Bowing to Betsy (The Matchmaker's Ball Book 11)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “No, but you may congratulate me.”

  “All right, I will. Congratulations, Miss Walters, for this thing you’ve just experienced, whatever it may be.” He raised his coffee mug to her.

  “Thank you. That’s most kind.”

  Just then, Bradley’s voice called out from the other room. “He’s awake! JT, he’s awake!”

  Betsy quickly set her soup pot on the stove so it could begin simmering, then followed the doctor into the guest bedroom. She needed to see this miracle for herself.

  ***

  "It was the prettiest fish, Papa. It was silver, but it had pink and yellow on its scales, and it was long—the longest fish I’ve ever seen. I bent over to get a look, but the ground was muddy, and my feet slipped.”

  Bradley squeezed Joey’s hand a little tighter. “That sounds like a very pretty fish.”

  “A rainbow trout, most likely,” JT said. He bent over and placed his stethoscope on Joey’s chest. “Take a few deep breaths for me, please.”

  Joey puffed in and out like he thought he was a steam locomotive. “We should go back and try to catch that fish, Pa. I bet he’d make a good dinner—but maybe not because I’d hate to kill something that pretty.”

  JT lifted each of Joey’s eyelids and looked into his eyes, then stood up straight. “Mr. Larson, what you have here is a perfectly healthy, although somewhat worse for wear, little boy.”

  Bradley swallowed hard. “You’re sure he’s fine?”

  “Well, my main concern was his brain function after taking a hit on the noggin, but just listen to him rattling on. There’s nothing wrong with his brain—not one thing.”

  Bradley chuckled. “You’re right about that.”

  JT put his stethoscope back in his bag. “I’m going to finish my coffee and help myself to some of that bread Betsy put in the oven a few minutes ago. If everything’s still looking good by the time I’ve finished, I’ll leave you to it, but you should send for me if anything changes, especially overnight.”

  “Thank you, JT. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “I really didn’t do much. His body just needed a little time to reset itself, that’s all.”

  The doctor left the room, most likely to find the coffee he’d mentioned, and Bradley saw Betsy hovering in the doorway. “Come in,” he invited.

  She entered, and as soon as her eyes fell on Joey, she crossed the room and gathered him up for a hug. “Oh, Joey, we were so worried about you,” she said as she laid him back on his pillow. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m doin’ all right. Say, Miss Walters, you give awfully nice hugs. You’re comfortable, like . . . like my fluffy feather blanket. My aunt made it for me when I was little, and it’s so soft and nice to squeeze, just like you are.”

  Bradley cleared his throat. “Now, Joey . . .”

  “What, Papa? I’m just tellin’ the truth. Give her a hug yourself, Papa, and you’ll see what I mean.”

  Bradley glanced over at Betsy. Her face was rosy pink and he could tell she was embarrassed, but she was also fighting back a smile. “Truth is, Joey, I’ve already hugged Miss Walters. After a manner of speaking. We’ve danced together.”

  “Well, am I right, Papa? Isn’t she nice and soft and comfortable?”

  “Um . . .” How much could he say without making Betsy even more embarrassed? “Yes, Joey, it was very nice, and I’d like to do it again sometime.”

  “Good,” Joey said, “because I was thinkin’. You remember when Mr. Stratton and Miss Romano asked me to go along and be their chimpanzee . . . I mean, their chaperone? Well, today while we were ridin’ in the buggy, it kind of reminded me of that day, and so I was thinkin’, maybe I was bein’ a chaperone for you and Miss Walters. And maybe you should think about gettin’ married. That seems to be what people do after they go on buggy rides, Pa. It’s like they don’t know how to do anythin’ else.”

  Bradley glanced over at Betsy again, wondering if she had any objection to him telling Joey about their plans. If she was trying to signal him in some way, it wasn’t obvious—she wasn’t waving her arms or scowling or shaking her head, so he decided it would be all right. “Well, son, you’re quite clever,” he said. “Miss Walters and I have actually been talking about that, but we haven’t quite made up our minds yet.”

  Joey gave a contented sigh. “That’s good,” he said. “But I hope we can still get a dog.”

  Bradley now laughed right out loud. “We’ll talk about it,” he said. “But not right now.”

  Chapter Ten

  Betsy ladled the soup into bowls, then cut thick slices of the bread to go along with it. JT tucked in immediately, Bradley carried a tray into Joey’s room, and Betsy prepared another tray for Mrs. Stratton. When James came into the kitchen, she expected him to deliver the tray to his mother, but he shook his head.

  “She’s asking for you,” he said.

  “For me?”

  “Yes. She won’t settle for just me anymore.”

  Betsy smiled. She’d already planned to go upstairs to see Mrs. Stratton, but she’d thought to do it in an hour or so. It really didn’t matter when, so she picked up the tray and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  She’d only seen a few rooms of the house to this point, so she hadn’t realized how opulent it really was. The upstairs hallway was enough to boggle her mind. It stretched on for some distance, the floor covered in a thick carpet, doors lining each side. Just how many rooms did this house have?

  She wasn’t sure which room belonged to Mrs. Stratton, but she did notice that one door was ajar while the others were closed, and that seemed a good clue. She edged in slowly, and sure enough, Mrs. Stratton was sitting up in bed in the center of the room.

  “There you are, my dear,” she said, smiling warmly. “I understand you’ve been taking good care of things downstairs.”

  “I think JT has done quite a lot more than I have,” Betsy replied. She set the tray down next to Mrs. Stratton’s elbow. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, but I’m more hungry for news than anything. James tells me that Joey will be all right. Is that true?”

  “It is, thank goodness.”

  Mrs. Stratton pressed a hand to her heart. “You’ve no idea how many prayers I’ve said over the last few hours. The Lord is probably worn out from hearing my voice.”

  Betsy smiled. “I doubt that. How could He get tired of talking to you, of all people?”

  Mrs. Stratton patted her hand. “You’re a sweet girl. Now, tell me. How are things between you and Bradley?”

  Betsy opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I’m actually not sure at the moment,” she replied slowly. “While we were having our outing, he asked me about my past. He said you’d mentioned something about it.”

  “Oh, I hope I didn’t do wrong, my dear. I was speaking out of turn, and I know it now. I had assumed you’d already discussed it, but I assure you, as soon as I realized he didn’t know what I meant, I didn’t say another word. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  Betsy had been a little bit miffed at Mrs. Stratton, but she could see the sincerity on the woman’s face, and she couldn’t refuse her apology. “Of course, Mrs. Stratton. It’s probably just as well that we opened that door today—I would have procrastinated far too long otherwise, I’m afraid.”

  “You’re too good to me.” Mrs. Stratton smiled. “And what did he say?”

  “He didn’t get a chance to reply. That was when Joey fell in the water.”

  “Oh, my. That certainly would bring your conversation to a halt. Listen, my dear. Take some advice from an old woman who has seen far too much—talk to Bradley as soon as you feel it’s appropriate. Don’t let this linger between you. Oh, how many relationships are ruined because people simply won’t talk to each other. They let their misunderstandings drag on endlessly—and it’s all for no good reason. Be sensible, my dear, and clear the air right away.”

  “I plan to,” Betsy replied. “Now that it’s been said, I need t
o know what he thinks, and I won’t rest easy until it’s all resolved.”

  “So, why are you still here talking to me?” Mrs. Stratton asked, a grin on her face. “Leave me in peace with my bread and my soup, and go talk to him.”

  Betsy returned the grin. “All right. I’m on my way.”

  She trotted down the stairs, thinking that she’d wash a few dishes while she waited for Bradley to be finished helping Joey eat, but instead, he was standing in the hallway, waiting for her.

  “Joey ate everything on his tray,” he said. “He says you’re a really good cook, and I agree.”

  “Thank you. I don’t do much cooking anymore because I eat at the restaurant so frequently, but it’s something I enjoy doing,” she replied, suddenly nervous. “Do you need to go back in to sit with Joey?”

  “JT’s checking him out one more time, and he said he’d stay with him while I attended to some very important business.”

  “Oh? What kind of business?”

  “Business with you.”

  “Oh,” Betsy said again. Weren’t there any other words she could be using instead? She couldn’t think of one, even though there had to be dozens.

  Bradley motioned, and she followed him into the parlor.

  She took a deep breath.

  “We need to talk,” they both said at the same time.

  And then they both laughed awkwardly.

  This wasn’t going well—not at all. Betsy sat down in a nearby chair, trying to collect her thoughts. How could she even start this conversation? Or should she let him go first? What were the rules in cases like this? Were there rules? And how was she supposed to know?

  “Betsy,” Bradley began, his voice soft, “you and I have some things we need to discuss.”

  “Yes, we do,” she replied. “And we should do it right away because it’s not good to leave things . . . undiscussed.”

  “I agree.”

  “And you didn’t get the chance to tell me what you thought earlier.”

  He looked confused. “What I thought?”

  “Yes. About what I told you. While we were talking. In the meadow.”

  He hesitated. “I’m sorry, Betsy, but so much has happened today. Could you please remind me?”

  Oh, dear. Would she have to say it again? “About my parents . . .”

  “Of course. Yes, I remember now—I’m sorry I forgot.”

  She waited, but he didn’t say anything else. “And . . . what are your thoughts? Does it bother you?”

  “Why would it bother me?”

  She looked at him, her head tilted to the side. “Why wouldn’t it bother you?”

  “I honestly don’t see how it has any bearing on our future together. You’re obviously a wonderful woman—why would I let something so inconsequential hold me back from courting you?”

  “Because . . . other people think it is consequential.”

  “Well, I’m not other people.”

  “Yes, I’m coming to realize that.” She pulled in a deep breath. “You really don’t mind?”

  “I don’t care in the slightest. Not even one tiny speck. I forgot all about it, didn’t I, and you had to remind me? That’s how much it bothered me—so much that it didn’t even stick in my brain.”

  She pressed a hand to her forehead. “You really have no idea what it means to hear you say that.”

  “Well, I’ll say it as often as you need to hear it.”

  “Maybe once or twice a week?”

  “Maybe, and then tapering off over time. Let’s set a goal for once a month, perhaps?”

  “That sounds doable.” She smiled, feeling as though she could finally breathe. “Now, what did you need to talk to me about?”

  “First off, I wanted to thank you again for everything you’ve done today. You’ve been a rock, Betsy—an absolute rock. You held me together, and I don’t think I can ever explain how much I needed that and how much I appreciated that.”

  “I did what anyone would have done,” she replied.

  “No, and that’s just it, Betsy. Very few people would have done what you did because very few people look around and notice things. You have a way of knowing what needs to be done because you look outside yourself. It’s a beautiful quality, one that I admire very much.”

  “I . . . thank you,” she said, scrambling for words. Once again, he’d surprised her.

  “Now, I have a question for you. Do you think I’m a terrible father for letting Joey fall in the river?”

  “What? No! Of course not! I thought . . . I thought you’d be angry with me for distracting you from watching him.”

  “No, not at all.” He chuckled. “What sorry messes we both are. I’m always afraid that people will judge me harshly for how I’ve raised Joey, seeing as how I did it largely alone and didn’t have a tempering influence in our home.”

  “You’ve done a magnificent job with him,” Betsy said. “I’ve never met such an engaging child.”

  “Or a talkative one, I’m sure,” Bradley added.

  “Yes, he’s talkative, but he always has something fun and amusing to say.”

  “Such as just now, when he said we should get married?”

  Betsy glanced away. “Something like that.”

  “Because that’s another conversation we need to have.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that could wait a few days until Joey’s up and around again.”

  “No, I think it should happen sooner than that. Right now, for instance.”

  Betsy remembered what Mrs. Stratton had said about clearing things up as soon as possible, but they just did. Was there really such a rush for the rest of it? She stood up and walked over to the window, needing to distract herself from her churning brain.

  “What did you think of my cabin?”

  “Hmm? I thought it was nice. A little small, but charming. Cleaner than I was expecting for a widower and a child.”

  “Mrs. Stratton told me that if we wanted to add on or make any changes, she would give us the building materials as a wedding gift.”

  “Did she? That’s so kind of her. But she really is a kind woman anyway . . .” Betsy’s nerves were getting the better of her, as plainly evidenced by the fact that she was babbling and couldn’t seem to make herself stop. “She’s always been so nice to me whenever she comes into the restaurant.”

  He walked up behind her. He didn’t touch her, but she knew he was there—she sensed his closeness, and she could smell pine trees and vanilla again. It was intoxicating.

  “Betsy.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I wonder . . . if you could stop talking for just one minute.”

  She turned around to face him. “Stop talking? But the other night at the ball, you said I was refreshing—don’t you like hearing me talk?”

  “Yes, but if you’re talking, that makes it more difficult to kiss you.”

  She blinked. “Kiss me?”

  “Kiss you.”

  He was now standing right in front of her, just as close as when they had danced, but there was no music now. Actually, there was, but she was quite sure it was in her head and not actually playing. His eyes were soft, but also intense, which she found rather contradictory, but that’s what they were. As she looked up into them, she found her knees going a little weak, and she reached out to steady herself on his elbow.

  And then she must have stumbled or something because she found herself in his arms, and he must have lost all strength in his neck or something because his head lowered to hers, and he kissed her so sweetly and gently, she almost thought she might cry. But she couldn’t do that—who cries during their first kiss? So she did the next best thing and clung to his arms, trusting him to hold her up while she dealt with all the confusing emotions coursing through her, not the least of which was surprise.

  His arms tightened around her, and she fleetingly remembered Joey’s comment about how soft she was. But Bradley must have liked soft things because he pulled her in even closer, and she forg
ot about silly things like whether or not she ought to be embarrassed about her size. If Bradley didn’t care, why on earth should she?

  When he let her go, he guided her to the sofa, where they sat down and he put his arm around her waist.

  “Mr. Larson,” she said after she caught her breath, “I think it’s entirely possible that we should have had a chaperone these last few minutes.”

  “Miss Walters,” he replied, “I’m very glad that we didn’t have a chaperone these last few minutes. Besides, our favorite chaperone is somewhat laid up at the moment, and who could ever replace him?”

  “No one,” Betsy replied. “No one at all.”

  He chuckled, then grew serious. “You aren’t angry with me, are you, Betsy? I suppose we could blame the events of the day for our emotions, but the way you looked, standing there, twisting your fingers together—you were entirely too kissable.”

  “Kissable? Is that an actual word?”

  “I don’t know, but if it’s not, it should be.”

  Her heart was still racing, and she didn’t know if it would ever stop. “I’ve never been kissable before.”

  “You’ve probably been kissable quite a lot, but there was no one around to do the kissing.”

  “So it’s a good thing you were here.”

  “And it’s a good thing you were too.” He shook his head. “Betsy, I know we agreed to court for a while and see what happened, but the fact of the matter is, I already know what I want. I want to see you walk down that church aisle, put a ring on your finger, and promise to love you for the rest of my life. I didn’t realize I could feel this way, but I do—I most definitely do. Now the question is, do you feel the same way? Should we make this official and stop saying words like ‘maybe’ and ‘someday’ and ‘if things go well’?”

  A church aisle . . . a ring . . . and a man who loved her. Not to mention a little son . . . and possibly a dog, which was still up for debate. “Yes,” she replied, caught up in all the beautiful pictures her mind had just created. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  Bradley grinned. “I guess I’d better get started on our cabin, then.”

  “Yes, you’d better. And I’d best be finding someone to rent out my little house.”