Fowler shrugged. “We didn’t have this problem until he came back, either. He’s the one who needs to find switches on his porch.”
“No one needs to find switches on their porch. These juvenile warnings must stop. Maybe they did some good once, but now they’re just a nuisance,” said the deputy. “Y’all are hiding behind your masks. I’ll speak to Sanders tonight, face-to-face, as soon as I see if Mr. Calhoun has a horse for me.”
Fowler laughed. “Why? Are you tired of riding Mayor Walters’s pony?”
“This is the mayor’s horse?” Deputy Puckett’s eyes flashed dangerously.
Betsy’s mouth puckered. She wouldn’t smile. She wouldn’t.
“The state purchased the black horse from Calhoun. It was earmarked for the new deputy and put in Walters’s care until you arrived,” Fowler said. “I can’t believe no one told you.”
The deputy spun to glare at her.
She shrugged. “I didn’t know. Honest.”
“C’mon. We’re headed back to town.” He took the reins from Betsy and turned around.
“What happened to your britches?” Fowler called.
But Eduardo wouldn’t answer that question. Instead he replied, “I’ll visit Sanders today. I can’t arrest him unless I have good cause, though. We need more evidence before we can do anything.”
“That’s exactly the problem with men like you,” Fowler called. “You want everything to look good on paper, and while you’re sitting with a notepad on your lap, we’ll be out protecting our own.” With a jerk of his head, Fowler’s horse came to his side. He threw his foot into the stirrup and mounted with the grace of a mountain lion that had never missed a meal. “You go back to Pine Gap and sit in your nice, warm office. I’m going out where the danger is.” And with that, he reined his horse around and took out through the thick growth over the mountain.
Betsy’s ears warmed. How would her hero take that dismissal? What heroic proclamation would he utter to defend himself and restore order?
“I’ve got to get these britches stitched up.” He held a hand against his backside as he started toward town.
It took Betsy a moment to realize she was getting left behind, and another moment to realize his torn britches would never, ever be mentioned in her story.
When the winding road broke through the trees and the neat, square log cabins became more frequent, Joel kept the pony on a tighter leash. The danger of the pony getting a second helping of his hide troubled him, but even more likely was the whole town seeing him walking down Main Street with his trousers flapping. The pony made a practical, if not willing, shield.
And so did the woman hurrying along to keep up with him.
“You aren’t going to the jailhouse first?” Betsy asked. “I thought you’d want to change britches.”
“I want a horse,” Joel said. “That’s my first priority.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “You’ve been patient with that animal, Eduardo.”
“Eduardo?” He stopped in his tracks. What was she talking about? “Who’s Eduardo?”
Despite the cold wind, her face flamed. “No one. No one real, that is. I don’t know your first name and so when I was imagining—I mean, I’m not thinking of you more than I ought, of course, but it is rather cumbersome to say Deputy Puckett, even if it is just my mind talking. So I . . .”
The longer her sentence ran, the higher his eyebrows rose. She’d been thinking of him? She hadn’t been satisfied only knowing him by his title?
Betsy fanned her hand before her bright cheeks. “So now I know your name isn’t Eduardo. That will narrow down the options when I decide to guess again.”
“It’s Joel,” he blurted. “Joel Puckett. And if you had asked, I would’ve been happy to oblige you.”
It unsettled him that she had paid him particular regard. On the other hand, maybe he was pleased that someone in this town cared to know something about him beyond who he was locking up next.
He’d meant to fix her with a warning look, but his gaze softened. She’d been thinking of him.
Just as his heart kicked up a notch, he jerked his hand around behind him and held the rip in his britches closed again. “You’re gonna have to walk in front of me,” he said, and then in a low voice he didn’t aim for her to hear, he added, “and no peeking, Betsy Huckabee.”
Chapter 15
“I don’t know that Mayor Walters is up to horse dealing today.” Betsy rubbed her hand at the thought of the heated needle and tweezers. “He had Doctor Hopkins do a procedure on him just this morning.”
“His health ain’t my concern. His horse is.”
She reckoned that Deputy Joel Puckett—Joel—had lost more skin from the horse bite than the mayor had, and he wasn’t whining about it. She waited at the door as Joel hitched the pony next to the new black horse.
His chin lifted and he marched through the door like he had a whole regiment at his back.