Cooper held up a hand, then kept walking. “Not today.”

Not ever,
his demeanor said. But Thomas decided that was just as well. The unapproachable Owen Cooper paired with his sweet, innocent, kind-to-a-fault sister? It would be disastrous.

Watching the stable owner leave, Miss Reardon put her
head close to Thomas’s. She smelled like lilacs, he realized giddily.

“I think yours is a
wonderful
idea!” she opined with another squeeze of his arm. Confidingly, she added, “I still think you should enter Mr. Cooper’s name in the raffle drawing, too.”

Thomas smiled. “Oh, I intend to,” he said.

Then he hastened to the raffle box to do exactly that.

S
omething unusual was happening in Morrow Creek, Daisy realized as her train pulled in. There were crowds gathered at the depot. Banners and gay bunting decorated every surface. A small band even stood at the edge of the platform with their musical instruments at the ready, waiting for a signal from their bandleader.

Perhaps there was someone famous on the train! Eagerly, Daisy scanned the faces of her fellow travelers as they gathered their belongings and prepared to disembark. She hadn’t noticed anyone of prominence when she’d boarded the train, but she’d been justifiably preoccupied at the time. Now, with a clearer head, she examined the passengers more closely.

So, it seemed, did the people waiting on the platform. Moving as one body, they surged closer, faces upturned to the train car’s windows to catch a glimpse of…someone. Someone
very
important, by the look of things. Daisy still didn’t know who. This must be the sort of greeting Astair Prestell received on a regular basis, she decided. How wonderful that must be!

Still curious about the hero’s welcome that was going on outside, Daisy headed for the train car’s exit. When she reached it, the bright sunshine outside momentarily blinded her. She stopped, awash in sunlight, and removed the overcoat she’d filched from Conrad. She folded it, then slung it over her arm.

“Look!” someone yelled. “There she is!”

Reflexively, Daisy looked around. The person of importance everyone was here to greet was a woman, then. That was even more impressive. In her experience, women weren’t lauded much.

“Daisy! Over here!” someone else shouted.

Except
that
voice was familiar. Could it be…Thomas?

Daisy turned her head, squinting against the vivid Arizona Territory sunshine as she searched for her brother. At the same moment, the band began playing a rousing tune. The banners and bunting flapped in the breeze. The people on the platform pushed even closer to the train, chattering and calling out.

This was quite a welcome! The lady nearest Daisy, she noticed, waved a book in the air. So did the lady beside her. That book was…the
New Book of Cookery and General Home Keeping: with Recipes and Formulas for All Occasions, Both Informal and Grand?
But that was certainly strange. Why would someone bring her cookery book to greet a famous person?

Before Daisy could quite make sense of it, Thomas popped up from between two of those book-toting ladies. He came forward. At once, his beloved face seemed both as familiar as Daisy had remembered and as subtly altered as she’d anticipated. He looked a bit older than she remembered, of course. And also, to her gratification, much, much happier. Evidently, living in the Wild West agreed with him. So did abandoning his razor.

“Thomas! You have such big whiskers!” Daisy blurted.

“Yes. They’re all the rage here.” Abashedly, her brother rubbed his sideburns. “And
you
—Let me look at you!” Grinning from ear to ear, Thomas took her hands in his. He stepped back a pace, examining Daisy as she stood on the train car’s steps. He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Daisy.”

“No,
you
are.” Suddenly feeling quite overcome, Daisy hugged him to her. Tears pricked her eyes as she felt her brother’s lean, familiar frame in her arms again—as she felt his fine wavy hair against her cheek. In that moment, her journey to reach him felt very long, indeed. “I’ve missed you
so
much.”

She’d been too long without her family, Daisy realized. Too long without the kind of simple joyfulness that being with Thomas brought her. “But
what
is all this fuss about?” Speaking in a fascinated undertone, Daisy released him. She allowed Thomas to escort her down the train car’s steps to the platform. The people nearby moved back to give them room. “I imagine there was someone famous on the train? There
must
have been, given all this!”

She gestured at the signs, the banners, the band.

“Yes! Isn’t it wonderful?” her brother exclaimed. “You’re right, too—there
was
someone famous on the train.”

Thomas gave an impish smile, his face creased in that very particular way she remembered, the way that foretold mischief of some kind. Her brother had a long history of getting in over his head with some project or other. Daisy couldn’t imagine what sort of project he might have embarked upon here in the Arizona Territory. Nonetheless, she felt her stomach somersault in anticipation of whatever her brother would reveal next.

“I guessed as much,” she confided. “It must be someone very well-known, too.” She wondered why they weren’t yet
walking across the platform, headed for Thomas’s boardinghouse room or maybe a nearby restaurant or hotel. Then she realized that her brother undoubtedly wanted to glimpse Morrow Creek’s famous visitor, too. “It’s funny that we’ve arrived on the same train, isn’t it?” she asked him. “Do you know who it is?”

“You truly can’t guess?” Thomas asked, full of devilry.

“I honestly can’t.” Inquisitively, Daisy looked around. “Don’t keep me in suspense, though! I’m as interested in famous figures as the next person. By the time you quit this guessing game, she might already have left the train depot.”

She craned her neck, searching more diligently.

“I assure you, she will not have left the train depot.”

“How do you know that? Honestly, Thomas, you’re being so mysterious all of a sudden. If you don’t want to tell me—”

Her brother chuckled. “It’s
you,
of course! You, Daisy!”

“Me?” Baffled, Daisy looked around again. At once, those welcome banners seemed slightly surreal. They did, upon closer inspection, bear her name, she realized dazedly. So did the painted signs hung on the bunting-decorated depot building. That implausible sight, combined as it was with the presence of the nearby women who toted copies of her cookery book… Well, the situation seemed plain all of a sudden, if a bit ridiculous.

Stupefied, she said, “But
I’m
not famous, Thomas.”

“Of course you are! You’re a published author, aren’t you?”

Only by the grace of Barker & Bowles…and their representative, Conrad Parish, Daisy knew. “Yes,” she agreed.

“And you’re a popular, respected home-keeping expert who’s spent nearly the past year on a sold-out, cross-country speaking-engagements tour, aren’t you?”

A tour that’s suddenly come to an unexpected and abrupt
stop, Daisy recalled guiltily. “That’s true,” she agreed. “But—”

“But nothing. I won’t hear any more disagreement.” Proudly, Thomas puffed out his chest. He hooked his thumbs in his suit vest. “There’s no denying that your public is interested in meeting you, especially here in Morrow Creek. See?”

As proof, he gestured at the crowd. At the painted signs. At the band. As though interpreting his movement as a request, the players launched into an even more rollicking tune. All of them watched Daisy while the band played, eyes sparkling. Even the brass-instrument players, with their cheeks puffed full of air, seemed downright overjoyed to be playing in Daisy’s honor.

“If this isn’t a welcome fit for a famous person,” her brother said, beaming, “then I certainly don’t know what is!”

“But…” Daisy swallowed past a new lump in her throat. She clutched Conrad’s stolen overcoat, feeling like a veritable hoaxer. “But I don’t deserve all this, Thomas. Truly, I don’t.”

“You’re the famous Daisy Walsh! You
do
deserve it!”

Even as Daisy tried to come to terms with that notion, an unfamiliar woman pushed her way through the assemblage. Dark-haired and vivacious, she took her place quite confidently next to Thomas. Gently, she took his arm, then smiled at Daisy.

“Thomas simply wants everyone to know how proud of you he is,” the woman said. “He’s been writing about you for
weeks
in the
Pioneer Press,
you know. We’re all quite familiar with you.”

“I feel as if I know you!” another woman put in. “Al ready!”

“Me too!” a third woman agreed, waving her book. “Mr. Walsh printed several of your recipes in the newspaper, and I’ve made every last one! Those dishes were absolutely delicious!”

Overwhelmed, Daisy smiled at them. But her knees felt shaky, and that old enemy, queasiness, threatened her, too.

More people pressed in, all of them eager to meet her.

Standing by, almost buffeted by the crowd, Thomas gazed at Daisy kindly. Then he seemed to remember the woman at his arm. Hurriedly but generously, he made the necessary introductions.

“Daisy, I’d like you to meet Miss Mellie Reardon.” He indicated the dark-haired woman. “And her friend, Miss O’Neill.”

Miss O’Neill was the second woman who’d spoken up. Holding fast to her cookery book, she gushed, “We can’t
wait
for the raffle drawing! It’s going to be the event of the year!”

“Raffle drawing?” Daisy asked, increasingly mystified.

“Yes. The welcome party isn’t the only surprise I’ve arranged for you!” For the first time, Thomas appeared slightly unsure of himself. He shifted in place. “You see, thanks to all my high praise of you and your book in my newspaper, you have quite an avid following here in Morrow Creek.”

Uncertainly, Daisy bit her lip. Conrad’s earlier warning echoed in her ears:
You won’t last a day without me telling you where to go and what to do. You know that as well as I do.

“And, well, one thing led quite naturally to another! So when you decided to come to Morrow Creek for a visit with me—” Thomas seized her hands again. His gaze pleaded with her to understand. In a rush, he said, “I sort of, very
accidentally,
arranged to raffle off a series of lessons with you, with the prize to go to one lucky winner in town.”

“Lessons?” Daisy asked. “With me?”

“Lessons. With you.” In an adorably abashed fashion, her brother ended his hasty speech. Still clutching her hands, he peered into Daisy’s face as though gauging her reaction.

Unfortunately, Daisy felt too dumbstruck to speak.

“Do you mind?” Thomas said. “I’m so sorry, Daisy, if this is too much to ask of you. After all, you are here for a family visit. So if you’d rather not do this at all, I understand.”

Indecisively, Daisy gazed at her brother. He seemed so hopeful, caught on such tenterhooks, that she couldn’t bear to refuse him. Especially not in front of all his friends and neighbors. Especially not in front of Miss Reardon!

If Daisy didn’t miss her guess, that lively brunette was enamored of Thomas. But her brother appeared utterly oblivious to Miss Reardon’s tender feelings for him.

Perhaps Daisy could remedy that while she was here.

“Of course I’ll do it!” she announced. As ever, her most natural reaction was to acquiesce. “How could I say no to you?” She hugged Thomas again, dearly hoping she’d be able to succeed at this tutoring commitment. “Where do I begin?”

“At the raffle box! It’s just this way.”

Her brother led everyone to a homemade raised dais at the edge of the depot platform. He tipped his hat to Daniel McCabe, the muscular-looking handyman who’d apparently helped erect that dais, then proceeded to take his place beside the raffle box. Gaily embellished with bunting and bright paint, possessed of a single ballot box–like opening in its upper quadrant, it stood locked and ready. Giving Daisy a grin, Thomas brandished a key.

The band played a rousing fanfare. The crowd applauded.

Daisy fought back a surge of butterflies. She hoped the possessor of the winning raffle ticket was hopeless in the kitchen. She hoped the winner was inexperienced and kind, the better to disguise whatever shortcomings she herself might reveal.

If Conrad had been there, he would doubtless have enumerated them. As it was, Daisy felt all too aware of them already.
Apprehensively, she glanced at the gathering crowd. It was composed not only of women, she noticed abruptly, but also of men—men who watched the raffle drawing with every bit as much interest as the book-wielding ladies did. Perplexed by that fact, Daisy scrutinized the crowd more closely. A surprisingly large number of Morrow Creek residents appeared to be scruffy, surly, largely unkempt males of all sizes and ages and degrees of cleanliness. They hardly appeared capable of holding a cookery book without smudging the pages, much less reading it. Could they
truly
have entered the raffle drawing too?

Newly ill at ease, Daisy smiled at the nearest of those men. He grinned back at her, revealing a mouthful of gaps where his teeth ought to have been. But poor dental hygiene was not a character flaw, she reminded herself. He was probably a fine man. A man who was…currently making a rude gesture at her?

Shocked, Daisy averted her gaze. But now that she’d noticed that objectionable gesticulation, and the man making it, she couldn’t help observing other things about the raffle entrants…such as their overall air of familiarity with her.

Even as she watched Thomas unlock the raffle box, Daisy sensed several lecherous gazes following her every move. It seemed that Morrow Creek, which had appeared such a lovely little town at first glance, was chockablock with indecent men!

If one of
them
won the raffle drawing, she didn’t know how she would manage. Couldn’t Thomas see the problems inherent in his plan? Or was he, as a good and gentle man himself, simply blind to the impropriety that nearly froze Daisy in place on the dais?

Please draw a woman’s name,
Daisy prayed as her brother reached into the raffle box.
Please draw a woman’s name.

With a flourish, Thomas withdrew a ticket. The band
members beat an anticipatory tattoo on their drums. The crowd hushed.

“And the winner,” Thomas proclaimed, “is…”

Smiling, he glanced at the ticket. Then he scowled.

Daisy’s heart plummeted to her knees.

“Is,” her brother gamely went on, “Owen Cooper!”

An excited murmur whooshed through the crowd. “Fortunate bastard,” someone grumbled nearby. “Of all the lucky sons of—”

But Daisy didn’t hear any more. Aware only that her home-keeping expertise had been raffled to one of those vulgar men for goodness only knew what purpose, she turned to her brother for support and guidance. Before she could get either, she handily fainted dead away on the spot.