That was about all Betsy could write before her curiosity got the better of her and she had to look out the window again. To prevent smearing, she held the paper up to the lamp, but seeing no shining wet spots, she pushed it under the blotter on the off chance that he was at the door and decided to come inside.
This time her trip to the window was rewarded. The man in the tall cowboy hat walked down the street, but he was going the wrong way. Instead of heading to the jailhouse, he was going up the hill . . . to the Sanders cabin.
Betsy’s breathing sped up. That was right. He’d said he was going to stake out Mr. Sanders’s place and make sure the man didn’t try to sneak away tonight.
She rubbed an ink spot on her thumb in a tiny circle as she considered her options. Spending time alone with him could muddle her thinking. On the other hand, if she started avoiding him, her stories wouldn’t be authentic. And maybe the only way to keep from falling under his spell was to spend every spare minute with him—then she’d be only too familiar with his failings. Then she wouldn’t be tempted to think too highly of him.
Either way, Betsy had never let fear get in the way of an adventure, and she wasn’t about to start now.
Chapter 20
Joel wedged himself against the burnt stump and stretched his legs flat beneath the azalea bushes. He’d already surveyed the property. One could slip from the back door to the ravine that ran behind the house, but unless Mr. Sanders knew he was being observed, he’d have no reason to do that. Besides, with all the dry leaves on the ground and the small size of the house, Joel figured he could hear someone moving around back there anyway. Not much escaped his notice.
Or at least he thought so until he turned to find Betsy Huckabee crouched not ten feet away in the shadowy darkness beneath a cedar tree.
“What are you—?” He stopped before he got any louder and alerted the whole world to his whereabouts. Besides, he wouldn’t have to raise his voice because she was scurrying closer. “You can’t stay here,” he whispered.
“Why not? This isn’t your property.” Her breath puffed in the cold. She burrowed down beside him and pushed a canteen into his hands. “It’s coffee,” she said. “I came prepared.”
The warmth seeping through his gloves was welcome, even if she was not. “These goings-on are for bona fide lawmen only. You can’t interfere.”
“I’m on official journalism business. Freedom of the press and all of that.”
He relaxed a bit. Betsy lived in a town full of family and friends. She didn’t need him for company. But what kind of reporting did she have in mind? “I’ve been meaning to ask about your work for your uncle,” he said. “What exactly do you do for him?”
She tugged the knit cap down over her ears. “I set the type and help him on printing days. And I’m good to gather the routine types of information. You know, prices on livestock and crops, weather reports, that sort of thing.”
“When you’re not hiding behind crates and eavesdropping on people?” Joel whispered.
“Usually I don’t hear anything important.”
“Usually?” He twisted his head to get a better look at her. “How often does this snooping occur?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t set out to overhear people. They just tend to talk real loud when I’m nearby.”
“Hiding.”
She shrugged. “On occasion.”
She made his eye twitch. Didn’t she understand how dangerous this could be? “You listen here—” He had to choke down the darling that threatened to squeak out of his mouth. “If Mr. Sanders or anyone else comes out of that house, you will stay hunkered down. Do you understand?”
Betsy’s eyes widened. “Does that mean you’re letting me stay?”
“Is it up to me?”
Her grin broke wide. “Thank you.”
Then her hand was on his. Joel froze, suddenly remembering how he’d been burned by a situation very similar to this. How a woman had plotted to compromise his reputation.
But Betsy merely tugged at the canteen. “The coffee,” she said. “Can I have a drink? I’m cold.”
He passed it to her and she took a swig, then looked at the stump behind him. “Good to see someone spending time with Lady Godiva again. She’s been sadly neglected.”
Joel twisted to get a better look behind him. “Are y’all so hard up for company that you name your tree stumps?”
“She used to be a statue, but she was declared guilty of inciting indecency, so they burned her. Actually that was about the only action Sheriff Taney ever took against anyone. As usual, his punishment wasn’t very effective. She took the flames pretty well. If you look . . .”