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Authors: Tracey V. Bateman

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BOOK: The Heirloom Brides Collection
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Mrs. Fields smiled and gave her a passing pat on the shoulder as she walked to the counter. Betsy noted with some concern that the older woman moved a little slower than usual and seemed to be favoring one side of her body. She wanted to ask if everything was okay but didn’t want to pry.

Mrs. Fields set the lengthy list on the counter and turned toward the shelves behind her. A sense of unease twisted Betsy’s gut as Stuart walked toward the counter, glanced at the paper, and frowned. He turned his back, leaned over, and said something to his mother. She spoke right back, equally quiet, lifting a ten-pound bag of flour from the shelf and dropping it firmly into Stuart’s arms. Anger and humiliation shot through Betsy as Stuart turned and practically slammed the bag down. His gaze landed first on Pops, then drifted to her. Their eyes met.

Stuart Fields might have been just about the handsomest boy in their schoolroom, growing up, and he might still be the handsomest man in town, but Betsy didn’t find anything attractive in that haughty look. She narrowed her gaze at him to show him she couldn’t care less what he thought. Noting with more than a little satisfaction that his face turned red and he averted his gaze, she raised her eyebrows and gave herself back to looking at the dresses and ribbons.

Stuart squirmed a little as he turned away from Betsy Lowell’s haughty gaze. “Have you seen the ledger lately? Mr. Lowell owes for the last two years.”

Predictably, his ma’s lips pressed together, and she raised her eyebrows as she pointed to the sugar sack. “Three of those,” she said firmly.

Stuart rolled his eyes but did as Ma commanded. “Fifteen pounds of sugar. Where do they plan to store it?”

“Keep your voice down. I don’t think Betsy knows.”

“Knows what?” He ventured a quick glance at the pretty brunette who at this moment stood, arms folded across her chest, shooting daggers with her blue eyes. He didn’t begrudge her the anger she directed his way. He had been unforgivably rude.

“About the bank.”

Shock shot through him. “You mean she doesn’t know Old Joe lost their land?” How could her grandfather have done that to her?

“That’s exactly what I mean. That girl has no idea that tomorrow it’ll all be gone. So don’t be so unkind.”

Stuart wasn’t without a heart. Compassion tugged at him as he imagined her taking supplies home and setting up for the winter only to discover she was out in the cold. “Ma, where will they live?”

“That’s for this community to help work out for them. We can’t see them without a roof over their heads with winter coming on.”

“You two gonna jaw all day, or you gonna finish up my order?”

Stuart stiffened his spine at the sound of Old Joe’s voice. You’d think a man living on the charity of others would show a little more humility than the cross old man. It wasn’t too difficult to see where Betsy’s pride came from. Stuart would have liked nothing more than to mention the fact to Mr. Lowell, but Ma would dress him down good if he showed disrespect to any customer—especially an old man—and, though he couldn’t fathom the reason, to this old man in particular. His pa had been the same way about Mr. Lowell. But Stuart had never understood the devotion.

Stuart pulled a crate from beneath the counter and began boxing up the supplies. “Almost finished.”

“Don’t forget the peppermints. My horse has a hankering for them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ma sent him an approving nod as he bit back the words he wanted to say and chose to be polite instead.

By the time the order was complete, Stuart had filled two large crates. He glanced at Betsy and noted with some surprise that she was focused on the ribbons in the bins next to the dresses Ma had ordered from Topeka. In his mind’s eye, he could see her at eight or nine years old, long, dark braids tied with ribbons, but he couldn’t remember anytime in the recent years when she’d worn anything but a dark dress, a man’s coat, and a man’s hat. Like today. The absence of any sort of feminine enhancements in no way detracted from her beauty. She might not be all that pleasant when she opened her mouth to speak, but only a blind man wouldn’t recognize that Betsy Lowell was and always had been the prettiest girl in town.

“Get your eyes back in your head, son.” Mr. Lowell’s gravelly voice jerked Stuart from his thoughts, and he felt his ears warm as Betsy looked up at her grandfather’s words just in time to catch Stuart staring at her. Her eyes grew wide, then narrowed. Clearly she didn’t appreciate his admiration.

A low, almost indiscernible chuckle came from his mother. Stuart cleared his throat and grabbed one of the heavy crates from the counter. “I’ll just take these out to your wagon,” he said, needing to get out of there fast. Without pausing for his hat and coat, he carried the crate to the door and stepped out onto the boardwalk. He cringed a little, regretting his hasty exit. He knew his mother would pounce on his actions later, insisting he was sweet on Betsy—as she had insisted since he was a child and put worms on the little girl’s desk or dipped her braids in his inkwell. And perhaps, as a boy, he’d had a particular admiration for her, but she certainly wasn’t the sort of woman he was looking to wed.

He stepped carefully, noting the slick spots starting to form from the still-falling ice. He squirmed inside, kicking himself for staring at Betsy so openly that Old Joe and Ma had both noticed. Even if he’d had a schoolboy crush, he certainly didn’t anymore. There were no less than half-a-dozen suitable young women he could court right here in town if he so chose. Young women without haughty eyes and sharp tongues. No, Betsy Lowell might be an uncommonly beautiful girl, but beauty was vain. He’d rather marry a homely girl—as long as she wasn’t too homely—who had a quiet spirit and gentle words. Heaven help the man who got himself saddled with the likes of Betsy Lowell.

Chapter Two

B
etsy followed behind Stuart and Pops as the younger man carried the last crate to the wagon. Pops was clearly miffed and didn’t even thank Stuart, which embarrassed her more than a little. She maneuvered carefully on slick boots as she walked around the horses and reached for the seat to grab on to while she hoisted herself up. “Can I help?”

She turned, surprised to find Stuart at her side, holding out his hand. Her stomach did a leap, and she swallowed hard. She was about to accept his assistance when Pops nudged Stuart out of the way. “Best you go see to your customers and stop trying to take liberties with my granddaughter.”

“Liberties?” Stuart’s tone clearly conveyed his outrage. Betsy didn’t blame him one bit.

“Honestly, Pops.” She took his hand. She couldn’t remember the last time Pops had helped her into a wagon or held open a door for her. Even now his grip was so loose she would have felt more secure holding on to the wagon seat and getting up on her own. She turned purposely to Stuart. “Thank you for carrying out the supplies, Mr. Fields. We appreciate it.”

Pops gave a humph but fortunately didn’t say anything else insulting.

“My pleasure, Miss Lowell.”

Pops snorted and stayed planted next to the wagon, staring hard at Stuart. “Well?”

“Yes, sir. I’m going.” His gaze met Betsy’s, and he offered her a wry grin. “Be careful. Looks like ice is making things slick.”

“I will,” Betsy said, nodding as she clutched the reins and released the brake.

Pops glared after Stuart as he walked back toward the store. “Don’t be getting any ideas about that one.”

“A girl’s got to marry someone, Pops.” Betsy grinned at her own teasing. Pops could be intimidating to folks who didn’t know his gruffness covered a heart of gold. She’d figured it out when she was barely more than an infant, toddling around his cabin.

“You ain’t marrying no fella with hands like a woman’s. That boy ain’t done a man’s work a day in his life. My girl’s gonna marry someone who can take care of her.”

“Well, this girl is going to marry whomever I choose, and that’s not going to be for a very long time.” Even as she said the words, her heart sank a little. She wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. Before long, she’d be so old no one would want her anyway.

“Leo Blakely would marry you in a second, and he’s plenty set to take care of a wife.”

“Yes, and he’s old enough to be my pa.” Not to mention that when he looked at her, she felt undressed. “Besides, I know you ran him off the place a few weeks ago.” And much to Betsy’s relief the man hadn’t been back since. She’d assumed Pops had finally told him to stop coming around, trying to get Betsy to marry him. So why was he bringing up the old bachelor now?

She pulled her scarf tighter. “Pops, we best get going if we’re going to get home tonight. Stuart’s right. The roads are going to start getting too slick for the horses if we don’t get a move on.”

“We ain’t going home tonight.”

Betsy frowned. “What do you mean? Where are we going?”

“Over to the boardinghouse.”

“The boardinghouse! And just how are we going to pay Mrs. Stone?”

“You let me worry about that. Drive on over to the livery. We’ll board the horses and walk over to the boardinghouse.”

Betsy didn’t protest, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Pops was beginning to lose his mind. It was one thing to buy their goods on account. Everyone did that. But she knew for a fact that Mrs. Stone was cash on the barrel. The woman wasn’t going to let them stay in her home without payment. Mr. Mahoney’s son owned the livery, and he and Pops had always been friends, so Betsy figured he wouldn’t refuse them. But she had a feeling they’d be bedding down with the horses tonight.

She backed the wagon into the street while Pops walked to Job. It took him three tries before the horse allowed him to mount. She shook her head. The already cantankerous animal was clearly even more annoyed than ever after standing in the cold and wet for the past forty-five minutes. She followed as Pops rode toward the livery. She held her breath every time Job slipped, then gained his footing. “Pops. Maybe you ought to come ride in the wagon.”

Pops waved, then reached into his pocket. “He’s fine.” Leaning forward, he spoke low to the horse. Betsy had seen him offer the animal treats from the saddle before and had always thought it dangerous for a man his age, but she sat helpless as Job took the treat, then immediately twisted his neck around for another, nipping at Pops’ leg. Intent on the treat, the horse stepped down without looking where he was going and slipped, nearly taking Betsy’s breath. “Pops, make Job mind you before he—”

Too late. Pops spoke harshly to the horse and smacked his neck, just as Job slipped again.

Helpless, Betsy bit back a scream as his attempts to right himself failed. Horse and rider went down as one, with Pops taking the brunt of the fall, landing beneath the horse’s body.

Betsy’s breath stopped as she yanked on the reins so hard her horses’ front legs nearly came off the ground as the wagon rolled to a stop.

Job pulled himself up and limped away, his reins dragging the ground. “You stupid horse!” she screamed after him, running toward Pops, who lay on the ground, still as death.

Junior Mahoney appeared from the livery door and ran into the street just as she dropped to Pops’ side. She heard the sound of boots running on the boardwalk behind her, but her mind spun as she looked at the still form next to her. “Pops!” She grabbed his hand. Blood trickled from his mouth, and she noted his other arm was twisted in a dreadful, broken manner. Her head swam as she looked slowly down his form and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Junior Mahoney dropped to her side and nudged her. “Move away, Betsy.”

She shook her head. “Pops? Can you answer me?”

Someone took her arm and pulled her to her feet. She spun and found herself in Stuart Fields’ arms.

“Let me be!” She thrashed about, trying to get loose, but he held her tighter, seemingly without effort.

He held her out at arm’s length. “Betsy, calm down. We need to get your grandfather over to Doc Avery. Do you understand?”

His brown eyes held her gaze, and she found her breath as his words began to make sense. She nodded. If they were in a rush to get him to the doc, then Pops wasn’t dead. “Hurry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He released her, and he and Junior gathered up the frail, twisted body. The sound of her grandfather’s groan nearly took the small amount of strength still keeping her upright. They settled him as carefully as possible into the wagon bed. Betsy hurried to the seat and scrambled up. Before she could gather the reins, Stuart was next to her in the seat. “I’m driving you.”

Nodding, she released the reins to his hands. Her mind raced back to what Pops had said about Stuart and his soft hands, but as she watched him guide the horses, all Betsy could think was that they seemed very strong and capable. And she was grateful that he had taken over.

She turned in the seat to check on Pops. Junior was in the wagon sitting next to him. Gratitude welled up inside of her. She’d had no idea the liveryman had climbed into the wagon after him. They reached the doctor’s office in only a couple of minutes. Doc Avery was a middle-aged man who had only come to Tucker’s Creek five years before. Until then, they’d relied on midwives for birthing and did the best they could in emergencies. Right now, Betsy was beyond grateful the doctor had come to town.

BOOK: The Heirloom Brides Collection
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