Would she have been pleased by the decision she’d made? Relieved?
Would she feel disappointed that she hadn’t played even the slightest role in Betsy’s life?
“It’s nice that your parents opted to live in a retirement community rather than become a burden,” John said, interrupting her tumble of thoughts.
“They’d never be a burden to me, and I think they know that. In reality, I think they were afraid that if they moved in with me, they’d scare off any potential suitors.” She chuckled at their reasoning and turned to John. “They’re still concerned that I’ll become an old maid.”
As their gazes locked, something surged between them, causing her heart to race.
John’s voice dropped a decibel, as he said in a husky tone, “There’s no chance of that, Betsy.”
Her heart zinged as she considered the subtext, but she forced herself to turn away and watch the road before they ended up in a ditch or wrapped around a telephone pole.
Yet in spite of her better judgment, she found herself fishing for the words he’d implied but hadn’t actually said. “Why do you say that?”
“Because some lucky guy is going to talk you into marrying him one of these days.”
The thought of marriage to a man who truly appreciated her set her heart off-kilter. She tried to remind herself that she was happy being single. At least, she had been until John entered her life.
But ever since they’d kissed last night, she’d found herself envisioning a two-story house in town, surrounded by the proverbial white picket fence. She could imagine a swing hanging from the branch of a tree in the front yard and a set of rocking chairs on the front porch.
She’d always wanted a family-a husband and kids. But her life was cut out for something bigger. Something better.
Or had she just convinced herself of that?
Chapter Seven
On the way back to Doc’s ranch, John watched the road ahead, noting the shops and establishments that stretched along Brighton Valley’s main drag. Earlier, when he’d told Doc what he thought was wrong with the pickup, the elderly man had given him some cash and asked him to purchase the parts he would need to fix it while he was in town.
Across the street from Sam Houston Elementary School, John spotted a blue-and-yellow sign that advertised auto parts.
“Would you mind stopping at B.J.’s Auto Works for a minute?” he asked Betsy. “I’d like to pick up a starter for Doc’s pickup. I think that was the problem I was having with the engine this morning.”
“I’d be glad to.” She pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the store. “Do you need me to come in and pay for it?”
“Not unless it costs more than the money Doc gave me.”
As he was getting out of the car, she said, “I think it’s great that you think you can fix Doc’s truck. Maybe you’re a mechanic.”
“I doubt it. I have a feeling that I can handle something simple, but that’s about it.”
She paused for a beat, then said, “Your hands were neat and clean when you came into the E.R., so maybe it’s safe to assume that you don’t fix engines on a regular basis.”
“Then maybe I have a white-collar job. Who knows?” He tried to laugh it off, but the fact that he didn’t have a clue how he’d been supporting himself before landing in Brighton Valley made any humor in the situation fall flat.
He shut the passenger door, then went into the store. Several minutes later, he returned with a large box filled with his purchases.
“I thought you only needed a starter,” she said. “What else did you get?”
“I picked up some oil and filters, too. I’m going to do what I can to get that truck running smoothly for Doc, but if this doesn’t do the trick, then he’ll have to call in an expert.”
John placed the box in the backseat of her car, and once he was buckled in, Betsy took off.
When they arrived at the ranch, she parked near the guesthouse. “Good luck getting Doc’s truck started.”
“Thanks. What are you going to do this afternoon?”
“I’ve got some bills to pay, my checkbook to balance and some bookwork to do.”
He hoped he would see her later. It wasn’t often that she got a day off. And even though his plans would be taken up with repairing Doc’s truck, he wondered if she’d remembered his invitation to go riding, a question he’d asked before that mind-blowing kiss.
Maybe it would pan out someday. But for now, they each went their own way.
The first thing John did was to find Doc and tell him he was home. Then he set about replacing the old starter with the new one. While he was at it, he changed the oil and the filters, too. And when he was finished, he opened the back door, entered the service porch and washed the grease and grit from his hands.
Doc, who’d just entered the kitchen, asked, “Have you got the truck running again?”
“Yes, and it started right up.”
As John reached for a paper towel to dry his hands, he studied the older man, who seemed out of character dressed in a clean white shirt and a neatly pressed pair of slacks.
“What’re you up to?” he asked the man who’d recently showered and shaved.
Doc opened the pantry and pulled out a bottle of red wine that had been lying on its side. “I was invited to have dinner with Edna Clayton, an old friend of mine. And I didn’t want to go empty-handed.”
“You’ve been holding out on me, Doc.” John crossed his arms, cocked his head to the side and grinned. “You’ve got a lady friend.”
The old man rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t.”
“I think it’s great if you
“Well, to be honest, Edna and I tiptoed around a romance at one time. I suppose it would have been nice to find love in the golden years, but we never had that kind of spark between us.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Isn’t it?” Doc chuckled. “But Edna’s a real hoot and a good friend. She’s also one heck of a cook. And she’s having pork roast and mashed potatoes tonight.”
“Have fun.”
“I will. But before she called, I put a couple of chicken breasts in the oven to bake. Can you take them out for me? They’ll be ready in about thirty minutes or so.”
“Sure.”
“You know,” Doc said, brightening, “why don’t you invite Betsy to come over and eat with you?”
A grin tugged at John’s lips. “That would be nice. And neighborly.”
Doc opened the pantry door and pulled out another bottle of wine, that one a white-pinot grigio.
“Why don’t you serve this?” Doc put it in the refrigerator to chill. “It’ll go well with the chicken.”
It would go well with candles and a little mood music, too. The possibilities were opening up by the minute.
“Thanks,” John said. “I think I’ll head over there and ask her to dinner now.”
He hoped she would agree because he’d like to spend the evening with her.
And have her all to himself.
Betsy had hung up the telephone and was pondering the conversation she’d just had with Roy Adkins, a private investigator, when a knock sounded.
She still held the portable receiver in her hand when she crossed the small living room to see who’d stopped by to see her. She never had company drop by without an invitation, so she figured it had to be either John or Doc.
And she was right. As she swung open the door, John stood on her porch wearing a heart-stopping grin.
“Have you started dinner yet?” he asked.
