Cowboy Valentines

by Liz Isaacson

  “I don’t think so?” Instead of sending texts back and forth for the next thirty minutes, he decided to call her. She didn’t pick up, but he got a text from her while the line was ringing.

  So she didn’t want to talk to him. Knox may not have had a lot of experience with women, but the messages she was sending were loud and clear.

  The physical one she’d sent said, I know the answer to your question now. I know what I want my future to be like, and you’re not in it.

  The breath left his body, and he almost dropped his phone just as another text came in.

  I’m sorry, Knox.

  Her apology seared his eyes, and he didn’t know what to do. If he splashed liquid metal where it shouldn’t go, he knew how to fix it. Reform it. Reheat it. But this pain firing through him couldn’t be quenched with a bucket of water at the end of the bench.

  It burned a path through his body, and he seized onto the one thing he thought he could use to get her to change her mind. What about the dance? You asked me to go with you.

  He’d pressed his slacks and ordered a black dress shirt and a mask to make him look like the Phantom of the Opera. It wouldn’t be original, but he didn’t care. It was as close to masked as he was going to get, and though Betsy had asked him what his plans were, he’d steadfastly refused to tell her.

  I had to be there for the refreshments, she texted. I won’t have time to dance anyway.

  What did I do? he asked next, because he had to have done something. Sure, things had been a little strained over the past couple of weeks, but they’d talked them through. Held hands. Went to church together.

  Nothing, she sent back.

  “Nothing?” he scoffed, the scent of fire and ash choking him. He couldn’t stay here right now, and he hurried to quench the flames and get out of the shop. He marched right back to the homestead, the desire to get a real answer driving him right up the steps and into the kitchen. Betsy sat at the counter with a bowl of cereal in front of her, and she glanced up with surprise when he entered.

  “Nothing?” he repeated, holding up his phone. “I don’t believe that.”

  She leaned away from her cereal, her hair less matted now though she still wore her pajamas. Several long moments passed before she said, “I don’t want to be a caterer. I don’t want to have my own bakery. I don’t have aspirations to do anything but what I’m currently doing.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “No,” she shot back. “It’s not okay. You want me to be more than I am, and for a while there, I thought I did too. But I don’t.” She picked up her bowl, slid off the barstool, and walked over to the sink.

  He tracked her every move, wondering when he’d ever given her the impression that she needed to be more than she already was.

  “I want to quilt during the day. Or nap. Raise kids. Check homework. Give piano lessons after school.” She wiped her eyes, but her voice remained strong. “The only difference between the future I want and the life I have now is that I need my own house to do it. But I want it to be here on the ranch. I’m going to talk to Rhodes about it today.”

  Knox had no idea what to say, so he didn’t say anything.

  Betsy lifted her chin. “And I didn’t see you in my future.”

  “So you’re going to have a family with someone else?” Knox couldn’t believe he’d asked that. They’d been dating for five weeks, and they hadn’t quite talked about children or marriage or serious things yet.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her chin wobbling. “Please, you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

  “Betsy,” he said, feeling very much like he was about to lose control of his emotions. His throat narrowed and closed, and he couldn’t say anything else. The door behind him opened, and Jessie came inside, stamping the snow from her feet.

  “Oh, hey, Knox,” she said edging past him. As soon as she saw Betsy, she froze. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Betsy said, her voice much too high. “Knox was just leaving.” She stared at him, begging him with those beautiful eyes to just go.

  So he did.

  That night, Knox stood at his bedroom window and gazed out into the night. It was Thursday night. Second one of the month, which meant Betsy would be in that blasted east stable, playing poker with four other men.

  He knew where to find her. He could go see her, demand she tell him what he’d done so he could fix it.

  But he didn’t move a muscle, and he knew he wouldn’t be driving back out to Quinn Valley Ranch tonight. Or tomorrow, as he had work at Fern Hollow. His mind flowed over the weekend events, and how everything would be altered now that Betsy had cut herself out of his life.

  And what about the Valentine’s Festival? His mask and black shirt had arrived in the mail that day, and they mocked him from his dresser where he’d set the package. Turning suddenly, he went downstairs and around the staircase to the den, practically ripping the door from the hinges he opened it so fiercely.

  The dance floor sat in a neat stack in front of him, and he wondered how Logan planned to get it to the community center. He wasn’t home from his job at the library yet, so Knox couldn’t ask him.

  Mortie whined at the back door, drawing Knox’s attention away from the dance floor that was a physical manifestation of what he’d lost. He stepped over to the door and let the dog out, Rutabaga trotting over to go with Mortie.

  He stood at the back door though it was freezing and hollered at them to hurry up. Mortie had suddenly gone deaf, because the dog took forever to sniff out the right spot and get things taken care of.

  Logan’s headlights cut through the darkness as Mortie trotted over, a doggy smile on his face as if he’d done something amazing. “Hey, bud,” his twin said, bending down to scrub his dog. “Hey, Knox.”

  “How are we getting the dance floor to the community center?”

  Logan groaned as he straightened, bracing one hand against his lower back. “In my truck. You’ll be able to help?”

  Knox hadn’t been planning to help, but he wasn’t sure he could go out to Quinn Valley on Valentine’s Day. “Yes,” he said, deciding on the spot that he could take the day off. Rhodes wouldn’t have to know it was because of Betsy, who would also be busy at the community center that day.

  “Great.” Logan grinned at him, clapped him on the shoulder, and entered the house, his dog right behind him. “Should we order pizza for dinner?”

  Knox closed the door. “Betsy broke up with me.”

  Logan spun from the fridge, lowering his phone from his ear. “What?”

  “She said she doesn’t see me in her future.”

  Logan wore concern on his face, and Knox sure did appreciate it. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “You really liked her, and it seemed like you were getting along.”

  “I thought so,” Knox said. “I mean, things weren’t perfect. She made me mad once.”

  “Oh, boy,” Logan said. “I can’t even make you mad.”

  Knox ignored his brother and said, “Order some pizza. Maybe I’ll be able to think clearer when I’m not starving.”

  But the pizza didn’t help. Neither did explaining everything to Logan. And when he went back upstairs to bed, the package with his costume for the masquerade ball continued to mock him.

  He lay in bed, wondering if he should simply skip the dance completely. Logan hadn’t been counting on him to help with the floor, and he’d eaten plenty of Betsy’s sugar cookies.

  By morning, he hadn’t decided. Sunday, he skipped church so he wouldn’t make a scene in front of all the little old ladies he’d met a few weeks ago. Monday, he worked at Granite Falls, and Tuesday, he managed to spend the day in the stables and blacksmith shop without seeing a single Quinn. He didn’t want to talk about Betsy, and while he wasn’t sure if she’d have discussed their relationship with her older brother, he still stayed in a stall with a horse until Rhodes had left with Flynn.

  Valentine’s Day dawned with snow drifting down to t
he ground, and Knox was glad he didn’t have to drive out to the ranch today. The weather canceled the work on the expansion of the library too, and the brothers enjoyed pancakes and eggs for breakfast.

  “Are you going to go tonight?” Logan asked.

  “That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?” Knox sighed and speared another wedge of pancake. “I don’t know.”

  “I think you should. Everyone will be masked. You haven’t told her who you’ll be. You could ask her to dance.”

  “She said she wouldn’t have time to dance.”

  “And so that’s it,” Logan said, an undercurrent of disgust in his voice. “You’re just going to let her go?”

  “She’s a grown woman. I already went and talked to her,” he said. “That worked for you and Georgia, but it didn’t work for me.” Knox stabbed at his eggs, wishing they were his brother’s fingers.

  “She asked me not to tell you this, but….”

  Knox looked up, morbid curiosity running through her. “What?”

  Logan wouldn’t look at him, and that only drove Knox closer to madness. As if the past week hadn’t been a spectacular kind of torture, with nothing but frustration and no way to release it.

  “She asked me to build her a house,” Logan finally said. “I guess Rhodes gave her some land across the street from the cabins just inside the entrance.”

  Great, Knox thought. Now he’d have to drive past her house every time he went to work. “Are you going to do it?” he asked.

  “I was going to talk to you first.” Logan swallowed, his nerves clear. “I don’t really want to build houses or work on library expansions. Georgia and I have been talking, and I want to buy a ranch of my own.”

  Shock moved through Knox like a sonic boom. “A ranch. Wow.”

  “I think you can afford this place on your own,” he said. “Right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” His farrier salary was more than enough to pay the mortgage. That wasn’t what he was worried about.

  It was the utter and complete loneliness he’d have to endure once Logan moved out.

  In that moment, he decided to go to the Valentine’s masquerade ball, and he decided sending up a prayer that he could find another way to get Betsy back would manifest itself before then.

  Chapter 13

  Betsy sat at the sewing machine, her shoulders aching from the hunched position she’d kept them in for so long. If she let her mind think about anything but the next step in making this dress, she’d deviate to Knox.

  She pulled back on the tears as she thought about how he wouldn’t even see this dress. She’d been designing and planning it for the Valentine’s ball for weeks. Now she just needed to get all the pieces put together.

  She felt like her whole life had shattered into a million tiny pieces since Knox had walked out the back door three days ago. She’d skipped church that morning, something she knew would have her whole family bunched together in whispered conversations. She expected a visit from her mother and Granny later.

  But for now, she just sewed.

  The homestead was quiet, only the whir of the furnace kicking on from time to time, and she enjoyed the peace that came from being alone. At the same time, her heart wailed that she’d always be alone now. That she’d had her perfect cowboy’s hand in hers, and she’d cut him loose.

  She exhaled and straightened, using the scissors to cut the thread as easily as she’d sliced Knox from her life.

  “Stop it,” she whispered to herself. She didn’t want to live her whole life on eggshells, wondering if her husband resented her for simply getting to stay home and “do nothing.” Even if her perspective on that was different—even if she saw homemakers as the hardest job with the least respect, even if she knew mothers held the home together—she couldn’t make Knox see things her way.

  He’s never said that, she told herself as she looked at the panel she’d just sewn. The fabric was the color of eggplant skins, deep and dark and mysterious. She wanted it to feel romantic and light at the same time, so she’d bought cream lace to soften it up a little bit. Her mask covered the top half of her face and extended up into her hair to make an elegant pair of rabbit ears. They too, boasted a deep purple color with cream fur for the inside of the ears.

  She’d been so excited about her costume, mostly to see Knox’s reaction to her wearing it. But now, it only made her cry.

  She set aside the panel she’d just finished and picked up the next pinned piece. The machine whirred. She kept her focus razor-sharp on the line she needed to stitch, and she didn’t stop until she heard her sisters arrive home from church.

  Only then did she line her pieces up along the six-foot table in the multi-purpose room she shared with Jessie. When she went into the kitchen, she found Georgia, Cami, and Jessie pulling boxed cereal out of the cupboards, along with spoons and gallons of milk.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, joining them.

  They froze, almost as if they hadn’t been expecting her to be home. “Getting something to eat,” Georgia said, exchanging a glance with Jessie.

  “I have pizza,” she said. “I just need to bake it off.” She nudged Cami away from the fridge, gently taking the gallon of milk from her sister and setting it back in the door. She grabbed the two pizzas she’d made that morning and backed up. “See?”

  “We weren’t sure,” Georgia said. “And you shouldn’t have to cook for all of us all the time.”

  Fear stabbed right through Betsy. “I like cooking for all of us all the time.” They couldn’t take that away from her. If she couldn’t feed people, what was her worth? Tears sprang to her eyes and she stepped over to the stove to set down the pizzas.

  Her emotions would not be tamed, and she sucked in a breath that sounded dangerously like a sob.

  “Oh, Betsy,” Cami said, joining her. She put her arm around her, and Betsy’s vision swam with tears as she set the oven temperature.

  “It’ll just be a half an hour,” she said, her voice high and tight.

  “Rhodes said he’d go for anything we want,” Jessie said.

  “I made pizza,” Betsy said, turning to face her sisters. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she hated that she was crying. But these were her sisters, and if she couldn’t cry in front of them, who could she be real with?

  “She made pizza,” Cami said. “So someone call Rhodes and tell him to just get a couple of salads.”

  Betsy wiped her face, everything feeling too hot. Jessie stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her, and that undid any composure she may have had left. She cried into her taller sister’s shoulder, glad when Georgia and Cami made it a group hug.

  “It’s okay,” Jessie said. “Everything will be okay.”

  “How?” Betsy asked.

  “You just need to talk to him,” Georgia said.

  “If you’re this unhappy,” Cami added. “You can change it. I think he’d be willing to get back together.”

  “Yeah,” Jessie said. “You broke up with him.”

  The group embrace dissolved, and a flash of anger struck her like lightning. “I know what I did.”

  Her three sisters faced her, the few moments of silence stretching uncomfortable. Finally, Georgia said, “Then fix it.” She glanced at Jessie and then Cami. “I’m going to go call Rhodes.” She stepped away; the oven beeped, signaling it was to temperature; Betsy turned to put the pizzas in.

  When she turned back around, she found Cami making punch and Jessie pulling down dishes. Activity filled the kitchen when Rhodes arrived with the salads, as well as Granny and Gramps. Betsy’s parents arrived, and she accepted her father’s hug, finding a bit of comfort there when it had eluded her previously.

  With all the food on the counter, she’d normally step forward and go through all of it. But today, humiliation filled her and she just stood in the kitchen, a half-step behind Granny. Every eye landed on her, and she wanted to rage at her family.

  She couldn’t believe she’d m
essed up so badly. Regret lanced through her, and she just wanted to run away.

  “Betsy made her barbecue chicken pizza,” Granny said stepping forward. “It’s got mushrooms, green peppers, and red onions.” She gestured to the other pizza. “This one is a supreme. Looks like ham and sausage. Black olives, green peppers, and onions.”

  “Let’s say grace,” her father said, and Betsy folded her arms and closed her eyes unsurprised when tears trickled out of them. Her father’s deep voice thanking the Lord for their blessings passed quickly, and then it was time to eat.

  Betsy usually stood back and waited for everyone to serve themselves, and today was no exception. Gratitude for Granny streamed through her, and she pressed her cheek to Granny’s papery, powder-scented one, and whispered, “Thanks, Granny.”

  Then she slipped out of the kitchen, her appetite completely gone.

  She finished the dress on Tuesday. Shopped for all the ingredients she needed for the refreshments on Wednesday. Posted one last reminder in all the online forums she could for the dance and other festivities going on in Quinn Valley for Valentine’s Day.

  And then Valentine’s Day arrived, and there was nothing rosy or romantic about showing up at the pub at four o’clock in the morning and measuring flour and sugar to make cookies. Her eyes felt dry and scratchy, but she applied her focus to the baking, and she got all the sweets done and cooled before Bethany showed up.

  “Made some caramels for you.” She smiled at Betsy, who instantly felt bad she didn’t have anything for the other woman. She took the box of candy and clutched it to her chest.

  “Thank you, Bethany.” She hugged her, and Bethany held her tight.

  “I’m working all day and night, so good luck with the dance,” she said, finally stepping back.

  “Thanks,” Betsy said. She loaded up everything she needed and headed back to the homestead to start on the cupcakes and cake pops. She worked upstairs and down, going back and forth to put in trays and then take them out. Put more in. Take more out.

  Once everything was baked and cooling, she whipped together the cream cheese frosting and a batch of buttercream. With all the parts ready and waiting—except for the candy melts she was using to coat the cake pops—she showered, giving the cakes all the time they needed to cool properly.