The Bride Raffle (14 page)

H
urrying down the stairs into the stable below, Daisy lifted her skirts, doing her best not to think about what Élodie had said. But no matter how fiercely she concentrated on each step she took, those innocently spoken words still haunted her.

Papa already told me—he won’t ever love anybody, ever again! Not the way he loved my
maman!

Could Élodie be right? Daisy wondered. Could Owen really have sworn off love? It was true that he and Daisy hadn’t known one another for long. So she was probably being foolish even to imagine that Owen might have feelings for her. And yet…

And yet, Daisy dearly hoped that he might. She hoped that she wasn’t the only one who felt compelled to stare, to linger, to wait in anticipation every day for that first “Good morning!” they shared—the greeting that made every day feel brighter. Against all reason, Daisy felt an ease with Owen that she’d never encountered before. She felt an eagerness to be with him that defied all experience. But if Élodie was right…

If Élodie was right, then Daisy might well be making a silly spectacle of herself. If Élodie was right, then Daisy might well be as obvious and pitiful in displaying her feelings as Miss O’Neill was, with her love-struck looks and overzealous gifts of spiced apple butter…delivered by the wagonload.

Not that Daisy felt particularly sorry for the woman, she realized as she reached the stairway’s midpoint and clutched the railing to safely slow her hasty descent. If truth be told, Daisy felt decidedly uncharitable toward Abbey O’Neill all of a sudden. In fact, she hoped Miss O’Neill sprouted a few chin hairs and possibly a wart or two before she next encountered Owen—all the better to render her as unappealing as possible.

Not that it would matter, if Owen truly had sworn off love.

Or that it would matter, if Daisy continued traveling down this unkind and unflattering path. Berating herself for her ungenerous thoughts, she lifted her chin, then kept going.

Doubtless, Conrad would have said that Daisy
deserved
to have her romantic hopes dashed. He would have reminded her that, had Owen been offered a chance to choose, he would likely have chosen Miss O’Neill, who was statuesque and titian haired and handily accustomed to life in the West—all things, Conrad would have rightly pointed out, that Daisy herself was not. Conrad would have tried to save Daisy from her own unwise hopefulness.

Because the truth was, Owen Cooper did not want to love anyone, ever again…least of all pregnant Daisy Walsh. No quantity of wistfulness or delectable jumble cookies would change that.

But no matter how stringently Daisy tried to remind herself of that fact, nothing could stop her heartbeat from quickening as she stepped onto the stable floor. Nothing could stop her breath from catching as she glimpsed Owen, far down the
nearest aisle, speaking earnestly with Thomas. And nothing could stop her smile from blooming, unstoppably and nakedly, as Owen spotted Daisy there, too, and offered her a nod hello.

She’d come here to talk with Gus Winston, she reminded herself staunchly. She’d come here to ask about her telegraph wire to Conrad and to find out if there’d been any reply. And indeed, she did catch sight of Owen’s faithful helper, currying a mare near the stable’s doors. So Daisy could have accomplished her original mission. But almost of their own accord, her feet carried her away from Mr. Winston and down the aisle to Owen.

Regardless of what her mind thought of the matters at hand, Daisy realized, her feet had other ideas. And they intended to carry out the selfsame rebellion she’d begun by boarding that westbound train to Morrow Creek just a few short days ago.

As she approached, Thomas blanched. Her brother gave her a startled look, seemed to grow increasingly uncomfortable, then said something to Owen. For his part, Owen glared at Thomas in a forbidding fashion. He nodded, issued a warning that Daisy couldn’t quite make out, then pointed toward the stable’s exit.

Without delay, Thomas scurried in that direction. He didn’t even pause to offer Daisy a tip of his hat—or to collect Miss Reardon, who’d accompanied him today along with Miss O’Neill.

“That’s strange,” Daisy said upon reaching Owen. She watched as her brother rushed through the doorway onto the street. “Thomas didn’t even wait to say goodbye to me!”

“He feels torn up about hurting you before.” Owen turned his face to hers, his gaze probing hers—probably searching for signs of another imminent crying jag. Not finding any,
he went on. “He probably doesn’t want to risk making you cry.”

“Did you threaten to hammer him like a nut if he did?”

Her joke made Owen narrow his eyes. “Something like that.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Still mortified by her outburst, Daisy looked away, toward a nearby horse. The beast nickered, nosing for Owen’s broad shoulder. “Thomas didn’t mean any harm.”

“It doesn’t matter what he meant. It matters what he did,” Owen said. “And what he did is hurt you. He made you cry.”

Owen looked as though he’d like to make Thomas cry. Most likely, he could do it, too. Daisy had never met a man more solidly built, more full of strength and vigor, than Owen was. But to her relief, Owen used his strength to protect and help and nurture. She only had to look at Élodie to realize that.

Which was all the more reason why Daisy couldn’t fathom Owen’s insistence on regretting his scandalous past. While it was true that he’d done some awful things in his youth, those days were behind him now. Owen had atoned for his sins many times over.

Still differing with him on the matter of her brother’s intentions, Daisy shook her head. “Thomas only made me cry because he reminded me of the truth,” she insisted. “And the truth is, my parents would
not
be proud to see me as I am right now. They would be…horrified and disappointed.” Again, she felt tears well in her eyes. Mightily, she struggled to go on, her voice squeaking with emotion. “Just the way I am disappointed in myself. So it’s not Thomas’s fault. It’s mine.”

“You’re defending him.”

Daisy blinked. She sucked in a deep breath, her mind awhirl with embarrassment and confusion and dashed hopes. “What?”

“You’re defending your brother and blaming yourself.”
Owen crossed his arms as though the notion displeased him mightily. His frown—so seldom seen these days—deepened. “You do that often, you know. When Élodie’s knitted scarf unraveled, you blamed yourself for not teaching her purling better. When Élodie’s Scotch barley soup burned, you charged yourself with inattentiveness at the stove top. When Élodie’s perfumed tincture wound up smelling like a wet skunk, you promised her it was your fault for not checking the ingredients more carefully.”

Towering over her in the stable’s earthy peacefulness, Owen shook his head. His demeanor, ordinarily so hard and unaffected—unless he was teasing Élodie—seemed to soften. The longer he looked at Daisy, the softer it became. “You should stop it.”

“But my purling lessons were incomplete,” Daisy stated. “I didn’t watch over the cookstove adequately.”
I was looking at you,
she remembered,
wondering how it would feel to have your arms close around me in a hug…imagining how it would feel to have your mouth lower to mine, in a kiss so sweet…
She shook herself. “I didn’t check the tincture ingredients sufficiently. Obviously, I didn’t, or everything would have been fine.” Exasperated, Daisy gazed up at Owen. “Élodie is a child. She can’t be expected to do everything perfectly.”

“But you can?”

How had they begun talking about this? “If I’m at fault, yes!” Daisy said. “It’s the same thing Conrad always told me—I must be especially vigilant to guard against my flaws so I can eradicate them. So I can pluck them like garden weeds and—”

“I don’t think I like Conrad,” Owen interrupted.

At his stony, belligerent expression—so like Élodie’s, when confronted for the first time with unfamiliar foods and difficult stitches—Daisy laughed. “You don’t even know him!”

“You’ve told me all about him over the past few days.”

“Only bits and pieces.” She hadn’t wanted to delve too deeply into her time with Conrad. She’d been too busy enjoying herself for that. She’d been too busy decorating for Owen, entertaining and surprising Owen and Élodie, making sure they had little things to enjoy, from tasty treats to plump pillows to shined shoes and even an off-the-cuff harmonica recital. “Not enough for you to truly understand Conrad or my life with him.”

Owen didn’t seem to appreciate her allusion to the time she’d spent on her speaking-engagements tour with Conrad.

“I don’t like anyone who criticizes you.”

“Even when that criticism is deserved? Because I can assure you, it’s not Conrad’s fault he had such a wealth of flaws in me to choose from.” Daisy smiled, trying to make a jest of it. “I’m—”

“I don’t see any flaws,” Owen interrupted her. “I don’t.”

“
Your
flaw is interrupting people,” Daisy said. Obviously, his statement was too nonsensical to be taken seriously. “I would say
you
should stop
that,
” she added in imitation of him.

But Owen appeared undeterred. Still gazing at her, still making her heartbeat quicken just by existing in the same space, he moved closer. Transfixed by the sudden and quite unexpected look of…well,
fondness,
in his eyes, Daisy couldn’t move.

Heaven help her, at Owen’s look of caring, a part of her dared to dream about what might happen between them. A part of her, at Owen’s increasing nearness, dared to hope that what Élodie had said earlier wasn’t true. Owen
could
love again.

“I don’t see any flaws,” Owen repeated. He raised his hand to tuck a wisp of stray hair from her cheek. His fingers lingered there, warm and callused and careful. “I don’t. I’m very
close to you, Daisy. I’m getting closer all the time, and I don’t see a damn thing I wouldn’t call wonderful about you.”

“You—” Trapped against the gate of the nearest empty stall, Daisy stared up at him. “You’re swearing again. Scoundrel.”

Briefly, Owen closed his eyes. He appeared to be battling something, but Daisy couldn’t imagine what. He sighed, then stroked his fingers over her cheek again, almost cradling her.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” he warned. “You don’t know how scoundrelly I’d like to be right now, here, next to you.” And
he
couldn’t know how much Daisy wanted to close her eyes, the better to savor the feeling of his fingertips against her skin. But then she would have missed the sight of him, gazing so fixedly at her. So she just went on looking at him.

“You’re so remarkable to look at.” She couldn’t help sighing, even as Owen cracked a smile—an endearingly bashful smile, suited for a lover. “You are. You’re handsome and kind and whip smart, too. But when it comes to me, you aren’t looking closely enough. I have plenty of flaws, and it’s only right to admit it.” She swallowed hard, hoping to regain her rapidly fading sense of perspective. “The fact of the matter is, you’ve only known me a short while, whereas Conrad—who’s a bona fide expert—has known me for months now. So clearly, he’s the one—”

“Clearly he’s the one who’s a fool for letting you go.” Owen’s voice grew deeper. Rougher. More fraught with…needfulness? He raised his other hand to her cheek, framing her face in his grasp. Intently, he said, “I don’t intend to make the same mistake. I don’t intend to let you go.”

“Well,” she quipped, “I’m staying at least a week longer.”

“That’s not what I mean. There’s a reason I was talking with your brother just now, and it’s got to do with you.”

“I know. You already told me. You wanted to scare Thomas
into being sweet as pie to me.” Daisy said those words dreamily, thinking as she did that Owen’s protectiveness had endeared him to her in a way that not much else could have. Even if he
was
wrong about Conrad…wrong about her supposed wonderfulness, too. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Owen, and I’m sure that my brother was duly chastened. But I’m not worried about Thomas.”

He frowned. “What are you worried about?”

“You. That Élodie is right, and you’ll never love again.” He appeared stricken. She forged on. “That you’ll remember who we are—” Daisy broke off, gently patting her expanding belly “—who
I
am, and decide you’re better off without me. Most of all, I’m worried that I’ll spend all this time near you, dreaming of what might happen, and never find the courage I really need.”

Owen appeared befuddled by at least half the things she’d said. Dispiritedly, he lowered his hands from her face—all the better to gaze at her pregnant belly. “Courage for what? If you’re worried about the baby, Daisy, you should know that I—”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Of course I’m worried about—” Daisy stopped. Then, strengthened by Owen’s kind regard, she hastened onward. “Of course I’m worried about the baby.”

Owen’s eyes flickered. Obviously, he’d realized how difficult it was for her to acknowledge the truth about her situation and all she faced in the months and years ahead…possibly alone. But rather than tell her what he thought, all Owen did was listen. He listened…and went on looking at her belly.

“But that’s not all I’ll need courage for.” Daisy smiled. “I’ll need courage to go back upstairs and face everyone after bawling in their faces today. I’ll need courage to apologize to Miss O’Neill for slandering her innocent apple butter—”

“
Please,
no more apple butter!” Owen cried, palms out.

They both laughed. “But right now, I’m thinking of the courage I’ll need to do this, with you, right now,” Daisy said.

Then she grasped the nearest stable post for balance, drew in a deep breath, lifted herself on tiptoe…and kissed Owen.

D
aisy kissed Owen with all the newfound, leafy-green, just-beginning-to-flower love she’d been carrying in her heart since the day she’d met him. She kissed him with gratitude and awe and fledgling passion. She kissed him with tenderness and poetry. She kissed him—and Daisy devoutly hoped it was true—the way a woman kissed a man whom she could not get enough of kissing. And when she’d finished kissing Owen, she lifted her head…

And then she kissed him again. Because when it came to Owen Cooper, one shy, tentative touch of the lips simply wasn’t enough. It was possible, Daisy reminded herself, that this kiss had to last her a lifetime—that this kiss, and the memory of it, would be all she’d have to sustain herself with later…when she was alone with her fatherless child, or unhappily wed to Conrad.

She had to make it good. She did. So she gave the effort—amateurish as it was—everything she had. And when she’d finished kissing Owen for the second time, when she’d finally
opened her eyes again, Daisy knew something she hadn’t first reckoned on.

Once or even twice would not be enough. Not with Owen.

“So!” she said blindly and brightly. “Thank you for that! I appreciate your cooperation, Owen.” Nervously, Daisy chuckled. “You don’t know how much it means to me to experience a proper kiss. I realize that must have been a shock and an imposition—”

He gawked at her, frowning
again
for some reason.

“—but I find, once again, that with
you
I feel quite open to be myself. To indulge every whim. It’s quite liberating, actually, because ordinarily I’m very concerned with propriety—”

“You’re wrong,” Owen said, his voice gravelly and sure.

“Wrong?” she blinked, as baffled as he’d been. “Wrong how?”

“That wasn’t a proper kiss,” Owen told her. Then he pulled her against him, lowered his mouth to hers and showed Daisy exactly how shortsighted she’d been in the arena of kissing.

This
was a kiss to remember, Daisy realized as Owen’s mouth moved against hers.
This
was a kiss she would never forget. How could she forget the warm touch of Owen’s lips? The teasing flutter of his breath? The husky groan he gave as, tightening his hands in her hair, he kissed her even more deeply? Thrilled by that sound—thrilled by the overall experience—Daisy curled her toes against the stable floor and just held on. In her arms, Owen felt strong and wonderful and
right,
and as unexpected as it was to feel him nudge open her mouth, to feel him sweep his tongue against hers, to feel their hearts and minds and breath come together in a way that was so shockingly intimate…as unexpected as all those things were, Daisy simply felt she could not have enough of any of them. Owen wanted her. He wanted
her.

In that moment, she thought she might be capable of flying.

Joyfulness filled her—that and another sensation, one that raced along her limbs and suffused her body with warmth and made her struggle to catch her breath as Owen kissed her again and again and again. Backed against the gate of the nearest stall, Daisy wound her fingers in Owen’s lapels. She longed to caress him fully, to spread her palms over his broad shoulders and wide chest, to press herself against him from knees to chin in just as brazen a fashion as any woman could have done. But then…

But then it occurred to Daisy that if she did any of those bold things, Owen would undoubtedly believe the worst of her. Already, he probably believed her a wanton hussy, flinging herself at him—in public, no less!—and making him kiss her.

Of course, Owen
was
kissing her back. He
did
seem fully engaged in the process, as his hands swept from her face to her shoulders and then lower, skimming her waist, too. So maybe he would not think too poorly of her behavior. But then Daisy felt herself utter a tiny moan, a sound wrung from her by Owen’s next kiss, and she couldn’t stand it any longer. She wrenched back.

“You must think I’m awful!” she blurted. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re wonderful,” Owen insisted, grinning. His smile, so bedazzling, never failed to make her heart race—and this time, that poor organ was veritably galloping already.
“Wonderful.”

“I swear, I don’t ordinarily hurl myself at men. I—”

“I didn’t think you did.” Quite naturally, Owen’s hands came to rest on her middle. He stroked his thumbs carefully over her belly, as though caressing her
and
her baby—as though caring about her
and
her baby, both at the same time. “But I’m glad you did today.” His smile broadened to a rascally degree. “Please,” Owen said gallantly, “feel free to continue. I’m at your mercy.”

She scoffed at that. “You? At
my
mercy? I can’t imagine.”

“You don’t have to imagine.” His gaze lifted to hers. “Just kiss me again, and you’ll see. I’m helpless to resist you.”

His challenge emboldened her. Still, Daisy hesitated. “You’re very kind to say so, but I don’t think I’m good at—”

“You’re
wonderful,
” he repeated. “It’s true.”

Tempted but uncertain, Daisy watched Owen’s hands, still cradling her. If she hadn’t suspected otherwise, she’d have believed that Owen had
tremendous
love to share. He certainly seemed willing to lavish affection on her and on a child who wasn’t his own. Surely that was an unusual quality in a man.

“If you’re thinking I can kiss wonderfully because I’m…experienced in that area, you’re wrong,” it occurred to her to explain, belatedly and hurriedly. “I’ve scarcely kissed anyone at all! Conrad didn’t care to kiss—” in fact, he hadn’t seen the point of it; he’d claimed to view kissing as “a waste of time” for any “decisive man” “—and I never wanted to change his mind about that. The few times that we…” Embarrassed, Daisy paused. “Well, that we were together, in that way—”

Appearing concerned, Owen waited. The only sign that he might be bothered by the subject she’d broached was the balled-up condition of his fists. All the same, he managed to be there for her—to be unmoving and unjudging. Doubtless, he sensed she still struggled with what had occurred between her and Conrad. Owen wouldn’t have been himself—caring and perceptive and loyal—if he hadn’t. Grateful for his quiet forbearance, Daisy went on.

“I hated it!” she confessed, before she could lose her nerve. “I didn’t feel…a
part
of it. I almost didn’t feel as if it were really happening to me. Doesn’t that sound strange?” Feeling ashamed, yet determined to be honest with Owen, she said, “Even now, when it’s months in the past, I can’t make myself
believe it happened. Yet I have proof that it
did
happen. I have proof so obvious, even I can’t deny it any longer.”

In an effort to make light of her situation, Daisy smiled. She cradled her belly, feeling unexpectedly heartened by the gesture. “The truth is, I let myself be forced into something that was regrettably wrong. I let myself be fooled, lured by my dreams for the future and my hope that someone—anyone!—would love me. So when someone truly did seem to love me—”

“You are eminently lovable, Daisy. You are,” Owen insisted with his usual fidelity. “Anyone would love you.”

Except me,
she imagined him saying.
I’ll never love anyone the way I loved my wife…the way I loved Élodie’s mother.

The realization made Daisy feel even sadder just then. Who would love
her
child’s mother? Most likely, no one at all. After everything she’d done, Daisy could hardly expect anyone to love her truly, least of all a decent man whom she’d want to be with.

Faced with that awful truth, she made herself go on talking about Conrad. Now that she’d begun, she needed to finish. Also, more than anyone else, Owen had a right to know everything that had brought her here. He was the one who, with matter-of-fact acceptance and, at times, with almost paternal enthusiasm, had helped her accept what had once seemed unimaginable. A baby.
Her
baby. Borne alone, but no less beloved.

“When someone truly did seem to love me,” she said again, “I didn’t consider whether I loved him in return. That almost didn’t matter. Not then. Things were moving so quickly.” Daisy swallowed hard, suddenly swamped by memories she longed to forget—memories of everything that had happened with Conrad, before he’d grown so cold with her. “I wanted to keep up with it all. I wanted to belong, to be right, to step
carefully and not make any mistakes at all. So I just closed my eyes—”

She broke off, instinctively shying away from the memories. There were too many of them, most of them bleak. Conrad on top of her. Conrad invading her. Conrad holding her in place so she couldn’t move away. Afterward, he’d always blamed Daisy for having ignited his “coarser instincts.” He’d always left her as quickly as he could. It was true that Conrad had desired her, Daisy realized, but he hadn’t wanted to. It was no wonder, then, that he’d found so many faults in her—more every day.

Unfortunately, that didn’t mean some of them weren’t real.

“I just closed my eyes,” Daisy repeated, “and went along. I didn’t think. And then it was over. And now… I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone.” Appearing surpassingly saddened by the fact that she’d say so, Owen shook his head. His gaze searched hers, full of compassion and…respect? “You’ll never be alone.”

“Not now!” Daisy laughed, again rubbing her belly. “Not anymore! I quite like that idea, actually. This little person will be with me always, mine to love and cherish.” She sighed. “I know I’ve been behaving peculiarly about the baby, Owen. But it was all so much to take in, at first. It still is.”

Soberly, Owen nodded. He remained silent, brow furrowed.

“But the more I learn to accept my baby, the more at peace I feel.” Gently, Daisy touched Owen’s chest. She flattened her palm over his heart, feeling unduly reassured by that steady
thump thump
beneath her hand. “I owe that peace to you, for being so insistent—for not judging me or shaming me or pressuring me. If you had been anyone else…I don’t know if I could have managed. So, thank you.”

Gruffly, Owen cleared his throat. He nodded.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” she added, “but I truly—”

“Stop. Just…stop.” Roughly, Owen muttered a swearword. He raked his hand through his hair. He stared at Daisy in apparent frustration, then lowered his hand to hers. With that same
thump thump
for accompaniment, he laced their fingers together over his heart. “I didn’t mean that you’ll never be alone because you’ll have your baby with you, Daisy. I meant that you’ll never be alone because, if you wanted, you would always have me.”

In surprise, Daisy gazed up at him. After all the things she’d just confessed, she couldn’t imagine…this.

“Not for kissing,” Owen insisted. “Not for possessing or promising or cooking or cleaning. But just for
help,
if you needed it. Just for being there, for you. I know I don’t have much to offer—not enough by far. But I—” He swore again, still looking pained. “Damnation. Just when I need my hell-fired scoundrelly ways, they’ve up and deserted me! I can tell by your face that you don’t know what I mean. I’m not good with words. Not anymore. Renée used to say I could talk the blue out of the sky if I tried, but it’s obvious now that I’ve lost all that.”

“Does this mean,” Daisy asked in a small voice, “that you don’t want to kiss me anymore? Because you just said—”

“Kissing?
Kissing
is what you remember from all that?”

“It’s what you mentioned first,” Daisy pointed out, quite reasonably, she thought, under the circumstances. “So, does it?”

He shook his head. “I loved kissing you. You’re fortunate I stopped.” He glanced around. “If we weren’t in this stable—”

“Does it mean,” she went on before he could elaborate more naughtily, “that all you want from me is cooking and cleaning?”

“No! It doesn’t mean that.” Another curse word. “See? I
can’t explain myself. I’m trying to be honorable, Daisy!” He gazed at her.
I’m trying not to be like Conrad,
she fancied she glimpsed in his mulish expression. “I like your cooking—and I like those jumble cookies—but I like
you
more. Much more.”

“I like you, too,” she admitted shyly. “Ever so much.”

For a moment, all they did was look at each other—almost as though they’d reached a new accord…and a new hope, too. But as relieved as Daisy was by that fact, some problems still loomed. The tiny space dividing them might as easily have been a gulf of several miles. She couldn’t fathom how to cross it—how to travel from their flawed and broken pasts to a whole new future.

All she knew was that she wanted to try. And in that moment, just for an instant, Daisy dared to dream that Owen did too. That if she asked him to, he would stay there by her side.

After all, she’d already told him all the worst things about herself. She’d practically thrown her flaws and foibles in his face, where he couldn’t refuse to see them—where he couldn’t close his eyes to the truth, the way Daisy had been doing for so long now. And, to her amazement, even after hearing all that, Owen hadn’t turned away from her. He hadn’t so much as made a moue of disgust or shown an eyelash flicker of disapproval.

Couldn’t that mean there was hope for them?

“That’s why it kills me to know how Conrad Parish treated you,” Owen said, breaking into her thoughts. “Love doesn’t have to be that way. I guess…your man didn’t realize that.”

“My man?” Startled, Daisy blinked. She had never, in a million years, thought to consider Conrad
hers.
Nor had she wanted to. Feeling immeasurably lightened by her talk with Owen, she finally cast off all thoughts of her tour manager. “In case you hadn’t noticed,” she said, “the only man I’m
thinking about is the man I’m looking at right now…with both eyes open.”

She’d had enough of going through her life with her eyes closed, afraid to speak out and fearful of making a mistake.

From here on, Daisy promised herself, she would stay alert. She would keep her eyes open and see things as they really were.