The Heirloom Brides Collection (15 page)

A grin reached Old Joe’s lips. “You know about that, eh?”

“My pa told me years ago. He wanted that old watch badly. I think that’s why I wanted it so much. But it was promised to Betsy, and she’s always counted on having it on her wedding day. I don’t want to take that away from her.”

The old man gave a short laugh. “So you think after this, Betsy’ll forgive you and marry you and you’ll have the watch anyway.”

“Well, I can’t say that’s not a hope. But the truth is, I want her to have it on her wedding day, no matter who she marries.”

Old Joe nodded. “Okay, boy. If you’re sure that’s the way you want it.”

“It is. It’s the right thing to do.”

Betsy entered the schoolroom-turned-dance-floor with Miss Annie. She tried not to look for Stuart but found it difficult to hide her disappointment when she didn’t see him among the dancers or along the walls. “Don’t worry. He’ll be here,” Miss Annie said. She nodded toward the refreshment table. “Look.”

Betsy caught her breath at the sight of Stuart in a fresh black suit.

“He’s as handsome as his father.” Miss Annie’s voice held such sadness, Betsy turned to her.

“In another life, Stuart might have been my son. His pa and I courted at one time, but he loved Nan from the day she stepped off the stage to teach school. I tried to win him back, but it was no use.”

“Well, it won’t be that way for Stuart and me.”

“Don’t be a fool. What he did was wrong, but he’s apologized and tried to make it right. Don’t let your pride keep you from love.” She nudged Betsy’s arm. “Someone wants to speak to you.”

Following her gaze, Betsy noted Mrs. Fields waving her over to a group of chairs close to the refreshments. She hesitated only a moment, then headed her way as Miss Annie moved toward a group of older women.

Mrs. Fields looked lovely in deep brown velvet that brought out the color of her eyes. “You look lovely, ma’am.”

“Why, thank you.” She glanced over Betsy’s shoulder. “Did I see you come in with that woman?”

Betsy turned and followed her gaze to Miss Annie. “It’s too bad she never got married. She’s a good person.”

A snort left Mrs. Fields. “A man-hungry woman if I ever saw one.”

Betsy leaned close and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Then spoke close to her ear. “Don’t be too hard on her, ma’am. You had the life she thought she’d have. And let me tell you, she only says the kindest things about you and Stuart.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am. It is.”

Mrs. Fields took Betsy’s hand as she stood up. “You’re as beautiful as I knew you’d be. And the ribbon woven through your hair is perfect.”

Betsy reached up and touched the ribbon. “Thank you.”

Behind her, she heard a man’s voice: “Excuse me, miss.”

Her belly fluttered as she turned, then her heart sank. “Good evening, Mr. Carter.”

“May I have this dance, Miss Lowell?”

She couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse, so she nodded. “I’m honored.”

For the next two hours, she danced with one man after another. Young men, older men with graying temples looking for a young wife, even a few boys who she had a feeling asked her on a dare. Everyone, it seemed, except for Stuart. He hadn’t so much as looked at her for the entire dance. She finally gathered the courage to refuse a request for the last dance, and as the violins began to play she went to the refreshment table and requested a glass of punch.

When she felt a warm hand at her elbow, she knew before she turned that it was Stuart. “Will you honor me with the last dance, Miss Lowell?”

She nodded, and he took the cup from her hand and set it on the table. Silently, he led her onto the dance floor. It seemed as though she melted into his arms, fitting perfectly as he began to move to the music. “You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight.”

“Thank you. And you’re the most dashing man.”

He smiled, she smiled in return, and the tension seemed to fall away as though they’d never argued.

“I went to see Pops tonight before I came here. He’s never seen me dressed up.”

“And did he tell you how lovely you look?”

Betsy laughed at the memory of her grandpa’s scowl. “He told me I looked positively indecent and if he had the use of both his arms and both his legs he’d hog-tie me and keep me in.”

Stuart threw back his head and laughed. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“He told me you went to see him earlier.”

Stuart’s face darkened. “He said he wasn’t going to say anything.”

“You shouldn’t have given him the watch.”

“It was never meant to be mine.”

“But that’s not true, Stuart. It came from your family in the first place.”

“If only my grandpa could’ve beaten a full house.”

Betsy rolled her eyes. “If I know Pops, half those cards probably came from his sleeve.”

Stuart chuckled and turned her on the floor. She wished the music would go on forever and ever. A man approached, tapping Stuart on the shoulder to cut in. Ever the gentleman, Stuart reluctantly stepped back, but Betsy had waited too long for this dance and she had no intention of cutting it short. She looked at Mr. Carter. “I’m sorry, but I want to dance with him.”

Both men showed surprise on their faces, then Stuart stepped back up and took her in his arms. “Sorry, Jonathon. Lady’s choice.”

He turned to Betsy. “That was an unexpected honor.”

Betsy drew a deep breath, determined that she would never again let her pride get the better of her where Stuart was concerned. “The truth is, I came here tonight only to dance with you. If you’d asked me first, I never would have accepted an invitation from another man.”

Much to Betsy’s disappointment, the music ended just then, and the room erupted in applause for the band. Annoyance showed on Stuart’s face. He glanced around, then grabbed her hand. “Come on.” Grabbing their coats, he took her outside into the schoolyard.

He placed a hand on either of her arms and looked down into her eyes with such intensity, she almost couldn’t breathe. “Say it again.”

Betsy refused to play coy. She knew exactly what he wanted to hear. “The truth is,” she said, returning his gaze, “I came here tonight only to dance with you. If you’d asked me first—”

His face descended, and his lips pressed against hers, warm and firm. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer as her arms reached up, hands clasping behind his neck. She lost all sense of time, and they stayed that way until they heard the door open. Then slowly, they pulled apart.

“I’m taking you home.”

“What about your ma? Besides, Miss Annie won’t allow gentleman callers, remember?” It was one thing for her to allow a few dances. Another for her to change her entire set of rules.

“Hang on. Stay here.” She watched him walk inside, and when he returned a moment later, he took her elbow, and they began to walk.

“What about Miss Annie?”

“She agreed to my walking you home. As a matter of fact, she said we can go into the restaurant for pie.”

“I don’t believe it!”

He held up a key. “She gave me this.”

“Well, let’s go.” She stopped short.

“What?” Stuart asked.

“Your ma? We forgot about her.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Miss Annie is driving her home in my buggy. They were together when I went inside. It was my ma’s idea. Must be a Christmas miracle.”

Grinning, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and took a step forward, but he didn’t budge. “Is something wrong?”

He nodded. “I don’t want to wait.”

“What are you talking about? Wait for what?”

“I was going to ask you to marry me when I took you home, but I can’t wait that long to ask you.”

Betsy’s heart raced, and she stepped close to him. “Yes.”

Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to hers and pulled her closer. “Are you sure?”

“Well, we haven’t actually courted yet, so I’m not sure it’s all that proper.”

“Oh, Betsy Lowell. I’ve been courting you since the first time I dipped your hair ribbon in ink.”

“Is that what you were doing?”

“Of course. Couldn’t you tell I was sweet on you?”

She smiled. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have given you a fat lip for your trouble.”

“It was worth it. I’m just glad it’s healed now.”

Betsy allowed him to pull her even closer, and just before his head came down, she whispered, “Why’s that?”

“Why do you think?”

Then his lips were on hers once more.

When he pulled away, they smiled at each other. Betsy widened hers into a teasing grin. “You know what this means, of course.”

“What’s that?”

“We’ll be sharing the watch.”

“As it should be.”

Betsy’s mind whirled with questions. Where would they live? What about Pops? Would she work at the store? Should she continue her position at Miss Annie’s until the wedding? When would the wedding be? But she wanted to savor this moment.

“What are you thinking about?”

“It’s not important right now.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’d rather you kiss me again.”

Lowering his head, he obliged.

All the things she had thought about fled her mind. They could discuss them later.

They had plenty of time.

Tracey Bateman
is a prolific writer of more than forty novels. She has more than a million books in print and has won numerous awards, including the prestigious Christy Award for Excellence in 2010. Tracey makes her home in the beautiful Missouri Ozarks with her husband and four children.

Something New

Joanne Bischof

Blue Ridge Mountains, Virginia
Spring 1893

W
ren knew this earth. It would always be here. Tucked in the hollow where the sugar maples grew and the breeze blew easy over the western ridge, this mountain ground had yet to fail her. If she planted, tended, and pulled, it would sustain and provide. Kneeling against the poky garden gate, she tugged a weed from the soil and set the spindly leaves in her willow basket, then searched for another.

Her hands were as quick as her hope of getting the garden weeded and the lettuce seeds planted before chores. With a day of laundry still ahead, Wren was glad no patrons had occupied the guest room this week. Though it meant fewer towels and sheets for her to wash, it also meant less income for her family. And that they dearly needed. Not nearly as thankful as she’d been a moment ago, she sat back on her heels and reached for the tattered seed packet.

Her grandmother had sent the seeds all the way from England along with a note of planting instructions almost a year ago. As had always been their little pastime.
Rouge d’hiver
, the packet read. A European variety that Wren had never seen before, which, of course, was all the fun about trading seeds with her grandmother.

Wren poked at the soil with her spade, suddenly fighting the melancholy of all those lost to her. First her beloved father. Then her spry grandmother; the woman she’d only been able to love from afar. And then there was Tate. Her… her…

Stomach just about flipping at the thought of
her best
—until the day he abandoned her—
friend
, Wren reminded herself of the many reasons she’d set that girlish fancy aside. Yet as she unearthed another weed, pulling out the old, moving on with the new, she whispered a prayer that he was still safe—wherever he was.

Wren tried to check a sigh, but it slipped out all the same. Her time here, where uneven pickets held the garden snug against the log cabin, was often the only moment of solitude she would have through the day. The cabin, no more than a humble
ordinary
—wasn’t large enough to be an inn. It was simply a dwelling for travelers in need if they had mere coins to spare. And with its three little rooms and cramped loft, it had always been home.

Knowing her minutes in the garden were nearly spent, Wren savored the warmth of the sun on her shoulders. This place of refuge and quiet—especially with twin brothers to look after. And with the sound of footsteps drawing near, it was about to come to an end.

“Hello, Little Bird,” said a deep, smooth voice.