by Liz Isaacson
He hurried toward the entrance of the community center, his stomach roaring at him for meat and cheese and bacon. Logan pushed out of the doors before Knox could get there, and he held up a bag from Bacon Boys.
Relief flooded Knox, and he swiped the food from his brother with a grin. His twin was also smiling like a fool, and Knox cocked his head. “What’s with you?”
“Come see.”
“See what?” Knox didn’t come to the community center very often, because he wasn’t interested in yoga classes or pickleball or making pies.
Logan didn’t answer; he simply went back inside. Knox followed, opening the bag and grabbing a couple French fries. They didn’t come out well because of all the cheese, but he managed to get a bite of food into his mouth.
He groaned at the salty, crispy potatoes, which earned him a chuckle from his brother. Logan went into the small gymnasium behind the check-in desk, and when Knox entered too, he saw several tables set up along the perimeter, with people milling about.
“What is this?” he asked, digging past the fries for the burger. He could eat that one-handed if he had to.
“There was a meeting today for the Valentine’s Festival,” he said. “And they need volunteers.”
Knox frowned. “So what? I don’t have time to volunteer.”
“Well, I already signed us up for the construction of a dance floor and to fix the stage. It’s got a lot of rot they just found.”
“Logan,” Knox said, peeling the paper back on his double bacon stacker. “You’re the carpenter.”
“But I need your help,” he said.
“You do not. You could build a house from the ground up all by yourself.”
Logan nudged Knox, almost knocking the burger out of his hands. He threw him a dirty look, only to find him grinning at someone across the gym. Knox followed his gaze, the burger really slipping from his fingers when he saw Betsy Quinn standing there with her sister.
“Whoa there, bro,” Logan said, steadying Knox’s burger. “Now do you get it? I think she signed up to work on the dance. Hint, hint.”
Knox tore his gaze from Logan. “But you’re dating Georgia.”
“So what?” Logan asked. “Believe it or not, Betsy and Georgia aren’t the same person.”
“You don’t think it’s weird?” He bit into his burger, forgetting everything but the taste of that fatty meat and that melted, American cheese. Oh, yeah. This trip to town had been well worth it, especially because he’d gotten this burger for free.
“No,” Logan said. “I don’t think it’s weird, and I know you like her.”
Knox wanted to ask him how he knew, but the needs of his stomach won out over asking questions. When he finished the burger and wiped his fingers clean, he said, “Betsy said she’d bid on me if I did the bachelor auction.”
Logan’s eyebrows shot toward his cowboy hat. “Are you going to do the auction?’
“Heavens, no,” Knox said with a scoff. “I don’t need to embarrass myself in front of anyone.” Least of all the gorgeous Besty Quinn. He looked at her again, seeing that she’d moved to a different table. “You really don’t think it’s weird if I ask her out?”
“Do you like her?”
Knox shrugged. “I mean, I guess.” It sounded like a lie even to him.
“Go sign up for the dance,” Logan said, nudging him again.
Knox was tired of being elbowed, so he took his French fries and crossed the gym to the table beside Betsy. The sign-up sheets there were for the bake-off and the Valentine decorating. Both of those were a hard pass for Knox, and he casually moved over to the next table.
He breathed in and out before Betsy said, “Knox,” with a heavy dose of surprise in her voice.
“Oh, hey,” he said reaching for the pen next to the sign-up sheet to help with the dance. Her name sat several lines up, and dang, if his heartbeat didn’t pitter around in his chest. He managed to scrawl his name on the next blank line while he said, “How did your meeting go?”
“Oh, it was fine,” she said, and he knew she was being kind.
“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 fi
ngers 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. “Yo
u’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.
