“I declare,” said Betsy, “you’re squealing like a piglet. You’d better be planning on giving Doctor Hopkins a discount on his bill for all the fuss you’re raising.”
“Sure, ten percent. Just get that thing out of me.”
“I’ve almost got it . . . almost,” Doctor Hopkins said. “There! Just a splinter, that’s all. See?” He winked at Betsy as he wiped his tweezers on the cloth.
In Betsy’s opinion, he should’ve kept digging until he got a twenty percent discount.
“I’ll come tomorrow to help with inventory,” she told Walters. “Hopefully you’ll have recovered from your amputation by then.”
“Smart-mouthed girl.”
Betsy didn’t stay around to hear the rest. Tomorrow she’d work for him, but she needed to get a breath of air before she went home. Who knew what chore awaited her there?
On her way through the store, she poked through the limited assortment of books the mercantile offered, but there weren’t any new ones. Petting the ginger cat that lay soaking up the morning sun in the window display, she worked her way to the farm equipment—maybe Pa needed a new trowel?—but she didn’t have any funds to send his way.
Betsy scratched her chin as she watched Sheriff Taney make his exit. Had anyone else noticed the change in the sheriff? One minute he seemed bitter, the next hopeful. Maybe that was just age working on him like it had Old Man Wimplegate. But other things had changed, too.
Like Widow Sanders’s marital status. With the deputy’s coming, Mr. Sanders had gotten overlooked, but there were many questions to be answered about his sudden appearance. Something didn’t set right about the situation, and the timing with Hopkins’s harassment seemed more than coincidental. Could Mr. Sanders have something against Doctor Hopkins? Could he be behind the threat? Besides the perennial ne’er-do-wells like Leland Moore and Miles Bullard, there wasn’t a soul in Hart County who wouldn’t give their best sow for the doctor.
Betsy had tucked her coat around her and braced for the blast of cold when she spotted Mr. Pritchard heading toward the store. She held the door open for him and stood back as he dusted the falling leaves out of his long hair.
“Glad you aren’t still in jail,” she said with a grin. “How long did the deputy keep you?”
Pritchard frowned. “Not long, but I have a date with the judge when he comes back in town.” His nose crinkled. “Now, Betsy, you won’t be saying anything about that particular association that I’m a member of, will you? We’re all sworn to secrecy.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Pritchard. Uncle Fred and I are circumspect about what we print. And we know how to keep a secret as well.”
“I knew I could trust you, Betsy. If only that deputy . . .” He threw a glance toward the jailhouse and his eyes narrowed. “Come to think of it, he asked me if I thought you’d do him a favor.”
“Me?” Betsy’s hand thumped against her chest. Her heart had skipped a beat at the news. “What could he possibly want with me?”
“He needs someone to take him to the Calhouns’. Said he’d appreciate it if you could guide him, but he has to go this forenoon. He doesn’t trust any of us men.”
Betsy stood a little taller and almost wished she’d worn her sunbonnet instead of Scott’s sock hat. Uncle Fred wanted her to go to Isaac’s for the livestock market anyway. “I am headed that way. . . .” She bit her lip. Deputy Puckett did his best to ignore her every evening. Why would he ask for her help now? Very curious.
Pritchard’s grin was almost ornery. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he knew about the article she’d mailed to Kansas City the day before. “That’s dandy. Let me run back to the jail and send him this way.”
Betsy beamed. “I’ll wait for him at the crossroads.” For some reason she didn’t want Sheriff Taney to see them headed out together. Writing romantic serials about the man for faraway audiences was one thing, but she’d never report back to Taney on the deputy. Even if the deputy wasn’t cooperating with her project, it just didn’t sit well.
She reached the edge of town and stepped out of sight behind a thick stand of trees. She dearly loved surprising the deputy. It was so amusing how he startled and then tried to look bored, as if her sudden appearance had no effect on him. You’d never catch Eduardo off guard, but that was one thing she liked better about Deputy Puckett. A little imperfection could be a beautiful thing.
As she waited across from Widow Sanders’s house, a crash sounded. Raised voices rang out through the shuttered windows. Betsy stepped out of the woods and walked to the fence. She looked down the road, but Deputy Puckett was nowhere to be seen. She pried her fingers off the pickets and made her quiet way to the house. She surely didn’t like Mr. Sanders showing up after being gone for twenty years. It was nearly indecent for him to just walk inside and take up as Widow Sanders’s husband again. Seemed like someone should have given Widow Sanders a choice in the matter.