Free The Bride Raffle by Lisa Plumley Page B

home. Stunned by that dreamlike image, Owen blinked. But the woman remained there, just as she had been when he’d entered his bedroom, looking sweet and friendly and inexplicably wholesome, to boot.
    Why did it have to be his bed? Owen groaned to himself. Why did it have to be a woman in his bed, looking so pretty?
    It had been so long since he’d had a woman between his sheets. He’d almost forgotten how mesmerizing the sight could be. But now, with the winsome Daisy Walsh snug in his bed, Owen remembered. Damnation, he remembered! And he wanted more.
    Determined to refuse himself that much, of course, he tore away his gaze. He settled on skewering Thomas Walsh, that interfering newspaperman, with a scathing look instead.
    “I told you I didn’t want to meet your sister, Walsh.”
    Daisy Walsh flinched, obviously taken aback by his words.
    Owen didn’t know if that was because she was wounded by his bluntness or surprised that he knew who she was. But of course Owen knew. He was smart enough to add up the elements: one gala train depot homecoming, plus one idiotic raffle drawing, plus one luscious woman in his bed equaled heaps of big trouble for him.
    Besides, a man didn’t come home to find the meddlesome foursome of Mrs. Archer, Mrs. Sunley, Miss O’Neill and Miss Reardon ensconced in his bedroom without rapidly divining there was a plot afoot. Morrow Creek was rife with gossip about their exploits and troublemaking. The only trouble was, Owen didn’t yet know how Thomas Walsh and his sister fit into all this. And speaking of the sister…
    Owen felt his gaze lured again, nigh irresistibly, in her direction. She appeared to be pouting, comfortably, there inhis bed. She was wounded, then. Well, pretty women often were a mite tetchy. He couldn’t help that. That didn’t explain why he wanted to help her feel better. Because, God help him, he did want to help her feel better. He knew he could do it, too. A long time ago, he’d been excellent at making the women in his life feel all kinds of wonderful.
    Ruthlessly, Owen squashed down those memories.
    “I—I—” the newspaperman stammered in response. Then he pointed at Mrs. Archer. “Matilda said we should do it!”
    At his accusation, Mrs. Archer drew herself up, plainly readying herself to go toe-to-toe with Owen. But before she could do much more than draw in a deep breath, Élodie spoke up. “Isn’t it wonderful, Papa?” Her joyful voice filled the room. She tugged his sleeve to make him look at her, then grinned. “Miss Walsh can’t stay with Mr. Walsh, on account of his living at the boardinghouse and its being unsuitable for a lady, but she can stay here, right, Papa?” Élodie gulped in a breath, her eyes shining with faithfulness. “It’s perfectly proper, because I’ll be here to chaperone. And I already told everyone that you’re the nicest and kindest and most generous man in the whole entire territory! You would never turn away a lady. Especially a lady who’s going to spend a whole week here, teaching us how to cook, and sew, and bake, and knit—”
    Well, it occurred crazily to Owen, Élodie did need to learn some of those things. If he couldn’t help this situation anyway, then what would be the harm in indulging in… No. No.
    “Just a minute, Élodie.” Finally, Daisy Walsh spoke up. “I don’t intend to force my lessons on your father. Clearly, there’s been some sort of misunderstanding here.” Her gaze met Owen’s directly and movingly. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Cooper. You seem almost as surprised by all this as I was.”
    Her gaze lingered on his. Her breath escaped her lips with asoft exhale. Her hands trembled just a bit with emotion. Upon hearing her voice, Owen felt riveted. Before, Daisy Walsh had been nothing but an anonymous female in his bed. But now…
    Now she was a woman of flesh and blood and unknown character. For reasons Owen couldn’t explain, he found that change fascinating. There was also the fact