The charred stump took on a very womanly form as his eyes adjusted. Joel scooted away, which placed him even closer to Betsy. Wasn’t she more dangerous than the tree stump?
Then he thought of her at her cabin, surrounded by family. She didn’t maneuver to be close to him. She didn’t insert herself into the conversation or insist on his attention. Sure she wanted to know what was going on, but he wasn’t vain enough to think that he was the primary attraction. He watched as she lifted the canteen for another drink of coffee, then wiped her mouth on the back of her glove. Betsy Huckabee had no interest in him as a beau. She couldn’t hardly bring herself to take a toddler from him, while he found himself daydreaming about whether Betsy looked as sweet as the child.
Had Mary Blount warped his opinion of all women? Maybe it was time to move past that debacle. Maybe it was time to give Miss Huckabee a chance.
The leaves rustled beneath her as she shivered, but then another noise rang through the clear, cold night. A raised voice, a loud crash, and Joel sprang to his feet.
“Stay,” he ordered Betsy. And with a hand to her shoulder, he pushed her down on her backside just as she was standing. “Don’t let them know you’re here.” Yes, he had to protect Mrs. Sanders, but protecting Betsy was part of the job, too.
He plowed through branches and bounded onto the porch. At the thud of his boots, the house went quiet. Would Mr. Sanders bolt out the back? But instead the man cracked the front door open and pushed his florid face into the gap before Joel could knock.
“I thought I heard someone out here,” he said.
“Where’s your wife?” Joel’s fist clenched. He would intervene physically if necessary.
Sanders’s eyes darted a look at something on the inside. “She don’t feel like coming to the door.”
“I’m coming in,” said Joel.
Sanders didn’t struggle as Joel shoved his way inside. In fact, because of the lack of space in the room, he tripped over the sofa in his hurry to get out of Joel’s way.
“Mrs. Sanders.” Joel kept the man of the house in sight but angled toward the kitchen. Spilled stew had splashed against the wall. A tin dish lay on the floor. He heard a sob, then she appeared. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled loose from her coif. Evidence of tears marred her cheeks.
She sniffed, then spoke with a wavering voice. “He was fixing to go out for the night, but I didn’t think he ought to.”
Joel tried to read the man who refused to look him in the eye. “Where were you going?”
“Nowhere in particular. Just needed a breath of fresh air.”
The thing about lying was you always got found out, and most of the time people knew you were lying as the words left your mouth. Nobody took a walk at midnight in these mountains unless they were up to no good.
“I’ve got a lot of fresh air between here and the jailhouse,” Joel said. “What do you say we go there and cool off?”
Sanders looked long and hard at the missus, but there was no threat in his gaze. Almost an apology. He groaned. “I guess I might as well be there as anywhere.”
Mrs. Sanders pulled her shirt sleeve down over her forearm, probably hiding a mark. “You need someone here with you,” Joel said. “I can send one of your neighbors—Miss Huckabee, for instance.”
“Don’t send anyone. I want to be alone.” She lifted the dish from the floor and slid it onto the table.
“When you’re ready to talk,” Joel said.
She motioned to the door, but Joel wasn’t leaving before Sanders. Sanders pulled on his coat, his hair getting caught beneath his collar, and slipped on some boots.
With a last scan of the room and another reassurance from Mrs. Sanders, they started to town. When Joel saw a knit cap caught in the branches of the azalea bush beneath the window, but no Betsy, he wasn’t even surprised.
Chapter 21
How could Betsy sleep now? The clock on the mantel hadn’t struck midnight yet, but so much had happened. Mr. Sanders brawling with his wife. Joel rushing the door and thrusting himself between them, or at least that was what she imagined. She was in the bushes, crawling her way to the window when that occurred.
And now here she was at a window again, waiting to see if he’d come back. She’d followed him and Mr. Sanders to the jail but couldn’t get close enough to pick up their conversation.
If Joel didn’t come back to tell her what had happened, she’d lose her mind.
A shadow made its way up the street, and her sanity was preserved.
Betsy opened the front door of the office. The light reflected off his badge, flashing in her eyes. He paused long enough for her to grab him by the sleeve and pull him inside.
“Don’t you dare even think about leaving.”
“It’s late. I didn’t know if you’d be up.” Red dotted his cheeks where his beard didn’t cover.
Betsy pushed the door closed behind him and motioned him to the small stove. The light illuminated a tight circle that made the room feel smaller than it did during daylight hours. He pulled off his gloves and held his hands to the fire.