The Heirloom Brides Collection (5 page)

“I am in my right mind. That horse is going to pay for what he did to Pops.”

“Now listen, gal. Think about what you’re saying.” He remained planted in front of the shotgun, so there was no way Betsy could get it. Frustrated, she stomped her foot.

“That horse has been nothing but a mean, hateful animal since the day he was born. But Pops treats him like a baby. And look what that got him? Practically dead. If he’d ever taught that animal to mind, he wouldn’t be lying abed about to die.”

“Seems to me, you might be madder at Old Joe than the horse.”

Gulping back her tears, Betsy swiped at her wet face. “I told him not to ride on the ice. Then he had to go and feed that greedy, dumb animal a peppermint. A peppermint!” Besides, Junior was dead wrong. She was equally mad at them both.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ve been eyeing Job for some time, and your stubborn Pops won’t even hear about selling him. But seems to me, that’s your decision right now.”

Betsy frowned. “What are you getting at?”

“There’s no point in putting that horse down. With a little discipline, he’ll be a fine animal, and I’m willing to take him off your hands.”

A gasp worked its way through her, and she stared wide-eyed. “And you call yourself Pops’ friend.” She spun around and walked back to Job’s stall, folded her arms, and widened her stance. “I’m not letting anyone take this horse. Why, it’d break Pops’ heart.”

Junior nodded and smiled. “You’re likely right. The offer’ll still be there if you change your mind.”

“Don’t count on it.”

She lifted Job’s saddle from its stand and opened the stall. Job stomped when he saw her, likely looking for a peppermint—which as far as Betsy was concerned, he could just forget about. He had an awful lot of making up to do if he ever wanted another treat.

“Still planning on going somewhere?”

Junior took the saddle from her and slung it over the horse’s back.

“This horse needs to be ridden regularly. Otherwise he gets particularly cantankerous.”

The liveryman’s eyebrows rose. “Sure you can handle him?”

Betsy sent him a withering look. “There’s not a horse alive I can’t handle.” Just because she didn’t care much for this horse didn’t mean she hadn’t exercised him plenty when Pops was too tired or lazy to do it. Well, not lazy, she supposed. After her talk with Doc, she realized that Pops had been sick the past two years. If he’d just told her, she wouldn’t have gotten so mad at him all the time.

“Take it easy out there, and don’t ride him too hard. The ground’s still soft from the melting.” He cinched the saddle straps and led Job out of the stall. After a full day and a half of being cooped up, Job stamped with nervous energy. Betsy knew she’d have her hands full trying to control him. But the image of Pops lying so still and pale and broken gave her confidence she wouldn’t be taking any of Job’s business.

Outside the barn, she held his reins with a determined grip and climbed into the saddle, adjusting her skirts for decency as she didn’t have her sidesaddle. Heaviness descended on her chest at the thought. Pops had bought her sidesaddle for her fifteenth birthday. “It ain’t decent for you to be straddling the saddle,” he’d said. Betsy nudged Job and gave him his head, despite Junior’s warning about the soft ground. Her sidesaddle, along with everything else, was likely gone. She had nothing left of her parents.

As Job raced through town, she realized where he was heading and where she’d intended to go all along. They were going home.

S
tuart held the broom tight and pressed hard on the boardwalk outside the store, sending mud flying with strong steady swipes. Ma had been complaining about the mud-tracked floor since yesterday. Better to take the time to sweep than listen to her fuss for another day. Just as he was turning to go back inside, a blur of horse and rider galloped by. He gaped as he realized Betsy was riding the horse that had thrown Old Joe. Knowing Betsy’s temper, he’d figured she’d shoot the horse or at the very least sell him to the highest bidder.

Shaking his head, he stepped inside and set the broom against the wall, his mind remaining on the image of Betsy flying through Tucker’s Creek on that wretched horse. Where’d she think she was going?

“Was that Betsy riding through town like a band of Indians was behind her?”

He nodded. Frowned. “You reckon she still doesn’t know about the auction?”

“What’s on your mind, Stuart? Are you worried that’s where she’s going?”

The more he thought on it, the more certain he was that the cabin was exactly where Betsy was heading. What would she find when she got there? He’d gone to the auction yesterday, surprised at how many folks had turned out to capitalize on their neighbor’s bad luck. He squirmed a little at the thought. After all, he’d known exactly why he was going to the auction—though Ma had been against it. He’d bid on the item he’d gone for and won, although he’d had to go a bit higher than he’d intended.

The gold watch burned against his chest as he reached up and patted his shirt pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it open. Then shook his head. “Still isn’t keeping time.”

“Good. It serves you right, coveting poor Old Joe’s prized possession.”

“Someone was going to buy it.” He couldn’t resist the urge to defend himself, though he didn’t see why Ma was so dead set against the purchase.

“What others do is between them and their Maker. What you do is… well, that’s God’s business, too.” She scowled. “And mine. I don’t know where I went wrong with you. Acting like all the other vultures in this town, wanting to pick away at that poor man’s bones.”

“That’s a little—”

She held up her hand. “And think of poor Betsy. What on earth is she going to do? Old Joe has kept her all to himself out on that farm with absolutely no prospects, forcing her to dress practically like an old widow. I don’t believe he ever intended for her to get married.”

Stuart hadn’t even thought of Betsy getting married. So Ma was likely right. He glanced toward the door, the thought of Betsy’s image riding past still playing on his mind.

Ma swiped the feather duster across the counter. “Well?”

Stuart blinked. “Well, what?”

“Are you going to go after that girl, or is she going to have to find the cabin gone over and emptied out all by herself?”

“I suppose I should.”

“I’d think so.”

Stuart grabbed his hat and coat and headed toward the door. Then hesitated, pulled the watch from his pocket once more, and placed it in the money drawer behind the counter.

Ma snorted. “Coward.”

Heat burned his face. “I just see no point in carrying a broken watch. I’ll likely have to send it off to get it fixed.”

“Lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t fool me, young man.” Ma’s voice held a firm admonishment. “You are ashamed, as you most certainly should be, and you don’t want to chance Betsy catching a glimpse of her grandfather’s watch in your possession.”

That was ridiculous, but he wasn’t about to argue with Ma once she got something into her head.

“Sure you can take care of things by yourself?”

Her hand swept empty the room. “Surely,” she said with a wry smile.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Be kind. And remember, she’s just had a devastating loss. It’s possible she’ll be angry and possibly sharp tongued.”

Stuart gave a one-sided smile of his own. “When isn’t she?”

“Don’t judge the girl too harshly. She has her crosses to bear.”

Stuart made his way to the livery where he boarded his horse. Since Pa had built their home in the center of town, he and Mr. Mahoney had bartered their services to each other. Pa boarded his horses, and the liveryman received a certain amount of store goods each month for free. Once Junior took over, they’d kept the arrangement, and again, after Pa’s death, Stuart and Ma had seen no reason to discontinue.

Junior glanced up, surprise evident in his face. Stuart didn’t blame him. He rarely rode the horse through the week. Junior exercised the chestnut mare more than Stuart did. “Something I can do for you, Stuart?”

“I need to take Red out for a while.”

“Going somewhere in particular?” Junior moved as he spoke, going to Red’s stall and grabbing the horse blanket. Without asking Stuart, he started saddling the horse.

Stuart wasn’t about to settle the man’s obvious curiosity and let loose a swarm of idle town gossip that he was sweet on Betsy Lowell. He shrugged. “Just for a ride.”

“Store’s slow today?”

“Yep. Everyone came in for supplies during the storm. Guess they were afraid winter came early and meant to stay.”

“I see.” Junior cleared his throat and tightened the straps under Red’s overfed belly. “You know, Betsy Lowell was in a bit ago. She took Job for a ride.”

Treading lightly, Stuart weighed his words so as not to lie, while not giving anything away. “That so?”

“Yessiree. She was mad as all get-out when she stormed in here, ready to put a bullet between that horse’s eyes. I talked her out of it.”

“That’s good. Although I can see why she’d blame the horse. Old Joe spoils him so much, he thinks he’s the master and everyone else is his to command.”

A chuckle left the liveryman as he handed Stuart the reins. “Never seen anyone take on over an animal the way Old Joe did that one.”

“Most likely to his detriment.”

The thought sobered both men. “It’s been two days, and he’s still not awake.” Junior scrubbed his hand across his chin.

Stuart cringed at the image of Old Joe the way they’d placed him in the bed at Doc Avery’s. Short of a miracle, he didn’t see how the old-timer could come back from such an awful accident, but then, he believed in miracles if God so chose. For Betsy’s sake, he prayed her grandfather would pull through. Although she’d likely have plenty to say to him once he woke up.

“You going after Betsy?”

Stuart scowled at the way Junior had worked Betsy back into the conversation. “Ma figured she shouldn’t face the empty place by herself. Old Joe never told her what was going to happen.”

“She knows now.”

“You told her?”

Junior nodded. “I figured she had the right to know, and no one else was telling her.”

Relief washed over Stuart that he wouldn’t have to be the one to explain what happened. Still, she’d likely be in a state.

“She shouldn’t be alone out there.”

“Likely not.”

Stuart mounted Red, inclining his head to the liveryman as he headed out.

Betsy reined in Job on the hill just above the vacant cabin. The land looked so still, so lonesome, that it was difficult to hold back the tears. But she refused to cry. She preferred anger over sadness. Anger spurred her to action. Sadness made her weary. So weary she wanted to crawl into her bed—not her bed any longer—and sleep until Pops was well again and everything went back to the way it was before.

Though there was certainly no reason to go any closer to the cabin, Betsy couldn’t help herself. Job had grown antsy and was beginning to pull toward home. Despite her desire to show him who was boss, for once, she and the horse were of the same mind. She allowed him his head, and they cantered down the grassy hill and reached the cabin in minutes. Dismounting, she let Job roam. Slowly, she made her way into the empty cabin.

A heavy sigh left her. She had played at her grandfather’s feet as a child when Ma and Pa would take her to visit, and she’d always dreamed of the day her own children would lift their chubby little hands and take his as he led them into the yard and showed them how to feed the chickens and milk the cow. A lump formed in her throat at the thought of what might have been. If Pops had informed her of the trouble they were in, she could have taken in sewing or, heaven help her, even married Mr. Blakely, though the very idea made her skin crawl.

“What are you doing here?”

Betsy spun around at the man’s voice, coming face-to-face with Leo Blakely. She scowled. “So it was you.”

He grinned and nodded. “Yep. I bought the place. Got it at a robber’s price, too.”

“That’s fitting. Considering you’re nothing but a low-down thief, snatching Pops’ place out from under him.”

Leo’s gaze narrowed, and his eyes darkened with a danger Betsy had never seen before. Instinctively she stepped back. “I bought the place fair and square. It ain’t my fault Old Joe didn’t keep up his payments. If anyone’s a thief, he is, living here a whole year without paying the bank. Reckon that makes you a thief, too.”

Betsy snatched back the words on the edge of her tongue for fear that look in his eyes might turn into something more violent. “I didn’t know anything about that.”

“I didn’t reckon you did. I’ve been telling Old Joe for months I’d settle up with the bank if you’d agree to marry me. But he wouldn’t do it. I guess he’s regretting that now.”

Horror filled Betsy’s being. He had suggested that Old Joe sell her? Of course, only moments earlier she had been thinking close to the same thing. But to hear it put so blatantly curled her stomach. Especially since he’d obviously taken her silence to mean she wished Old Joe had done it. He moved closer, slinking forward like a mountain lion with its prey in sight.