The Wedding Party Collection. Кейт Хьюит

       Chapter Nineteen

      Ryan left the Teton County Courthouse with most of his questions answered. At first he’d encountered some resistance. Until he’d mentioned he was there representing Betsy’s interests. Was it his fault they took that as saying he was her attorney?

      After hearing the details of the case against Chad, Ryan knew why the prosecutors were so grateful Betsy had come forward. Although there was good forensic evidence, the legal assistant Chad had assaulted had a few things in her past that the defense would likely use to their advantage.

      But with Betsy also reporting inappropriate actions, the chance that they would get a conviction had increased exponentially.

      Ryan knew that surprises were never a good thing. He mentioned to the district attorney that Betsy now worked for him and that they were involved. He didn’t stop there. Ryan made it clear he expected Chad’s legal team to use that fact to discredit her.

      Had she coerced him into that relationship? the attorney had asked. When Ryan made it clear that Betsy was the woman he wanted to marry and confirmed her report that anything that had happened between them was consensual, he was told no worries.

      All that was left was for Ryan to go to Betsy, explain what he’d done and tell her there was no obstacle to keep them from being together.

      Only one thing worried him. What if this wasn’t why Betsy had broken off their relationship? What if she simply didn’t love him?

      What was he going to do then?

      * * *

      Betsy took Mr. Marstand home, then returned to the house. The sun had set and the house that had been comfortable at fifty-two degrees while they’d been working had taken on a decided chill.

      If she emptied more closets or cleaned out a few more cupboards, she might have been able to keep warm. But she was tired of working. Tired of wondering why Ryan hadn’t returned.

      Not that she wanted him to, but it was rude to promise to come back and then not call. Still, even if he did call, she wasn’t in the mood to talk. Mr. Marstand had given her a lot to think about. Who knew the quirky octogenarian was such a sage?

      Pulling a musty-smelling crocheted afghan from the table, Betsy wrapped it over her coat and leaned back in the chair. In the past when a childhood memory surfaced, she pushed it back.

      For the first time, Betsy let the memories wash over her. Happy. And not-so-happy ones.

      She recalled the drunken binges, the broken promises, the horrible things said in anger. To her surprise, she remembered a few happy times, too. Times when her mother’s eyes had been clear and bright. Times when they’d laughed and sang songs. Times when her mother seemed genuinely glad to have a son and a daughter.

      Her mother had never asked for her forgiveness. Now, because she was dead, that would never happen. What had that minister said? Something about grace being needed but not deserved?

      Could she forgive her mother? Let go of the hurt? Put aside the anger?

      She’d seen evidence of the rage that burned inside Keenan. Even though he was innocent of the charges that had sent him to prison, he’d been a short-fused bomb waiting to explode. It would have been only a matter of time until he’d really hurt someone or himself.

      Betsy closed her eyes and summoned up an image of her mother and the trip to Devil’s Tower. When they’d stopped for gas. When she’d returned to the car after paying and surprised Betsy and Keenan with the bottles of orange Nehi soda.

      Another good moment, Betsy thought in surprise. Good times that she’d nearly forgotten.

      “I forgive you,” Betsy whispered. Then, because it seemed if you were going to forgive someone the words should be said with more certainty, with more gusto, Betsy took a deep breath and tried again. “I forgive you, Mother,” she called loudly, her words echoing in the silent house. “For everything.”

      At first nothing happened. Then, like a warm summer rain that washes everything clean, the hurt and anger Betsy had been holding on to since she’d been a child let go of her heart and the tension in her chest eased.

      Betsy glanced around the darkened living room. Nothing had changed on the outside. But on the inside, well, on the inside, the sun, which had been covered by clouds, was shining brightly.

      * * *

      Because the sidewalk leading up to her apartment was wet, Betsy carried Puffy from the car. She sniffed. “Puffball, I don’t know if it’s you or me, but one of us needs a bath.”

      Betsy figured it was probably both of them. Aunt Agatha’s home had a musty, foul smell that made Betsy wrinkle her nose each time she walked through the door. Soon it would be clean. The hardwood floors would be resurfaced and waxed, and lace curtains would hang at bright and shiny windows.

      She pictured Ryan and Puffy bursting through the door and her opening her arms to hug them both.

      Stop it, she told herself. What Mr. Marstand had said was all well and good, but she refused to let Ryan be hurt because of her.

      Puffy began squirming in her arms, making pulling the house key from her pocket even more difficult. Then her phone rang.

      Betsy dropped the dog to the porch and gave her the hand signal for “Sit” while she pulled out the phone. “Hello.”

      She listened in disbelief as the district attorney told her the preliminary hearing on the charges against Chad had gotten moved up to tomorrow. Apparently Chad didn’t want the “unpleasantness” hanging over him any longer than necessary. There was an opening on the docket and his attorney took it.

      “Of course I can be there,” Betsy said. The phone cut out for a few seconds. She thought he said something about having her attorney there for support, but she didn’t have an attorney. “I’ll see you at ten.”

      After retrieving the key from her purse, Betsy opened the door and found herself face-to-face with Ryan.

      Puffy, the traitor dog, jumped up and down like an acrobat on a trampoline. Betsy had to admit, her own heart had given a little leap. But just one. Okay, maybe two.

      Betsy shouldered past Ryan, inhaling the clean, fresh scent of him. Not only did he smell terrific, but he also looked even better. Black pants. Crisp white shirt with cuffs rolled up.

      “You know breaking and entering is a crime,” she said, acutely aware of her own disheveled appearance.

      “I have a key.” He smiled. “How many times do I have to remind you?”

      “Yes, well—”

      “What’s that smell?” Ryan sniffed, then wrinkled his nose. “Is that foul