“And if you know I’m from Texas, then you’ve already figured out I’m the new deputy. You can call me Deputy Puckett. And you are?”
She paused just long enough to give weight to her words. “Going home.” She flashed a devastating smile and spun on her heel. “Good night,” she called over her shoulder, “and good luck.”
He hadn’t seen that coming. But she was going, disappearing down the hill, her sure steps never faltering on the uneven terrain, and if he had any hope of finding a roof for his head, he couldn’t let her get away.
“Wait a minute.” He jogged to catch up with her. She walked with the easy stride of a young boy but with the prickly attitude of a railroad baron’s daughter. “The boardinghouse, if you don’t mind.”
“Behind us. Widow Sanders is the only one who takes in boarders, but I doubt she’s looking to take anyone in tonight.”
They’d reached a small hamlet. A few houses dotted the lane while lights shone between the trees, giving evidence of more buildings ahead. The lady had slowed and seemed to be listening for something, and then he heard it. An echo, a cry—surely the ruffians he’d seen at the train station. Why hadn’t he insisted on bringing his horse?
Holding on to her hat, the young woman tilted her head back, almost like a wolf sniffing the air. The moonlight fell on her face. Quick eyes, intelligent brow, and a mouth designed for mischief. Did she have connections with the gang? She could’ve been sent to keep an eye on him while they conducted their devilment.
“Where can I find Sheriff Taney? Surely he’ll help me make arrangements,” he said.
“Sheriff Taney lives out past Dewey Bald. You won’t want to walk out there tonight.”
“Why not?”
“That’s where the gang is right now.”
“Where the sheriff is? Then he’ll need my help.”
“To do what?” she asked. “Sit by the fire and pretend he doesn’t hear them? I’d say he’s doing that well enough alone.”
“Then I’ll go by myself.”
“It’s not safe.”
“Says the woman who’s traipsing around after dark.”
She dismissed that comment with a wrinkle of her nose. “I used to have a pet skunk. It behaved itself right smart as long as you acted real calm, but the last thing you wanted to do was surprise it. Once Jeremiah ran up on it—”
“I’m not in the mood for a story, Miss Huckabee.”
There. He’d surprised her again.
“How did you know my name?” Her eyes narrowed before widening in realization. “Mr. Sanders. He said it, didn’t he? See, you’re not all that clever. A clever man would’ve made arrangements before nightfall.”
No use in reminding her that the train was late. He’d find no sympathy, nor did he desire it. Dark cabins lined the street on both sides of them, and a cleared green of some kind waited ahead—the town square, from the looks of it. He raised his head to follow the silhouette of the mountains before him. More cheers rang out, thinned over the distance. A dog barked incessantly, and a volley of gunshots made his teeth grind.
She sighed. “Sounds like the fun is over and I missed it again.” Whatever surprise had rendered her speechless earlier had lost its effect. She lifted a hand and flopped it in his direction. “Jailhouse is straight ahead. Probably locked up, but you can catch some shut-eye under the hanging oak if the raccoons don’t bother you. Just stay out of sight from the road. Loitering after dark isn’t admired around here.” She shivered and tucked her hands into her coat pockets as she turned to walk away. “Sleep tight and welcome to Pine Gap.”
Betsy swung the cabin door closed and peeled off her coat as fast as she could. The heat from the fireplace made her skin prickle, and the coat itched like the dickens once she was out of the cold air. Sissy was singing to one of the babies, probably suckling Eloise in the rocker in her bedroom. Quietly Betsy eased into the printing office and tossed the hat on her cot.
Until Uncle Fred had married Sissy, Betsy had been the woman of the house. Fourteen years ago, her aunt had died, and Betsy left her parents’ farm to come to town and take care of her younger cousins—cooking and cleaning like Mama had taught her. ’Course she still had plenty of time to wander town while they were in school and sort of educated herself by asking questions and watching people as they practiced their trade. Uncle Fred said she had a journalist’s heart, the way she could sniff out a story and was never satisfied until she knew everything. Poking her nose where it didn’t belong had given her more practical knowledge than most people twice her age. As far as book learning, well, she read anything she could get her hands on, including her cousins’ school books and newspapers from around the nation, making her one of the more well-informed people in town.