Bowing to Betsy (The Matchmaker's Ball Book 11)

by Amelia C. Adams

  Joey wrinkled up his nose while he thought. “We should get a dog,” he said after a long moment. “Every house needs a dog, don’t you think, Pa?”

  “I mean . . . what should we change about the house itself?”

  Joey shrugged. “The only thing I see wrong is that we need a dog.”

  Bradley shook his head. “I don’t know about that, son. Dogs . . . well, they’re a whole lotta work.”

  “Well, so’s everything else around here,” Joey pointed out. “But we’re good workers, Pa. Stuff like that doesn’t scare us.”

  “True . . .” Bradley sighed. He hadn’t realized how much time he’d spend listening to his own words come out of his son’s mouth, and how often they’d be turned around to Joey’s advantage. “I’ll think about it. Off to bed with you.”

  “All right. Goodnight, Papa.”

  “Goodnight, Joey. And remember—bath first thing in the morning.”

  Joey let out a long sigh. “Yes, Papa.”

  Oh, the horrors of being a little boy at bath time.

  ***

  Bradley woke up a little early the next morning and got some water heating for the tub, then went outside and saw to his chores. The animals that had been so severely neglected by the previous foreman were doing much better now that they were being fed regularly, and he was pleased with their progress. Mrs. Stratton had said that she wanted to invest in some pigs, so he’d be building that pen soon, but for now, the sheep were his main concern. They’d be filled out and ready to survive the cold when winter came.

  “I’m ready to go, Papa!” Joey said when Bradley entered their cabin again. “I took my bath, and I even washed my feet twice, just like you always tell me.”

  “Good for you,” Bradley said. “My turn to clean up, and then we’ll go.”

  After Bradley emptied the bath water at the side of the house, he leaned the tub on its side to dry out. He and Joey went out to the barn and hitched up the wagon, then brought it around to the front of the house. James came out a moment later, and they were off.

  “Did you have any other errands besides the train station?” Bradley asked as he guided the wagon onto the main road.

  “Oh, I thought I might stop by the restaurant for a moment,” James replied, a little grin on his face.

  “Well, that was assumed already.” Bradley chuckled.

  When they reached Francine’s, Bradley tied the horse up in the alley next to the building. The wagon was too big to fit nicely on the street out front. Then they went inside. Miss Romano and the other waitress, Miss Walters, were busy setting the tables and getting ready for their first customers of the day. James went straight to Miss Romano and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “That’s a lot better than the penny I gave her for bringing me some lunch,” Joey whispered loudly. “Should I have kissed her too, Papa?”

  “No, that’s just for girls you’re planning to marry,” Bradley replied.

  “Oh. Okay. Well, I don’t know if I’m gettin’ married, so I’d better not plan on doing any kissin’ just yet,” Joey said.

  “You don’t know if you’re getting married?”

  “Naw. I’m only seven, Pa. I don’t have all the answers yet.”

  Miss Walters walked up to them, her arms full of tablecloths and a big smile on her face. “I’m quite a bit older than seven, and I don’t have all the answers either. Would you like some lunch?”

  Bradley glanced over at James, who was deep in conversation with Miss Romano and didn’t look ready to leave any time soon. “I’m not quite sure,” he replied.

  “I’ll ask Mr. Stratton what his plans are,” Miss Walters said, correctly interpreting the problem.

  “Thank you, miss. That’ll help.”

  “I think lunch is always a good idea, Pa,” Joey said. “I’m a growin’ boy. I need all the food I can get.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Stratton says that’s why she’s always making cookies. Boys can’t grow without cookies, Pa. She says it’s a fact and I should study up on it.”

  “I happen to agree.” James turned and gave Joey a smile. “Yes, let’s have lunch while we’re here.”

  Miss Romano showed them to the same table by the window where they usually sat, and Bradley ordered spaghetti for both himself and Joey. Then he settled back in his chair to wait. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a flash of red through the window, and he turned to see what it was.

  Mrs. Seffi Morgan was bustling across the street just outside, her scarlet hat bobbing up and down as she went.

  Bradley had been meaning to saddle up and take a ride out to her ranch sometime soon, but here she was, in town at this exact moment, and it seemed as good a time as any to speak with her. But he had Joey with him, and this wasn’t exactly a conversation he wanted to have right in front of his son. He’d just ride out to the Morgan place in a few days.

  After he was done building the pigpen.

  And after he was done designing the house he’d be building for James and his new bride.

  And after all the dozens of other chores lined up for him. It would be so easy to put this off indefinitely, so easy to pretend it wasn’t important.

  No, he should speak with her now. It was his best opportunity.

  “Mr. Stratton, is it all right . . . well, could I leave Joey here at the table with you for a few minutes? I need to take care of something.”

  “Of course. Go right ahead.”

  “Thank you. I won’t be long.” Bradley rose from the table. “Ask Miss Walters to keep my spaghetti hot for me, all right, Joey?”

  “Okay, Pa. And don’t worry—I’ll be good,” Joey said.

  “I know you will be.”

  Bradley headed out of the restaurant and down the front steps, hoping he’d be able to catch up to Mrs. Morgan. Thankfully, she’d paused to speak with some passersby, so she was only a short distance from where he’d seen her through the glass.

  “I highly advise you to take care of it at once,” she was saying. “If you let it continue, soon you’ll find there’s nothing to be done whatsoever.”

  “You’re right, Mrs. Morgan,” her friend replied, nodding. “I’ll see to it immediately.”

  “Good. And just think how much better you’ll feel afterwards.”

  The woman gave another nod and moved off. Mrs. Morgan watched her go, a satisfied look on her face, then blinked when Bradley took a step closer. She tilted her head back so she could see him from beneath the wide brim of her hat.

  “Mrs. Morgan? I don’t know if you remember me. I’m the new foreman out at the Bar S—Bradley Larson.”

  “Of course I remember you, Mr. Larson, and I’ve heard good things about your work on the ranch. The place is quite improved, from what I understand.”

  “Thank you. I’m just doing what I’m asked—it’s nothing special.”

  “Ah, such modesty. I do appreciate that trait in a person.”

  He wasn’t sure how to reply to that. “Um, Mrs. Morgan, might I have a word? I don’t mean to interrupt . . .”

  “I have no set schedule today. Of course you may have a word. What can I do for you?”

  Bradley glanced around. This didn’t seem like the sort of conversation one should have on the street. “May I buy you a cup of tea?”

  She laughed outright. “Mr. Larson, you’re more of a gentleman than you let on in those work clothes, but I daresay, even at that, you’re not a drinker of tea.”

  “No, but I thought you might enjoy some . . .”

  “Ah, you’re hoping to butter me up, are you?” She wagged her finger at him. “Well, I happen to know that the tea shop serves coffee as well as tea. Shall we compromise?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He could use a strong cup to bolster him for what he was about to face.

  “Then let’s be off.” She tucked her arm through his, and they walked to the tea shop. Bradley felt guilty for leaving Joey so long in Mr. Stratton’s care, but they w
ere likely enjoying their lunch and hadn’t given a second thought to his absence.

  Bradley held the door open for Mrs. Morgan, and they were greeted by Mrs. Honeycutt, the Englishwoman who ran the place with her sister.

  “Hello, Mrs. Morgan,” she said, giving her a smile, then turning to Bradley. “And Mr. Larson! What a nice surprise. I’ve been meaning to thank you again for the repair you did on our roof. It hasn’t leaked even the smallest bit.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Mrs. Honeycutt,” he replied. He glanced around at the tablecloths and the shelf of dainty cups and saucers. This was definitely a gathering place for women, and he felt awkward. Why had he suggested tea?

  “I’ve been telling Mr. Larson about your wonderful coffee, and I insisted that he come try it,” Mrs. Morgan said.

  “Of course. And your usual, Mrs. Morgan?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Mrs. Honeycutt nodded. “Right away. Please choose whatever seats you like—as you can see, you’re our only customers at the moment.”

  Mrs. Morgan led the way to a table right in the center of the room, and Bradley held her chair while she sat. Then he took his seat across from her.

  “I have to admit, I’m in a little bit of a hurry,” he said. “I left Joey at the restaurant with Mr. Stratton, and I don’t know how long I have before he talks everyone’s ears off.”

  Mrs. Morgan smiled. “So, this is a clandestine meeting, is it? No children allowed?”

  “I figured it was best.”

  Mrs. Honeycutt returned with two cups and a small plate of cakes. As she moved away, Mrs. Morgan fixed Bradley with her sharp eye. “So, Mr. Larson, will you tell me what prompted this little rendezvous? I can guess, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

  Bradley took a few gulps of his coffee, glad for the momentary distraction, then exhaled. “Well, my wife died when Joey was a few months old, and it’s just been the two of us for a long time now. We lived with my aunt until she took ill and passed away, and I’ve done the best I can, but I keep thinking . . .”

  “Yes, Mr. Larson?”

  “Joey says every house needs a dog, but I keep thinking that every boy needs a mother. There are things I just can’t teach him, things I don’t even understand about life, and if I’m his only influence . . . Can you help me find someone, Mrs. Morgan? Someone who will love him, be patient when he’s being a little rascal, and help me bring him up to be a good man?”

  Mrs. Morgan took a sip of her tea before answering. “Tell me, Mr. Larson. Are you looking for a wife or a governess?”

  He blinked. “You’re a matchmaker, aren’t you, Mrs. Morgan? Of course I was thinking of a wife.”

  “That may well be, but you haven’t said anything about yourself—only what you want for Joey. Wives need husbands, you know. That’s what makes them wives.”

  “I understand that . . .”

  “So, what are you looking for in regards to yourself?”

  The question made his head hurt. “I really don’t want much, to be honest. Someone I could have a pleasant chat with . . .”

  “Oh, Mr. Larson.” Mrs. Morgan shook her head. “The boy is how old now?”

  “He’s seven.”

  “So for seven years, you’ve been pining for your wife, and you haven’t entertained the idea of falling in love again?”

  “I haven’t been pining this whole time . . . I did move on to acceptance after a while, but falling in love again? I don’t think so. A man only has so much heart to give, and once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

  “If that isn’t the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” Mrs. Morgan thumped the table. “The human heart—and yes, that includes male hearts as well as female ones—has an infinite capacity to love. He may think he has nothing left to give, but it regenerates like a flower coming back in the spring. If you don’t open yourself up to the possibility, you’re shutting yourself away from one of the greatest miracles of life.”

  Bradley wanted to think that was possible, but he just wasn’t sure. “I’m willing to think on that,” he said after a moment.

  “Good. I’m glad of it. Now, I’m sure you’ve heard of the balls I hold over at the Tivoli. They’re wonderful events specifically designed to create an atmosphere of romance. My next one is coming up this Friday night, and if you’ll promise to be there at eight, I will have your bride ready and waiting.”

  “This Friday? That’s . . . that’s so soon.” Bradley was ready to stop procrastinating, but he hadn’t expected things to move this quickly.

  “Cupid’s arrow flies faster than the blink of an eye.” Mrs. Morgan took another sip of her tea, then stood. “If we have a bargain, I believe you have a son to collect.”

  “You’re right. I do.” Bradley cleared his throat. “Yes, Mrs. Morgan, we have a bargain.”

  “Oh, splendid. I can hardly wait.” She beamed at him. “Don’t forget—eight o’clock, and don’t be late.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He tossed a few coins on the table, then followed her outside, where they parted ways. As he walked back to Francine’s, he was filled with a feeling of dread. What had he just agreed to, and was there any way to back out?

  Chapter Three

  “That was the best food I’ve ever had in my entire life, Miss Walters,” Joey said to Betsy, the red streaks of sauce on his face proving that he’d enjoyed his meal. “Those folks over in Italy must be happy all the time, gettin’ to eat like this every day.”

  “Maybe that’s why Mr. Romano laughs so much,” Betsy replied with a smile. “Do you need anything else?”

  “Naw. I just need my papa to come back and eat his. He’ll be awful hungry if he doesn’t.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Why don’t you use your napkin a bit while you’re waiting?”

  “My napkin? Oh, that’s right.” He picked it up and rubbed his mouth vigorously. “Is that better?”

  She studied his face. “Yes, much. And look—here comes your father now.” She nodded toward the window, where she had just seen Mr. Larson crossing the street. “I’ll go get his food.”

  When she returned and set his plate in front of him, Mr. Larson glanced up and gave her a smile. She noticed for the first time that he had a little dimple in his right cheek. “Thank you, Miss Walters. I hope I didn’t cause any inconvenience to the kitchen.”

  “Not at all. Enjoy.”

  She reached out to take Mr. Stratton’s water glass to refill it and was surprised to find that her hands were shaking. Was she nervous? What on earth for? She’d seen men with dimples—she’d seen lots of men with dimples. They were hardly unusual. She could probably walk outside that very moment and find twenty or thirty of them milling about on the street—well, not the dimples by themselves, obviously, but the men who owned them—

  “Betsy?”

  She blinked at the sound of Francine’s voice. “Yes?”

  “Are you all right?” Her friend was looking at her curiously, and Betsy realized she was holding Mr. Stratton’s glass suspended in midair. She set it down quickly and smiled.

  “Of course. I think it might be time for my break, though.”

  “Yes, please go take it before the lunch rush begins,” Francine said, then turned back to her conversation with Mr. Stratton.

  Betsy fled into the kitchen, not glancing at Mr. Larson again, sure that her cheeks were bright red. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she was sure that she’d feel much better after her break. She sat at the table in the corner of the kitchen, closing her eyes for a moment and noticing how much clearer everything seemed when she opened them again.

  “Here you go,” Mrs. Romano said, placing a dish of lasagna in front of her. “You look a little tired today, Betsy. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Mrs. Romano. I think I might have stayed up too late last night—I borrowed a new novel from Mr. Redfern’s bookstore.”

  “Well, eat up. Get some color back in your cheeks. And don’t stay up so late tonight,
eh?” She paused. “Is it a romance?”

  Betsy grinned. “Yes.”

  “Hmm.” Mrs. Romano glanced over at the stove, where Mr. Romano was busy stirring up a new pot of marinara. “Papa doesn’t like me reading books like that—he says they’re silly stories—but maybe you can let me borrow it from you before you give it back to the store.”

  Betsy leaned forward and whispered, “I won’t tell a soul.”

  ***

  Betsy did feel better after she’d eaten. She was likely overtired—she’d try to go to bed a little early that night and see if that helped. She still wanted to speak with Francine, though—there hadn’t been a good time yet, and she knew she wouldn’t be herself again until she’d had a chance to share everything on her mind. Her thoughts were pressing down on her, and it would be a relief to cast them to the side, as long as Francine wasn’t appalled by them. There was that risk, but she couldn’t know the outcome before she’d even made the attempt.

  Betsy waited until the last customer had gone. “Francine,” she said as her friend locked the front door, “can we meet up somewhere tomorrow morning before work? I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Of course. Would you like to talk now?”

  It was tempting—it would be nice to get everything out in the open. On the other hand, Betsy felt she’d be able to express herself more clearly after some sleep. “The morning would be better,” she said after thinking it over. “The park at ten o’clock? Is that all right?”

  “It’s fine. As long as you’re sure you can wait.” Francine put her hand on Betsy’s arm. “You haven’t been yourself lately, you know. You seem a little solemn—ever since we talked about bridesmaid dresses. I’ve been worried about you.”

  “I’m all right—I really am.” Betsy put on her best smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  When it was time to go meet Francine the next day, Betsy studied herself in the mirror, wondering if her new bonnet was really as flattering as she’d thought in the store. It did seem to make her cheeks a bit rounder, but any hat with ribbons that tied under the chin was bound to do that. She sighed. Gracious. Could she not even enjoy a new hat without criticizing herself?