A Daisy Grows in Wylder

By Sarita Leone

Husband or writing career? A dilemma for some, but not Daisy Bloom. All she wants is to settle in Wylder and write novels. She will probably end up a spinster, but she would rather give up breathing than writing.

Attorney Addison Merriweather has a conundrum that can’t be unraveled before any judge. Property, a fine career, wealth…they all lose their luster when Daisy Bloom arrives in town. But nothing in law school prepared him for dealing with a woman who has no interest in settling down.

The attraction is undeniable, but both are hiding secrets that will either tear them apart—or bind them together.

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Oct 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781509245154

Book preview

Chapter 1

July 1879

Daisy Bloom would sooner give up breathing than writing. Many had tried to force her to lay her pen down, but she would never do it. Never.

Now, she hurried to get the last paragraph of the chapter in the story she worked on from her head to the page. The dialogue flew from her mind to her fingers so fast ink blots dotted the paper. But that didn’t matter. As long as it proved legible so she could copy it later onto clean sheets to mail to the magazine publisher, she didn’t care about the mess.

Her sisters waited on her, and it could only be a matter of time before—

Daisy, are you ready yet? Lily’s voice carried up the stairs in a no-nonsense near bellow. The eldest had calmed down a tad since their arrival in Wylder, having lost some of her overbearing, snotty, bossy tendencies but she could still throw her weight around when she took a mind to. You’re keeping us from leaving.

As if she could forget. Their pacing footsteps had punctuated every line of this last page.

Violet, their other sister, whose home they occupied, taught at the Wylder School. Lin, her friend from China, also lived in the house and waited downstairs.

Six impatient feet that grew louder with each step.

Their irritation didn’t surprise her. The shopping excursion for fabric for Lily’s wedding dress did cause excitement. Still, she couldn’t leave without crossing the last t and—

Daisy, please. Violet’s schoolteacher voice did not leave room for interpretation. Or disobedience. Come downstairs now.

She set her pen down and left the book open so the ink would dry. A fast grab for her reticule, then she flew out the bedroom door and dashed down the narrow wooden staircase.

I’m ready. She took her hand from the banister and gave a conciliatory wave. I’m sorry for keeping everyone. I couldn’t leave without—

Both sisters held hands up to stop her. Their Chinese friend’s eyes rounded, turning their lovely brown depths into deep pools.

The bride-to-be shook her head. We know, sister. You had to get the last bit of whatever scene you’re working on down on paper. You couldn’t possibly risk forgetting some important bit of dialogue, plot, or Lord knows what else that will make this story the best one yet. Am I right?

The snootiness hadn’t dissolved entirely, then. As Mother always said, painted zebras still have stripes. Evidently Lily’s were resistant to change.

She decided to take the high road. After all, this day did hold special meaning for them. Lily’s marriage to a local homesteader signaled the beginning of Bloom nuptials. She suspected Violet would take the marital leap next.

As for herself, she had no intention of allowing a man to interfere in any part of her life. So, no marriage for her.

Well, it’s good to see you finally understand my work. She tipped her head toward the front door of Violet’s modest abode. Shall we?

They stepped out onto the porch. The day had barely begun and already the air enveloped them like a hot, dry towel. By afternoon breathing would feel like inhaling directly from a fireplace chimney. The plan to be home long before that happened dictated this early outing.

Will it be this hot all summer? Lily fanned her face with a hand as a skim of perspiration appeared above her upper lip.

Violet nodded. Unfortunately, yes. This isn’t bad. When the wind blows off the plains the whole town becomes a dusty mess. It gets into every crack and crevice, underneath doors and in around window frames. A lot of work to keep out but there’s little to do about it.

Back in Charleston the worst they’d had to deal with seemed small by comparison. Humidity—and lots of it made for contentious afternoons. Out of her four sisters, Daisy’s hair had a tendency to curl so the humid climate didn’t do well by her. Had she been interested in courting, the way the others were, it would have mattered. Since she didn’t care at all, she let her hair corkscrew in July and smiled at Mother’s handwringing over the sad state of her appearance.

When they made it to Wylder Street, the walking became easier. Wide walkways ran the length of most storefronts, making it more pleasant than treading the dusty, rutted streets.

She glanced at the building to her left and let her gaze linger on the modest plaque beside the front door. Addison Merriweather, Lawyer. A sign hanging from two lengths of chain above the door showed the scales of justice.

The office shared a building with Thomas Harvey, the man keeping company with Violet. That her sister had taken up with a mining financier came as no surprise. Intelligent people gravitated toward each other. A widower with a teenage daughter, the man made a good match for her sister.

Neither Thomas nor Addison were in their offices. Both spaces were still dark, with their shutters closed.

Just as well. She didn’t need the attorney to think her too interested in him. It had been her experience that once a man thought a woman fascinated, he pursued her like a fox after a rabbit. And she had no desire to be chased. She’d come a long way to get away from that sort of social interaction and refused to encourage any man now.

At least that’s what she told herself.

Violet’s friend Lin nodded to the gemstone dealer in the process of opening his shop across the street. She and Mister Liu were involved, and their Chinese courting rituals were both beautiful and intriguing. He had been a doctor in their country and his ways were elegant and knowledgeable. When Lily’s wrist had been damaged by a rope during a kidnapping, he mixed a healing salve that took the pain away and left hardly any scar behind.

He nodded to each of them in turn, giving an extra special smile to sweet Lin.

Their romance almost made her want one of her own. Almost.

She believed that if Lin were a writer the man might not be so accommodating. As far as she could tell, there wasn’t a culture that encouraged men to seek wives who wanted to do more than keep house and raise families. Until that came about, she’d have to aspire to spinsterhood.

But for now, she must focus on sewing her sister’s wedding dress. And not any dress, either, but one that would disguise the bride’s growing girth.

Chapter 2

Addison Merriweather prided himself on doing his best for his clients. No matter how scurrilous they were or how guilty they appeared, he worked hard for them—even when his duties included sitting across from someone who smelled worse than the alley behind the Five Star Saloon on a scorching hot summer night.

He’d learned well one of the few things his father taught him, to show up. And his teacher had schooled him in the trait by doing the opposite. Watching a man run out on his wife and children left a mark on a boy, one that lasted a lifetime. The imprint of seeing the man he’d adored leave his mother and his siblings to fend for themselves would never be erased from his mind—or his heart.

Long ago he’d vowed to never be like that man. It’s how he lived his entire life to this point and how he planned to be until he breathed his last breath. So now he acted as his father had not—and stepped up for those who needed him.

That included Karol Weiner, the man who stood opposite him. Iron bars separated them, but they offered no protection from the reek wafting off the man. He’d been accused of attempted cow theft and if the lawyer’s instincts were correct—and they usually were—the man hadn’t done the crime.

He had motive, certainly. A cow brought a nice price, especially one in prime condition. The ranch where he’d been discovered kept their stock well fed so the animals were a superior quality.

Why do you think Cruesdale accused you of trying to steal his cows? Addison watched Weiner’s eyes. When a man couldn’t meet his gaze, he had something to hide. What reasons does he have to accuse you?

This man looked him square in the face and didn’t flinch. Hell, he hates me, is what. Worked for ‘im and when we didn’t see eye to eye on sumpin’ he fired me. No warnin’—no nothin’—just take yer things and get out! Now if that ain’t the wrong way to do a man, I dunno what is.

Bill Cruesdale was known to have a fast temper that sent ranch hands scattering. Word about town, that he loved his cattle more than his wife, kids, or his own mother rang true. The man’s cows were beautiful while his relationships with people were not.

He’d admitted he’d had a falling out with Weiner and another ranch hand last week and had let both go. They were directed to leave his land immediately, in some hard language. The other man had gone but Weiner had been found sleeping in a gulley near the southern property line within riding distance of the slaughterhouse.

Unfortunately for him, the ranch had lost some cattle.

What about the pair of missing cows? Know anything about them?

The dirty man shook his head. Addison took a step back, eyeing the greasy locks and wondering what sort of vermin lived in the clumping strands. He’d seen men with lice and other, more indelicately placed body insects. He didn’t want to host any—not now, not ever. He’d show up for his client, but he didn’t intend to take any tiny livestock with him when he left.

I know jack shit about them cows. The man y’should be askin’ is prob’ly long gone. He scratched at a spot near his jawline. He were angrier ‘n a rattlesnake in a stampede. Man woulda taken a halo off’n an angel if’n he thought it’d make Cruesdale mad.

The other man had left town, from what Addison could tell. He’d asked Branch Wylder, the sheriff, to keep a lookout for him but so far Wylder hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the fellow. They agreed he was probably long gone.

If Addison guessed right, he’d taken the cows with him. Laramie had its own slaughterhouse. A man showing up with two head of cattle in fine condition wouldn’t garner a single question. And the livestock, evidence of a crime committed, would disappear beneath the butcher’s saw.

Why were you still on the man’s land? Why didn’t you leave when he ordered you out?

I didn’t have nowhere to go.

His gaze drifted toward the jailhouse’s open front door. Outside, passersby walked in the sunshine. He wished he were there, too, where the air didn’t give him cause to hold his breath and pray he wouldn’t disgrace himself by losing the contents of his stomach.

The man’s response got lost in the daydream inspired by the woman who happened past at that exact moment. She claimed his attention and made the rest of the world fade away.

Daisy Bloom. The woman with eyes the color of ferns, a voice to inspire jealousy in bluebirds, and a mind that intrigued him in a way no other ever had. The South Carolinian debutante showed up on the stagecoach with her older, somewhat persnickety sister a few months back.

Since the day she’d stepped foot in Wylder, she’d addled his mind and made his heart spin. Embarrassing that a grown man could be thusly affected, but it was the absolute truth. Since his whole existence centered on uncovering and upholding honesty, he had to admit the fact, even if only to himself.

He wondered where she was headed. And, whether he could find an excuse to go that way, too.

The two other Bloom sisters, as well as the Chinese woman who lived with them, walked beside her. So, a whole band of women out for a morning stroll, or, more likely, an errand. No one in their right mind meandered in the July heat.

Damn, but the woman captivated him. So true to her name, as eye-catching as a daisy, he wanted to take her home and set her in a place of prominence so he could gaze on her beauty to his heart’s delight.

His mind must have gone soft. How could one woman turn him into a lovestruck schoolboy? He was an attorney, for Pete’s sake! He lived in a black-or-white world where no shades of gray existed. This rosy outlook she swept him into baffled—and excited—him.

Hey! Are yer listenin’ to me? I wanna get outta here—I ain’t stole no cows!

The prisoner’s voice cut into Addison’s musings. He turned away from the doorway and looked into the man’s eyes. He’d gazed at enough accused men in his career to recognize truth when he saw it.

All right, then. I’ll get to work trying to get you free. He put his hat on his head and started for the door. You’ll be hearing from me.

Just outside the jailhouse, he paused and took a deep breath. The sun made the air hot but at least it cleared his lungs. He turned to the man standing in a small square of shade thrown from the door’s overhang.

Don’t know how you stand being in there, Branch. You’ve got a stronger stomach than I do. He wiped a finger beneath his nose, trying to erase the stench from his skin.

The sheriff shook his head. He held a pocket watch in one hand, kept the other on the gun belt slung low across his hips. I don’t, and that’s why you have to get him cleared. I can’t stand outside my own jailhouse indefinitely. It’s not good to give folks the idea that their lawman can be scared off by anything, including a bad smell.

Addison grinned. I suppose you’re right. And we both know Cruesdale is just being ornery. The man in that cell couldn’t rustle a cat, let alone cows.

My thoughts exactly. A pause, then he went on in a serious tone. And he’s not well, Addison. The man’s guts run like a river and if he don’t get better soon I’ll have to fetch the doc. The lawman turned to him and met his gaze with a plea in his eyes. So please, get him outta my jail.

Chapter 3

How do you think you’ll make that work?

Daisy looked over at the sister who had more teaching experience than sewing skill.

Of the four, Violet fared the worst when it came to needlework. When they were children, Pansy, their youngest sister, often redid the stitches on Violet’s samplers before Daisy washed the bloodstains left by pricked fingertips out of the fabric.

They’d chosen a cream-colored satin for the wedding dress. And, at the bride’s insistence, they also purchased enough fabric to fashion matching headbands and belts for the sisters and Lin. It all lay across the settee now, yards of finery destined to launch a lifetime of happiness.

That their less-than-nimble-fingered sister looked at it all with open horror, her violet eyes wide and mouth open, made her chuckle.

Violet, it’s not as daunting a prospect as you make it. Why, the dress itself won’t be complicated, especially since Lily is practical enough to want one that she can wear later as a good dress for church or special events. So, no fancy flounces or long trains. She fingered the fabric, testing its slipperiness. It would take extra time to sew but the simple pattern gave her that. I don’t see this being more than a week’s work, really.

Lily beamed. Now that she had announced that she stopped experiencing the queasiness that came with pregnancy, her mood had lightened.

She’d suspected when she left South Carolina that the rumble in her belly might come from one unfortunate encounter with the man who had been her betrothed and she’d been right. His drunken groping and two thrusts had gotten her in the family way. It wouldn’t have been so bad had he not called off the wedding. A tumble during a riding accident left him, in his words, "unable to