The Bride Raffle

by Lisa Plumley

  Then he headed out to the train depot to find that addle-headed fool, Thomas Walsh, and put a stop to these shenanigans before someone got hurt—or worse.

  It was a good five miles of steady train travel before Daisy realized that Conrad wasn’t going to follow her. He wasn’t going to follow her, stop her, berate her or even try to sweet-talk her out of going to Morrow Creek. Instead, he was simply going to…let her muddle along on her own, with nothing to rely on but a middling dose of courage and the paltry earnings she’d cadged from her manager’s overcoat.

  Brazenly wearing that selfsame overcoat right now, Daisy gazed out the window as the territorial scenery passed by. The train had changed course a while back, moving from forested terrain to craggy bluffs and back again. Now, the fast-moving landscape outside her window appeared dappled in shades of green and blue and brown, filled with majestic ponderosa pines and distant mountains. The sky hung cloudless overhead.

  Its expansiveness gave Daisy a sense of dizzy possibility. She didn’t know where that opportunity might lead her, but she was hoping for the best. Already, she’d managed to purchase a train ticket and board the correct train. She hadn’t done either of those things before—not out west, at least. The fact that she’d succeeded so far emboldened her. Conrad couldn’t stop her. No one could. She was going to see Thomas, and that was that.

  If her parents or friends could have glimpsed her just then, Daisy thought as she put one hand in the overcoat’s big pocket to assure herself her money was still there, they would not have believed their eyes. Everyone knew that Daisy Walsh was naturally easygoing—too easygoing, some would have said. Daisy rarely refused a favor and even less frequently said no. But today, Daisy had learned exactly where her boundaries lay.

  Her boundaries lay at her family. At Thomas. And at being refused a chance to see her brother when she’d already made a promise to him. Truth be told, Daisy felt a bit astonished at her own behavior, even now. Earlier this morning, she would not have believed herself capable of defying Conrad and striking out on her own. She would not have been able to conceive of a situation where she would want to do such a thing.

  Now everything had changed. From here, the only thing to do was to just keep going…and to hope for the best, besides.

  Chapter Five

  Torn 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 encomp
assed 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.

  The
n he hastened to the raffle box to do exactly that.

  Chapter Six

  Something 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.