The Bride Raffle by Lisa Plumley

Author:Lisa Plumley
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2011-10-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Seated snugly in Owen Cooper’s bachelor living quarters, Thomas Walsh gazed at his sister in warm bemusement. When he’d made plans to meet her there, on her seventh day in Morrow Creek, he’d never expected to stumble upon such a scene of domestic bliss. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn that Daisy, Élodie and the laconic Owen Cooper were a proper family.

“I’ve never seen you appear so content!” Marveling at her, Thomas accepted a cup of the lemonade she offered him. “Not even when we were younger, back home in New York City. It seems that tutoring students in the arts of home economics and cookery suits you. Either that,” Thomas elaborated with a grin, “or Mr. Cooper has already worked his magnificent charm on you.”

At his joke—for Thomas could imagine no man less conventionally charming than tough, unsociable Owen Cooper—a peculiar silence fell in the room. Daisy glanced at Owen. The stableman scowled fearsomely at Thomas. Then Élodie grinned.

“I think it must be the second one you mentioned, Mr. Walsh,” Élodie piped up. “Because Papa is ever so charming!”

At her girlish avowal, Daisy seemed to find her voice.

“Yes, he is that, isn’t he, Élodie? Here, Thomas. Have a jumble to go with your lemonade,” she urged him. Appearing flustered, she aimed the plate in his direction. “Élodie and I baked them just this morning, especially for your visit.”

Gratefully, Thomas accepted a cookie. The sweets smelled delicious. They tickled his senses with spices, molasses and dried fruit, proving Daisy’s expertise—and his own wisdom in promoting her skills via his newspaper editorials and raffle.

“Thank you, Daisy. These certainly do look wonderful!” Miss Reardon said as she, too, accepted a cookie. “Look at that! You’ve even arranged the plate so prettily, with a doily.”

“I crochet them,” Daisy explained. “I’d be pleased to show you how to do it. The pattern is a snap of the fingers.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Miss Reardon said. “That would be nice.”

Thomas smiled at her, delighted that his sister and Mellie were getting along so well. Mellie had agreed to accompany him when he’d slipped away from the Pioneer Press offices today. On their way to the Coopers’, he and Mellie had encountered Miss O’Neill too, her arms laden with her customary weekly delivery—two bundles of clean laundry, a set of stiffly starched linens and several jars of her personal specialty: spiced apple butter.

With a natural hostess’s skill, Daisy made the rounds of their assembled company, chatting and offering jumbles. For a few moments, the only sounds heard were moans of gustatory pleasure, including his own. It was, Thomas thought, quite bold to be making such sounds in mixed company, but he couldn’t help himself. His sister and Élodie’s cookies were just that good.

“Mmm. These are scrumptious, Daisy! And Élodie,” he said.

“Thank you! Papa helped us bake them!” the girl enthused. She directed a broad, proud grin at her father. “He stoned the raisins himself. Then he pounded the nuts with a hammer.”

“With…a hammer?” Thomas blinked. “Truly?”

Owen stiffened.

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