The Bride Raffle (19 page)

You,
he longed to hear.
I loved you
.

But instead, Daisy went silent. Caught beneath all the accusations she’d made, Owen stared at her. Helplessly, he still wished she would love him. Truthfully, he knew she did not.

“You wired Conrad,” Daisy finished in a frightfully bleak voice, “and you struck a deal with him.
This
deal. You traded me—and my baby!—for a bundle of money. And now, since I
stumbled upon your wretched agreement, you feel compelled to share some of that money with me. Which I suppose must count as honor among thieves, or some such, but I’ll confess… I fail to see it.”

She failed to see
him,
too. Deeply hurt by Daisy’s interpretation of today’s events, Owen fisted his hands. The money in his pocket felt like a dead weight. Foolishly, he’d thought Daisy would understand him. He’d thought she would be pleased. He’d tried to give her security—tangible protection for an uncertain world. He’d tried to make sure that Daisy—like Élodie, someday—would never have to rely on an undependable man for her safety…the way Renée had, to her ultimate detriment.

But Daisy didn’t see that. All she saw was him.

A born gambler,
in her words.
A thief.

Daisy didn’t believe he’d changed. And even though Owen could not, in that moment, imagine why she’d ever pretended she had, all he could do was look at her. “You truly believe that?”

Daisy gazed at him sadly. “Give me a reason not to.”

“How can I?” Owen spread his hands. “You’ve already made up your mind. You’ve already decided the worst of me.” He cracked a humorless smile. “You were prepared to make excuse after excuse for that scum, Conrad Parish. And yet, when it comes to
me
—”

“I never loved
him!
You’re the one I was fool enough to—”

Love,
Owen prayed again, desperately wishing she’d say the words. Maybe they could blot out everything else she’d said.

“Trust,” Daisy finished brokenly. “I trusted you, Owen!”

Owen stood solitarily, soaking up her pain. “I could say the same thing,” he said in a low voice. “I trusted you, too.”

They stood there, trapped in their mutual disillusionment, both of them unhappy…but not yet willing to walk away.

Staring at Daisy, remembering everything he’d shared with her over the past joy-filled days, Owen frowned. All this time, he’d believed she’d had feelings for Conrad Parish. He’d believed he oughtn’t make promises to her—promises that might unfairly take her away from her baby’s father. And now, just when Owen had realized Daisy did
not
have feelings for Parish…

He likewise realized she did not have feelings for him.

Just the way Daisy could get along without her former manager in her life, it appeared she could manage without Owen, too. And he
wanted
her to do that. He wanted her to be safe and happy and well. But that didn’t make it any easier to see her now, gazing at him through tear-filled eyes, looking at him, it occurred to Owen, almost the way she’d looked at Conrad Parish, in the end. At the memory of that, Owen felt a similar shame.

Daisy was good and kind and loving. And he’d hurt her.

She’d delivered a few raw blows of her own—that was true. Owen’s heart still ached with the accusations she’d made. But he was a strong, tough man. He could withstand the pain. Daisy…

Daisy, he feared, could not.

“Just tell me!” she said, breaking into his thoughts. “Just tell me, right now. Tell me you love me…” Her voice broke on the words. She tried again. “Tell me you love me, Owen, and I’ll forgive you. Tell me you love me, and I’ll believe you. Just—”

“I can’t.” Anguished, he stared at her. That she would even offer to forgive him—while she still believed him so grievously wrong—proved he should not accept her offer. After
everything, Daisy deserved better than that, better than
him
. “I can’t,” Owen repeated. “I’m sorry.”

Her grief-stricken expression met his. Owen knew, in that moment, that the pain in her eyes would haunt him forever.

But then she rallied.

“You don’t understand,” Daisy scrambled to say, hopeful to the end. “If you can say that you love me, right now… It’s easy, Owen. Please.
Please,
just say you love me, so I can—”

But Owen could not. Now more than ever, he could not. And no measure of desperately voiced pleas would ever change that.

Daisy had only just freed herself from a reprehensible man who’d used and abused her. She’d only just learned to stand up, to be brave, to demand to be treated fairly. Owen couldn’t take that from her. Not now. Not ever. Besides, was he really any better a man than Conrad Parish? Grimly, he shook his head.

“I can’t tell you that.” Owen gazed at her stonily, willing himself not to feel…anything. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“‘Sorry’?” Daisy gaped at him. “You’re ‘sorry’ you don’t love me? Or ‘sorry’ you don’t even care enough to lie about it?”

Owen tried to respond. But Daisy overrode him.

“
You,
a renowned rascal and a charmer,” she blurted, “who can talk the blue from the sky…
You
can’t give me a simple, heartfelt
lie?
Not even when I’m begging for it?” She shook her head. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re not a scoundrel anymore. Because I don’t feel at all seduced by this experience. I don’t feel… Well, I don’t feel anything except alone. And unwanted.”

“Daisy.” Swearing under his breath, Owen stepped nearer. She was anything but alone—anything but unwanted. Filled with remorse, he caught hold of her shoulders, wanting to pull her close—to comfort her. At the last moment, he stopped
himself. Indulging his own feelings would only hurt her—would only prove his own damnable selfishness. “Please don’t do this. Don’t—”

“Don’t beg you to love me?” Daisy closed her eyes, tears flowing freely down her face. “Fine. I won’t. I’m sorry, too.”

Gently, Owen stroked his thumbs over her shoulders. At least she’d let him touch her this time, he thought. He felt absurdly heartened by that fact. Maybe that meant Daisy was softening toward him. Maybe that meant she would forgive him, they would talk more, and then things would go back to the way they’d been, with her and him and Élodie, together.

“Sorry for what?” Owen urged her to say. “Tell me. Just—”

“I’m sorry,” Daisy said, “that I’ve stayed here so long already.” With a mighty sniffle, Daisy lifted her head. She inhaled deeply. She squared her shoulders. “It was a mistake, plain and simple. But I’ve learned a few things lately. Some of them I’ve learned from you. And one of those things—”

She broke off, her chin wobbling with a pent-up sob. She inhaled again, her breath shuddering through her small frame.

“One of those things,” Daisy repeated, “is that I’m strong enough to stand up for myself. I’m strong enough to face what needs to be faced—to go on doing what needs to be done.”

Thinking that she was referring to her situation with her baby—to the way she’d denied her pregnancy at first—Owen nodded.

“I’m strong enough to say goodbye, Owen,” Daisy said. She sounded almost startled by the realization. Startled and sad. “So that’s what I’m doing. I’m saying goodbye. To you.”

Again, Daisy hesitated. She looked up into his face, almost as though searching for something—almost as though waiting for him to…to do what? To stop her? Owen could not. Leaving him was likely the best thing for her. Daisy was vulnerable
and sweet. Her very vulnerability and sweetness had drawn him to her, in fact. But they’d also made it doubly likely that he would let her down in the end…that he’d hurt her, like this.

Eventually, after several drawn-out moments, Daisy seemed to realize Owen was not going to stop her. With a gentle and regret-filled gesture, she raised her hand.

She touched his face, then gazed directly at him.

The only man I’m thinking about,
he suddenly remembered her saying to him,
is the man I’m looking at right now…with both eyes open.
Reminded of that, Owen bit back a disgraceful sob.

He wanted to be that man for her. He was doomed not to be.

“Goodbye, Owen. Tell Élodie—” Daisy broke off again. This time, she did cry in earnest. Struggling mightily, she managed to finish. “Tell Élodie I’m sorry. Tell her I’ll never forget her.”

Setting his jaw, Owen nodded. “I will,” he rasped.

Feeling torn to pieces, he watched as Daisy lowered her hand again. As she stepped away from him. As she smiled, weakly.

“I’ll never forget you, either,” she told him.

And then Daisy was gone…lost to him forever, just the way Owen should have known she would be all along.

W
ith an impossible task ahead of him, Owen climbed the stairs from the stable to his living quarters. After Daisy had gone, it had taken him a while to stir himself. For a long time, he’d stood silently in the shadows of his stable. He’d held himself still and he’d kept himself planted, just in case Daisy had changed her mind and come back.

Eventually, he’d had to admit the truth: she was gone.

That meant Owen had to go on…somehow. So he picked himself up and headed for the stairs, stopping twice along the way: once, distractedly, to collect a fallen poster for the annual Morrow Creek Independence Day town picnic, and once, with deep misgivings, to tuck Conrad Parish’s money into Daisy’s luggage, where she would eventually find it and use it. Now, with that done, Owen straightened his spine and kept on moving.

In his hand, he still held the printed poster. It had to have been Daisy’s, discarded in shock when she’d glimpsed Conrad Parish. In his heart, Owen carried a misery and a hopelessness that dogged every step he took. On his face, he could
manage no better than an expression of stoicism, stark and unhelpful.

Élodie deserved a smile, Owen knew. She deserved to be reassured that all would be well, even with Daisy gone and the two of them alone again. But Owen simply couldn’t manage it.

The way he felt right now, he might never smile again.

At the top of the stairs, he landed with a heavy tread.

“Aha! You’re finally back!” Élodie chirped, undoubtedly mistaking him for Daisy. “It took you
so
long! What did Papa—” She broke off. She glanced in his direction at last. “—say?”

Even as she finished voicing that question, Élodie frowned. Devilishly perceptive, even at her young age, she seemed to sense that all was not right. Her frown grew. Cursing that ability of hers to read him like a book, Owen shook his head.

Élodie’s gaze dropped to the poster in his hand. “That’s Miss Walsh’s poster. Why doesn’t Miss Walsh have her poster?”

“I’m sorry, Élodie.” Owen opened his hands. “She—”

“That’s all right, Papa! I don’t think I need to know,” his daughter interrupted. Hastily, she grabbed her knitting. “Look! I’m making a scarf. The stitches are bumpy looking, but good!”

Owen came closer. He dropped to a crouch beside Élodie’s chair. His daughter knit feverishly. She did not look at him.

Cautiously, Owen put his hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Élodie,” he said again. “But Miss Walsh is gone. She had to…leave unexpectedly. She’ll miss you and never forget you—”

His daughter’s shoulders bunched. Her face scrunched up, too. Valiantly, Élodie tried to keep on knitting.

“Miss Walsh was very sorry she couldn’t stay longer.”
Owen swallowed hard, still hurting. “But it was time for her to go.”

Élodie’s needles quit moving. She let them fall to her lap.

When she looked at Owen, her eyes were filled with tears.

“Couldn’t you have just said yes?” she demanded to know, her voice choked. “Couldn’t you have just told her you’d go with her? It wouldn’t have killed you to attend one stupid picnic!”

Confused, Owen examined Élodie. Then he remembered the way she’d stared at the poster for the Independence Day town picnic.

“You think I refused to take Miss Walsh to the picnic?”

“Of course!” Élodie’s chin wobbled. She shrugged off his hand, then jumped up from her chair. Her knitting dropped, uncared about, onto the rug. “Miss Walsh was fixing to ask you to escort her. That’s why she went downstairs to see you!”

“To ask me about the Independence Day town picnic?”

His daughter nodded. “It was very brave of her, too. I’ve been sitting here with my fingers crossed, on account of how risky it was. Everyone
knows
you don’t go to social functions, Papa. Miss Walsh thought maybe
she
could change your mind. But if you told her no—” Élodie sobered, appearing to realize something more. “Miss Walsh already thought you couldn’t love her—because of me!—and now she
knows
you don’t! She knows it!”

That Élodie is right,
Owen recalled Daisy telling him days ago,
and you’ll never love anyone, ever again.

“Élodie,” Owen asked sharply, “what did you tell her?”

His daughter sniffled. “I didn’t tell her anything.”

Pushed to his limits, Owen tried again. “What did you tell her?” he asked more sternly. “What did you tell Miss Walsh?”

“I told
Miss O’Neill
that you wouldn’t ever love
her,
” his daughter confessed in a defiant tone, “because you already
swore
you wouldn’t ever love anybody ever again! And it worked, too! Miss O’Neill was rightly scared off. And I was glad, too. Even if it meant I never ate spiced apple butter ever again! Only—” Élodie gulped. “Only Miss Walsh overheard me, so
she
knew it was true, too.” She cast him a guilty glance. “Oh, Papa! Now Miss Walsh is gone,” Élodie wailed, “and it’s all my fault! It’s all my fault Miss Walsh gave up on you, and after only three tries!”

With a piteous sob, she started to cry. Owen felt knifed clean through. Not sure what to do, he tried to equate this new information with Daisy’s leaving…and came up entirely blank.

What “three tries” was Élodie talking about? And why had his daughter found it necessary to have “scared off” Miss O’Neill in the first place? Owen felt powerfully befuddled.

“It’s not your fault,” he declared even more sternly than before. He hugged Élodie close. “Don’t ever say that, you hear?”

Obediently his daughter nodded. She seemed unconvinced.

“I told you I wouldn’t ever love anyone in the same way I loved your
maman
,” Owen felt compelled to clarify. “I told you I wouldn’t ever be able to replace your
maman
in my heart.” For good measure, he placed his hand on his heart. That was a mistake. It felt empty and aching. As best he could, Owen forged on. “Or in your heart, where you’ll always keep your
maman
safe with you. But that doesn’t mean I’ll never love
anyone,
ever.”

Élodie brightened. “Then you
do
love Miss Walsh?”

Pricked with guilt, Owen hesitated. Then he swore beneath his breath. What would be the harm in being honest now?

“I do love her,” he said. “I do love Miss Walsh. When I’m
with her, I feel warm again. I feel like the mountain rocks in the sunshine. I didn’t think I would ever warm up again, but I did when Miss Walsh was here with us. I do love her. I do.”

His daughter gave a solemn nod. “Well, everyone in town
does
say you’re flinty and immovable.” Improbably, her pert little smile bloomed. “So I guess that’s fitting!” she teased.

Wholly unable to grin back, Owen reached down. Tenderly, he thumbed away the tears from Élodie’s cheeks. Then he kissed her.

“Yuck!” Élodie giggled. “You kissed my nose, Papa!”

“I must have missed,” Owen joked. “Let me try again.”

“No! You’ll kiss my nose
again
if you try!” Giving a girlish shriek, Élodie ran. “You’ll have to catch me first!”

Shaking his head, Owen watched his daughter frolic away. In her turn, Élodie pulled a funny face, brazenly challenging him to catch up with her. As bad as things were, at least Élodie would be all right, he reckoned. That meant the world to him.

From near the fireplace, Élodie’s smile glowed with a decidedly mischievous aura. “You won’t get away with this forever, Papa,” she cautioned when he still hadn’t chased her. “When it comes to this nose kissing, I’m going to warn my new baby brother ahead of time, so you’ll never catch him unaware!”

Uh-oh. At that, Owen went still. Visions of the life he’d begun to dream of—but hadn’t yet dared to share with Élodie or Daisy—tumbled through his mind. Him, with
two
younguns by his side, toddling hand in hand. Him, cradling a baby boy in his arms…gazing with wonder at Daisy as they chose a fitting name.

In his privately sentimental moments, Owen had favored—

Well, his favorite name didn’t matter now. What did matter was Élodie. Apparently his daughter believed that love would conquer all—and that her “new baby brother” would be home
with them soon. Owen didn’t see how he could accomplish any of that. Not now. Not now that Daisy was gone…and lost to him forever.

This
was the harm in being honest about his feelings, Owen realized too late.
This
was the harm in having feelings at all.

I do love her. I do
. What a fool he’d been to say so.

Clamping down on those selfsame emotions for the final time, Owen shook his head. He gave Élodie a harsh look. “I don’t have time to play anymore,” he said. “I have work to do.”

Then, doing his best not to see his daughter’s disappointed little face, Owen made himself stand. He crumpled up the poster for the Independence Day town picnic and tossed it in the fire. Then he took himself back to the life he deserved—a life without a loving woman, a life without joy…a life without smiles.

He’d borne up under it once. He’d damn well do it again.