by Lisa Plumley
This was what Owen did every morning. Today, he felt unusually conspicuous, though, in his every word and deed. Not many people observed him parenting Élodie. He hoped he was doing everything correctly. He had no way to know for certain.
Élodie smeared on a hearty dollop of apple butter, then took a bite of toast. “Mmm! For once, it’s not burned!”
Daisy only regarded her toast through wary eyes. “I’m not sure about this.” She gestured toward the bedroom. “After all the…troubles I experienced this morning, maybe I should wait.”
“Your ‘troubles’ are the reason I refused to let you cook.”
Owen had stepped in to take charge right away, just as he’d done with the water bucket yesterday. He refused to let Daisy overexert herself. That was the least he could do. But Daisy only shook her head, doubtless remembering the brief verbal tussle they’d shared when he’d insisted on making breakfast.
“Besides, it will make you feel better to eat,” Owen told her. “As far as this morning goes… That should improve as time goes on, too. I understand it’s usually the worst early on.”
He gave Élodie a cautious look, wondering if his daughter realized her papa was discussing her new tutor’s pregnancy and the morning sickness she’d suffered because of it. Thankfully, his reassurance—as cryptic as it was—seemed to sail over Élodie’s head…and to help ease Daisy’s fears, too.
Daisy gave him a shaky smile. “Well, that’s good to know. I’m glad one of us has experience in these matters, at least.” That was as close as she might ever come to acknowledging her delicate condition, Owen guessed. She gazed down the hallway, then sighed with evident dismay. “Although I still think you and Élodie made too much of a fuss over me.”
Élodie quit chewing in midcrunch. “You were ill!”
“Of course we ‘made a fuss,’” Owen added, mystified by her claim. It made no sense to him. “You needed help. We helped.”
“Well… It couldn’t have been pleasant for either of you, and I’m sorry for that. I’ll try to do better next time, and not disrupt our lessons. I promise, I will.” Ruefully, Daisy sipped the ginger tea he’d brewed her. “Although I have to say, this tea is miraculously effective. I feel much better! Thank you.”
Owen was happy the tea had made Daisy feel better. She’d been retching like a three-day drunk after a bout with tequila when he’d heard her and hastened down the hall to investigate. Even so, Daisy had still tried to shoo away him and Élodie, claiming that she didn’t want to “inconvenience” them. When they’d persisted in helping her, Daisy had apologized over and over again for subjecting them to her bout of nausea.
Owen didn’t know what kind of people had been looking after Daisy recently, but he didn’t think much of them. Daisy seemed to feel she was a nuisance, just for needing help when she felt ill. Whoever had instilled that callous notion in her head deserved to suffer his or her own bout of nausea—only a hundred times worse. Owen gazed at her, wondering…
Had the father of her baby been that coldhearted man?
Or was he a blameless bystander, like Owen, who only wanted to see her well cared for and happy? Would Daisy tell him if he asked? Now was not the time, with Élodie present, but later…
“Where did you get it?” Daisy surprised him by asking. “The ginger tea, I mean? Perhaps I should purchase my own supply.”
Owen hedged, lifting his coffee cup for a mouthful of that bracing brew. He frowned, reluctant to admit that he’d deliberately sneaked over to his neighbors’ house yesterday evening—under guise of “seeing to the horses” downstairs at the stable—and borrowed everything he could think of that might be helpful to Daisy. He did have his reputation as a “hard man” to consider, after all. He didn’t want to seem too sentimental.
On the other hand, if Daisy wanted more tea to lessen her nausea, then maybe she was close to acknowledging her pregnancy.
“There’s no need for you to buy your own ginger tea,” he said roughly. “I’ll get you as much as you can carry. All I want in exchange is—” He broke off, considering striking a bargain. He was concerned that she hadn’t yet touched her toast. She needed to keep up her strength, for her baby’s sake and her own.
Daisy’s curious gaze met his. Her eyes sparkled. “Is…?”
Is…a kiss, he imagined her saying, and could have kicked himself for having such a base thought as that. He was not here to kiss Daisy, Owen reminded himself. “Is four bites of toast.”
The disappointment in the air felt palpable. At least to him. Somehow, he knew that kissing Daisy would feel like a little slice of heaven, right there in ordinary Morrow Creek.
Doubtfully, Daisy gazed at her plate. “Three,” she suggested. “Three bites, and you have yourself a deal.”
“Nope. That won’t work.” Élodie shook her head, her wee face filled with hard-won wisdom. “Papa won’t bargain anymore. He refuses. Once I tried to wheedle out an extra few minutes of reading before bedtime, and he lectured me about the ‘evils of gambling’ for at least half an hour! It was so boring!”
Daisy eyed him. “You don’t gamble? But I thought all Western men were inveterate gamblers, scoundrels and ne’er-do-wells who’d as soon eat their boots as skip a card game.”
“You’ve been misinformed,” Owen told her with a meaningful look at Élodie. “I don’t gamble, drink or smoke. Or swear.”
His daughter and Daisy both burst out laughing. “You don’t swear?” they asked in unified disbelief.
“All right. You’ve got me there. But just for that show of impertinence, I’m making it five. Five bites.”
“That’s not fair!” Daisy objected, laughing. “I won’t do it.” She gave him another contemplative look. “Anyway, if you’ve done as many ‘bad’ things as you claim, surely you’ve gambled a time or two, as well. Not that I mind that—I fancy your wicked past helps make up for my own lack of adventurousness. It must have been terribly exciting!”
“Six bites,” Owen said. Even though she’d persisted in bringing up his past—the past he’d left behind him—he couldn’t be annoyed at her. He felt far too good right now to quibble.
Besides, if a woman like Daisy—a sweet and moral woman, despite her predicament—liked even the worst parts of him…
Well, maybe there was hope for him after all.
Or maybe he was simply a fool for hoping so. Either way, in Daisy’s presence, Owen couldn’t seem to stop feeling carefree.
“Go ahead,” he urged, intent now on teasing her every bit as much as she’d teased him. “Get started. Six bites.”
“Now you’re just being silly,” Daisy judged, gesturing at her plate. “I doubt there are even six bites of toast here.”
“No problem. There’s more toast in the rack.”
“Oh, is there?”
“Lots more toast. All the toast you can eat.”
“Hmm. I see. Well, I guess I’d better go along with you then, before you change your mind and make it six pieces.”
“Don’t do it, Daisy!” Élodie cried, breaking into their teasing talk. “Please, please, don’t do it! Not yet!”
At her urgent tone, Owen looked at her. So did Daisy.
“Why not, Élodie?” she asked. “What’s the matter?”
“Well, it’s just that…” His daughter swallowed. She shifted her gaze to Owen’s face, then addressed Daisy again. “The more you refuse to eat your toast, the more Papa smiles. And I haven’t ever seen so much of him smiling in all my life. I just…don’t want it to end too soon.”
At that, Daisy’s expression sobered. She glanced at Owen, catching him just as his smile faded. She bit her lip in thought, then nodded at Élodie. “All right, Élodie!” she said with deliberate cheerfulness. “There is no possible way I intend to eat six whole bites of toast!” Daisy announced in her most grandiose-sounding voice. “So what do you think of that, Owen?”
The clock ticked loudly, counting off the moments between her facetious challenge and his expect
ed response. Owen frowned.
“Eat it or don’t.” He refused to be goaded. Bothered by his daughter’s plaintiveness, for reasons he couldn’t explain, Owen grabbed his hat. He plunked it on, scraping back his ladder-back chair as he stood. “It’s no skin off my nose if you retch again. I’ll put a bucket near your chair while you tutor Élodie.”
Daisy’s troubled gaze seemed to follow him. “Owen, I’m sorry. I was only having fun! I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Upset? I’m too hard-hearted to get upset. Ask anyone.” Hastily, Owen pressed a kiss to the top of Élodie’s head. He tousled her hair, then straightened. “I’m going downstairs to the stable to see to the horses. I’ll be back directly.”
Then he tromped away from them both, down to the refuge of the stable and horses, down to the place where no one expected him to change things…where no one tempted him to abandon all his past efforts, the way Daisy had with a single conversation.
Smiling. He’d been smiling! Like a man without a care, like a man without responsibilities or people counting on him. Like a man without a motherless daughter who needed his full attention.
If he wasn’t careful, Owen thought as he descended grumpily into the calm, earthy-scented stable, he’d be taking up his scandalous ways all over again. At Daisy’s urging, he’d be indulging in every scoundrelly action that crossed his mind. Like kissing her. Like holding her. Like smiling as he bantered with her over a cozy breakfast of unburned toast and tea.
It had been nice, he realized as he reached for a pitchfork. It had been too nice, probably, for the likes of him.
Hellfire. He must have been crazy to allow a woman in his household again. He was never going to survive it…at least not with his sanity, and his hard-won virtue, entirely intact.
Chapter Fourteen
It took Owen a remarkably long time to return from seeing to the horses. Although Daisy managed to keep her and Élodie busy with washing up after breakfast, beginning their sewing lessons and putting on a pot of soup prepared from the items in Owen’s surprisingly well-stocked cupboards, she still felt as though time crawled without Owen. For the tenth time in an hour, she glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. She sighed.
At the sound of her exhalation, Élodie glanced up from the seam of the doll-size dress she’d been basting. “What’s the matter, Miss Walsh?” she asked. “Are you going to be ill again?”
Daisy shook her head. “No, I’m fine.” She mustered a smile for Élodie’s sake. “Why would you ask? Do I seem ill to you?”
“No, but you have your hand on your tummy again. See?” The little girl pointed. “You’ve been doing that all morning. And yesterday too. That’s what I do whenever I feel a bellyache coming on. I could make you another cup of tea if you’d like.”
“No, thank you, Élodie. That’s very kind of you.” Daisy smiled at the girl, struck anew by what she’d said about her father earlier. I haven’t ever seen so much of him smiling in all my life. I just don’t want it to end too soon. “I feel fine. Sometimes I…simply like to rest my hand on my tummy.”
Because I feel drawn to do so, she thought. For reasons I can’t explain…but which Owen would be happy to account for.
Could it be possible that she was safeguarding her baby, without even knowing it? That she was irresistibly drawn to coddle and protect a child she hadn’t even acknowledged yet?
That’s what Owen would have said. It didn’t seem like him to indulge in such fanciful notions, but he appeared to believe wholeheartedly in that one. He appeared entirely convinced of Daisy’s pregnancy, based on that one significant gesture.
The realization made Daisy wonder… If a ten-year-old girl took such notice of Daisy’s new belly-cradling habit, how many others had noticed it and not mentioned it to her? How many others might well come to the same conclusion Owen had?
Daisy froze, abruptly reconsidering her plans to visit her brother at the Pioneer Press offices later for a personal tour. If she was pregnant, she probably shouldn’t flaunt her condition, no matter how tolerant Owen insisted the town was.
“Oh. All right.” Élodie scrutinized her. She nodded, seeming satisfied by Daisy’s admittedly disingenuous answer.
Élodie shifted on her chair, then lay her hand on her own belly in perfect imitation of Daisy’s pose. Placidly, the little girl gazed toward the stairs leading to the stable. It was exactly the same position Daisy had found herself in, time and again, while anticipating Owen’s return. Struck, Daisy stared at Élodie, unable to hold back a smile at what she saw.
Not only had Élodie copied her hairstyle and demeanor, but she’d also mimicked other aspects of Daisy’s appearance. Between breakfast and now, Élodie had tied a hank of green ribbon around her waist, in replication of the sash on Daisy’s dress. She’d also—she recalled just then—sighed when Daisy sighed, stitched when Daisy stitched and sipped water when Daisy sipped water.
Experimentally, Daisy gave an enormous yawn. So did Élodie.
Daisy fussed with her forehead fringe. So did Élodie.
Amused, Daisy put down her sewing. She stretched her arms.
Élodie…did not.
Instead, the little girl turned directly to Daisy, her face a study in concentration. “I just thought that maybe you put your hand on your tummy to try to feel the baby inside,” she said. “Are you sure that’s not it? Because that would be wonderful!”
Daisy gazed into Élodie’s shining eyes and knew she was lost. She could no more fib to her than she could to herself.
On the other hand, wasn’t that exactly what she’d been doing all along? Lying to herself about what was happening?
Wasn’t that the real reason she’d risked so much to come to Morrow Creek and see her brother? Because, in her hour of need, she’d wanted to be with Thomas, who loved her?
If it was—or even if it wasn’t—Daisy couldn’t change that now. Now she was here, with lessons to teach and an obligation to fulfill…and an alarmingly incisive query to answer.
I just thought maybe you put your hand on your tummy to try to feel the baby inside. Are you sure that’s not it?
Cautiously, Daisy opened her mouth to deflect Élodie’s question. But before she could, the little girl spoke up again. “Can I feel the baby too?” Eagerly, she leaped to her feet. “I always wanted a baby brother! Only I couldn’t tell Papa that, on account of his not having a wife.” Élodie’s impatient gaze met Daisy’s dismayed one. “Please, please, can I try to feel your baby too? I promise I’ll be very, very careful. I will!”
Caught, Daisy prevaricated. “I don’t think so, Élodie.”
“Mrs. Archer and Mrs. Sunley will be flabbergasted by this!” Gleefully, Élodie circled Daisy’s chair. She eyed her belly, her enthusiasm entirely undiminished by Daisy’s rebuff. “They thought you were a puny and weak easterner, and that’s why you fainted yesterday at the depot. But I knew they were wrong! You were just growing yourself a new baby! Of course that would make you feel a bit weedy. That would make anyone feel weedy.”
“No,” Daisy insisted. “It was very hot outside yesterday. I’m not used to the Arizona Territory, that’s all. And I was surprised by my brother’s raffle drawing, too. Not to mention all the crowds, and the band, and the bunting, and the banners—”
“And the baby!” Undoubtedly catching Daisy’s ensnared expression, the girl chortled. “I overheard you and Papa talking about that yesterday afternoon. It makes sense that he’d guess about your baby, even if nobody else has.” Confidingly, Élodie leaned nearer. “Nobody else has guessed,” she assured Daisy, “because Mrs. Archer and the others would have definitely discussed that, if they had. Because everyone likes babies! And it makes sense that Papa would know what to do when you took ill this morning, too, on account of growing your new baby.” Élodie danced in place. “See?” she boasted. “Papa didn’t think you were puny! He didn’t! He’s very wise about things, you know.” Dumbly, Daisy shook her head. “Not about this, he’s not.”
“Oh, yes, he is! About everything.” Still seeming downright joyful, Élodie hesitated beside Daisy’s chair. Her hand hovered several inches above Daisy’s belly in obvious anticipation. “I thought all I was getting Papa was a new wife in that raffle drawing, but now he’s getting a baby, too! It’s like a miracle!”
I remember what it was like before Élodie came, Owen had told her yesterday, Daisy recalled suddenly. I felt as though I was waiting on a miracle. And then…there she was.
Could a miracle really happen twice?
“No. Your father isn’t—” Getting a baby. “And I’m not—” Going to be his wife. Stymied, Daisy broke off. This was disastrous. She regrouped, feeling more and more trapped by this conversation. “I’m…keeping the baby a secret for now.” She could scarcely say the words. They brought her far too close to acknowledging her situation. “Please, Élodie,” Daisy begged. “It would mean a great deal to me if you didn’t tell anyone.”
“I knew I’d guess your secret, too!” Élodie crowed. “I’m good at that, just like Papa is.” The little girl frowned in evident confusion. “But babies are happy news. Everybody likes babies, Miss Walsh! Why shouldn’t I tell anyone about yours?”
“Because… It might interfere with our lessons!” Firmly, Daisy caught hold of Élodie’s hand. She gave an affectionate squeeze, nodding at the little girl as she did. “I’m so hoping those lessons go well. You’re an excellent student so far.”
Easily sidetracked, Élodie grinned. “I am? Really?”
“You are, indeed,” Daisy acknowledged, searching for a new activity to occupy her student. “In fact, I think you’re ready to try making biscuits for lunch. Would you like to do that?”
Élodie’s eyes shone. “Yes, very much so! I like biscuits!”
“All right, then.” With her heart still pounding in alarm, Daisy set aside her sewing. She stood. “Let’s get started!”