“How in the world did you get Josiah to come?” Her words were chopped short by her vigorous working of the pump handle. “He marched right up to Katie Ellen just like a hero.”
“The only difference between your average man and a hero is that the hero figures out what to do before it’s too late.” He nudged her aside and, with a few more pulls, filled her bucket. “Then he has the nerve to go on and do it.”
Betsy leaned back as if she was trying to get a complete view of him from head to toe. “Is that all it takes to make a good hero?”
“One more thing. A hero always comes back for his lady.” Joel picked up the bucket, pleased to see her spunky smile. If he could only see one friendly face, it’d be hers. “How’s your sister-in-law?”
“Should be better any minute now. Doctor Hopkins sent me for more water, and I’m guessing that you don’t want to carry it in for me.”
His eyes traveled to the bucket, then back up to her ornery grin. “I don’t think you need my help.”
“Now that Josiah’s here, we’re all fine.”
A primal growl sounded from inside the building. Joel grimaced. “Would you mind bringing out my gun belt, saddlebag, and rifle? I’m pretty sure I have no business going inside.”
“You loading up?” Betsy raised a lone eyebrow. “What’s going on?”
“Now that Sanders is cleared, Fowler insists Bullard must be in the area. They’re riding tonight.” He cast a nervous glance toward the jail and lowered his voice. “I’m going to see if I can find out something more. I might not be back for supper.”
“Can I come with you?”
“Together there’d be more chance of them seeing us. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, I promise.”
She bit her lip. That lip had pressed against his for a split second once upon a time. But she was a nice lady, and he couldn’t just go kissing her every time he thought about it. Because he was thinking about it now—getting quite warm thinking about it. Maybe just another quick peck. After all, he was going into a dangerous situation—
A baby cried.
Betsy’s eyes shone. She took the bucket from him, their fingers getting tied up together for a few precious moments. “I’ll bring your stuff out to you. Do be careful.”
He nearly bowed his agreement. “Congratulations on your new kin,” he said. “Give the baby a kiss from me.”
From the mischievous look she threw him, she’d been thinking about him, too.
After squalling through his bath, the baby had finally calmed at the breast of his mother, who’d quite taken over the jailhouse as her rightful domain.
“This place is so disorganized,” Katie Ellen fretted. “As soon as this baby falls asleep, I’m going to purge this building of every last trace of that lousy Taney. The lawbooks are thrown on the shelf willy-nilly, and the cobwebs are more likely to keep someone from climbing out the windows than the bars are. What must Deputy Puckett think of us?”
Betsy stripped the dirty sheets off the cot to carry home and launder. What did Deputy Puckett think of them . . . of her in particular? He had repented from his early claim that he couldn’t abide to converse with women. Or at least he’d decided that she didn’t fit in that category. Betsy gathered the sheets up into a loose bundle while humming a song. Joel Puckett definitely thought of her as a woman, and for the first time in her life she was appreciating the attention.
Time to go home. Sissy and Laurel would want to see Katie Ellen’s baby, but that meant Betsy would have to sit with the girls, which wasn’t a bad idea. Betsy wouldn’t mind resting during their nap time. By the time the sun set, she’d just be getting started tonight. No way was she going to sleep when the Bald Knobbers were riding.
Joel was probably right. They couldn’t go together. She’d rather be undercover—be in on the action firsthand. Just think how much she’d have to write about. A few more stories, and she might have enough money to rent a cabin for a spell. It’d be a start. Besides, she might learn something that could help Joel. She wasn’t just thinking about herself. She was putting others first, like she ought. Doing nothing out of selfish ambition, but esteeming others as more important. She was a walking Sunday sermon.
Joel needed her help; she needed a story. Everyone would win.
But if anyone saw her, they’d send her right home. She needed a disguise. Unobserved by the family behind her, she loosened the corners of the sheets as she lugged the bundle toward Joel’s desk and the heavy chest sitting beside it. She’d seen Pritchard’s hood the day that Joel arrested him, and she had every reason to believe it was still here.