For the Record (Ozark Mountain Romance #3)

Betsy had never been good at waiting.

She’d changed into her nightgown early since she wasn’t sure how to go about getting dressed with a man in the room. But after padding around the room in her bare feet for an hour, she was wishing she could go to town and look for him. That morning a few friends had joined her family for the ceremony, but now she was by herself and not taking to the solitude with good grace.

She heard hooves on the rocky road outside. She wadded her white nightgown in her hands and scurried to the window. The thin clouds in the sky only diffused the moonlight, making it easy to see him coming up the path.

Oh, what a pity she couldn’t have included illustrations for her articles. Astride a horse that did him justice, Betsy knew that if Joel’s likeness were included on the page, numerous young ladies would find the time to make a clipping of the Dashing Deputy and probably save the image along with pressed flowers in their thick volume of Shakespeare’s Complete Works. But she wanted no pictures now. He was her Stalwart Sheriff, and she wouldn’t share him with anyone, although he promised to give her plenty of material for her Dashing Deputy stories. Because they would be stories, not news. And she wasn’t hiding them from anyone.

The time it took him to stable his horse was enough time to make her jittery. Not knowing what to do with herself, she sat in the rocker and pulled her feet up beneath her gown. She’d debated on whether she should unbraid her hair and had decided not to, just in case something should happen and she needed to get dressed and run to town again. What could make a woman leave her house on her wedding night, Betsy had no idea, but it paid to be prepared.

The door swung open. His silhouette, from his boots all the way up to his hat, filled the doorway. He scanned the room, his eyes seeming to rest on everything she’d shuffled around or moved since she’d been confined there to wait, then came to rest on her. He smiled gently and pulled the door closed behind him.

“Do you want some supper?” she asked.

“They fed us enough at the wedding.” He hooked the latch on the door and set about removing his boots. “How about you? Are you hungry?”

Betsy squirmed. “I can’t think about food right now.”

He smiled as he removed his hat, his vest, and hung his gun belt by the door. He had a routine, and while it was new to Betsy, she was comforted by the mundane activity. This was her new life. It would be normal soon.

“Is there anything I can get you?” Betsy asked. “If you need—”

“Just you,” Joel said.

She put her feet down, but even by the light of one lamp, she felt exposed in her nightgown. She reached for a quilt to drape over her shoulders, but he caught her hand.

“Are you cold?” He kept his eyes on her face, even though her blush must have been noticeable all the way down the scooped neck of her gown.

“I . . . I don’t know.” Chilled, hot, flushed. “I guess I’m just . . .”

“Excited?”

There was so much love in his gaze. She was going to say embarrassed, but maybe excited was better. She squeezed his hand as her answer.

“I’ve been thinking of you the whole way—”

An explosion of noise sounded outside. Chaos erupted in the form of drums, bugles, and kettles banging together. Joel shoved her down on the bed, then threw himself over her, covering her with his body. Nervous or not, Betsy couldn’t suppress the laughter that rolled out of her and shook the bed.

Before Joel could spring for his gun, she grabbed him around the neck. “It’s a shivaree.” She nearly had to yell for him to hear her above the din. “They’re just being ornery.”

Raised voices sang off-key to the accompaniment of every noisemaker invented, but Betsy was more distracted by the proximity of her husband. He reached forward enough to peer out the window. He was talking to her, but she couldn’t hear him. He swung the shutters closed. Only by watching his lips could she make out something about everybody and even your brother. Then more clearly she heard, “I’ll tell them to stop.”

“No.” She was starting to relax. Starting to enjoy the weight of him, the closeness. Starting to realize that whatever she feared, him leaving was worse. She pulled his head down so he could hear her. “You can’t go out there until after.”

His mouth repeated the word. “After?” His eyes traveled to her lips. The sternness melted from his face. “Are you sure?” he mouthed.

Somehow the noise made their space seem cozier. Made him feel closer. Regular music had broken out as dozens of voices belted out the lyrics to some nonsensical song. It drowned out the sound of her answer, but when Joel turned down the lamp, she knew he’d heard.

It wasn’t until much later, as Betsy dozed in his arms, that she realized the night was quiet. There were no revelers, no riders, no whoops and hollers coming from the mountains. All was quiet. All was peaceful.

And he’d never left her side.

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