Fowler’s nostrils flared. “What if you get more than you bargained for?”
“All that’s happened is that Doctor Hopkins got a bundle of sticks left on his porch. That’s all. Maybe it was Sanders, maybe it was Bullard, maybe it was a prank. Or maybe it was the Bald Knobbers.” Joel gave that a moment to sink in. “No one has been hurt or threatened, but if y’all keep prowling around at night, sooner or later you’re gonna cross someone who doesn’t understand what fine outstanding citizens you are, and there’s going to be a deadly misunderstanding.”
Fowler’s brow looked heavy. “You want the responsibility, then it’s on you. I’ll tell the boys he’s in your hands.”
Joel felt like a load of coal had just been dumped off his back. Maybe God was listening to him. It finally looked like he might be on the road to earning their respect.
Find what Sanders was hiding. That was the key.
Chapter 19
Deputy Joel Puckett sure brightened up the supper table. True, his calm, steady manners didn’t lend themselves to hilarity. He rarely cracked a smile and didn’t steal the show with outlandish stories. Yet his kindness, the way he listened as they spun yarns and teased each other around the table, made him the perfect audience.
And most of the audience thought he was perfect.
Uncle Fred and Sissy had been joined by the two Hopkins girls and their mother, Laurel. Eighteen-year-old Anna’s face was as fixed as a china doll’s, and much to Betsy’s frustration, just as pretty. She held her rosebud mouth in a perfect pout and kept her blue eyes wide open, as if blinking might mar the effect. Fourteen-year-old Phoebe jolted forward every time Joel made utterance. Keeping her hands clasped in her lap, she’d elbow her sister and lift her eyebrows before settling back against her chair. At first they’d been chagrined to learn that Scott had been sent to stay with Betsy’s folks to make room for them, but finding Deputy Puckett at the table had cheered them up considerably.
Still, their mother spoke in worried tones with Sissy, airing her fears for her husband, who’d elected to keep watch over their house that night.
“I don’t like it, either,” Sissy said. “Those Bald Knobbers should’ve known their methods would come back to haunt them.”
“What do you mean?” Laurel picked at the stitching on her napkin until it looked to come apart. “Haunt him like a ghost?”
Uncle Fred shook his head at his wife. “Don’t be troubling her. We’ve got better news than that. Tell them, Betsy.” He grinned, proud as punch.
Alarm had Betsy shaking her head. “Why would I do that? It doesn’t concern them. Here, let me take your plates.” Betsy fumbled with the dishes and landed her thumb in someone’s leftover mashed potatoes.
Uncle Fred wasn’t giving up. “Stars above, Betsy. You can’t mean that you’re going to keep this a secret?”
“You’uns haven’t told anyone, have you?” Her chest pounded as she waited for his answer. From the look on his face, Joel knew good and well this pertained to the telegram she’d tried to hide from him. He was uncommonly interested, while Phoebe Hopkins yawned.
“I haven’t said a word,” Fred said.
“Then don’t.” Betsy dropped the plates in the basin and took the hot water off the stove. “It probably won’t amount to anything.”
Joel took that moment to start a game of pat-a-cake with Amelia. Surprised but grateful, Betsy scrubbed the dishes as the conversation resumed. Sissy and Laurel discussed their preparations for winter and the bounty or scarcity of their larders, while Uncle Fred and Joel shared stories about eventful hunting excursions they’d had. Somehow, Betsy found her ears attuned to Joel’s voice. Every comment he made was amplified, every utterance clear. She found herself smiling and nodding with the conversation, even though she wasn’t at the table. His voice rumbled deep as he talked with Uncle Fred, then gentled as he spoke to the youngest members of the family.
At some point Amelia had climbed onto Joel’s lap, because when Betsy turned to take a peek, she saw the child lying tucked in his arm. Amelia’s blond curls were pillowed against his chest as she slept contentedly.
The sight tugged a chord in Betsy’s heart that had never been strummed before. Something was so right about the scene, but she couldn’t define what it was. For being nothing out of the ordinary, it affected her strongly.
She didn’t realize she’d stopped washing the dishes and was staring until Sissy bumped her with her hip. “It’s late. The girls have already gone to the loft. Why don’t you put Amelia to bed?”