Free California Romance by Colleen L. Reece Page A

event. Seth Anderson was wild to go. Matt was sitting in the kitchen watching Solita toss tortillas when Seth raced in. “What time are we leaving?”
    Matt gave him a puzzled look. “Leaving for where?”
    “To Madera. This Saturday. There’s gonna be a baseball game and stuff for the little kids and a box social. I’ve never been to one. Gus didn’t cotton to such, so even though he took us to church, we didn’t get in on the fun. I’ve been saving my money to bring Sarah out West, but Solita can pack me a lunch. It will be fun to watch you bid on a young lady’s box.”
    “Me!” Matt’s stool tipped and threatened to spill him on the floor. “A box social is the last place I intend to go.”
    “You gotta go, Boss. It’s to raise money to repair the church roof.”
    Matt stood. “I’ll make a contribution.”
    Seth looked so disappointed that Matt relented. “Tell you what. I’ll go to the game, and I’ll give you some money to bid.”
    “It won’t be half as much fun without you.”
    Seth’s disappointed response convinced Matt. “Well, if it means that much to you, I suppose I could go and watch. But don’t expect me to bid, no matter how fancified the boxes are or how much they smell of fried chicken and chocolate cake.”
    “Is that what they put in them?” Seth licked his lips. He staggered out holding his stomach, leaving Matt wondering why he’d agreed to appear at the social.
    Solita told him, “It is good that you are going, Senor Mateo. There are many nice senoritas in Madera who will be glad.”
    “I am not going to make senoritas glad,” Matt mumbled. “Did you cook this up with Seth?”
    Solita placed her hands on her apron-covered hips. “Would I do such a thing?” she demanded, but Matt noticed she didn’t deny his charge.
    For the rest of the week, Matt felt like a trapped bobcat. On Saturday he reluctantly donned his best plaid shirt, tied on a red neckerchief, and crammed his Stetson down to his ears, feeling like he was headed to a hanging. By the time he and Seth reached Madera, the boy had lost some of his high spirits. With a pang of regret for being surly, Matt suggested they volunteer for the ball team.
    Seth immediately perked up and showed a surprising amount of skill.
    The dreaded box social finally began. Matt had never seen such an array of ribbons, ruffles, and flowers as adorned the boxes, but he kicked himself for coming.
    Evan Moore, Madera’s portly postmaster, made a fine auctioneer. “Who’ll start the bidding?” he called, holding up a box and sniffing it. “Smells like fresh-baked apple pie.”
    “Two bits.”
    “Two bits?” Evan looked outraged. “Twenty-five measly cents for this lovely basket? What kind of miser bids two bits?”
    The crowd roared.
    The bidder quickly raised his hand. “Sorry, I meant to offer six bits.”
    “Not good enough. This is worth at least a couple of good ol’ American dollars. Dig deep, folks. None of us want to be dripped on next winter ’cause the church roof leaks.”
    One by one, the baskets sold. Seth bid twice but dropped out when others “dug deep.” Only a worn shoe box tied with string remained. Evan held it up. “Almost through folks. What am I bid?”
    Stone-cold, dead silence greeted his plea.
    Evan cast an imploring glance toward Matt. Despite his resolve to have no part in the social, Matt’s heart ached for the owner of the unattractive box. He opened his mouth.
    Seth beat him to it. “I bid a half eagle.” He fished a five-dollar gold piece out of his pocket and held it up. “It better be enough. It’s all I’ve got.”
    The crowd gasped. Only one or two of the fancy boxes had sold for that much.
    “Sold!” Evan shouted. “What lucky lady gets to eat supper with Seth Anderson?”
    “Me. Bertha Bascomb.” A wispy, white-haired old lady hobbled forward.
    Seth led Bertha to a nearby table. When he opened the box, a sour smell rushed out.
    Matt’s heart sank. Not only were the bread