Peaches in Winter Page 5

  Jake nodded. “All right.”

  They walked the last few yards together, without speaking. But Jake felt a new easiness between them.

  He held the door for her, and she thanked him. It was all quite proper and employee-employer, but there was an undertone, now, of almost a friendship. An understanding.

  Jake wondered if she felt it, too, or if it was just his imagination.

  Chapter Five

  “Why do you hate winter, Mr. Watterson?”

  Betty Ann asked the question as she beat eggs for a batch of cornbread.

  Jake, who had run out of things to write for the moment (possibly the day), sat at the kitchen table with greasy hands, occupied with buttering a pan for her. Somehow he’d drifted out here and offered to help.

  The kitchen was warm and well-lit, cozy, and pleasant-smelling from the savory ham-and-bean soup bubbling on the stove. Jake felt at ease and comfortable.

  “I just don’t like it,” he replied.

  Betty Ann, looking across at him, apologized with her eyes. “I forgot. It’s not my place to ask.” She had a nice smile, especially when she wasn’t trying too hard. She poured milk into the eggs and continued beating the mixture.

  Jake leaned back and sighed, started to wipe his hands on his pants, realized it wasn’t a good idea, and held them awkwardly in the air.

  “Nothing really good has ever happened in my life during the winter,” he said, “and plenty of bad things have. And—” he stretched, and tried to suppress a yawn, “it’s just so depressing. Everything seems dead.”

  He thought again of his time in the army, and how everything seemed less alive during the winter. Boot camp coincided with winter, when he was struggling with homesickness and the shock of being in the army. So had some of the most grueling battles he’d been in.

  And his parents, of course. They died in the winter.

  Well, that didn’t matter now. The fact was, he’d never been fond of winter, and he’d had no cause to change his mind.

  Of course, Betty Ann had come to him during winter, but although that lessened his general gloominess, it didn’t change his knee-jerk reaction to the long, cold months, or the way all the light seemed to seep out of his life when the leaves dropped, and the wind grew cold.

  “When is that soup ready to eat?” he asked, changing the subject, and smiling at her to show he meant no offense.

  Betty smiled at him in return. “Soon.”

  The doorbell rang. She wiped her hands on a cloth. “Just a second, Mr. Watterson. I’ll get that.”

  He rose. “No, I’ll go.”

  “Your hands,” she reminded him and slipped from the kitchen, running lightly to the door.

  He watched her go.

  Sometimes she seemed so young, but he didn’t think of her as a kid anymore. And he cared what she thought of him now. He hadn’t at first. He thought—he was starting to think—of her as a friend.

  Sometimes, when she didn’t see him looking, he spotted a sadness that made him want to protect her. But he wasn’t sure how he could. If anything, it seemed like she looked after him.

  He recognized this sadness in her, perhaps because he understood it so well in himself.

  He didn’t know what caused such pain in her youthful and obviously optimistic life. It must be something big to sadden her so much. He hoped it would go away, that it would leave her somehow and stop bothering her. Of course, that was just wishful thinking…

  She came back, smiling a bit uncertainly, followed by a jaunty, grinning Matt Armstrong.

  “So!” Matt crowed. “The busy writer, hard at work in the kitchen!”

  Behind him, Betty Ann looked flustered. She made a nervous motion with her hands and looked a bit flushed. “Oh no, he’s been working hard, until just now.”

  Matt laughed down at Jake, shaking his head in mock censure.

  Jake lifted his buttery hands threateningly. “Watch it; I’ll get you greasy.”

  Matt raised an eyebrow, looking impressed. “Feeling good enough to joke? Wow.” He pulled open the refrigerator and got out the milk. “Something smells good. What’s cooking, and when will it be done?”

  “Soup. And I just asked,” replied Jake.

  “Well?” Matt turned to Betty, raising his eyebrows again, smiling.

  Betty flushed. “S-soon,” she repeated. She moved away quickly and brought him a glass, and then went back to the countertop where she hurriedly beat the cornbread batter.

  Matt pulled out a chair and plopped down at the table near Jake. “Get much writing done?”

  “Four chapters and a partial outline.” Jake stood and walked to the sink. He washed his hands.

  “That much!” Matt turned in his chair to watch Jake and let out a low whistle.

  Betty Ann scraped the cornbread batter rapidly into a pan. She turned and slid the pan into the oven. “I’ll let you men talk,” she said. “Excuse me.” She hurried from the room.

  Jake followed her with his gaze. Probably thinks we want to talk about her employment. And she’s probably right. He turned back to Matt, shaking his wet hands off and reaching for a towel.

  “I didn’t know she’d be so pretty,” said Matt in an undertone, his eyes alight with interest. “I’m surprised you’re finishing any work at all!”

  “Don’t be vulgar.” Jake returned to his chair. “Betty’s a nice girl. Don’t you get any ideas about her.”

  “I won’t.” Matt still watched him closely. “But I wonder if you have?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jake with dignity.

  Matt sipped his milk. “Well. I’m glad it worked out. Looks like I’ll get a book out of you before the summer after all!”

  “Don’t count your chickens. I’ll do what I can, but there’s no guarantee.”

  “I know. Just do your best. I’m glad my plan worked so well so far, that’s all. You know you’re not happy unless you’re writing something.”

  Jake looked at his publisher. He suddenly realized Matt hadn’t sent Betty over just because he wanted another book. He was worried about me. He swallowed. For a second, he felt downright bad for misjudging Matt.

  Jake didn’t like the idea of people interfering in his life and trying to fix it for him, but he was grateful Matt had cared—and that he’d been lucky enough to pick Betty as his secretary.

  Instead of saying any of this, he grunted and turned aside. “How’s the business going?”

  “Oh, so-so,” said Matt, shifting his glass around between his palms. “One of my authors is up for an award. I actually came to see you about that. Do you want to come to the award party? There’s always plenty of press for things like that, and the more authors I can get to show, the better newspaper coverage we’ll receive. I didn’t call to ask because I knew you’d just hang up on me.” He grinned his slightly roguish smile.

  Jake grimaced. “You know I hate those things.”

  “I know. Do it for the home team.” Matt reached over and slugged him in the arm.

  Jake wondered if he was being invited because Matt actually needed him for publicity, or if this was another plot to rehabilitate him into society.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said, more to be polite than because he actually planned to consider going to a party—of any sort.

  Matt swirled his milk, and grinned. His blue eyes danced with amusement and fun; Matt never seemed to be depressed. “I’ll get Betty to make you go.”

  Jake glared. “Don’t you dare. Besides, you should let the poor girl alone. Can’t you tell she’s scared you’re going to fire her?”

  Matt laughed aloud. “Is that it? I’d be insane to. Besides, it’s not up to me anymore, and you know it.” He grinned roguishly. “Watch this.” Matt looked over his shoulder, called, “Miss Keene! Could you come in here a moment?”

  “Matt…” said Jake warningly.

  Betty hurried into the kitchen. “Yes, Mr. Armstrong?” Her face looked worried.

&nbs
p; “Miss Keene. I wondered if you would be willing to come to a party I’m throwing for an author of mine.”

  “I— Oh,” said Betty. “I…don’t know.” She glanced at Jake. “I don’t think I belong at a place like that.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you do! You might enjoy it, and besides, it will be a nice way to meet everyone in the company—since you’ll obviously be with us for a long time.”

  “I— Oh, I will?” She looked at Jake again, her expression displaying uncertainty.

  “I’m not going to fire you, and he can’t,” said Jake, nodding toward Matt.

  Betty Ann looked past him again, to Jake. Then she focused on Matt and shook her head gently. “Thank you kindly, Mr. Armstrong, but I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Matt smiled ruefully. “It’s your decision, of course, but I won’t say I’m not disappointed.”

  Betty’s smile relaxed, and she moved from the room, apparently feeling she’d been released.

  Jake turned to face Matt. He could not wholly keep the triumphant look from his face.

  “See? She didn’t want to go anyway.”

  Matt regarded him. “I wonder.” He smiled rather crafty. “Still, if she had gone, you would have come, too. Wouldn’t you?”

  Jake scowled in consternation. Matt was right; he’d been bracing himself to come—if only to protect Betty from his publisher.

  He almost won! He almost convinced me to go!

  But somehow, Betty had known something wasn’t right. She’d seemed to know there was something going on between Matt and Jake, and that Jake hadn’t wanted her to go to the party.

  How did she know? Women’s intuition? Had Matt been right, and she really did want to go? He must’ve been, or she wouldn’t have kept looking at me, as if to see if I approved!

  Great. Now Jake felt guilty. He shouldn’t try to keep a pretty girl like Betty from social situations just because he didn’t happen to like going to them himself. How else would she meet people in the city, if she spent all her time looking after him?

  A girl like Betty Ann deserves a chance to have fun and socialize—even with eligible bachelors.

  Even as he thought this, he realized he didn’t want her to meet any eligible bachelors. He wanted to keep her all for himself.

  But that was wrong. If you’re not going to marry her, Jake Watterson, you can’t keep her away from other people, he told himself sternly.

  The whole idea made him acutely uncomfortable. He didn’t want to lose Betty, and he didn’t want to think about marrying her—or anyone, right now.

  Why couldn’t things just stay the same?

  He glared at Matt. It was all his fault for bringing this whole thing up. If he’d just stayed at the office where he belonged, none of this would have crossed Jake’s mind!

  Matt laughed. “What are you glaring at me for? Hey, I think I’m going to go ask her again.” He started to rise.

  “No.” Jake caught him by the wrist. “You let her alone.” He spoke more fiercely than he planned to; his voice sounded harsh and stressed.

  Matt raised an eyebrow at the intensity in Jake’s voice. Matt quirked a smile. “You’ve got it bad, brother.”

  Jake glowered at him, but slowly, he released Matt’s arm. “Betty’s my friend. I don’t want you harassing her.”

  As he said it, he knew it wasn’t entirely true. If he could even comprehend the idea of marriage to Betty—after he had already figured out marriage was not for him—and if he felt jealous over her and wanted to keep other men away from her, he didn’t think of her as just a friend.

  What am I doing? Jake grew disgusted with himself. Am I falling for my secretary? Spend a little time with a pretty girl, and already I lost my head?

  Some of what he felt must have showed on his face.

  “All right,” said Matt, grinning ruefully and backing off. “But if you change your mind, or Betty does, let me know. The party’s not for two weeks yet.”

  He clapped Jake on the shoulder and stood. “I’ll let you get back to ‘writing.’”

  He walked from the kitchen, leaving Jake with his roiling emotions and turbulent thoughts. Jake heard him say goodbye to Betty on his way out. He spoke politely, Jake was glad to hear, and only mentioned the party again briefly.

  Betty returned to the kitchen and smiled at him uncertainly. “Well,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to stir the soup, peering into the pot’s bubbly depths, “It was nice of your friend to visit you.”

  “I suppose,” said Jake.

  He struggled with himself for a moment. It was the right thing to do. After all, if he didn’t want to propose, he had no right to keep her from other opportunities.

  “Betty, if you want to go to his party, I won’t stop you.”

  She might meet a nice man at the party. Maybe even Matt— He almost ground his teeth at the thought.

  Betty glanced at him. Her gentle expression made her pretty face look even nicer. “That’s okay,” she said, “I don’t like parties very much.”

  “Really? Why?” Jake was too surprised at her answer to stop and think whether he ought to ask. After all, it was really none of his business.

  “Oh,” she said, with an attempt at casualness, waving one hand vaguely, but somehow not quite convincingly, “I just don’t.” She avoided his gaze.

  Jake opened his mouth to enquire further—and stopped. It’s none of your business, he sternly reminded himself. Betty was his employee, and he would be best to just keep it that way and save them both from any heartache.

  The thought flashed through his mind. Could that have something to do with why she’s sad? Something about a party? She was certainly uncomfortable—even though he hadn’t repeated his question. He told himself to stop wondering; it was none of his concern—whatever the facts were.

  Slowly, he rose to his feet. “Betty, why don’t you take the day off early? I’m sure you must have things to do.”

  “Really?” She turned to him, looking surprised. He couldn’t tell if she was glad or sad. Although it would be natural for a young secretary to be pleased if she was offered a partial day off work, he didn’t want to know if she was. He knew he’d only feel disappointed if she looked really happy about escaping from spending any more time with him.

  This is for the best, he told himself. “You don’t have to leave before we eat, of course,” he added. “You made the meal; you should certainly enjoy it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Watterson,” she said. She looked at his face again. He wished he could tell what she was thinking behind those suddenly cryptic, so-blue eyes.

  ~*~

  Betty Ann thought the bean soup was pretty good, although not as good as her mother’s.

  They ate in silence. Jake—Mr. Watterson—seemed unusually subdued after his talk with the publisher. He often seemed deep in thought when working on his stories, or when he felt generally gloomy, but now he seemed different. He fiddled with his food and didn’t eat much of it. Even the cornbread didn’t seem to wake him up, although he did mumble, “This is good,” after he tried it.

  She wondered if Mr. Armstrong had said something to upset him. Jake had certainly seemed bothered by the idea of her going to the party. Perhaps the author who was receiving the award was someone he didn’t get along with. She hoped not. She didn’t like to think of Mr. Watterson as the type who had lots of enemies.

  Maybe Mr. Armstrong was inviting me just to tease Jake. He sure looked like he was teasing Jake about something. She took more soup, enjoying the pungent flavor of onion, beans, and spices in the spicy broth.

  It was nice of Mr. Watterson to let her eat with him every day. So far it had saved her a lot of money on food, and it was better food than she’d have the time—or the ingredients—to make at her apartment.

  She hoped he would be over whatever was bothering him by tomorrow. After she cleaned up the dishes and put away the food, it was after noon. She got her purse and lovely new coat and stopped
at the entrance to his study.

  “Goodbye Mr. Watterson,” she called.

  He didn’t reply. That was different, too; usually whatever he was doing, he always stopped and said goodbye to her before she went. She peered into the room’s gloomy depths. He wasn’t working on writing but just sat sunken gloomily in an armchair. He wasn’t even holding a book.

  Betty closed the door quietly behind her, prayed a silent prayer that Jake—Mr. Watterson—would be all right. She wondered what was bothering him.

  She picked up her steps and gave her head a toss. It was a lovely day, even if Jake hadn’t noticed. The air was light and clean-smelling—unusual for the city. Although, of course, it was not a substitute, it reminded her of spring on the farm. It would be spring soon. And then Jake will be happy.

  She headed home in a peaceful mood, humming quietly.

  She shared a small apartment in a decent area of the city. The only reason she could afford it was because four girls had gone together. Betty thought they were probably all at their jobs, and she’d be alone in the apartment for the first time since she’d been out of work.

  Maybe she would stop and change and then head to the park, or go window shopping. Even though it was cold, it was just too nice a day to stay inside all the time alone, like Mr. Watterson did.

  She opened the door with her key and went inside.

  “Who’s that?” called a voice from the next room.

  “Just Betty. Is that you, Mary?”

  A dark-haired girl with reddened eyes padded into the kitchen. “You got fired, too?”

  “What? Oh no!” Betty gasped. “Mr. Watterson gave me part of the day off. Are you okay?” She hurried forward and caught her roommate’s arms, looking with concern into her tear-stained face.

  Mary Elliot nodded. She didn’t try to hide the fact she’d been crying. “Mr. Kidd got me fired.”

  Betty Ann drew in her breath. “Did he—try to —” She couldn’t bring herself to say it, even though Mary knew what had happened between her and Mr. Kidd. The man who’d hired Betty—for one day—also worked where Mary did. In fact, that was how they’d met, and Betty had taken this apartment. Before that, she was living on her own in a far-too-expensive tenement.