The Heirloom Brides Collection Read online

  Pops gave a humph but fortunately didn’t say anything else insulting.

  “My pleasure, Miss Lowell.”

  Pops snorted and stayed planted next to the wagon, staring hard at Stuart. “Well?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m going.” His gaze met Betsy’s, and he offered her a wry grin. “Be careful. Looks like ice is making things slick.”

  “I will,” Betsy said, nodding as she clutched the reins and released the brake.

  Pops glared after Stuart as he walked back toward the store. “Don’t be getting any ideas about that one.”

  “A girl’s got to marry someone, Pops.” Betsy grinned at her own teasing. Pops could be intimidating to folks who didn’t know his gruffness covered a heart of gold. She’d figured it out when she was barely more than an infant, toddling around his cabin.

  “You ain’t marrying no fella with hands like a woman’s. That boy ain’t done a man’s work a day in his life. My girl’s gonna marry someone who can take care of her.”

  “Well, this girl is going to marry whomever I choose, and that’s not going to be for a very long time.” Even as she said the words, her heart sank a little. She wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. Before long, she’d be so old no one would want her anyway.

  “Leo Blakely would marry you in a second, and he’s plenty set to take care of a wife.”

  “Yes, and he’s old enough to be my pa.” Not to mention that when he looked at her, she felt undressed. “Besides, I know you ran him off the place a few weeks ago.” And much to Betsy’s relief the man hadn’t been back since. She’d assumed Pops had finally told him to stop coming around, trying to get Betsy to marry him. So why was he bringing up the old bachelor now?

  She pulled her scarf tighter. “Pops, we best get going if we’re going to get home tonight. Stuart’s right. The roads are going to start getting too slick for the horses if we don’t get a move on.”

  “We ain’t going home tonight.”

  Betsy frowned. “What do you mean? Where are we going?”

  “Over to the boardinghouse.”

  “The boardinghouse! And just how are we going to pay Mrs. Stone?”

  “You let me worry about that. Drive on over to the livery. We’ll board the horses and walk over to the boardinghouse.”

  Betsy didn’t protest, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Pops was beginning to lose his mind. It was one thing to buy their goods on account. Everyone did that. But she knew for a fact that Mrs. Stone was cash on the barrel. The woman wasn’t going to let them stay in her home without payment. Mr. Mahoney’s son owned the livery, and he and Pops had always been friends, so Betsy figured he wouldn’t refuse them. But she had a feeling they’d be bedding down with the horses tonight.

  She backed the wagon into the street while Pops walked to Job. It took him three tries before the horse allowed him to mount. She shook her head. The already cantankerous animal was clearly even more annoyed than ever after standing in the cold and wet for the past forty-five minutes. She followed as Pops rode toward the livery. She held her breath every time Job slipped, then gained his footing. “Pops. Maybe you ought to come ride in the wagon.”

  Pops waved, then reached into his pocket. “He’s fine.” Leaning forward, he spoke low to the horse. Betsy had seen him offer the animal treats from the saddle before and had always thought it dangerous for a man his age, but she sat helpless as Job took the treat, then immediately twisted his neck around for another, nipping at Pops’ leg. Intent on the treat, the horse stepped down without looking where he was going and slipped, nearly taking Betsy’s breath. “Pops, make Job mind you before he—”

  Too late. Pops spoke harshly to the horse and smacked his neck, just as Job slipped again.

  Helpless, Betsy bit back a scream as his attempts to right himself failed. Horse and rider went down as one, with Pops taking the brunt of the fall, landing beneath the horse’s body.

  Betsy’s breath stopped as she yanked on the reins so hard her horses’ front legs nearly came off the ground as the wagon rolled to a stop.

  Job pulled himself up and limped away, his reins dragging the ground. “You stupid horse!” she screamed after him, running toward Pops, who lay on the ground, still as death.

  Junior Mahoney appeared from the livery door and ran into the street just as she dropped to Pops’ side. She heard the sound of boots running on the boardwalk behind her, but her mind spun as she looked at the still form next to her. “Pops!” She grabbed his hand. Blood trickled from his mouth, and she noted his other arm was twisted in a dreadful, broken manner. Her head swam as she looked slowly down his form and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

  Junior Mahoney dropped to her side and nudged her. “Move away, Betsy.”

  She shook her head. “Pops? Can you answer me?”

  Someone took her arm and pulled her to her feet. She spun and found herself in Stuart Fields’ arms.

  “Let me be!” She thrashed about, trying to get loose, but he held her tighter, seemingly without effort.

  He held her out at arm’s length. “Betsy, calm down. We need to get your grandfather over to Doc Avery. Do you understand?”

  His brown eyes held her gaze, and she found her breath as his words began to make sense. She nodded. If they were in a rush to get him to the doc, then Pops wasn’t dead. “Hurry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  He released her, and he and Junior gathered up the frail, twisted body. The sound of her grandfather’s groan nearly took the small amount of strength still keeping her upright. They settled him as carefully as possible into the wagon bed. Betsy hurried to the seat and scrambled up. Before she could gather the reins, Stuart was next to her in the seat. “I’m driving you.”

  Nodding, she released the reins to his hands. Her mind raced back to what Pops had said about Stuart and his soft hands, but as she watched him guide the horses, all Betsy could think was that they seemed very strong and capable. And she was grateful that he had taken over.

  She turned in the seat to check on Pops. Junior was in the wagon sitting next to him. Gratitude welled up inside of her. She’d had no idea the liveryman had climbed into the wagon after him. They reached the doctor’s office in only a couple of minutes. Doc Avery was a middle-aged man who had only come to Tucker’s Creek five years before. Until then, they’d relied on midwives for birthing and did the best they could in emergencies. Right now, Betsy was beyond grateful the doctor had come to town.

  He rushed outside as Stuart pulled up and wrapped the horses’ reins around the brake.

  Doc was already rolling up his sleeves as he looked at Old Joe lying broken in the back of the wagon. “Get him in, quick. But be careful. What happened?”

  “His horse slipped on the ice and landed on him.” Junior held Pops’s arms while Stuart took his legs. The doctor stabilized his middle, and the three men carried him into the house, which doubled as the doctor’s office. “Where do you want him, Doc?” Stuart asked.

  “Don’t bother with the examining room. He won’t be going anywhere for a while. Just take him in there.” He pointed to a bedroom on the opposite side of the house as Mrs. Avery appeared in the doorway. She slipped her arm around Betsy’s shoulders. “Come with me, dear.”

  “I can’t leave Pops.”

  “It’ll be best if you let the men get him undressed and let my husband examine him in private.”

  Stubbornly, Betsy shook her head.

  “Honey,” the woman said, keeping her arm firmly around Betsy, her other hand on Betsy’s arm. “Do you think your grandfather would want you to see him undressed?”

  Finally Mrs. Avery’s meaning sank in. Betsy gasped. Pops would be madder than all get-out if he thought for a second she stayed in the room when they were about to strip him down. She allowed Mrs. Avery to escort her from the room. “Here, honey. Let me take your coat and hat.”

  Numb, Betsy surrendered as the doctor’s wife slipped her out of her coat and hung it on the peg board
next to the door. She led Betsy into the kitchen and pulled out a wooden chair. “You sit here and let me get you some coffee. I was just about to have some lunch. Are you hungry?”

  Betsy shook her head, annoyed that the woman could even suggest food at a time like this.

  Mrs. Avery set a steaming cup in front of her. “At least drink this. It’ll warm you up.” Instinctively, Betsy reached out and cradled the cup between her palms, allowing the warmth to seep into her ice-cold hands. She shuddered from somewhere deep inside of her. Her hands shook at the memory of Pops lying in the street, his body twisted and broken. Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. What would she do without Pops?

  “Now, don’t worry about a thing,” Mrs. Avery said as though reading her mind. The other woman handed her a dish towel. “Wipe your face, hon. The doctor will do his very best.” She smiled. “And that is very good.”

  Nodding, Betsy grabbed the towel and swiped her face and nose. She knew Mrs. Avery was being kind, but as much as she appreciated it, she couldn’t bear just sitting here, drinking coffee, when Pops was lying in the other room, maybe dying. Maybe even dead already.

  “Was your grandfather’s horse hurt in the accident?”

  The words jarred Betsy from her maudlin thoughts and brought a swift jolt of anger. “If he wasn’t, he will be.”

  When no response was forthcoming, Betsy ventured a glance to the woman. She stared back at her from across the table. “I see. You’ll take your revenge on the animal, then?”

  Betsy recognized a hint of admonishment, but she didn’t care. With a jerk of her chin, she looked away. “Yes, ma’am. I sure will. That horse has been nothing but a thorn in Pops’ side since the day he was born. Ornery as all get-out, and I say good riddance.”

  “Oh, the horse did it on purpose?”

  Betsy’s lips twisted. “Well, no. He didn’t make himself slip on the ice.”

  Mrs. Avery set her coffee on the table and walked to the stove. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in some stew, hon? The venison is fresh. George just shot him day before last.”

  “No, thank you.” Her stomach twisted at the very thought of food. Although it did smell awfully good. She gathered a breath. “The fact is, if that ornery horse hadn’t tried nipping at Pops to get another piece of peppermint, this never would have happened. So in a way, he did do it on purpose.”

  There was no real reason to care one way or another what anyone else thought about what she did with her own property. But Betsy couldn’t seem to let it go until this woman understood. How could anyone not want to punish the animal that just got up and walked away?

  “Do you think that’s what Old Joe would want?”

  Betsy sent her a scowl as she dipped stew into a bowl for herself and brought it to the table. She gave a short laugh. “Pops would probably be the first one to brush him down, give him a peppermint to soothe him, and rub liniment on his leg.”

  “Liniment? Was the horse injured, too?”

  Betsy shrugged. “He limped a little when he walked off after nearly killing my pops. And I vow, if Pops dies—”

  “Don’t think about that. We are going to sit here and trust God to guide my husband’s hands, and if it’s His will, your grandfather will pull through good as new.”

  “But what if it’s not God’s will? What good does it do to pray if God wants to take Pops to heaven?” Like He had her parents. Was God’s will for her to be completely alone?

  “Honey, we don’t know the heart and mind of God. All we can do is trust He knows better than we do.”

  Betsy knew better than to argue with a person’s faith. And it wasn’t as though she didn’t believe in God; she just wasn’t so sure He was very nice. If she had all that power, she wouldn’t govern humans at her whim. This one dies, that one lives. What right had He to play with people’s lives that way? She knew she ought to be more careful with her thoughts. Usually when she thought about her parents dying when she still needed them and anger against God burned fierce and sharp in her chest, she said a hasty prayer of repentance and tried to be sincere. But right now, she couldn’t drum up even the slightest bit of remorse toward the Almighty.

  “So tell me, why do folks in Tucker’s Creek call your grandfather Old Joe?”

  Betsy shrugged. “Because he’s old and his name is Joe.”

  Mrs. Avery smiled. “That’s it? What did they call him when he was young? I hear he was one of three men who founded Tucker’s Creek way back fifty years ago.”

  Betsy knew the doc’s wife was just trying to get her mind off the accident, but she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Still, given this woman’s kindness, she didn’t want to be rude. “My pa was named after Pops, so when he started at the school, everyone called him Joe-Joe and Pops became Old Joe.”

  She lifted her cup to her lips. By the time she set it back on the table, she heard footsteps and shoved up from her chair. Stuart stood in the doorway, face white and visibly shaken.

  “Is he dead?”

  He shook his head, and Betsy’s legs went weak with relief. She grabbed on to the back of her chair to keep from dropping to the floor. “You look like he is.”

  “No, I’m sorry. Just… I never was one for this kind of thing.”

  “Come and sit down, Stuart,” Mrs. Avery said with the gentleness of a mother. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  Stuart gave her a wry grin. “Thanks for not saying faint.” He practically stumbled to the chair and sat hard in the seat. Without asking, Mrs. Avery poured him some coffee. Betsy rolled her eyes. What would Pops think about a man who practically fainted at the sight of blood?

  The doctor’s wife patted him on the shoulder. “Buck up, and tell us about Mr. Lowell. How is he?”

  Betsy broke in before he could say anything. “Can I go see him?”

  Stuart shook his head. “Doc said to tell you to stay put while they’re setting his bones.”

  With a heavy sigh, Betsy sat back down. “I could’ve helped since you clearly faint at the sight of blood.”

  A flash of anger brought back Stuart’s color. “I don’t—”

  Mrs. Avery clicked her tongue. “There’s no point in throwing stones, you two.” She patted Stuart again. “Are you hungry? I have some venison stew warming on the stove.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I best get back over to the store. This kind of weather brings folks out for supplies, and Ma’s going to need my help.”

  “Well, we’re mighty glad you were there to help out with Old Joe, aren’t we, Betsy?”

  Betsy nodded and sipped her own coffee to avoid having to say something.

  He stood. “Thank you for the coffee, ma’am.”

  “You’re welcome.” Mrs. Avery stood as well, grabbing his cup from the table. She walked to the sink to rinse it out. “Betsy, honey, can you walk Stuart out? I need to stir this stew before it scorches.”

  There was no way to avoid doing the polite thing. “Yes, ma’am.” With a sigh, Betsy followed him into the foyer as he retrieved his coat and hat from the peg board by the door.

  Awkward silence filled the space between them as he stood there, his hand on the doorknob, looking down at her. “Betsy, I’m sorry about your grandfather.”

  Fighting back tears, Betsy nodded. Mrs. Avery was right. Stuart had been a godsend. “Thank you for your help. I—I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

  “Unfortunately, I’ve never been much help in these sorts of situations.” He released a heavy breath and jammed his hat on his head. “I wish I could have done more.”

  “You were there when we needed you.” Swallowing hard, she suddenly had a twinge of conscience about her outburst a few minutes ago. “I apologize for the fainting comment.” She wanted to offer an excuse. Something about how worried she was and that was the reason she chose those insulting words. But she knew that wouldn’t be a true apology, and after all, Stuart had been right there to help get Pops to Doc Avery’s.
r />   Stuart’s face softened, and he reached out for just a second and touched her arm. “I’m glad I was here to help. If you need anything, please let us know.” He touched his hat and walked out the door, leaving Betsy speechless at the uncommon gentleness from him.

  She stared at the closed door. Had she misjudged Stuart Fields all these years?

  Chapter Three

  Still shaken from the twisted body he’d been forced to witness, Stuart walked into the store amid a jumble of activity. His ma glanced up from filling an order, and her face softened with relief. “Thank heaven you’re back.” Stuart grabbed his apron from the peg at the end of the shelves and tied it on with shaky fingers. “How’s Old Joe?”

  “Not good, Ma.” He kept his voice low. “I don’t see how he can survive, but Doc Avery and Junior Mahoney are doing everything they can.”

  “I hope you didn’t come back here just for me. It doesn’t hurt folks to wait a little while when there’s a crisis.”

  “There wasn’t much I could do to help the doc. Junior was there, so I felt like I was more in the way.”

  His mother nodded. Stuart appreciated her discretion in not mentioning his aversion to the sight of blood and broken bodies. Just the memory of Old Joe’s injuries brought on a bout of dizziness.

  “I can’t imagine what poor Betsy will do if Old Joe doesn’t pull through.” A heavy sigh accompanied her words, and she shook her head.

  “I told her to let us know if we could do anything to help out.”

  Ma’s graying eyebrows rose. “That was… kind.”

  Fortunately, a woman carrying a pair of men’s trousers approached the counter just then. She ordered several goods from behind the counter, and by the time she had paid for her purchases, Ma was occupied with another customer, so Stuart didn’t have to continue the conversation. They remained busy for the next four hours until closing. At five o’clock, Stuart locked up with a deep sense of relief that the day was finally over.