Cupid's Confederates by Jeanne Grant Page A

himself by the window in here…
    “Zach?”
    An odd uneven pulse was beating in his throat. They’d argued about finishing this room or not. They’d argued over the architectural plans for it; they’d argued square footage and the shape of the window. They had agreed to let it stand empty until they were ready to start a family, which had made perfect sense to both of them. At least, he’d believed it made sense to both of them. The pulse in his throat kept throbbing. It seemed very foolish to feel hurt about this; Zach had never considered himself in any way oversensitive. It was just…Bett was his whole family. And he could have sworn she’d understood his need to be involved when a baby was made part of that unit.
    “You know if you’d waited just a couple more weeks until the harvest was over,” he said quietly, “I would have helped you.”
    “We can do it over,” she said swiftly. She realized suddenly that he hadn’t even noticed the color. She had to explain, and yet she didn’t want to sound as if she were accusing Elizabeth. It was bad enough to be harboring uncharitable thoughts about her own mother…
    “It doesn’t matter.” Zach turned toward the door. “Be back in for dinner.”
    He was gone; Bett was still swallowing the huge lump in her throat, trying to find the right words to say.

Chapter 6
     
    “How about a little game of three-handed bridge?” Elizabeth suggested brightly.
    Zach, stretched out on the couch, lifted his eyes from the farming journal in his hand. It was after ten. He’d just finished sixteen hours of work, give or take quick breaks for meals, and if he hadn’t needed to catch the latest weather report on the late news, he would already have been sacked out upstairs. “Thanks, but no, Elizabeth,” he said evenly.
    “Brittany? Of course, we can’t play bridge with only two, but these are other card games…”
    Bett was already rising from the opposite couch, rapidly swinging her feet to the floor. Her muscles ached from painting. Her head ached as well. In fact, everything ached. Spraying all morning, painting all afternoon, payroll until ten minutes ago… She forced herself to a standing position with a miraculously energetic smile for her mother. “I’ll play.”
    “A good game of cards will relax us both,” Elizabeth announced.
    “Yes.” Elizabeth looked as relaxed as a bouncing ball. Bett trailed her into the kitchen, stifling a yawn. “Maybe we could just play for a few minutes, Mom. I’m a little tired.”
    Elizabeth glanced up from the card drawer with a hurt look. “If you really don’t want to play—”
    “I do. Really.” Particularly if keeping her mother busy meant a few minutes of peace and quiet for Zach. After doing both his own work and half of hers for the past two weeks, Zach was understandably exhausted. Apart from tiredness, though, he wasn’t in the best of moods. If Bett hadn’t yet managed to claim a moment of privacy with him to explain about painting the room, the least she could do was ensure him some peace. At dinner, Elizabeth had chattered on and on.
    Bett settled in a kitchen chair while her mother expertly shuffled the cards. “Canasta or poker?” Elizabeth questioned.
    “Canasta.”
    “I think poker. We haven’t played that in a long time.”
    “Poker, then,” Bett agreed.
    “On the other hand…”
    They played canasta. After one game, Elizabeth got up to bring them both glasses of lemonade, and peeked into the living room. “Zach’s fallen asleep on the couch,” she said fondly.
    They played a second game, and were halfway through the third when Elizabeth laid down her cards, perched her elbows delicately on the table and looked at her daughter. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, honey.”
    “Hmm?”
    “Don’t you think that you two work together just a little…too much?”
    Bett’s eyebrows arched. “What do you mean?”
    “Well. You, going off on those tractors. Lifting bushels. Being around