“All I’m saying is I don’t—”
“Furthermore . . .” She paused to make sure he understood she was interrupting and he’d better listen. “Furthermore, I’ve been wandering these hills freely since I set feet in the dirt. At five years of age, I escaped from bushwhackers and ran for help when they took my parents hostage. At nine, I’d stay out all night with my brother Josiah, coon hunting. At ten, I left home to raise my nephews and help Uncle Fred when my aunt died. I come and go at will, where I will and when I will. These mountains are my territory, and I’ll not be sitting by the hearth twiddling my thumbs just because a fancy Texas lawman stepped off the train. Is that clear?”
There. She’d said all she wanted, but if she’d hoped to make him mad, she was disappointed. He stood and studied her, his face devoid of any emotion, neutral of frustration or pleasure or the general reconciliatory ruse men usually affected toward women when they threw a fit. Had she not made an impression at all?
Finally he rolled his shoulders like he’d just been released from an overlong Sunday service. “Thank you for the sermon. Did I mention I’d rather land in cactus than listen to a woman talk?”
And he turned and walked away.
The pony rode about as smooth as a wagon with square wheels, but memories of a feisty blond woman kept Joel distracted for mile after bumpy mile.
Miss Huckabee hadn’t asked for the dressing down he’d given her, but if he hadn’t said those words, she could jeopardize everything. In fact, he felt rather foolish for even suggesting that she had designs on him, but the way she popped up everywhere had to be addressed.
Her uncle, the newspaper man, could he be putting her up to it? But if they were going to employ a spy, they should’ve used someone less intriguing. Betsy Huckabee and her quick smile were flypaper to Joel. He found himself stuck looking at her, no matter how he tried to get away.
Joel broke into a river bottom clearing dotted with hay stubble left from harvest. He felt like a goldfish in a bowl, the way the area was rimmed about by trees. Any number of people could be watching him and he’d never know it. When he rode outside of Garber, he might have to watch for someone hiding behind a tree, but never this, where there could be whole regiments standing shoulder to shoulder and he wouldn’t be able to see them. Since when did an open field feel so threatening?
It didn’t help that his horse couldn’t outrun a glob of molasses rolling down a canning jar on a cold day. The dislike and mistrust between them was mutual. Surely Sheriff Taney would be understanding over the horse issue. Lawmen understood how important respect was to their profession, and no one could respect a deputy whose knees hit his elbows while riding.
Miss Huckabee had pointed out the hill ahead for him to be aiming toward. Even after their spat, she still looked fresh and sweet. The afternoon light had bounced off her cheek, scrubbed until it was as shiny as an apple. Maybe the blush was barely constrained fury, but either way, the sight raised his spirits.
So she thought she was impervious to any man’s charms? Joel growled at the temptation to prove her wrong. She might not mean any harm, but his life had no room for a meddling woman.
He’d reached the hill, but he couldn’t see any obvious paths from the clearing into the woods. A quick scan of the horizon revealed no smoke plumes to guide him. Well, if there wasn’t a road, he could follow tracks. Just no telling where they’d lead.
After a few minutes of riding across uncharted wilderness, he found a wagon trail that looked recently used. Fallen leaves bore the creases of shod horse hooves, so hopefully the travelers were on their way home and not traveling cross-country. Luck was with him, because he found a cabin situated in the bottom of a hidden valley. Raccoon pelts were stretched across the cabin’s walls to tan. A tree stump held an ax driven deeply into its heart, and a billy goat glared at him from atop the woodpile.
“Hello?” Joel called. It didn’t take the hair on the back of his neck to tell him he was being watched. Even the goat looked nervously at the cabin. “Hello? Is anybody home?”
So intently was he watching the front door that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a lanky fellow stepped out of the trees at his left. Realizing that he was nearly eye to eye with the man, even mounted, Joel quickly got off the horse. But it didn’t seem to help his case.
“Howdy. I’m Deputy Puckett, and I was wondering if you could help me find Sheriff Taney’s place.”
“Well, I’m Bo Franklin, and I have trouble believing you’re who you say you are.” The young man’s face was roughly shaved, although why, Joel couldn’t understand. With cheeks as flat as his, a razor shouldn’t have any trouble reaching every whisker. “If you’re a deputy, then it seems to me you should’ve noticed that a crime has been committed right under your nose.”