Bound to a Family by a Lost Bet

Prologue

St. Joseph, Missouri

Amy folded the linen cloth over the fresh loaf before settling it into the picnic basket.

She tucked two apples beside the cheese, nudged the jar of blackberry preserves until it sat securely against the wrapped slices of smoked ham, then laid the honey cakes carefully across the top.

After studying the arrangement with a thoughtful frown, she lifted one apple and exchanged its place with the other, satisfied only when every inch of the basket looked exactly right.

Across the kitchen, Martha Bennet paused with a potato in one hand and a peeling knife in the other. She looked from the overflowing basket to her daughter, and gave a quiet shake of her head. "You're preparing luncheon, Amy, not stocking a trading post."

Amy laughed as she slipped two enamel cups beneath the folded cloth. "Theodore enjoys a good meal."

"I'm sure he does," Martha replied. "My concern lies with the gentleman expected to carry enough food for six people."

"It isn't nearly that heavy."

"Then lift it."

Amy accepted the challenge with far more confidence than was wise.

She wrapped both hands around the handle and tried to raise the basket from the table, only to discover it weighed considerably more than she'd expected.

She managed to lower it again before it slipped from her grasp, then straightened her shoulders as though the whole exercise had gone exactly as planned. "It seems heavier than it did earlier."

Martha's smile carried years of motherly experience. "Food has a curious habit of multiplying whenever you're in love."

Laughter floated through the doorway before Amy could answer. Clara Mayfield stepped inside, brushing a loose curl beneath her bonnet as she eyed the basket with open amusement.

"I've been wondering why the pantry looked so empty." She folded her arms. "Now I know where everything disappeared to."

Amy smiled bashfully. “It isn’t that much.”

Clara leaned over the table for inspection. “.If Theodore finishes all that by himself, I'll recommend him to the harvest crews."

Amy’s warm brown eyes searched the basket one final time. "He won't eat it alone."

She reached for the blue ribbon she’d saved since Christmas and tied it neatly around the lid, then tucked another escaping chestnut curl beneath her bonnet before tying the ribbon. No matter how carefully she pinned her hair, a few stubborn curls always found their freedom.

“It ought to look nice.”

“It already does,” Clara said. “That ribbon isn’t improving the food. It’s trying to impress Theodore.”

Amy smoothed her skirt and glanced at the basket again, unable to hide the smile creeping across her face.

Nearly a year had passed now since Theodore had begun calling at the library, always finding an excuse to borrow another book he never seemed eager to read.

He claimed he preferred listening while Amy described the stories instead, insisting her voice improved every ending.

His letters carried the same easy charm, and each one promised that his business would ease up and soon allow them another full day together.

She believed every promise, because he'd never failed to make her feel cherished.

She pictured his expression when she appeared outside his boarding-house carrying the basket herself.

Surprise would give way to laughter, followed by one of those warm smiles that always made her forget everyone else around them.

Perhaps the afternoon would end with the question she'd secretly hoped to hear for months.

Clara watched her with narrowed eyes before laughing. "You've wandered so far into your daydream that I ought to send someone after you."

Amy blinked. "Was I that obvious?"

"You've smiled at the wall three times, sighed twice, and looked at that basket often enough to make it blush."

Amy covered her face with a hand, laughing along with her. "I've missed him."

"I never would've guessed," Clara teased.

Martha's knife slowed against the potato. "If he misses you just as much," she said quietly, "I'd expect him to visit your family before too much longer."

Amy's smile faded. "Mama..."

"I know you care for him." Martha set another peeled potato into the bowl before meeting Amy's eyes. "But every mother hopes the man courting her daughter will step through the front door sooner rather than later."

"He lives two towns away."

"So did your father when we met."

"Theodore has responsibilities,” she continued to insist.

"So did your father, yet he still made himself available every Sunday afternoon."

Amy rested both hands on the basket, drawing comfort from the familiar ribbon beneath her fingertips. A thick ball of emotion lodged in the base of her throat. She hated disappointing her mother. "He writes every week."

"I appreciate a thoughtful letter." Martha's voice remained calm. "However, I'd appreciate meeting the gentleman even more."

"He told me crowds make him uneasy."

"That may be true." Martha laid the knife aside and wiped her hands on her apron. "Still, a decent man doesn't spend a year avoiding the family of the woman he hopes to marry."

Clara glanced between them. "I could wait outside until this discussion reaches its usual conclusion."

Amy caught her arm with a gentle smile. "You'll stay."

"I'd rather stay," Clara admitted. "Besides, if I leave now, your mother wins by default."

That earned a reluctant laugh from Martha. "I've already raised one stubborn Bennet. I don't need another."

"You'd miss us if we agreed with you."

"I suppose I would." The warmth returned briefly to Martha’s expression. "Amy, I know how deeply you care for Theodore."

Amy swallowed against the tightness in her throat. "I love him."

"I believe you do."

Amy's fingers tightened around the basket handle. She lifted her chin, clinging to the certainty that had carried her through every mile of waiting and every unanswered question. "And he loves me."

Martha paused for a mere second. "I hope he's worthy of that love."

Amy looked down for a moment, unable to meet her mother's eyes. Part of her wished Theodore had visited just once, if only to spare them this conversation. But he had explained himself, and she understood.

Amy met her mother’s gaze defiantly. "You trusted Father."

"I trusted a man who showed me his character consistently."

"You only courted for a year."

"A year filled with conversations across this very table.

" Martha rested her hand on the chair beside her.

"Your father drank dreadful coffee because my father brewed it, repaired loose boards without waiting to be asked, and listened politely while every member of this family questioned his intentions.

By the time he proposed, I knew exactly who he was. "

Amy looked toward the window. "Theodore isn't Father."

"No, he isn't."

"Then why measure them by the same standard?"

"Because honesty never goes out of fashion."

Amy remained quiet while Martha's words settled between them.

She knew her mother's concerns were born of love, but they didn't match the man she'd come to know.

Theodore's letters were patient and kind.

He never forgot a detail she'd shared, never failed to make her feel treasured.

Surely a man like that deserved a little more time.

"He'll come," she said. "He's gathering the courage."

Martha studied her daughter with gentle sadness before reaching out to brush a loose curl away from her face. "I'd be grateful if you're right."

"I am." Amy kissed her mother's cheek, lifted the basket again, and smiled with quiet confidence. "When Theodore asks me to marry him, you'll understand why I've trusted him all this time."

Martha returned the smile, though concern still shadowed her eyes. "I'd be happier than anyone if that proves true."

***

The following morning broke clear and warm, filling the countryside with the fresh green of early spring. Amy settled the picnic basket beside her as the hired wagon rolled away from St. Joseph. She smoothed the blue ribbon around the lid almost without realizing she'd done it.

Clara noticed immediately. "If you straighten that bow one more time," she said, "the poor thing will think it's crooked."

Amy glanced down and laughed. "I wasn't paying attention."

"So I've noticed."

Clara shifted against the wagon seat and stretched her legs out. “You’ve guarded that basket zealously ever since we left town. Anyone watching would assume you've hidden a sack of gold beneath the bread."

"I spent all yesterday preparing it."

Clara leaned toward the basket with exaggerated suspicion. "I believe you spent half the night deciding where each honey cake belonged."

Warmth crept into Amy's cheeks. Clara wasn't entirely wrong. She'd rearranged everything twice before finally deciding the apples looked happier tucked beside the cheese.

"It's part of the gift," she said, smoothing the ribbon one last time.

Clara laughed. "Only you would think a loaf of bread needs proper presentation."

"It does," Amy insisted. "People notice when something's been prepared with care."

"They notice whether it tastes good." Amy opened her mouth to argue, but Clara carried on before she had the chance. "Believe me. After all, you're the same woman who alphabetizes library shelves."

"They're easier to find."

"They're books, Amy, not soldiers waiting for inspection."

The wagon driver chuckled beneath his breath, clearly enjoying himself.

Amy tried to look offended, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. "You always find a reason to make fun of me."

Clara bumped her shoulder affectionately. "Only because you make it so remarkably easy."

Fields slipped past beneath the morning sun, their new grass bending gently beneath the breeze.

Birds skimmed low across the meadows while the wagon wheels rolled steadily along the packed earth road, yet Amy noticed little beyond the ribbon beneath her fingertips.

Her thoughts had already reached Brook Hollow.