by Liz Isaacson
“I’ve been to a few meetings,” he said, a sting pinching in his chest. “I never get anything to do, so I don’t see why I even need to go anymore.” He didn’t mind sitting beside Betsy and watching her get fired up at everything Rhonda said.
He could see that Rhonda was a bit annoying, but she didn’t rub him the wrong way the way she obviously did Betsy.
“I’m sure Logan will take care of it,” he said next, because he didn’t like the critical way Betsy was watching him.
“I’ll take care of what?” Logan asked, thundering down the last few steps.
“The stage and the dance floor,” Betsy said, turning away from Knox, her expression stormy.
“Oh, yeah,” Logan said, yanking the fridge open and taking out a soda too. “The stage is done. The dance floor is in the den there.” He nodded toward the room behind the stairs, and Knox had no idea the dance floor was there. “Are we going?”
“Yes,” Knox said quickly. “We’re going.”
“Let me let the dogs out,” he said. “I’ll meet you in the truck.” If he realized there was some new tension between Knox and Betsy, he didn’t act like it. But Knox went back into the living room and out the front door, wishing he didn’t feel like Betsy had just treated him like a petulant toddler.
“We have four hundred people who say they’re coming to the dance,” she said after she got into the truck and slid over to the middle spot on the bench seat.
“That’s great,” he said, perhaps a slip of sarcasm coloring the words.
Betsy looked at him, and the weight of her gaze was more than Knox could shoulder. He was drawn to look at her despite not wanting to.
“Are you upset?” She searched his face, her eyes earnest.
“A little,” he admitted.
A smile touched her mouth. “Wow. I didn’t think that was possible.”
Knox scoffed and looked out the window, wishing it didn’t take Logan’s dogs quite so long to take care of their business. “It’s possible,” he said.
“You’re just so calm and cool and collected,” Betsy said, touching his arm.
He looked at her fingers and then her, softening toward her. “Yeah, well, you sort of acted like I’d fallen down on a job in there.”
“Because of the dance floor?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“And that upset you?”
“Yes,” he said.
She cocked her head. “Why?”
He considered her for a moment. “Because not everyone is as perfect as you.” As soon as he said it, he wished he could take the words back.
She flinched like he’d thrown ice water in her face, and he watched her crumple but try to hide it. She looked away and whispered, “I’m not perfect,” just as Logan came jogging from the backyard.
Knox didn’t have time to say anything else before Logan got in the truck with a loud sigh. “Sorry. Mortie was very indecisive.”
Knox just put the truck in reverse and backed out of the driveway. He loved the roads in Quinn Valley, where only the main ones had lines on them and it looked like God had poured asphalt out of a bucket in straight lines to make a grid.
Lawns and dirt went right up to the road, and in the winter, people piled snow wherever it would go.
“So what’s for lunch, Betsy?” Logan asked easily, clearly oblivious to the atmosphere in the cab.
“Ribs,” she said. “Mashed potatoes.” She continued to talk about lunch and the ranch, and Knox sat there like a statue, only moving when he needed to turn or switch on the windshield wipers as the snow started to flurry through the sky.
At the homestead, Betsy blended into the chaos in the kitchen, easily stealing away from Knox and putting distance between them. He migrated over to Rhodes, who sat at the kitchen table with his father and grandfather. At first, Knox thought he might be interrupting, but Rhodes smiled heartily at him and said, “We were just talking about you.”
Not that he felt better about that. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” Rhodes tapped the table next to him, and Knox sat down. “Gramps, this is the man I was telling you about. He’s dating Betsy.”
“Oh, you’re a brave one,” the older man said with a hoarse chuckle following.
“Betsy’s a good woman,” Rhodes’s father said, and Knox had no idea what he should say.
“Of course she is,” Gramps said, and Knox realized he wasn’t part of the conversation at all. “I was just saying she’s full of fire.”
“Is she?”
“I’ve seen her in a dance committee meeting,” Knox said, unsure of where the words came from. “And she was full of fire.”
“That’s because she doesn’t like Rhonda Drexel,” Rhodes said.
“Why is that?” his father asked.
Rhodes glanced into the kitchen, where the majority of the women worked. Logan sat at the counter, and he said something that caused an uproar of laughter. Knox turned back to the men at the table at the same time Rhodes did.
“Oh, Rhonda stole Betsy’s boyfriend in high school. She’s never quite gotten over it.”
“Lunch time,” Betsy herself announced, and Knox stood up with everyone else besides Gramps. She went through the food as if everyone in the homestead were blind, and Knox fell to the back of the line, having always noticed that Betsy waited until the very end to get herself any food.
He edged over to her, craving the feel of her hand in his, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. “I’m sorry,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like you being perfect was a bad thing.”
“Nobody’s perfect,” she said, keeping her eyes on the people moving through line. There were substantially less people than what she fed for lunch, yet she watched them like a hawk.
“Maybe I sometimes, compared to you, just feel…inadequate.”
Betsy faced him then, and he knew he’d said something important to draw her away from lunch. “I have never thought that about you.”
He did take her hand then, squeezing it. “Thanks, Betsy.” He pressed his lips to her temple and joined the line. Maybe he could salvage this day with ribs and mashed potatoes.
After lunch, he found himself out on the ranch with Betsy, watching her toss feed to the chickens. “See, that one’s named Henrietta,” she said, nodding to a black hen. “And this one’s called Chuckles.” She beamed down at him and cocked her head. “See how he chuckles all the time.”
Knox listened, and he could hear the chicken making some clucky warbling sounds in the back of his throat even as he ate. The simplicity of the creature made him smile, and the fact that Betsy loved these chickens also warmed his heart.
“How’s the catering coming?” he asked, taking a handful of feed from her bucket and tossing it to the third chicken, who loitered in the corner.
“Bennie,” she called to him. “Come eat, boy.”
Knox chuckled at the way she talked to the fowl like it was a dog, and the chicken in the corner didn’t move. He wore a wild look in his eye, and Knox wondered if the animal was sick. Betsy didn’t answer his question, and she edged away from him, clucking to her precious chickens.
So the catering business wasn’t going well. Last she’d told him, she was working on her menu, prices, and website.
He decided he didn’t want to let her put the distance between them, so he trailed after her and asked, “Do you still want to be a caterer, Bets?”
Chapter 11
Betsy shrugged her shoulders, sudden emotion at Knox’s question rising through her throat and stifling her voice.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, brushing his fingers along hers. He portrayed compassion and clear concern in his question, and she didn’t think he’d let her get away with ignoring him a second time.
“I’m not sure I want to be a caterer,” she said. “I mean, I want to do something. And I’ve spent a ton of time on the plans and website over the past couple of weeks.” She tipped the bucket and dropped the l
ast of the chicken feed onto the ground.
The sun shone brightly, providing some warmth to the day though it was mostly a mirage.
“So I don’t know.” She turned toward him, barely meeting his eye as she headed back to the shed where the chicken supplies were kept.
“What do you want to do?” Knox asked, taking her hand and strolling like it was summertime. “If you could have anything you wanted, do anything, live anywhere, what would it be?”
Betsy studied the ground as she walked. “I’m afraid to say.”
“You can tell me,” he said gently. “Isn’t that what we’re doing? Sharing important things about ourselves? What we really want?”
That was exactly what Betsy wanted, but she heard the incredulity in his voice when he asked her what she did to make money, all those weeks ago.
“I’m still figuring it out,” she said. “I’ll let you know when I do.”
“Maybe I could help you.”
Maybe he could, but she still didn’t want to tell him that she wanted his brother to build her a house near the entrance of the ranch so she could quilt, bake, and garden to her heart’s content. Would he support her…doing nothing?
It’s not nothing, she told herself. Her mother had never had a job. She’d raised the kids, made sure breakfast was eaten before school, homework and piano lessons done afterward, and now she claimed to be preparing herself for grandparenthood.
She and Knox made it back to the homestead, and she paused on the front porch and tipped up on her toes. “I’m sorry I upset you earlier today.”
“I know,” he murmured just before kissing her. Betsy felt herself falling, falling, falling. She held onto his shoulders, and touched his hair, and cradled his face in her palms until someone opened the front door and caused them to jump apart.
“Granny wants to play a game,” Jessie said, poking her head out. “And all the blinds are open, just so you know.” She gave them a look that said stop making out on the porch where we can all see, and she ducked back inside.
“You up for a game with my family?” she asked.
“Is it bad?” Knox asked.
“Oh, Rhodes is a cheater and will defend himself to the death. My mom usually gets upset about halfway through and leaves to go make cookies. And Jessie wins everything.”
“So that’s why you don’t invite her to poker night,” he said, a smile on his face.
“Oh, there’s so many reasons she can’t come to poker night,” Betsy said, reaching for the doorknob.
“Oh?” Knox moved to follow her. “What’s another one?”
“All the cowboys love her,” she said, pushing open the door and going inside the house. A rush of warmth greeted her, and she sighed into it, glad there would be more people to distract Knox’s attention from her and her lowly dreams to be a homemaker and mother.
As she scanned the crowd, she decided right then and there to invite Jessie to poker night. Then she’d see Flynn and Betsy would know if he was the one her sister was crushing on.
Another week went by, and they were another week closer to Valentine’s Day. She’d stopped practicing the baking in the morning, and she hadn’t worked on Cast Iron Catering for another minute.
With just over a week to go until the fourteenth, Wednesday morning found her walking down the long road from the homestead to her grandparent’s home near the entrance of the ranch.
Granny’s friends would be coming over for lunch in a few hours, and she’d asked Betsy to come help her make a brunch that wouldn’t be forgotten. Specifically, she wanted Betsy’s famous ham and egg breakfast sliders. They were popular on Christmas morning, as they could be made ahead of time. Or when Rhodes wanted to have real food at a tailgate party for the Superbowl. Or New Year’s Day.
Betsy hadn’t made them for any of those events this year, and Granny would be pairing the sliders with her special fruit salad, peach punch, and her lemon poppy seed muffins.
In fact, Betsy could smell the citrusy goodness when she was still a block or two away from her granny’s cabin. She’d learned to bake the muffins as one of the first recipes Granny had trusted her to do solo.
“Granny,” she said as she entered the cabin, her cheeks tingling as they warmed up.
“Come in, come in,” Granny said from the kitchen. She’d already put her serving platters and trays on the dining room table, along with five place settings for her and her friends. “I’m ready to learn your ways.”
She smiled and accepted a hug from Betsy, holding her at arm’s length and looking right into her face. Betsy used to hate it when Granny did this, as if she could see right into Betsy’s soul.
Of course, that was back when Betsy did things she didn’t want her grandmother to know about, like sneaking off with a boy or skipping class to go to lunch with her friends.
“You and Knox are getting along okay,” Granny finally decreed, and Betsy smiled at her.
“Most of the time,” she said.
She released her and bent to look at the muffins through the glass in the front of the oven. “What’s holding you back?”
Granny was a safe person, and Betsy had always been able to talk to her. “Has it every occurred to you that I don’t really do anything around the ranch?”
Her grandmother straightened and looked Betsy right in the eye. “What?”
“I make lunch sometimes,” she said with a sigh, turning away from her grandmother’s sharp eyes. “Is that really what my life is going to be?”
Gramps came in from outside, stamping his feet and going, “Whoo-ee! It’s freezing out there, but the well is as good as ever.” He stepped into the kitchen, shaking his hat in one hand. “Oh, morning, Betsy.”
“What are you doing today?” Betsy asked, opening a drawer and putting on an apron.
“Oh, Dusty is coming to get me and take me to the movies.”
“He likes to flirt with the girl who sells popcorn there,” Granny said as if she was mentioning that it would snow later.
“Of course he does,” Betsy said dryly. It was no family—or town—secret that Dusty was a huge flirt.
“Betsy was just telling me that she wants to follow in my footsteps and be a professional homemaker.”
Betsy froze, ice filling her chest. “Granny, I didn’t mean—”
“I know exactly what you meant,” she said, pulling two cartons of eggs out of the fridge. “Women these days are so progressive, but you know, there’s nothing wrong with being a homemaker. And you’re very, very good at it. Knox would be a very lucky man to have you waiting for him at home.”
“Just like I have been to have you waiting for me at home all these years,” Gramps said, giving Granny a quick squeeze. He faced Betsy, a wrinkly grin on his face. “She does kick me out every Wednesday, but I still love her.”
Betsy laughed with her grandfather while Granny rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Do I have to wait for him?” she asked. “I mean, you didn’t just sit around and wait for Gramps to come in off the ranch, did you?”
“Heavens, no,” Granny said, pointing to the two bags of rolls on the counter. Betsy reached for them, wondering if she really had to be more, do more, be something, do something, to be a valuable part of her family. Or valuable to society. Or to Knox.
“Sometimes, you want him waiting for you, you know?” Granny purred in the back of her throat, and Betsy laughed again. “Now, let’s get started on these sliders. Gramps won’t go until he gets some breakfast.”
Betsy started instructing about the layers, and the cheese, ham, and scrambled eggs came together quickly. It was really quite an easy dish, and her mind was allowed to wander toward the future she wanted for herself.
No money restrictions. No roadblocks at all.
In it, she saw herself feeding people and making them happy—basically what she did now.
She saw a home of her own here on the ranch—which seemed impossible.
She saw her and Knox—which infused fear right into her
bloodstream. Would he want her if she didn’t have grand aspirations for herself or a career?
Betsy mixed her dry ingredients with her wet, the kitchen in the pub quite chilly this early in the morning. She was going through one last practice run with the sugar cookies, and she actually enjoyed the date with herself, the stainless steel work benches, and the dough.
She rolled and cut, each cookie a wonderful four-inch tall heart that would puff and then crinkle along the edges. She hoped. She got the first four sheet pans in the fridge to chill while she used the giant mixing bowl to stir up another batch of dough.
By the time Bethany showed up at seven to start her daily prep for the pub, Betsy had one hundred and ninety-two cookies and the cream cheese frosting to go with them. She’d made this many cookies three previous times, and she boxed up twenty to take out to the ranch.
The rest she’d take to the bakery on her way back to Quinn Valley.
“Want a cookie?” Betsy tipped the plastic container toward Bethany, who plucked four out.
“Thanks, Betsy. You all ready for the big day?”
Betsy drew a deep breath and blew it out. “I sure hope so. I am so done getting up this early.” She flashed a grin at the chef who’d married her cousin, Ryder. Meeting a Quinn honestly wasn’t hard to do. If Betsy threw a rock, she’d hit a Quinn, and that was saying something as throwing certainly wasn’t her strong suit.
Bethany laughed. “You get used to it.”
“Well, at this point, I’ll be glad when this dance is over.”
“Really? You seem to love it.” Bethany pulled a binder out and flipped it open, glancing through it. To Betsy, it looked like recipes or a list of menu items, and Bethany tied an apron on while Betsy started taking her huge bin of cookies out to the car.
Thankfully, Marge at the bakery had been paying Betsy for the cookies, so she’d been able to replace the ingredients she’d been buying.
“Betsy,” Marge said when she came stumbling through the bakery doors. “Let me help you.” But the older woman couldn’t really do much except clear some counter space. Betsy slid the cookies onto the counter with a huff and wiped her hair off her forehead.