Secret Sweetheart

by Liz Isaacson

  Her fingers ached by the time she finished the row, and as she parked outside the bakery, her head pounded too. There was no NOW HIRING sign in the window. She went inside anyway and asked the girl behind the counter if they needed help.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “But I don’t think we do. My uncle runs the shop, and he’s only here in the mornings. You could ask him.”

  Betsy didn’t need to go through the humiliation twice, but she nodded.

  “I could take your name and number.” The girl smiled, and that alleviated some of Betsy’s embarrassment. “And he could call you.”

  “Sure,” she said, and she gave the girl the information—and then she bought a chocolate croissant filled with peanut butter mouse and chocolate covered pretzels. As she walked out of the shop and bit into the pastry, she knew she wouldn’t be getting a job there. She couldn’t make pastries like this.

  She sat in the parking lot to eat her treat, her mind revolving around other possibilities. Something she could do from home.

  “Catering,” she said aloud to her and the car. A warm feeling enveloped her that had nothing to do with the heater pumping to keep her from freezing. She rode the high as she drove over to the community center and sat down with Rhonda and two other people on the dance committee.

  She’d known their numbers would dwindle once the real work started, and when Rhonda glanced around with disapproval in her dark eyes, Betsy said, “I think a lot of people have jobs, Rhonda. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “So we’ll just finalize a couple of things we need to get started on for sure,” she said. “And we’ll meet again on Saturday.”

  Betsy bristled that every meeting got to be set by her, according to her schedule. If she’d ask people when they could meet, she’d have more success in getting people to volunteer their time and resources. But Betsy said nothing.

  “Invitations,” Rhonda said. “We can use the Boy Scouts like we usually do to put flyers on doors a day or two beforehand.”

  “Do we really need to do that?” Betsy asked. “I feel like we spend a lot of money and time giving out slips of paper to people who don’t even need them.”

  “Who wouldn’t need them?” Rhonda asked.

  Betsy exchanged a glance with Tia, the woman to her right. “Well,” Tia said. “Last year, the entire retirement home got papered, and they were having their own Valentine’s Day dance. So it was a waste.”

  She looked nervous, and Betsy wished she could communicate telepathically so she could let Tia know how much she appreciated her speaking up.

  “And one or two days beforehand is too late anyway,” Betsy said. “People need to have this on their calendars now.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Rhonda said.

  “Then why do we need printed flyers?” Betsy challenged.

  Rhonda scratched it off her list. “So no printed flyers. Fine.”

  “No,” Betsy said. “I was just asking a question. I do think we should have it on the town website. And it should be going out in the monthly utility bills. And we should utilize our town social media as well.”

  Rhonda’s head wobbled like one of those dolls, and she looked at Betsy with malice in her expression. “I’m putting you in charge of marketing,” she said. “Get as many people there as possible.”

  “No problem,” Betsy said, and Rhonda looked at the next item on her list.

  “Food,” she said. “We need to hire a caterer that can do something romantic and simple. My ideas were cupcakes, cake pops, sugar cookies, that kind of thing. And our budget isn’t very big.”

  Betsy wanted to blurt out that she was starting a catering business, but she felt like she and Rhonda were the only people talking in the meeting, so she waited for Tia or Kate to say something. Neither one of them did.

  “I’m available,” she said.

  “Available?” Rhonda asked icily.

  “I’m doing catering now,” she said. “I can definitely do cupcakes, cake pops, and sugar cookies.” Her imagination started exploding with pinks, reds, and purples, hearts and flowers and everything Valentine’s Day.

  “What’s your fee?” Rhonda asked.

  Betsy thought fast, trying to remember what the budget for refreshments had been in the past. “Five hundred dollars,” she said. “That gets enough refreshments for eight hundred people.” And if they had more than that, she’d be extremely surprised.

  “You think you can get eight hundred people to come?” Rhonda’s eyebrows went up, and Tia’s head swung back to Betsy.

  She was tired of the back-and-forth. She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I can bring that many refreshments.” Her stomach dropped to her feet. How in the world could she make enough cake pops and cupcakes for that many people, even with the two ovens in the homestead?

  She pushed away her nerves, because she wanted this job. It would be her first catering job, and she wasn’t even sure five hundred dollars would cover her costs.

  “Okay,” Rhonda said. “You’re hired. I’ll get the contract we use for our vendors.”

  “Great,” Betsy said with false confidence. “What’s next?”

  Rhonda started talking about decorations, and Betsy sat out of the conversation, glad when Kate stepped up and started offering some ideas.

  The meeting ended, and Betsy almost skipped out to her car, already dialing Knox. She wanted to tell someone about the things she’d felt and decided today, and she was a bit surprised that Knox was the only person she wanted to share with.

  “Hey,” he said, something blowing behind him. “Can I call you back in a couple of minutes? I’m in the fire.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said, hanging up. She drove almost all the way back to the ranch before her phone rang, and she almost drove off the road again as she reached for it.

  “Sorry,” Knox said. “Just a bad time.”

  “How did you answer the phone if you were in the fire?”

  “Voice,” he said.

  “Oh.” Betsy’s phone probably had those kinds of features, but she didn’t know how to use them. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you something exciting.”

  “Exciting? I’m all ears.”

  “So I’ve been thinking a lot about my life, and where I’m going to be once Rhodes takes over the ranch and the homestead.” She drew in a deep breath.

  “I know you’ve been concerned about that.”

  “And when you asked me how I made money, I realized that the ranch is paying me to be a housewife. To cook, clean, quilt, and garden. No one pays for those things.”

  “Sure they do,” he said. “There are lots of landscape companies or private chefs or—”

  “Catering,” she said over him. “I’m going to do some catering, and not only that, I’ve already got my first job.” Her smile felt like it would crack her face, but she couldn’t rein it in. She just felt so good about the ideas she’d had that day.

  “Wow,” he said. “That is exciting. Who hired you?”

  “The Valentine’s Festival dance committee,” she said. “I bet you’re wishing you hadn’t missed today’s meeting now, aren’t you?”

  He laughed, the sound just as wonderful over the phone as it was in person. “While I’d have loved to been there when you got the job, no. I’m not even a little bit sorry I missed that meeting.”

  Betsy laughed as she parked around the side of the homestead. “Anyway, I convinced Rhonda that I could do the refreshments for the dance. Now I just have to figure out how to make that many cookies, cupcakes, and cake pops.”

  “Well, I’m sure you can rent some kitchen space,” he said. “Maybe from a restaurant that isn’t open in the morning or something.”

  “That’s a great idea, Knox,” she said.

  “Well, you don’t have to sound so surprised.” He chuckled, so she knew he wasn’t really offended. “I’m going to be here for another couple of hours. Maybe you’d like to bring out some hot chocolate when you get a sec?”

&nbs
p; “Oh, you’re here?”

  “Yep, out in the blacksmith shop.”

  “I’ll see you in a bit then,” she said, watching Georgia cross in front of her and continue toward the back door. “I’ve got to jet.” Their call ended, and she got out of her car quickly. She needed to talk to Georgia so she could take her secret sweetheart out of the shadows—and to the Valentine’s Day dance.

  “Georgia,” she called, almost going down on an icy patch of the sidewalk on the side of the house. Her sister waited at the top of the steps, looking confused.

  “Oh, there you are,” she said. “That was the weirdest thing.” She laughed as Betsy hurried up the steps to her.

  “I need to talk to you about something,” Betsy said, glancing over Georgia’s shoulder to see if anyone was lurking just inside the house. “Come on, let’s go inside. It’s cold.”

  Once in the mudroom, with the two of them taking off their scarves and gloves, Betsy said, “Would it…I mean, I like Knox Locke.”

  Georgia looked at her as she hung her coat, having to try to hit the hook twice before she got it. A slow smile spread her lips. “So Logan was right.”

  “Yes, all right?” Betsy said. “He was right, but I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen. He’s just so handsome, and kind, and I like talking to him, and….” She let her voice trail off when Georgia started giggling.

  “So are you going to ask him out?” she asked.

  “Well, we’ve sort of been seeing each other on the sly.”

  Georgia bumped her with her hip, said, “I know,” and headed into the kitchen.

  Betsy scrambled after her. “You knew?”

  “Betsy, you may be able to bluff with your cowboy poker buddies, but I’m your sister.” She pulled open the fridge and looked inside. “Are you making dinner?”

  “No,” she said. “There’s leftover meatloaf and chicken cordon bleu casserole in there. I might open a salad.” She approached where Georgia still stood at the fridge. “So you’re okay if Knox and I go out?”

  “I think so,” Georgia said. “I mean, it’s a little weird, but I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

  Betsy squealed and grabbed onto her younger sister, giving her an awkward side-hug. “Thanks, Georgia. Okay.” She released her sister and blew out her breath. “Now, let’s put together something to eat and some hot chocolate.”

  Georgia went around the kitchen island and sat at the bar as if Betsy would serve her. She supposed it was just as easy to put together three plates as two, and then she’d slip out the back door and down to the blacksmith shop, the way she had on Christmas Eve, almost a month ago.

  Her heart expanded and warmed as she stirred the milk on the stove, because she was finally going to get to go out in public with her new boyfriend, Knox Locke.

  Chapter 8

  Knox finished the work he needed to do about ten minutes before Betsy pushed through the door, carrying a box in both arms.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, jumping off his stool to go help her.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but she quickly passed the box to him, and it was heavier than she should’ve been carrying all the way from the homestead. “I brought some leftover casserole, because I figured you hadn’t eaten yet. And I threw together a quick salad. And of course, there’s the hot chocolate.” She plucked a bag of marshmallows out of the bag and ripped into it, taking out a squishy treat and biting into it.

  He made a face even as a slip of happiness moved through him. “Gross,” he said.

  “You don’t like marshmallows?” she asked around the mouthful of the gooey treat. She grinned at him, and he shook his head.

  “I like them in the hot chocolate.” He lifted a thermos. “Is this one mine?”

  “Either one,” she said. “They’re the same.”

  He unscrewed the lid and held it toward her. “Marshmallow me.”

  She put a couple of marshmallows in his hot chocolate, and he looked back in the box for a spoon. He stirred, steam lifting up past the marshmallows, the heat starting to melt them into his drink.

  “This is too hot to drink right now.” He set the thermos down on the bench and looked back into the box. “You didn’t have to bring dinner.” But he sure was grateful, and a rush of affection for her lifted his spirits.

  “I talked to Georgia,” she said, and he abandoned the food to face her fully.

  “You did? And?”

  Betsy toyed with the end of her hair, the bag of marshmallows forgotten. “And she said she didn’t think it was too weird, me and you seeing each other.” She smiled at him, a hint of trepidation in her eyes.

  Relief and joy mixed together and spiraled through him. “That’s so great.” He took a step toward her, not quite thinking rationally. He took her into his arms and held her close, his heartbeat starting to gallop when her arms came up around his neck too.

  He pulled back slightly and looked down at her. The temperature in the blacksmith shop was already stifling hot, but the sparks between them felt explosive. Without thinking and without asking, he ducked his head and touched his mouth to hers.

  She tasted sweet, like marshmallows, and pure fire roared through his bloodstream now. He kissed her again, this time more than just a touch. She seemed to melt into him, and she kissed him right on back.

  Knox hadn’t had a girlfriend in a while, and he sure enjoyed his kiss with the beautiful Betsy Quinn.

  She giggled, breaking their connection, and he breathed in deep and exhaled heavily, trying to calm his racing pulse.

  “So I guess I can ask you to the Valentine’s dance now, right?” he asked.

  She looked at him with a bit of shock in her expression. “You want to go to the dance together?”

  “Well, I’m not dating anyone else.” He watched her as she reached past him and into the box, withdrawing a plastic container of food.

  She handed it to him and grinned. “I’d love to. You know you have to dress up and wear a mask, right?”

  “Shoot.” He popped the lid on the container and reached for his spoon. After licking it clean, he stirred the chunks of chicken and ham together, noting the cheesy sauce they were in. “But I guess I can make that work.”

  “I guess you can,” she said, taking her own container and opening it. “It’s going to be amazing.”

  I think you’re amazing, he thought, but instead of saying it, he put a bite of casserole into his mouth. He and Betsy spent a half an hour in the blacksmith shop, eating and talking and laughing, and it easily became thirty of the best minutes of his life.

  She boxed all the containers and empty thermoses up and lifted the box. “Just a sec,” he said, taking the box from her and putting it back on the shelf.

  Then he kissed her again.

  Something smelled strange when Knox pulled under the sign announcing his arrival at Fern Hollow, the dude ranch where he worked a couple of times a week. Sometimes only one day, sometimes more, depending on their needs.

  He liked his boss out here, and he’d even considered coming out for a weekend or so himself. They offered horseback riding excursions, life in real cowboy cabins, chuckwagon dinners, and more.

  The real cowboy lifestyle. People loved coming to the country to escape their high-pressured jobs in the city, and while Knox didn’t exactly have one of those, he thought he’d still like a weekend away.

  And now, maybe Betsy would come with him.

  He smiled just thinking about her, despite the foul odor perfuming the air. Quinn Valley had started smelling like sugar and chocolate over the past couple of weeks, and that suited Knox just fine.

  As did kissing the baker responsible for making every cowboy within the ranch fences come flocking to the homestead for a taste of her treats. Sometimes he had to text her to come down to the smithy, and sometimes she gave him a quick look and disappeared downstairs. He’d wait a minute or two and follow her, just so they could be alone for a moment, breathe each other in, steal a kiss, and
then go about their day.

  Knox had never experienced such strong feelings for a woman before, but he sure did like Betsy.

  He parked in his usual spot by the stables and got out of the truck. “What is that?” he asked himself, trying to locate the source of the smell. It wasn’t the typical smell one would find on a ranch—manure, hay, sometimes even mechanical scents.

  This was something rotten. Not quite on the caliber of foul eggs, but very close. He gathered his apron and tools and went inside, where the scent was only slightly less offensive. He found the horse trainer there, and she had a bandana tied around her nose and mouth.

  “Wills,” he said by way of greeting. “What’s going on out here?”

  “Oh, something happened with the sewer system,” she said, the fabric fluttering slightly around her mouth. “It’s awful, ain’t it?” She shook her head, and while he couldn’t see her mouth, her eyes smiled at him.

  “Does the bandana help?” He tied his apron around his waist and walked over to the clipboard hanging on the wall.

  “Marginally,” she said.

  He smiled and glanced at the clipboard. George wrote notes throughout the week, and then Knox knew what to do when he came in. Today, it looked like a few horses had thrown shoes and a few more needed routine work done on their hooves.

  He hated winter, but he didn’t let it show as he moved down the aisle to the first horse who couldn’t seem to keep his shoes on for more than a week. “What’s the matter, Vulture?” he asked the horse. “The ground’s too hard for you?”

  The horse, a beautiful black creature with white markings on his face, came over and snuffled at Knox as if to say, That’s right, Knox. Everything’s frozen out there. Didn’t you know?

  Oh, Knox knew. He felt the sting of the cold way down in his lungs. Working would help, so he stepped into the stall with the horse and said, “Let’s measure you up, then. Get this done.”

  He wasn’t sure if the smell got better or if he just got used to it. No matter what, by the end of the day, he’d accomplished everything on George’s list and he didn’t feel like he was about to lose his lunch. So, a win.