The Heirloom Brides Collection by Tracey V. Bateman Page A

come early because it might take awhile to warm the store with the temperature so cold.
    “What happened?” Betsy’s voice sounded thick and sleepy.
    “You went to sleep outside. Don’t you know better than that? If I hadn’t come along when I did, you could’ve died out there on that bench.”
    “Lucky for me you came along then, I guess.”
    How could she be so obtuse? He wanted to reach out and grab her, pull her into his arms. He went to a shelf across the room and grabbed two blankets. Against her protests, he wrapped her up, then knelt down in front of her and began to unbutton her shoes.
    “What do you think you’re doing?”
    “Getting these boots off before you lose your feet.”
    “Oh.”
    He pulled off one boot, then the other, then his face warmed when he realized she was wearing stockings. He turned on his knees and faced the other direction. “You’ll need to… um.”
    “What?”
    “The stockings.”
    “You want me to take them off? Why, that—”
    “Not proper, I know. That’s why my back is turned. I won’t look at anything but your feet, but I need to rub the blood back into them.” He paused, not hearing movement behind him.
    “Betsy, I’m not trying to take any liberties. You have my word. But the temperature is ten degrees below zero, and you fell asleep out in it. You could’ve died.”
    “Okay, wait just a minute.”
    When she allowed him to turn back around, she was covered chin to toes with the blankets. He liked her modesty. Betsy might be stubborn and opinionated and have a quick temper, but she was virtuous. Slowly he reached out, almost afraid to touch her. But he had to get her feet warm—and fast. Taking a deep breath, he lifted one ice-cold foot and began to rub it. She drew in a sharp breath. He ventured a glance at her face. Her bottom lip was firmly between her teeth, and pain burned in her eyes. “I’m sorry this hurts,” he said. “But the pain is an indication the blood is flowing. I’m pretty sure it means your feet will be fine. Why were you sitting on the bench? And how long were you out there?”
    “Miss Annie fired me last night.”
    His heart nearly stopped. “You slept on the bench?”
    “Of course not. I’m not a fool.” She paused. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
    Surprised by the uncommon show of humility, Stuart kept his gaze focused on the task at hand.
    “I slept in my room but figured I ought to leave since the room is Miss Annie’s. She asked me to come back to the restaurant, but I need to work where I can see Pops more often. He’s not doing so well.” Her voice broke. “Anyway, I know you might not need me to work for very long, but I was hoping I can go ahead and work with you until your ma comes back.”
    “As a matter of fact,” he said, gently placing her foot on the floor and lifting the other, “Ma isn’t coming back.” The sound of her pain as he began working on the second foot went straight to his heart.
    “Is she all right? I mean, I hope nothing is seriously wrong.”
    Her concern touched him, and he looked up and smiled. “Doc saw her yesterday and said it’s likely arthritis in her hip. He advised her to stop working here since she has to be on her feet for so many hours a day. She flatly refused until I told her last night that you were coming to work at the store.”
    Betsy’s eyes went wide. “But I told you I wasn’t going to.”
    “I hope you’ll forgive my presumption, but I figured you’d rethink the idea and see it was for the best.”
    A slight smile tipped the corners of her lips. “You were right. And I thank you.” Her face darkened as she frowned.
    “What?”
    “I’m still angry about Pops’ watch. I mean, I don’t understand how on earth you could just go and—” She stopped and gathered a deep, full breath, then exhaled. “I suppose there’s no point in dwelling on what I’ve lost. I’ll try not to let it affect how I work here. And… I’m grateful for