by Lisa Plumley
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 f
eelings 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.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Thank you, Gus.” With relief and chagrin, Daisy took Gus’s hand in hers. She shook it. “I truly appreciate your help.”
“Pshaw. T’weren’t nothin’,” Owen’s helper told her. “I’m happy to help you bring over your things from the stable.” He aimed his jaw toward the trunks and crated books he’d helpfully delivered to her at Mrs. Sunley’s home, where Daisy had been staying. “You’re welcome anytime. If you need anything else, you just call on Gus Winston. I’ll come a’running straight over.”
“I strongly doubt Miss Walsh intends on needing anything more from you, Mr. Winston,” Mrs. Sunley said from her perch in her favorite chair. Regally she dismissed him. “But you may continue to flatter her at will, if Miss Walsh agrees to it.”
Daisy couldn’t help blushing. Mrs. Sunley could be blunt at times, and even quite salty in her remarks. But she was also remarkably kindhearted. Mrs. Sunley’s crusty demeanor hid a gentle and compassionate woman of some means—a woman who had, surprisingly, been the first to offer Daisy lodgings when she’d arrived, forlorn and tear-stained, at Thomas’s offices a few days ago. Since then, Daisy had grown very fond of Mrs. Sunley.
“See that?” Mrs. Sunley pointed at Daisy. “You’ve already put some color back in her cheeks. Hurry up!” she instructed Gus. “Do it again! Flatter her some more, you dimwit!”
The poor stable helper stammered, clearly at a loss.
“That’s all right, Gus,” Daisy said, coming to his rescue as best she could. She released his hand. “You’ve done enough.”
“Hmmph. You deserve a lot more, is what I say.” Hat in hand, Gus eyed her compassionately. “After the low-down way Mr. Cooper treated you, I reckon you might need some mollycoddling.”
Unfortunately, his remark only reminded Daisy of the kind things Owen had done—bringing her hot ginger tea, hauling wood for the stove, rubbing her feet after a long day’s tutoring.
With a frown, she shook herself from those recollections. They wouldn’t do her any good now. Now everything had changed.
Maybe she should have stayed at the stable a bit longer, Daisy thought bitterly. Maybe she should have stayed to hear Owen enumerate all the reasons he could not love her. Maybe then she would have found it easier to carry on without him.
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Winston,” said Mrs. Sunley.
“All I mean is, everybody was plumb happy a week ago,” Gus went on, undeterred, “and now everyone’s wretched miserable!”
That piqued Daisy’s interest. “Owen is miserable?”
“I’ll say!” Gus nodded fervently. “He’s ornery like the last bear at a honeycomb, too. Grumbles like there’s nothin’ but bees in his life.” The helper shook his head. “And poor Élodie—”
“Well, do have a fine afternoon, Mr. Winston!” Mrs. Sunley bustled toward him, literally herding him toward the door with her impressively unfurled fan. “Thank you again! Goodbye!”
Concerned, Daisy followed them. “‘Poor Élodie’?” she repeated. “What’s the matter with Élodie? Is she all right?”
On the front porch, Gus faced her. He cast a tentative glance at Mrs. Sunley, then put on his hat. “That little girl just misses you sorely, Miss Walsh, that’s all I meant,” he said with noticeable kindness. “I ain’t never seen Élodie take a shine to nobody the way she did you, and that’s the truth.”
“Élodie will be fine!” Mrs. Sunley boomed. “Off you go!”
As though fearing for his manhood, Gus legged it back toward the stable. Watching him go, Daisy sighed. It was bad enough that she missed Owen. Missing Élodie was terrible, too.
When she’d left Owen’s home, Daisy had been too distraught to properly consider Élodie. Now Daisy wished anew that she’d talked with Élodie herself. She wished she’d told the little girl that she loved her and would miss her. She wished she’d apologized for everything…everything that might have been for all of them, and now would never be.
“You know, I’d actually begun to think of us as a family,” Daisy confided to Mrs. Sunley in a wistful tone. She clutched the porch railing, remembering. “Me and Owen and Élodie, I mean. I know it’s silly. I scarcely spent two weeks in their company! All the same, I can’t help wishing we could have—”
“Thinking about what might have been is no good for anyone,” Mrs. Sunley announced. With fierce practicality, she strode back inside. At the doorway, she noticed Daisy hadn’t followed. She doubled back. “You’ve got to go on with your life, child.” Her voice softened. “Anything less will ruin you.”
At Mrs. Sunley’s insightful tone, Daisy started. She glanced at her companion, belatedly remembering that Viola had outlived both her husbands. Undoubtedly, those difficult times had taught Mrs. Sunley a few things about being resilient.
“Besides, any man who wants you ought to earn you,” the older woman went on, aiming a puckish glance in her direction. “Unless Owen Cooper can conjure up a powerfully impressive show of love and devotion, I guess he’s already had his chance.”
“Well, you do have a point there.” Daisy couldn’t deny that. She couldn’t think of anything Owen could do that would restore her faith in him. Her trust had been sorely damaged. “But we oughtn’t bandy that about too much, lest we tempt fate. Mr. Cooper can be mighty persuasive when he wants to be.”
Thanks to his scoundrelly, too-charming past.
She’d truly believed that past was behind him, Daisy couldn’t help remembering. How could she have been so wrong?
Drawing in a bolstering breath, Daisy put her hand on her belly. She had been wrong, she reminded herself. She guessed she’d have to live with that. Thanks to Owen, she now knew she was strong enough to do that…even if she didn’t want to.
As she turned to go inside, a glimmer of movement caught her eye. Daisy squinted. Far down the street, she glimpsed a familiar red-haired woman getting into a hired carriage. At her side, a nattily dressed man with a bowler hat helped her alight.
“Mrs. Sunley…” Daisy pointed. “Isn’t that Miss O’Neill?”
The widow looked. “Hmmph. Maybe. It’s no concern of ours.”
What a peculiar reply. “Who’s that man with her?”
“Some highfalutin fellow from the East.” Mrs. Sunley’s disparaging sniff made her opinion plain. “Astair Prestell.”
Astair Prestell. Fascinated, Daisy stared. She’d expected to catch a glimpse of that renowned speaker when she’d gone to collect her earnings from Conrad at the Lorndorff Hotel. Then, she’d been disappointed. Now, she kept watching.
“Have Miss O’Neill and Mr. Prestell been spending a great deal of time together, then?” she asked. Maybe that meant, Daisy thought, that Miss O’Neill had decided against setting her cap for Owen. “Mr. Prestell does seem quite Miss O’Neill’s type.”
“Male? Unmarried? Upright and breathing?” A head shake. “Yes. He quite does.” Mrs. Sunley gestured. “Come along now.”
“I wonder where they’re going in that carriage?”
“You won’t have to wonder for long,” Mrs. Sunley opined. “Miss O’Neill has a mouth on her like a roadrunner has feet. By nightfall, the whole town will know where she went and why.”
Daisy grinned. “I thought Miss O’Neill was your friend!”
“She is.” Mrs. Sunley folded her fan with a snap. “That doesn’t
mean I can’t see what’s right in front of me. I like you all right, too, but I can still see you’re addlepated over Mr. Cooper.”
Daisy winced. She clenched the porch rail more tightly.
“And I can still see you’ve got a hopeful future,” Mrs. Sunley added in a gentler tone. “Why don’t I make us some tea?”
Decisively, Daisy straightened. “No, thank you. I’ve just decided—there’s someone I need to see.”
“Not Owen Cooper, I hope! I used to like him, too, until—”
“No, not Mr. Cooper,” Daisy assured her. She hurried to Mrs. Sunley, then gave her a hug. “Thank you. For everything.”
The older woman blinked. Then she bristled. She brandished her fan, waving it like a weapon. “Off! Off! That’s enough.”
Smiling to herself, Daisy ended her embrace. Then she went inside to fetch her hat. Within moments, she was on her way.
“And so that’s why,” Élodie told an astonished-looking Mrs. Archer, “we need a new plan, to set things right again.”
“I see.” Mrs. Archer glanced around Élodie and Papa’s front room, taking in the unread newspapers, cast-off clothing and haphazardly abandoned home-keeping projects that Élodie and her father hadn’t had the vitality to take care of. “Evidently, I missed a great deal while I was away visiting in Avalanche.”
“Yes, you certainly did!” Élodie assured her. “While you were spending time with your sister, Papa fell in love with Miss Walsh. Miss Walsh fell in love with Papa. We all started thinking up names for my new baby brother. I learned to sew, knit, embroider and even cook soup! But then Miss Walsh left us.” She heaved a sigh, still feeling poorly about that. “I told Papa he could fix it. Because he can fix anything! But he only gave me a hug, with those faraway eyes of his, and he told me, ‘Not this time, mon petit chou,’ even though I know he could do it.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Archer frowned, appearing deep in thought. “I believe he could fix things, too. The question is… Should he?”
