Peaches in Winter (6 page)

Jake stared at her. “That’s not —” He seemed to be about to continue but swallowed back his words. Shook his head. “That can’t be right.”

“Oh, but it is.” Betty leaned forward, anxious to convince him. Mary might not be hired on her good word, but she felt certain Mr. Armstrong would hire her on the word of Jake. If she could convince Jake, Mary’s troubles would be over. She only needed a job for a few months longer, and then she could quit and marry her boyfriend, Bob.

Betty felt responsible for her friend—not because she thought she could have done anything to prevent what happened, but because she didn’t want her friend to suffer as she’d done after her unfair firing. If Mr. Watterson hadn’t hired her, there was no telling where she’d be today. Back home, if she’d been lucky enough to somehow find the money for train fare back.

Jake still frowned, looking troubled by what she’d said, and not quite convinced. Still, he nodded. “All right. I’ll speak to Matt, since you want me to.”

“Thank you, Mr. Watterson!” She nearly jumped up and ran around the table to hug him. Then she recollected herself. It would certainly not be appropriate.

He smiled a little, as if in spite of himself. “Don’t get all worked up,” he drawled, crossing his legs and looking pleased anyway. “It’s just a small favor. Besides, I don’t know yet whether he needs any new secretaries.”

“He’ll know someone who does, if he doesn’t need any himself,” said Betty. “He seems like he knows a lot of people.”

Just then the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it.” Betty jumped up, feeling cheerful again. As she walked to the door, she remembered about Jimmy coming yesterday, and a little of her smile faded. Still, she had managed to forget about him for a while, and that was good. It seemed she couldn’t be sad for very long when she talked to Mr. Watterson. He really was a good man, she thought, as she opened the door.

“Surprise!” Mr. Armstrong stood on the doorstop, grinning from ear to ear and holding out a big bunch of bright red roses.

Betty’s eyebrows jumped, and she leaned back, startled by his sudden appearance and the flowers. “M-Mr. Armstrong,” stuttered Betty. “This is a s-surprise.” It was an unnerving surprise, though.
Flowers?

“Are these for Jake?” she asked cautiously, taking the flowers tentatively. “I really don’t think he’s sick.”

Mr. Armstrong laughed. “No, these are for you, Betty!” He laughed and lounged easily on the doorstep, slipping his hands into his pockets and smiling at her.

Tilting his head slightly on the side, Matt Armstrong said, “Don’t you realize how beautiful you are? What man wouldn’t want to give you flowers?”

Blushing to her roots, Betty backed from the door. “Er…excuse me,” she mumbled. “I’ll…tell Mr. Watterson you’re here.” She turned and fled.

Once past the door, she slowed. It had been rude not to invite him in, but he certainly knew how to fluster a girl. Betty wasn’t skilled at flirting—or being flirted at. She knew, vaguely, that she was pretty. People had told her so all her life, but they were mostly people she knew and liked, so she had assumed they were partial to her—just being nice. Now, she was beginning to see that even strangers saw her that way. It was unnerving.

Passing a mirror in the hallway, she frowned at her reflection. She looked just as she always did, except a little redder around the face. What about her would make Mr. Armstrong want to buy her flowers? Was it really because she was too pretty to resist?

Perhaps it was somehow her fault Mr. Kidd had been so
ungentlemanly. Was she just too pretty to be treated like a normal girl?

“Betty? Who was that?” asked Jake, coming out into the hall.

Betty jumped slightly, startled and embarrassed for him to find her staring into a mirror and blushing. “It’s-it’s Mr. Armstrong,” she choked out. “Excuse me.” She moved past him, still holding the flowers, and fled into the kitchen.

Behind her, she heard Jake’s footsteps, loud and quick now, starting for the door. Heard his voice rise menacingly. “Matt...”

Betty laid the flowers on the sink, then thought better of it, and put them into a vase with water. There was no reason to let them die just because she felt confused and upset by the manner in which they’d been given to her.

Coming from the front step, she thought she heard voices rise in annoyance, but she couldn’t make out the words. It was nice of Mr. Watterson to care she felt upset, but she really wished they wouldn’t fight over it. It was probably all her fault anyway.

~*~

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jake glowered at his publisher.

Matt still stood on the top step, and he looked entirely too pleased with himself. Taking his hands from his pockets, he spoke calmly. “Do you really want an answer to that?”

“Yes,” growled Jake, drawing down his eyebrows
.
“It had better be a good one, too. You’ve upset her, and after I told you to leave her alone.”

“Well, yes,” said Matt. “But I started thinking.”

“About what?”

“I thought about how much I’d like to have you at that party, to generate some publicity for yourself for a change instead of making me do all the work, and then about how much a pretty girl like Betty would add to a party like that. Reporters, you know, like to take pictures, and they don’t much like taking pictures of grumpy authors. So I thought, all right, I can’t force you to come, but maybe I can change Betty’s mind. And even if I can’t, at least I can buy a pretty girl flowers.” He shrugged. “What’s the harm in that?” His eyes were wicked with laughter. He was mocking Jake, putting him on the spot—perhaps trying to show him that his feelings for Betty weren’t platonic.

But Jake already knew that.

He stood in the doorway, flexing and clenching his fists. He was tempted then and there to clock Matt, but for the fact Matt hadn’t actually done anything wrong. And he couldn’t stop Matt from paying attention to Betty, even if he managed to stop him coming around.

And Matt knew it.

“What do you want?” he asked at last.

“That’s a good man,” said Matt, grinning and shoving his hands into his pockets again. “I knew you’d see reason! Just come to the party—bring Betty if you can—and I’ll back off. For now. But trust me, brother, if you aren’t interested in Betty, you won’t be able to keep me away from her forever. Not a pretty girl like her. Even supposing you do somehow manage, there will be other guys. She’s not your property.”

“I never said she was,” snapped Jake, growing more and more annoyed with Matt the longer he spoke. He didn’t want to agree to anything. He didn’t want to go to some stupid party, and he didn’t want other guys courting Betty.

And especially not Matt. His friend wasn’t a bad guy, but he was something of a lady’s man. Betty was too innocent, too sweet to know about guys like him. Suppose he used his charms on her and turned her head completely? Betty was the kind of girl who would want to marry, probably raise a bunch of kids, and go to church every Sunday. She wouldn’t realize Matt only wanted a few weeks of dancing at clubs late into the night when he whispered sweet nothings to her and made her fall in love with him.

Anger roiled in Jake.
I’m not letting you get away with this, Matt
. He glared into Matt’s laughing eyes. “This is not over,” he said, and turned to go back into the house, hand on the door to shut it.

“We’ll see,” said Matt. “Are you coming to the party, or aren’t you?”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “If I do, you’ll leave Betty alone.”

“For a while.”

“No,
alone
.”

Matt laughed. “Honestly, Jake, you should see yourself! You’re acting like a mother bear.” He reached up and punched Jake lightly in the arm. “Well? Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He spread his hands innocently.

Jake recalled he’d promised to speak with Matt about finding a job for Betty’s unemployed friend. He couldn’t do so with equanimity right now. “No,” said Jake.

Matt shook his head and laughed. “Brother, you’ve got it bad.”

“No I do not,” said Jake angrily. He’d decided he didn’t have it bad, and he didn’t need Matt shoving his face in the fact he was almost certainly wrong.

“All right. Delude yourself.” Matt turned away, with a casual wave of the hand in farewell. “I’ll expect you at the party. Six o’clock Saturday.”

~*~

From the kitchen window, Betty watched him leave. She hadn’t heard the words they’d spoken, but when she heard them stop talking, she looked out the window and saw him leaving. He was tall, with light, straw-colored hair and really not bad looking at all. He was the sort of man her mother would love her to marry, and her grandmother would have fallen over for her to ‘land.’

Why had she felt so odd and confused when he acted as though he liked her?

She felt an unfamiliar fluttering in her chest. Was it possible he was really interested in her? Part of her acknowledged it would be nice to be honestly liked by a man, since the debacle of Jimmy and also Mr. Kidd’s improper advances.

She remembered his smiling face greeting her. He really was a handsome man, better looking even than Mr. Watterson.
Did I just think that?
Did I just think Mr. Watterson is good looking?
Well, he was.

But she had no business noticing.

Chapter Seven

“Are you keeping those?” Frowning, Mr. Watterson gestured to the roses in the vase.

“Why not? It would be a shame to waste good flowers.” She turned to him, feeling flushed and awkward still because she’d noticed him as a man instead of as an employer.

Now that she’d thought about it, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Standing in the doorway, glaring at the red roses, he looked long and lean, and good-looking in a slightly scruffy way. His hair was pleasantly mussed from when he’d run his hands through it while working. With her new knowledge of him as handsome, the sight made her feel funny inside. Seeing his hair dark, and rich, and disarrayed, she wanted to run her hands through it, too.

Where were these thoughts coming from?

She’d come to the city to escape troubling romantic problems—not the least of them getting over a broken heart. And now what was she doing, noticing things about the looks of Jake and Mr. Armstrong?

He was still frowning at the roses, as though deep in some thoughts that only barely touched on them.

“They’ll brighten the house,” she added.

“Hmm.” He glared at the flowers and then strode back over to the table, dark and moody. She did not like to see him looking so angry. Honestly, to see the way
he acted after seeing Mr. Armstrong, you would think the two men were enemies instead of colleagues and friends.

“Betty.” Jake stopped,
swiveled to face her, looking as unhappy as she’d yet seen him.

So why was her heart fluttering when he spoke her name? “Yes, Mr. Watterson?”
You’d think I was in a hurry for another doomed romance!
At least she hadn’t called him by his first name this time.

“Will you come to Matt’s party with me?”

Startled by his sudden reversal on the subject, she blinked hard. “Oh, I don’t—”

“Please.”

Her eyebrows went up at the earnestness in his voice. It was as though he needed her to go with him, almost desperately. She could not remember the last time she’d heard so much feeling in his voice.

To cover her surprise, she began to chatter. “You decided to go? That’s nice. Mr. Armstrong will be glad of that, I suppose. But I don’t think I could go. It’s not the sort of party for someone like me. I mean, for a secretary.”

“I would really appreciate it if you came.” Jake sounded like he was trying to keep his voice calm. He looked at the roses again. “Ugly flowers.”

“Really? You don’t like roses?” She looked at them with her head on the side and fluffed the blossoms closer together.

“No.”

“Well, I can take them home with me. Then you won’t have to look at them.”

“I didn’t mean that,” mumbled Jake. “It’s fine.” He reached up and scratched at his hairline. “Well, will you come with me or not?”

Betty looked at him questioningly. “Is Mr. Armstrong making you go?” she asked.

With a frown, he nodded.

Betty smiled at him. “Of course, I’ll come.”

He grinned in relief. “Thanks, Betty.” He started toward her—for a moment, she thought he meant to give her a quick kiss—but then he stopped and veered back toward the table, leaving Betty confused.
I must have been mistaken.
She shook her head slightly and turned back to the sink to cover her blush.
Why would Jake—Mr. Watterson—kiss
me
?

Still, she was rather flattered he wanted her to come to the party. She knew he didn’t enjoy going out, and she also knew his theory that he couldn’t write properly when he didn’t have someone around—that someone right now being her. She didn’t quite believe it, even though he seemed to mean it. Now perhaps he thought he couldn’t make it through a party without her. The idea was softening, rather flattering. Of course it wasn’t true, but just the thought that he relied on her—felt like he
could
rely on her—made her feel soft inside and glad.

Am I getting a crush on him?
She gave the roses another distracted fluff.
Jake Watterson could never care for me, so I had just better stop it right now.

Feeling the need to stay away from him for a little while, lest her thoughts were immediately obvious on her face (as was sometimes the case), she turned back to him, trying to keep a bright but noncommittal smile on her face. “Excuse me. I forgot to buy cream for the strawberries.” (She actually had forgotten; it was easy to do.)

She hurried from the room, picking her purse up from a chair in his writing room where she must have dropped it on the way in.

“Betty! Wait.” He started after her, holding up a hand. She stopped and turned to face him, rather stiffly. Did he know? Did he know she was having thoughts about him—romantic thoughts, foolish thoughts of love that a secretary had no business indulging in?

He was so smart; it shouldn’t surprise her if he’d figured her out. But she felt the heat of an ashamed blush rising along her neck. She wanted to tell him it wouldn’t interfere with her work—what little she did. She wouldn’t let it.
Please, Mr. Watterson—I’m still young. I know I have a lot to learn and more growing up to do. Don’t hold it against me.

“Y-you forgot the money.” He handed her a couple of folded dollars from his pocket. His face, she realized, was rather flushed as well. “What did I tell you about buying things with your own money?”

She thanked him hurriedly and escaped.

~*~

Jake ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the roses sitting flagrantly on the kitchen counter. He scowled. For a moment, he considered ripping them from the quart jar and flinging them wrathfully in the trash. But that would be childish.

There really was nothing he could do to stop Matt from pursuing Betty—nothing except take her to the party, which he felt was like taking a lamb to a party of wolves, under the pretext of protecting her.

Well, what else could he do, though? He couldn’t have Matt fixate on Betty and break her heart. She was too young, too innocent to know about guys like Matt. Jake knew Matt meant no real harm, but he wasn’t always careful of women’s hearts, not as he would have wanted other men to be of the hearts of women he cared about. Like a little sister, or a daughter.

Yes
, thought Jake,
that’s what I feel. I want to take care of her like a sister.

It didn’t help that he didn’t believe it for a second.

He comforted himself with the thought that the party would be over by next week. The flowers would be dead and gone by then as well. Matt would surely have moved on. And if he hadn’t, well, Jake would find some way of dealing with him. He certainly would.

~*~

As the days passed, Jake’s anger with Matt mellowed, but his worry about the party strengthened. And those roses seemed to be taking forever to die. At least Matt had kept his promise so far and stayed away from Betty.

But Betty asked Jake about Matt once.

“This publisher of yours...” She looked at the roses and twirled a bit of her hair. “What’s he like?”

Jake made a wordless growl in his throat and didn’t answer at first. She looked at him, with that too-innocent-to-be-real look, which he was coming more and more to believe was genuine.

“Maybe I should buy you flowers; then you’d ask questions about me,” he suggested.

“Oh!” said Betty.

Things seemed tense and awkward between them. Did she know? Did she realize what he’d started to feel for her; what he now felt every time he caught a glimpse of her pretty face, or the spring-like gold of her curls, or the swish of her skirt as she passed him in the kitchen?

It was beginning to affect his work. Already, a golden-haired girl had snuck into his story, and he’d been unable to write her out. Her mannerisms, he realized belatedly and with chagrin, mirrored nearly identically Betty’s own.

In preparation for the party, Jake got out his best suit and sent it to the cleaner’s. It still fit well, although he hadn’t
worn it in over two years.

That had been for his parents’ funeral. Memories of their deaths came back with the sight of the black suit and the smell of mothballs. And then he saw his father’s shoes, huddling hidden and dusty in the back of the closet. It made the week worse, grief keeping him awake at night.

He lay with an arm over his forehead, listening to the old house settle, trying not to think about his parents, trying not to think about Betty.

This was no way to live.

His life, even though it had never been perfect, had once been full, not restricted to this small house, these round-and-round thoughts, and this narrow existence of surviving winter, managing to eke out a book or two every year, sometimes more.

He’d served in the war and made it through that, gone through college and made it through that. Then he’d worked as a rough-and-ready reporter, fighting elbows with the best of them, shouting questions and pounding the pavement, and he’d managed to survive that. Why had his parents’ demise taken so much of his life from him? Why had their deaths made him feel there was so much to question? Made him wonder whether life was even worth living.

What had he become—a recluse? A curmudgeon? A sad, dried-up example of humanity?

He couldn’t marry a girl like Betty. He’d never be good enough for her.

If she’d even have me.
He scowled into the darkness, contemplating the unpleasant possibility again. Betty with Matt. Betty looking delighted (and delicious) in white, walking down the aisle—toward Matt, his chest puffed out with conceit and pride as he waited at the aisle in a suit almost as black at Jake’s. Even if Matt wasn’t the marrying kind of guy right now, who knew what might happen? Betty was a girl who could change a man. At least, she’d changed Jake.

Would Matt even have the nerve to ask Jake to be his best man?

He would, wouldn’t he?

Morbid thoughts like these stole his sleep and left him a gift of dark pockets under his eyes. His writing suffered as well. He kept thinking of more and more morbid plot developments. He wrote them all down and promised himself he’d sort through them next week and edit out the obviously awful or unsuitable ones.

He wondered if his life had been better without Betty. At least then he hadn’t wasted time longing for something he could never have. As though a nice girl like Betty would ever be interested in someone like him—even if she
was
a bit scatterbrained sometimes.

He often spoke abruptly to her, as if he were really distracted and did not wish to be disturbed. In actuality, he would have loved to spend hours in her company, having long talks, long walks…but he knew that would only make his dilemma worse. So he tried to avoid her. That was difficult, too.

One day when Betty was out shopping, Jake heard a knock at the door. He moved toward it, feeling too wretched left alone with his thoughts to mind any interruption at all. Even if it was Matt, he would welcome the intrusion into his dismal and depressed thoughts.

“Yes?” He yanked the door open and leaned out, wondering if he looked as haggard and drawn as he felt.

A brown-haired young man, wearing blue jeans, and a red-and-blue flannel shirt under a rather shabby jacket, glared up at him. The young man looked like he’d arrived straight from the farm. Although he held his cap in his hands to be polite, he gave Jake a venomous glare.

“Is Betty here?” he growled.

“No,” said Jake.

“Well, where is she?”

“Shopping.”

“
Ahah! So she does work here!” He jutted a finger accusingly at Jake.

“I never denied it,” said Jake, bridling at the boy’s rude manner.

“Listen, you. Betty’s my girl, and I want her back. You can’t steal her from me, with your—your fancy city ways!”

Looking closer, Jake could see the young man was nearer to Betty’s age than his own—probably just the right age for Betty. Although how she could like someone as uncultured and unmannerly as this left him in the dark.

Taking his time, looking the shabby young man up and down, Jake spoke. “She works for me. What’s that to you?” Betty hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend. Perhaps they had broken up. Would that explain her sadness?

“Look. I’ve…I’ve got a right.” The fierce façade was slipping; the boy’s upper lip trembled.

Jake sighed. He felt older than ever, bored and annoyed by the kid’s childishness. “Look kid—whatever you name is —”

“Jimmy—James Peterson.”

“James Peterson.” Jake gave a little nod, acknowledging the name—trying to remain more polite than he felt. “Betty works for me. You obviously have no say in that, or I would have heard about you before now. If you want to take something up with Betty, I suggest you do that—and not come trying to bother her while she’s at work.”