“Have a seat.” Fred paused with his hand on the door that divided the room from the cabin. “I’ll see what Mrs. Murphy can round up for you.”
Joel would sit, but not just yet. He scanned the newspapers folded on the rack, either for resale or perhaps for reprinting the news. What news did they have out here? Any from home? He picked up a copy of the Hart County Herald dated from the last week. Nothing newer on the stand, but what did he expect? A daily in this area? The front page boasted illustrations of the various pieces of the Statue of Liberty being uncrated in New York as well as a drawing of what it should look like assembled, along with the news that the Calhouns had recently returned from visiting Mrs. Calhoun’s family in Ohio. That was front-page news? He flipped the paper open to read an editorial by Mr. Murphy in support of free home delivery of the mail and what it would mean to Postmaster Finley to be compensated for bringing their mail around, and an unusually long article about a wealthy Boston family and their social calendar.
Maybe it’d been a quiet week, because in this paper Joel found no evidence of the supposed discord he’d been sent to quell. No reports of violence or mischief, no arrests, no ongoing trials—nothing. Perhaps Fowler was right. Perhaps he wasn’t needed here. A few more pages only revealed trivial items like Widow Sanders’s new recipe for rhubarb muffins and a book review of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
He folded the paper and eased the creases back where they belonged. Interesting to see what Fred considered newsworthy, but he was relieved to find nothing about his anticipated arrival. The last thing he needed was mention of his whereabouts in a newspaper, and that was a fact. Not finding a chair at first glance, Joel took a seat on the cot. Too bad he hadn’t met Fred last night. He would’ve slept a sight better in this quiet office than he did under the hanging oak.
He leaned back against the wall and let his shoulders relax. The room was warm. The smell of eggs wafted through the door with the sound of children’s voices—
“What are you doing here?”
His hands flew off his lap as he jolted upright, knocking a pillow to the ground. He forced himself to stop and think before he moved again. No frantic fumbling from him. Not in front of this woman.
He gave her scowl long enough to set before answering. “Mr. Murphy invited me.”
Betsy Huckabee had a bucket propped against her hip and looked more milkmaid by the morning light, but still bristling with restless energy. The roundness of her blue eyes gave her an innocent look, but the set of her mouth warned it was only an illusion.
“For what?” she asked.
“For breakfast.” Then with a pat on the cot beneath him, he added, “And hopefully for a place to sleep.”
How did she do that? Smile just so he knew there was something funny that he was missing? He wished he was free to plumb her secrets, but Joel couldn’t mess up like that. Not again.
He’d picked up the pillow to set it over the nightshirt that’d been folded beneath it when he noticed a simple band of lace on the clothing. It only took one piece of lace to change a nightshirt into a nightdress, and that meant—
Joel crammed the pillow down and sprang to his feet. Just imagine the rumors that could be started. He’d been alone with a lady and actually sitting on her bed. And he’d sworn that he’d be more careful this time.
Flinging the door open, Joel stomped outside, unwilling to consider what the startled lady thought.
Chapter 6
Betsy straightened the pillow so it adequately covered her nightdress. Jumpy fellow. He was observant, though. She’d credit him that. Most people either couldn’t tell when she was laughing at them or didn’t feel the need to demonstrate their displeasure so dramatically. Maybe he was easily embarrassed, but sitting on her bed wasn’t a hanging offense. Then again, things could be different in Texas. She adjusted the bucket on her hip and went to close the door that he’d left open in his haste.
Uncle Fred popped his head into the room. “Where’d he go?” His eyes narrowed. “Betsy, what’d you say to him?”
“Nothing.” She blinked a few times, and when that failed to convince him, she added, “Honest.”
“No use in making him mad.” Fred headed to the door. “You know how I enjoy hearing firsthand what’s going on.”