Whack! She ran smack-dab into a wall of iron. No, it wasn’t a wall of iron, it was a bona fide Dashing Deputy, but he felt every bit as solid as a piece of foundry. Quick as a wink, Betsy closed the paper, wadded it together, and shoved it behind her back.
“What’s the news?” he asked. Only then did she see Leland Moore swaying next to him.
“Leland, you’ve hit the jug already?” she asked. “It’s still forenoon.”
“He’s on his way to a dry cot so he can sober up and not interrupt the auction,” Joel said. “What was so engrossing about the paper that you didn’t see me coming?”
“You ran into me.”
“No, I just stopped in front of you.”
“Why?”
He rolled his eyes in masculine exasperation. “Never mind. I want to tell Doctor Hopkins that I’ve telegraphed around asking about Bullard. We’ll see if he’s been in trouble with the law in another county. Might be able to track him down.”
“He’s a wanted man. Don’t you reckon Sheriff Taney sent out word when he went missing?” Now it was Betsy’s turn to roll her eyes. “He didn’t, did he?”
“Must have slipped his mind,” Joel replied. “Are you going to be around town today?”
Betsy dimpled. “It’s quite possible.” She dug her toe into the ground as her skirt swayed around her ankles.
“Maybe we’ll run into each other again.” And he almost sounded like he was looking forward to it.
“For the love of Pete,” Leland cried, “would you stop your flirting and get me somewhere quiet where I can lay my head?”
“Come on, then.” The strict deputy had returned. There’d be no dalliances while he was carrying out his duties. Then over his shoulder he called as he walked off, “Watch where you’re going.”
Easy for him to say. If he knew what was in that paper, he’d be walking into people, too.
She hurried to the office where she could spread the paper out unobserved. Reverently she smoothed her hand across the words that she’d composed right at that very desk. They’d been written there but printed in far-off Kansas City, and now people she didn’t even know were reading about the handsome lawman come to help the little Missouri town. While she hoped everyone far away was reading it, no one in Pine Gap could. She rummaged in Uncle Fred’s desk for scissors and then clipped out the evidence. It really was too bad it was on the second page, because someone was sure to notice that the paper had been diced up.
Hastily she arranged the other papers to take up most of the drying rack. Sometimes Uncle Fred might actually sell one of the papers, but for the most part they came for his enjoyment and for his guests to have something to peruse while waiting on him to do an interview about their latest tomato crop. No one would miss it if the Kansas City paper wasn’t available.
With one last fond look she tucked the clipping into her journal and her journal into her desk. Only then did she remember the letter she’d gotten.
It too was from Kansas City. Looking around the room guiltily, she made her way to her cot and opened the envelope. In it was a check. Made out to her. Betsy held it to her nose, trying to catch a scent from the busy office in far-off Kansas City where this check had been signed. She’d open a bank account. That was what she’d do. And she’d put this in it so that soon she’d have enough to start out on her own. Finding steady employment in Pine Gap was a challenge, but if she could write her stories and mail them in, then she’d have the best of both worlds.
The letter contained congratulations and repeated their desire that she would continue to send her column. No mention was made that it’d been printed as a news item. Instead there was a line about syndication and how they currently had many newspapers interested in running it.
Betsy’s swinging feet thudded against the floor. More than Kansas City? That was what she wanted, right? But she was already walking a fine line with Joel.
She held the paper lightly between her fingers. She knew what she’d do. She’d write those Kansas City people and let them know not to publish her stories in Texas. She didn’t know what that exclusion would cost her, and Joel wouldn’t ever know what a favor she was doing for him, but she felt better knowing his people wouldn’t read her stories.
The last thing she needed was him hearing about the Byronic fantasies she’d penned and thinking that she was head over heels for him. It’d puff him up like a tom turkey strutting around the barnyard. Especially since she’d kissed him. She’d never hear the end of it.
She sighed as she stuffed the letter into the envelope. She already spent too much time thinking about him. He probably didn’t spend half that time bothering with thoughts of her. Certainly he wasn’t making her the heroine of some romantic plot.
Once again fixing to head to the sale barn, Betsy opened the door only to come belly to belly with her overtly pregnant sister-in-law, Katie Ellen.
“Where’s your brother?” Katie Ellen grimaced with one hand clutching her stomach and the other propped up on the doorframe.
“It’s Monday morning. He should be at the sale barn.”
“Well, he ain’t. I told him my time was coming, and he took out just like every other time.”