The image of Chad in his office doorway, clapping, with that pleased expression on his face flashed before him. The puzzle pieces that had been floating around in Ryan’s head began to lock into place. When he’d caught them together, Chad realized if Betsy ever came forward with her story, he could use her relationship with her current employer—him—to discredit them both.
Was breaking up with him a misguided attempt on Betsy’s part to protect him? Surely not. Surely she realized he could protect himself. And her, too, if given the chance. Still, his possible explanation made more sense than her claiming out of the blue that she didn’t care about him anymore.
Protecting him had to be the reason she’d walked away.
“What’s going on, Ry?” Cole asked quietly.
Ryan ignored the concern in his friends’ eyes. “Nothing I can’t remedy.”
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Cole said. “If there’s anything Meg and I can do to help, just let us know.”
“Same here,” Nick said.
Lexi placed a hand on his arm. “You and Betsy have a lot of friends in this town. Remember that.”
Ryan stood, his mind racing. “I appreciate the offers.”
Tonight he’d plot a course of action.
Tomorrow he’d implement that plan.
She didn’t know it yet, but soon Betsy would be back where she belonged. With him. They’d stand strong and face whatever Chad threw at them...together.
* * *
The day had dawned overcast and cold, but Ryan appeared in a particularly sunny mood when he stopped by Aunt Agatha’s. Betsy had been awake most of the night coming up with just the right words.
She would make sure Ryan understood that he had to leave and not come back. Betsy glanced out the living room window and watched him load blankets and clothing into his truck bed to take to the Good Samaritan Mission on Pearl Street.
Because the wind held an icy bite, Ryan had put on a blue stocking cap to keep his ears warm. Mr. Marstand was outside, too, hood up, wearing the extra coat the attorney had brought with him. Ryan had said the garment was too small and had offered it to Mr. Marstand.
The older gentleman had eagerly accepted. He was soon raving about the coat’s thick lining and warm hood. That’s when Betsy realized that her neighbor had worn those light jackets not out of choice, but out of necessity.
Shame flooded her. She’d been so focused on her own problems that she hadn’t even noticed a neighbor in need.
Betsy had been prepared with her speech when Ryan had arrived, but when he’d presented the old man with the coat, she hadn’t wanted to ruin Mr. Marstand’s obvious pleasure with ugliness.
Her new plan was to wait for the two men to come inside. Then she’d send Mr. Marstand on an errand so she and Ryan could talk privately. While waiting, Betsy busied herself piling last year’s newspapers into a metal shopping cart she’d found in the yard.
“My lordy, it’s cold out there.” Mr. Marstand pulled the front door shut against the brisk north wind, his wrinkled cheeks bright red.
If Betsy didn’t know better she’d swear the man had bits of ice clinging to his mustache. “How’s the coat?”
“Best I ever owned.” Mr. Marstand lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “I don’t think it’s ever been worn. I’m surprised the boy didn’t take it back when he realized he’d gotten the wrong size.”
“You know how it is.” Betsy waved a hand. “You get busy. Then all of a sudden too much time has passed for a return.”
“Well, I sure do appreciate him thinking of me.”
Betsy peered over his shoulder, as if expecting the attorney to open the door and magically appear. “Is Ryan still loading the truck?”
“He left.”
Betsy inhaled sharply. She’d wanted Ryan to leave but not before she spoke with him. “Where did he go?”
Mr. Marstand shrugged. “Said he had some business that needed attention.”
Betsy wasn’t sure if the sensation coursing through her was relief or disappointment. Or maybe surprise that he’d left without saying goodbye. Of course, Ryan could have picked up on her coolness toward him and decided he’d had enough. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. “Did he mention coming back?”
“Don’t worry.” Mr. Marstand patted her arm. “He’ll be back. That boy likes being around you.”
The words shouldn’t have made her feel better, but they did.
Betsy changed the subject by pointing to a stack of magazines. “I have all this stuff I don’t want while the one thing my aunt gave me that meant something has disappeared.”
Mr. Marstand bent over and took an armful of the magazines, dropping them in the cart on top of the newspapers. “What’s missing?”
“A love token.” Betsy chewed on her lower lip, trying to decide the best way to describe it. “It looks like a coin. It has ivy and hearts and—”
“Stop right there.” Mr. Marstand reached into his pocket. “Is this it?”
Betsy gave an excited shriek. “Where did you find it?”
“On the sidewalk in front of the apartment building today. Didn’t know who it belonged to.” He flipped it to Betsy. “Do you know what the words mean?”
She slipped the medallion into the pocket of her jeans, pushing it way down so that there was no chance of losing it again. “You and no other.”
Mr. Marstand thought for a moment, then smiled. “That’s how your young man feels about you.”
“Ryan isn’t my young man.” Betsy hardened her heart against the stabbing pain. “We broke up.”
There. She’d told Mr. Marstand. Another step forward.
“You two don’t look broke up to me.” Mr. Marstand picked up the last of the stack of magazines and tossed them into the cart.
“That’s because he won’t go away,” Betsy said more crossly than she’d intended.
“He loves you.”
Betsy acted as if she hadn’t heard the comment. “Is that all the magazines?”
“Yup.” The old man lifted a misshapen plastic toy horse from a stack of junk and handed it to Betsy. “What’s the story on this fella?”
Betsy swallowed a sigh. From one topic she didn’t want to discuss to another.
“My mom stepped on it when she was drunk.” Betsy kept her tone matter-of-fact. “Aunt Agatha tried to glue it back together. I don’t know why she kept it. I told her to throw it away.”
Betsy couldn’t help caressing the palomino’s nose. The horse had been precious to her. A birthday present from her aunt, the year her mom had forgotten the day entirely. “Mom never even apologized. Not about the horse or forgetting my birthday.”
A look of understanding mixed with sadness filled the old man’s gaze. “I had a daddy who liked the bottle. Like your mama he never apologized for nothin’. Mam said it was ’cause he didn’t recall doin’ it.”
“My mom used to say horrible things to both me and Keenan.”
“That was the alcohol talking.” The lines on Mr. Marstand’s face appeared to deepen. “Pap used to tell me I was more trouble than I was worth. My sis used to cry when he said that to her. Not me. I never cried.”
“Keenan