Betsy wasn’t surprised. A lot of the people who grew up in Jackson Hole and left for college didn’t come back. But one thing did surprise her. “Why did he text you?”
“His wife, Gayle Doyle, and I were friends.” Adrianna put down the gold sweater she’d picked up only moments before. Her hands fluttered to her hair, nervously pushing a long strand of chestnut hair back from her face. “We played on the volleyball team together. She was a wing spiker. You could always count on Gayle to make the big play.”
If it were anyone else, Betsy would have labeled the talk nervous chatter. But Adrianna never chattered.
“You remember Gayle, Bets.” Adrianna’s eyes were a little too bright. “She was a senior when we were freshmen.”
Betsy thought harder and an image of a vivacious brunette came into focus. Betsy never realized she and Anna were friends.
Acquaintances, yes. But friends? Gayle had been so much older. Not to mention popular.
“So Gayle and Tripp married and now he’s texting you.” Betsy picked up a tan cardigan. Adrianna shook her head ever so slightly and Betsy dropped the sweater back on the stack. “My question is, what does Gayle think of his contacting you?”
Sudden sadness filled Adrianna’s eyes. “Gayle died during childbirth several years ago.”
Betsy gasped. “I didn’t think that kind of thing happened anymore.”
“It doesn’t. Not often anyway.” Adrianna expelled a heavy sigh. “It’s always so sad when it does.”
“What went wrong?”
“The placenta separated from the uterine wall. There was massive bleeding. Both she and the baby died.”
Betsy thought of Gayle with her laughing dark eyes and big smile. She’d always seemed so full of life. Now she was dead. “Did they have other children?”
Adrianna shook her head. “That baby was their first.”
“You still didn’t say why he contacted you.”
“I think he’s lonely. He texts me every now and again.”
Okay, so the guy was lonely. Betsy noticed her friend hadn’t really answered her question. “Sounds to me like he might be on the hunt for a new wife.”
Adrianna took extra time inspecting what looked to be a snag in a pair of silk pants. She spoke without lifting her gaze. “Tripp lived down the road from me growing up. He was like a big brother. Sort of like you and Ryan. Same kind of relationship.”
Betsy inhaled sharply. She’d often thought that Adrianna suspected she liked Ryan a whole lot more than she let on. Now she was unsure whether the comment meant that Adrianna liked Tripp, as in really liked him, or if they were simply friends. She put a hand to her head. This was getting so confusing.
Adrianna placed the pants back on the rack. “Tripp wanted to tell me he was—”
A shrill, pulsating sound filled the air, drowning out the rest of Adrianna’s words.
“I’m sorry, ladies.” The clerk reappeared, but this time her friendly smile seemed forced and there were lines of strain around her eyes. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the building.”
“Is there a fire?” Betsy sniffed the air. She didn’t smell smoke or see any flames.
“A fire hasn’t been identified.” The woman herded them in the direction of the front door as she spoke. “We’ve had some electrical problems the past few days. I’m sure this is part of that issue. Still, we can’t take any chances.”
“Of course not,” Adrianna murmured.
Once they were out on the sidewalk, Betsy turned toward her friend, eager to hear more. “Tell me—”
Adrianna raised a hand and slipped her cell phone out of her pocket. With the sirens of fire trucks filling the air, Betsy hadn’t even heard it ring.
Her friend listened for several seconds, asked a few questions, then told the person she was speaking with that she’d be right there.
“What’s up?” Betsy asked.
“Baby on the way.” Adrianna reached into her bag for her car keys. “Sorry to cut short our shopping trip.”
Betsy glanced at the firemen hustling into the boutique. It didn’t look as though she and Adrianna would have been returning to that store anytime soon. “No worries.”
“I’ll call you later and we’ll set up another time,” Adrianna said.
“Then you can tell me all about Tripp,” Betsy said pointedly.
“Nothing to tell,” Adrianna said over her shoulder as she started down the sidewalk. “Old friend. No big deal.”
Betsy opened her bag and took out her keys, pondering the words. Old friends. She thought about Ryan. Thought about Adrianna’s blasé attitude. Thankfully Tripp lived far away. If he lived close, Betsy might have to warn Adrianna that a girl needed to watch out for old friends. They could be dangerous, very dangerous, to a woman’s heart.
* * *
The next couple of weeks passed quickly. Betsy and Adrianna talked on the phone but never did find another time to get together. At work, Betsy settled into a comfortable relationship with Ryan.
He treated her like a good friend.
She fell more deeply in love.
Even though she tried to hide her feelings, she wondered if he was starting to see through her. Several times in the past few days she’d caught him eyeing her curiously when he didn’t think she was looking.
Today she’d made a concerted effort to keep her distance.
“In the mood for a cappuccino?” he asked unexpectedly as the end of the day loomed.
Betsy would die for a shot of espresso, but it wouldn’t be wise to encourage such closeness. Just say no, she told herself.
“Absolutely,” she said instead. “Do you want me to finish up these documents first?”
“They’ll still be here tomorrow.” He grabbed her parka from the closet and handed it to her. “You’ll need this. The temperature has dropped at least twenty degrees since this morning.”
“I haven’t been outside,” Betsy admitted, then swallowed a groan. Ryan had made it clear when she started working for him that she needed to take a lunch break.
But he didn’t appear to make the connection. Instead, his eyes took on a distant, faraway look.
“I met Cole for lunch,” Ryan murmured, his mind drifting back to their conversation. Talking with his friend about old football plays had gotten Ryan thinking that an offense-driven approach would be more productive than waiting around.
It was then that he’d begun to formulate his game plan. He wasn’t sure how Betsy would react to his declaration, but he certainly wasn’t making any progress with his current strategy. He could have said something to her in the office, but because it was a personal issue, he wanted to do it in a nonwork setting.
Because it was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and midafternoon, Hill of Beans should be fairly deserted. After helping Betsy on with her coat—obviously made to withstand a subarctic blast—he shrugged on his own jacket, then opened the door and waited for her to pass.
As she slipped out the door, he caught a whiff of vanilla and smiled. After almost two weeks he’d finally made the connection: Betsy smelled like his mother’s kitchen on baking day.
A pleasant scent for a pleasant coworker. Having Betsy in the office had worked out better