“I’m particularly incensed, three notches past riled. And you deserve to be doused with the very dredges of my vocabulary.”
Despite her florid speech, she rested against the tree as if the ropes were of no consequence. Maybe she’d spent herself straining against them already, but he had the feeling that removing them would restore her vitality.
He stepped around the tree and untied the knot. Gently he unwound the rope from her wrist, wincing at the marks it’d made against her delicate skin. “I’m really sorry, Betsy.” How he wanted to rub them away, but doing so would probably smart. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Reaching around her, he removed the rope, and as soon as it loosened, she bolted from the tree. Joel flinched, fully expecting a hearty slap. But instead she sped past him and climbed on his horse.
The only thing he could predict about Betsy was that she’d do the unpredictable.
A split-second later and he wouldn’t have been able to snag the reins. “Where are you going?”
“Let go. You have no right to stop me.”
He tightened his grip on the reins and grabbed the bridle with his other hand. “You’re on my horse. Why not get on your own horse?”
“Because yours is faster and I don’t want you to catch me.”
But he had caught her, and he wasn’t about to let go. “Betsy, I’m sorry I had to tie you up, but you need to understand something. For us to be friends, you have to respect my authority. How can I trust you if you take evidence out of my possession? How can we get along if you’re conspiring behind my back?”
Were her eyes red because of the cold, or was he to blame?
“I thought you wanted to kiss me, but instead—” She turned her face. “I reckon it’s not important.” Although her tone told him the opposite. “What’s important is that I find out who fired the gun on the other side of the mountain.”
Was she kidding? She wiped at her nose with the back of her coat sleeve. Was it all a ruse to pay him back?
“Very funny,” he said. “Now give me my horse.”
With a sigh, she dismounted. “But I’m not joking. I heard gunfire.”
He dropped the rope into his saddlebag. “You’re safe, nothing hurt you, so don’t turn this into some revenge—”
“I’m not joking, Joel.” And lands sakes alive if she didn’t look serious. “About thirty minutes ago over towards my folks’ place.”
His blood pounded in his ears. Thirty minutes ago? They’d all gathered in the opposite direction, hadn’t they? “Is Hopkins’s place out toward there?”
She didn’t answer, just took off running.
“Where are you—?” But she was going for a horse, and he’d better, too.
They took off together, her clumsy horsemanship and farm horse no match for his, but she could find her way through ravines he’d thought impassable. They barreled down a bluff, loose gravel crashing below them with every stride, and jumped over a creek, Betsy nearly bouncing out of her saddle, then followed the narrow valley until they crossed the railroad tracks. Seeing the tracks helped Joel with his bearings. Nothing ever felt so confusing as the endless curving paths of the mountains. Nothing ran true north, south, east, or west, but snaked around until you’d swear you’d crossed your own path already.
Finally, they joined a larger trail that led to an honest-to-goodness road. Even a wagon could cross here. Down they went to the riverbed. Their horses’ hooves echoed hollowly on a wooden bridge, and once across, Betsy paused.
The air had grown frosty. Her breath clouded before her with every puff. “I can’t be sure where it was,” she said. The road branched on this side of the river, winding its way around the hill in opposite directions. She paced her horse from one path to the other, peering into the darkness. “We could split up.”
“Not on your life. I’d come closer to tying you up here and keeping you out of harm’s way.”
“I’d say this is pert near the middle of harm’s way.” She tugged on the bulky coat that had begun to rise up under her chin, and then she chose a direction.
The road narrowed again, and branches tried to snag Joel’s coat but couldn’t find purchase. A fallen tree barred their path, branches throwing a barrier as big as a barn. Dismounting, they left the trail and were picking their way along a narrow ridge when he noticed prints off the road.
“This tree hasn’t been down long, but there are tracks that have come through here before us.”
Betsy shivered.
He loosened his gun, no longer feeling the cold. “Are you sure . . . ?”
“You aren’t leaving me behind.”
“Where’s this road lead to?”
“It goes through Fowler’s land and comes out around the back of Hopkins’s place.”
“If you’re right on the time, I had just reached Fowler when the gun was shot.”
She shivered again. “Maybe someone was just coon hunting.” But they both knew no one would be out piddling around on a night that the Bald Knobbers were riding.
They made their way more carefully now, watching both sides of the road, sometimes stopping for Joel to investigate a hollow or sinkhole.
“The woods aren’t usually this quiet,” Betsy said.