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

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Oh. That’s so young.” She’d never paused to consider how old Joey was when he lost his mother. He was so well-mannered, she’d just assumed he’d been raised by both parents until recently, but this news only made her respect Bradley even more for carrying the responsibility alone.

  Bradley nodded. “It was a difficult time. We were taken in by my aunt . . . one of those spinster aunts, actually . . . and she helped me through the first couple of years. Then she passed, and we were on our own.”

  “No other family?”

  “Some . . . but Selina’s parents wanted to take Joey away from me. They believed I would ruin him, saying that I could never give him the life he deserved. We ended up moving out of their reach. I send them letters every so often so they know how Joey’s doing, but they don’t know where we live. If they ever soften up, I’d be more than happy to take Joey for a visit, but I don’t have much hope for that.”

  “I take it they weren’t too pleased about your marriage to Selina in the first place?” Betsy asked.

  “Not even the littlest bit. Her stubbornness was our only saving grace. If she hadn’t been so determined to make it happen, we never would have gotten married—her parents would have seen to that.” He shook his head. “Now that I have Joey, I understand a parent’s desire for their child to marry well, but her parents . . . it goes further than that with them. As much as I hated it, I did right by moving away with Joey.”

  “And he’s a wonderful boy,” Betsy said. “I think you’re doing a very good job with him.”

  “Thank you. I haven’t always been able to provide the way I wanted to, but we’ve been together, and that’s the most important thing.”

  “I agree.” Betsy turned and looked at Bradley. His face was in shadow, but she could still make out the sadness around his eyes. “And now? What are your goals for the future—aside from getting married, of course. I already know about that one.”

  He smiled. “I want to set aside enough money for Joey’s education. I want to raise him up to be a fine young man with a head on his shoulders and a mind full of possibilities, and I want to see him succeed in whatever field he chooses.”

  “And for yourself? What do you want for you?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” he responded after a moment of hesitation. “I’ve been thinking in terms of Joey for so long, I haven’t thought about myself separate from him.”

  “When he does go away to school, you’ll need to have some sort of direction aside from him,” Betsy pointed out gently. “He’s not going to be living at home forever.”

  “True . . . and I should get ready for that. It’s just difficult to imagine right now when he’s so young.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with making him your focus as long as you have another focus as well,” Betsy said. “He’s going to grow up, and you’ll have the rest of your life stretched out before you.”

  Bradley nodded. “It’s funny. When Joey was first born, I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t imagine how he would fit into my life. Now I can’t imagine my life without him.”

  “He’ll always be in your life—he’ll just play a different role.” Betsy opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wanted so much to ask—but it was too soon in their relationship. She hadn’t even known they were going to have a relationship until an hour previously. It wasn’t the time for complicated questions.

  But he sensed she’d been about to say something. “What is it, Betsy?”

  “Nothing.”

  He shook his head. “There’s definitely something. You can say it—whatever it is.”

  “I was just wondering if you planned to have any more children.” She tried to sound light and airy, but it wasn’t a light and airy question. She felt the weight of it as it left her mouth.

  “It’s not something I considered,” he replied. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “There you two are!” Mrs. Morgan’s voice echoed across the garden. “I haven’t sent a chaperone out here yet—I didn’t think anyone would be outside because of the rain. I’m sure you’ve been on your best behavior, though. Haven’t you?”

  “Our very best,” Betsy assured her. “And we were just about to come back in. Are there any of those little sandwiches left?”

  “Yes, we just set out a new tray.”

  “Good.” Betsy turned to Bradley. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.”

  They went back inside and helped themselves to more refreshments, but Betsy wasn’t paying much attention to the food. Her mind was such a muddle. She was more than ready to go home, find some peace and quiet, and try to figure out what was going on. Apparently, she was now being courted by the man with the dimple. The one who made her breathe funny. What an astonishing turn of events.

  ***

  The first thing Betsy did when she got to the restaurant the next day was to grab Francine’s arm and drag her to the corner table. “I have to talk to you,” she said, glancing around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “It wasn’t a meeting for the school fundraiser.”

  “It wasn’t? Then what was it?”

  “Mrs. Morgan’s ball!”

  Francine’s mouth dropped open. “The matchmaker’s ball?”

  “Yes!” Betsy glanced around again. “And there I was in a cotton dress, carrying a basket—I took a basket to a ball, Francine. It was so embarrassing.”

  “Who . . . who did she match you with?”

  “Bradley Larson.”

  “She did?” Francine sat back and grinned. “I like him. He’s a good man, and I think he’d be an excellent husband.” When Betsy didn’t answer right away, she prodded, “So? What happened next?”

  “It’s so hard to say.” Betsy pressed her fingers to her temples. She hadn’t been able to sleep much the night before. After she and Bradley parted ways, Mrs. Morgan gave her a ride home in her carriage—Bradley had offered, but Mrs. Morgan had made a clucking sound and said that wouldn’t be appropriate without a chaperone. Then she chattered all the way to Betsy’s house about romance and marriage, and then she’d asked Betsy when she planned to see Bradley again. That was a question Betsy couldn’t answer, but that was all right because Mrs. Morgan hadn’t waited for an answer. She’d given a quick hug goodbye and been off again, no doubt to cause a huge amount of upheaval in someone else’s life. “We danced, and we agreed to court . . .”

  “No, no, no. You need to tell me everything, and I do mean everything. What you said, how he replied—don’t leave out a single thing.” Francine’s eyes were shining. “I’m almost as excited for you as I would be for myself.”

  Betsy smiled and shook her head. “I think you’re just in love with the idea of love, given that you’re engaged yourself.”

  “Maybe I am, but that’s beside the point. Hurry up! We don’t have much time before we open.”

  Betsy launched into her story, beginning from the time she’d left the restaurant the night before. Francine was the perfect audience, showing just the right amount of sympathetic mortification and also swooning in all the right spots. When Betsy was done, Francine wiped tears from her eyes.

  “I’m so happy for you,” she said, giving a little sniff. “These are happy tears, by the way. Bradley Larson—honestly, if I had to choose a man for you out of all the men in existence, it would be him. He’s kind and hard-working, generous with his time—and I don’t know if you noticed, but he has a dimple.”

  “I did notice,” Betsy said. That was the only thing she’d left out of her narrative, thinking Francine would find it silly. No, apparently dimple appreciation was common amongst females.

  “And so . . . what are you thinking about all this? What are you feeling?”

  “I feel . . . I feel like someone ran me over with a lumber wagon,” Betsy replied. “I also feel like I could float up and touch the clouds. I’m all over the place. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be feeling.”

  “Well, do you like him?”

  “Yes . . .
I do. Quite a lot, actually, although I only just realized it.”

  “And you like Joey—I already know that because he’s impossible not to like.”

  Betsy grinned. “Yes, I like Joey.”

  Francine lifted her hands. “So, why are you still confused? You like Bradley, you like Joey . . . What’s holding you back?”

  Betsy exhaled. “Nothing, really, I guess. I’m just still trying to overcome my surprise, and it’s hard to accept the idea that someone could be interested in me. After all this time of believing I would never marry, it’s a challenge to change my thinking.”

  “And yet change it you must because it’s happening.” Francine gave her a wide smile. “So, what happens next?”

  “Next . . . we decide if we’re really as compatible as we seemed last night. We left things open-ended, though—I don’t know when I’ll be seeing him again exactly.”

  “Oh, I imagine it won’t be long,” Francine said. “He’s probably spent every minute thinking about you.”

  Betsy felt her cheeks turn red. “I don’t know about that . . .”

  “Well, I do, and I think he’ll show up here any minute.”

  The idea both thrilled and terrified Betsy. She hurried and stood up. “It’s almost time to open—we’d better get the tables ready.”

  Francine laughed as she stood up as well. “Yes, we’d better. And Betsy? I’m so happy for you.”

  Betsy paused. “You know, I think I’m happy for me too.” Happy. And frightened. Those two feelings could coexist, couldn’t they?

  Chapter Seven

  Bradley dumped the last bucket of water into the sheeps’ trough, then watched them for a moment, his arms folded on the top rail of their pen.

  He couldn’t stop replaying the events of the night before. He’d been so surprised to step out of the ballroom and see Betsy Walters there. Of course he knew her from the restaurant, and he’d always thought she was pretty and nice, but he’d never looked at her as a potential wife. Then again, he hadn’t been looking at anyone as a potential wife—he just hadn’t been ready to entertain those thoughts.

  But when he’d seen her sitting there, it made sense. She had a compassionate nature and already got along well with Joey. She had a good sense of humor, and she even seemed to like him. He could imagine them spending some time together and seeing if they were compatible. And if she’d happened to pick up any kitchen tips or recipes from Mr. Romano, well, he wouldn’t mind that at all.

  As he was approaching, he had noticed that she was as scared as anything, and he caught enough of the conversation to realize that she’d had no idea she had come to the ballroom to be matched. Hadn’t Mrs. Morgan told her? Was she about to turn tail and run? Her eyes reminded him of a doe caught out in the woods, trying to decide whether or not she should flee. Only a cold-hearted villain wouldn’t feel compassion for someone in that state, and a villain he was not.

  The thing that had surprised him the most, even more than realizing he’d been matched with Betsy, was realizing how nice it felt to hold her in his arms. He hadn’t been that close to a woman since Selina’s death, and he had missed that personal connection. She wasn’t Selina, but she had her own unique traits, and she’d kept him laughing all evening. Getting to know her better would be no hardship.

  “Good morning, Bradley,” a voice called from some distance behind him.

  He turned to see Mrs. Stratton walking across the grass toward the sheep enclosure. She didn’t often make it out this far—this must be a special occasion. “Good morning,” he replied. “Nice day to visit with the sheep.”

  She smiled. “Or to visit with the sheepherder. You didn’t say much about your evening when you picked Joey up last night, and I’m afraid my curiosity couldn’t wait any longer for a full report.”

  Bradley glanced around. Joey was stacking the firewood Bradley had chopped earlier, so he was well out of earshot. Bradley didn’t want Joey to know anything about Betsy until things were more settled—it just felt like the right choice to make.

  “It went well. Much better than I’d expected.”

  “And?” Mrs. Stratton prodded. “Who did Mrs. Morgan arrange for you to meet?”

  “Betsy Walters, actually.”

  “Betsy? Oh, that’s a wonderful idea.” Mrs. Stratton clasped her hands under her chin, looking much younger than her years. “She’s such a sweet girl, and she’s risen above her difficulties beautifully.”

  “Her difficulties?”

  Mrs. Stratton’s smile froze. “You . . . didn’t share stories about your pasts?”

  “Well, I told her about Joey’s mother because she asked, but no, we didn’t say much beyond that. I imagined that would happen on our second or third outing together.” Bradley was concerned about Mrs. Stratton’s reaction. “Is there something I should know?”

  “Nothing much—I’ll leave it to her to tell you. It’s not mine to share anyway.” She reached out and patted Bradley’s arm. “I’m truly so pleased for you, and I hope everything turns out the way it should. If I were to choose a girl for you, I believe Betsy would be my choice as well.”

  “Then I know she’s the right choice—I trust your judgment, Mrs. Stratton.”

  She made a swatting motion at him, but he could tell she was pleased. “Oh, go on with you now. Just please tell me you intend to stay on as my foreman after you’re married—now that we’ve found you, I don’t think we could bear to let you go.”

  Bradley chuckled. “I’m not going anywhere, Mrs. Stratton. I thank God daily for this job, and I’m not one to throw blessings away. I do want to add on to the cabin, though, and I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

  “Of course you must add on to the cabin. It wasn’t originally built for a man with a family, and I know it’s insufficient. Order what you need from the lumber mill and charge it to my account—consider it my wedding gift to you.”

  Bradley was dumbstruck. “Are you sure? I’d intended to pay for it myself—”

  “You’ll do no such thing. That is still technically my cabin, so I’m responsible for its upkeep.” She gave a wink. “Besides, I consider Joey my grandson now, and a good grandma must keep her grandchildren tucked up properly.”

  Bradley could only nod his thanks. A lump had risen in his throat. He’d long wished Joey had grandparents he could depend upon, and while Mrs. Stratton hadn’t known that, she’d just answered even more of Bradley’s prayers.

  “Now, do walk back to the house with me, won’t you? I’m feeling a mite wobbly after that hike across the grass.”

  “Of course.” Bradley offered her his arm, and they strolled toward the house at her pace.

  “Can you imagine it?” she said dreamily as they walked. “Two weddings for this ranch in one year. When I first came here with Mr. Stratton so many years ago, I never could have imagined all the twists and turns we’d encounter, and now look at us. We’re quite a success, aren’t we, Bradley? That’s what my husband was always saying—he wanted to be a success.”

  “Yes, I’d say so,” he replied. “Your sheep are thriving, the pigs will bring in another stream of income, and your son is marrying a wonderful girl. You’ve done good things with this place, Mrs. Stratton. I believe your husband would be proud.”

  “I certainly hope so. I don’t want to disappoint his legacy in any way, and I don’t want to fritter away my remaining years doing embroidery in the parlor.” She sighed. “Although, some days it feels like that’s all I’m suited for.”

  “Hey,” he gently chided. “You’ve got a lot of years left before your parlor embroidery days. If nothing else, you’ve got a new grandson to help raise.”

  “I do, don’t I?” She gave a warm smile. “I tell you what—bring him by again later and I’ll show him how to make bread while you go visit that young lady of yours. Bread making is an important skill, you know.”

  Bradley grinned. “I agree. There are far too few people in this world who know how to make a good loaf
of bread.”

  “I’m just doing my part to help correct that problem.” She held on to his arm while she climbed her porch steps, then she turned to face him. “Go court that girl and bring her home. She’s the one—I can feel it in these creaky bones.”

  He gave a nod. “I’ll do my very best.”

  He might have doubts, but Mrs. Stratton’s firm belief was something he could hold on to even as he wrestled with those doubts. Her faith was like an anchor in a storm-tossed world.

  ***

  Betsy quickened her pace as she walked toward the mercantile. Something that almost never happened had happened—they ran out of flour at the restaurant, and that simply couldn’t be. Their next shipment would be arriving in a few days, but they couldn’t cook for their restaurant without getting new supplies now. It was all on account of a big order for bread Mrs. Romano had filled the previous day—and the fact that they’d all been so busy planning the wedding, no one had taken a proper inventory.

  She chuckled as she had the thought. Perhaps more accurately, they’d been so distracted by the wedding, no one had taken a proper inventory.

  At any rate, she’d been dispatched to head over to the mercantile and see if she could arrange for several sacks of flour to be delivered immediately. She didn’t mind running the errand—it was a beautiful day, and she appreciated a change of pace from time to time.

  She stepped onto the porch and was just about to open the door when it opened by itself—or rather, not by itself. Bradley Larson was on the other side, just coming out.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, taking a step back. “I’m blocking your way.”

  He gave a lazy smile. “You’re actually the person I came into town to see.”

  “I am?” Her heart was thumping like mad, not only from being startled, but from the implications of his words.

  He held up a small paper sack. “I’ve just bought one of everything Mrs. Jackson has at her candy counter. I figured, something in here is bound to be your favorite.”

  “That’s a good way to hedge your bet,” she said, grinning at the idea.