by Liz Isaacson
“Most meetings aren’t great,” he said.
“I like Pastor Dahl’s meetings.”
“Yeah?” he asked, not really a church-goer himself. At least as of last Sunday. If Betsy went, maybe Knox would consider dragging his weary bones out of bed and putting on a tie in a couple of days.
Betsy faced him now, her eyes tracking a woman who came to the table and collected the sign-up sheets. He’d gotten here just in time. “He says good things,” she said. “It’s never more than an hour, and it gets me off the ranch.”
Knox met her eyes, searching her face for more meaning than what she’d said. “You don’t get off the ranch much?”
“Not really,” she said, bumping him with her hip. He was starting to wonder if he had a sign that said Nudge me taped somewhere on his body. “I mean, you cowboys are a hungry bunch, you know?”
Knox smiled at her. “I love it when you make lunch for us.”
“Oh, I do too,” she said. “But my life seems to rotate around the ranch.”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught a hint of emotion in her voice. Whether she was happy or sad about her life being wrapped up in Quinn Valley Ranch, he wasn’t sure.
“Betsy, we need to go.” Georgia looked at Knox. “Hey, Knox. Good to see you.”
“You too, Miss Georgia.” He tipped his hat at her as Betsy laced her arm through her sister’s.
“Well, maybe we’ll work together on the dance,” he said.
Betsy’s aqua eyes glittered at him like sunlight bouncing off water. “I hope so.”
She might as well have shot him with Cupid’s arrow—straight through the heart. He watched her walk away, sending up a quick prayer that he could figure out how to hook and keep a woman like Betsy Quinn.
Chapter 5
Betsy mixed the flour together with the eggs to make the pasta dough, gently kneading it all together the way Granny had taught her. She didn’t need to make homemade noodles for her famous four-cheese chicken and veggie ravioli, but it sure was better when she did.
All she could think about while she worked was Knox’s statement that he liked it when she cooked for the cowboys. She’d deliberately skipped Monday and Tuesday, and not just because the smithy sat cold and dormant on those days. Fine, maybe she’d checked to see if Knox would be at the ranch before deciding that today was the day to feed everyone. The day had dawned with the thought of ravioli in her head, so that was what everyone at Quinn Valley Ranch would get.
“These vegetables are done,” Granny said from her spot in front of the stove. In her old age, she leaned one palm against the counter while she stirred, and Betsy felt a flash of love for her grandmother hit her.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll get the cheese. Then we can add the chicken.” She’d pulled out one of the leftover bags she’d frozen from an earlier meal. Because she’d saved all that time, she was totally justified in taking the time to make the pasta from scratch.
The pan hissed and fizzled when she added the ricotta, and Granny stirred everything around. “How are you and Knox?”
“Granny,” Betsy chastised, glancing around. No one else was even in the house. Jessie and Cami were out in the ranch administration meeting with Rhodes and the other ranch hands. Georgia had probably gone to visit the pigs, though the January temperatures stung the nose and toes. “There is no me and Knox.”
“Oh, so we’re still in secret mode.”
“There’s nothing to tell. No secret.” Betsy hadn’t told anyone about the smoldering look she and Knox had shared during the poker game, or the situation in the kitchen with the hand-holding and the kiss. He hadn’t texted her at all since then, though he had shown up at the community center and signed up to help with the Valentine’s dance.
Secretly, Betsy imagined herself with Knox all the time. Walking down the cleared lanes, their scarves and coats buttoned and tied up tight, their fingers intertwined.
The back door opened, breaking into her fantasies. Betsy said, “Not a word to Mom.”
Granny made a locking motion against her lips and glanced up as Betsy’s mother came into the kitchen. “Whew,” she said. “It is so cold out there. I hope I didn’t kill the yeast on the walk over.” She slid two sheet pans onto the kitchen counter and exhaled heavily. “Smells good in here.”
She and Betsy traded places as she stepped over to the stove to check on the filling, and Betsy moved to separate the sheet pans so they could start to warm evenly. Her mouth watered at the thought of warm rolls and butter, and she stepped over to the fridge to find the apricot rhubarb jam she’d made last fall.
“How are things going with the Valentine Festival?” her mother asked, shrugging out of her coat.
“We haven’t met yet,” Betsy said. “Well, we did. Once. But there were only three of us, and they hadn’t put out their volunteer sign-ups yet.” She expected a text from Rhonda any day now, and she hoped she and Knox would be able to work together.
You already work together, she told herself, giving herself a mental shake. That man had infiltrated every moment of her life, and she thought it might be better to just march out to the blacksmith shop and tell him she liked him.
She clenched her teeth and kept working to get lunch on the table for the cowboys by eleven-thirty. They arrived in shifts, the men and women from the administration meeting coming in first.
Rhodes stepped over to the kitchen and kissed his mother and grandmother hello before snagging a roll at Betsy’s protest. She knew Knox wouldn’t be there yet, but she couldn’t help scanning the group anyway.
Then the work began, and she got busy serving plates of ravioli and getting more butter softened for the rolls. The homestead filled with chatter and laughter, and it made Betsy’s heart so happy.
In a lag of serving, she stood back and watched the scene before her. She’d been starting to feel more and more removed from the happenings at the ranch, and she hated that she felt like she was watching the festivities through a pane of glass. She’d knock, but no one heard her.
Then the back door opened again, and a new wave of cowboys entered, Knox with them. Their eyes met, and the temperature in the kitchen increased instantly.
“Behind you,” her mother said, and Betsy turned in slow motion. Her mom had another sheet pan of rolls, and Betsy almost reached out to grab it before she remembered it would be hot.
She backed up—right into Knox. She spun, feeling like a ball in a pinball machine, being hit and bounced all over the place.
“Hey,” he said playfully, his hand brushing hers. He stepped away a moment later and joined the line. Betsy couldn’t get a proper breath, but she moved back into the serving line and got everyone served and on their way to a table.
“Thanks for lunch, Bets,” Rhodes said, drawing her into a hug.
“Of course,” she said into his chest.
Her older brother released her and asked, “Are you going to stay here and feed me forever?” He laughed and grabbed another roll as someone called his name.
Betsy blinked, sudden emotion welling in her throat and making her eyes hot. Of course she wasn’t going to live in the homestead forever. She kept expecting her father to announce his retirement, at which point Rhodes would take over the ranch completely. He already ran the majority of it, and he’d inherit the homestead too. There were other cabins on the property, and Betsy wouldn’t be homeless.
Problem was, for her, anywhere but the homestead didn’t feel like home at all.
She snapped herself back to the moment, telling herself that it was never good to dwell on what-ifs. She naturally worried about things, and she had to work hard to put things into perspective for herself.
Finally, the last cowboy finished and left, and Betsy started cleaning up from lunch. With the leftovers stored in the fridge and plenty of ravioli in her belly, she retreated to the couch with her phone.
Thanks for lunch, Knox had texted. I got assigned to the dance committee. Meeting tomorrow night
. I’ll be at Quinn Valley again tomorrow. Want to ride in with me?
A smile touched her mouth, and she quickly tapped out a response. Sure. Thanks.
And suddenly, tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. She didn’t feel the same annoyance at Rhonda’s text that didn’t ask when she was available but dictated when and where the meeting would be.
Betsy had worked on the Valentine’s Festival in town for twelve years, so Rhonda wasn’t the only one with experience. The other woman would definitely have ideas for the dance, but so did Betsy, and she wasn’t going to back down this year.
Oh, no. This year, the Valentine’s dance would be a masquerade ball, and the eligible men and women of Quinn Valley would have the opportunity to mix and mingle in secret to find their sweetheart.
The following evening, Betsy could hardly sit still while Jessie plaited her hair. “You’re acting weird,” her sister said as she hooked another piece of hair and wove it into the rest.
Betsy met her sister’s eye in the mirror for just a moment. She felt like she’d been transported back in time two decades, all the jitters of junior high and gearing up to talk to the high school boy she’d had a crush on.
“I am not,” she finally said, deciding to keep her secret crush on Knox under her tongue. She hadn’t spoken to Georgia, and surprisingly, her sister hadn’t been around much. Okay, maybe not surprisingly. She had just made up with Logan a couple of weeks ago, and animal feeding and care in the winter was a full-time job for her sister.
“Don’t let Rhonda get to you,” Jessie said. “I heard it’s her last year chairing the festival.”
“Really?” Betsy wasn’t sure she believed that.
“Yeah, that’s what Renae said when I was there for my foot zoning the other day.”
“Hmm.” If there was someone who might know, it could be Renae. She saw a lot of people in town, but Betsy tended to wait to believe things until she had first-hand experience or knowledge with them.
“Okay, done,” Jessie said, finishing with the elastic at the end of Betsy’s braid. “Go show Rhonda that she’s not the only one with good ideas.” She smiled at Betsy and picked up her flat-iron to curl her hair.
“You going out?” Betsy asked.
“No,” Jessie said in a completely false tone.
“So who are you getting dolled up for?”
“No one,” she said.
Betsy thought about pushing her, because Jessie was definitely the tomboy of the family and if she was curling her hair…. But she didn’t want to have to defend herself and her crush on Knox, so she said, “Okay. Thanks, Jess,” and left to get her notes and her winter gear.
Knox knocked on the back door at the same time he entered. She stood in the mudroom, one arm in her coat, and he rushed forward to help her. His hand brushed hers, and time stalled.
“Do you think we have time to stop somewhere for dinner?” he asked. “I’m starving.”
Dinner? Was that a date? She buttoned her coat and moved into the kitchen to see the clock on the stove. “Probably not,” she said. “Rhonda is a bear if someone is late.” She stepped over to the fridge. “I’m sure we have something here. You can eat it on the way in.” She dug out some soup, a container of potato casserole, and half a pan of chicken and rice, naming each item as she set it on the counter.
“Did you make all of these?” he asked.
“My mom made the potato casserole. I’d go for that. It’s fantastic.” She smiled at him, beyond glad when he returned the gesture.
“Hook me up with that then,” he said.
She stuck the container in the microwave and got out a fork. “I know where to find you to get this back, Mister.” She couldn’t believe she was flirting with a fork in her hand, and a rush of foolishness hit her.
But Knox laughed and took the food out of the microwave when it beeped. They left, and he went straight to his truck. “You’ll have to drive me all the way back out here,” she said, pausing at the bottom of the steps though it was much too cold to dawdle.
“I know,” he said, scooping up a bite of potatoes. He stuck them in his mouth and got in the idling truck, leaving her little choice but to do the same.
“It’s twenty minutes,” she said.
“I know,” he repeated. “Now buckle up. The snow melted a little today, and the water is sure to be frozen by now.”
The atmosphere in his cab felt charged, and she actually enjoyed it.
“You’re a great cook,” he said as he got his truck pointed in the right direction.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Have you always enjoyed it?”
“You know what? I have. My grandmother taught all of us kids to cook, even Rhodes. My mother was a terrible cook when she married my father, and Granny taught her too.”
“Wow,” he said.
“Do you cook?” she asked.
He chuckled as he shook his head. “I can heat up hot dogs and make tacos. Stuff like that.”
“Oh, we don’t make tacos in the Quinn family,” she said with false soberness. “That’s what Ciran does. Don’t you know he makes the best tacos in the world?”
“I did not know that,” Knox said. “You’ll have to take me sometime.”
“He runs the food truck in the winter.” She reached over and took the empty container from him, as if they’d known each other for a long time and just knew what the other needed.
“Thanks,” he said.
“And sure, we can go get tacos sometime.”
“It’ll get you off the ranch,” he said.
She giggled, horrified at the girlish sound. “You’re right.”
“So what can I expect at this meeting tonight?” he asked.
“It’s usually pretty low-key,” she said. “We all sit there while Rhonda tells us what to do. But this year, I’m going to push for a masquerade ball. I’ve been trying to get one for a few years now.”
“Oh, so you volunteer a lot for this?” He cut her a quick look out of the corner of his eye.
“Yeah, for a while now,” she said. “Gets me off the ranch.” She didn’t want to admit that she’d always come to the Valentine’s Festival in the hopes that she’d find her own sweetheart.
“You never told me how the cruise was,” she said, steering the conversation away from her.
“Oh, it was a big boat and a lot of sunshine,” he said.
“You sound like you don’t like boats and sunshine,” she teased.
“Well, I like one of those things.”
“Let me guess: the sunshine.”
“I honestly don’t know why I live in Idaho,” he said. “I could shoe horses in Texas or somewhere warm.”
Betsy mentally rejected the idea, but she didn’t say anything out loud. “So let’s see. You aren’t really the monthly poker player kind of guy. You don’t like boats. Or winter. What else do I need to know about you?”
“I’m a big fan of hamburgers,” he said. “And bacon. And…I’m a pretty simply guy, actually.”
“I’m not even sure what color your hair is,” she teased. “What with you wearing that cowboy hat all the time.”
He swept it off his head and cocked it toward her. “It’s brown.”
Oh, but it wasn’t just brown. It was this gorgeous, dark brown that reminded her of melted chocolate. She licked her lips and looked away while he re-seated his hat. “I think that’s called chestnut, actually,” she said.
He burst out laughing, and that made Betsy’s whole soul warm up. When his chuckles subsided, he asked, “What about you? What do I need to know about you?”
“Oh, I’m an open book,” she said. “I cook, I sew, I make jams and jellies.” She couldn’t help the sarcasm that leaked into her voice.
He looked at her again. “You don’t sound happy about that.”
“Don’t I?” She looked at him, hoping she could tell him something she’d never told anyone. Fear gripped her vocal chords and kept her silent for a few more mo
ments. “Sometimes I get tired of the labels, that’s all.”
“Labels?”
“Domestic goddess has come up,” she said.
“Oh, well, that’s not so bad.”
“I’m more than my last dish,” she said.
Knox looked at her so long, she was sure they’d drive right off the road. “Do people make you feel like you’re not?”
“I don’t know,” she said, because she didn’t. “Sometimes I’m just not sure what I’m doing with my life, you know?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly as the lights from town came into view. “I know exactly what you mean.”
The silence between them was less charged now, and she actually enjoyed the peace in the cab. She’d told him something important to her, and he hadn’t brushed it off. Or made her feel stupid for feeling the way she did. Or offered a solution.
He’d simply listened, and she really appreciated that. They pulled into the community center parking lot, and Betsy gathered her folder and her purse.
“All right,” she said, facing the doors like she was going to battle. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter 6
Knox said maybe four words during the meeting. No, he’d said exactly four words during the meeting, but they were important ones.
I agree with Betsy.
When they spilled back out into the darkness, she whooped and gave him high five. “I can’t believe she agreed. I think you were the linchpin.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” he said, enjoying the way she was so jazzed that she’d gotten her way and dubbed the theme of the dance as a masquerade.
“No, you were. I think people were divided before you said something.”
“I didn’t say anything.” He opened her door for her and put his hand on her back to guide her into the truck. He really wanted to spend more time with her, and the twenty-minute drive back to the ranch didn’t seem like long enough.
But it was the middle of winter, and felt like midnight, and the only thing he could think of was suggesting ice cream.