“If only I knew where Bullard was. I haven’t heard back from any of the wires I sent.”
“You telegraphed out for information on Bullard?” Hopkins scratched the back of his head. “I hate to tell you, but Postmaster Finley is Bullard’s kin. I’d be surprised if those telegraphs ever made it to the line.”
Another hostile townsperson to deal with. Joel grabbed his Stetson off the desk. Finley deserved a visit and Fowler needed questioning, but first Joel would see Betsy. No lady should have to confront the aftereffects of violence like she had. He wanted to carry that burden for her. Then there was the fact that he’d left her tied to a tree in the middle of the night. That might take some sweet-talking to overcome, but mostly he just wanted to know there was someone in this place who cared about him. Someone he could trust when everyone from the postmaster to the mayor was against him.
He walked past the schoolyard as the teacher rang the bell. Racing boys curved their paths to the open door. Little girls cradling corn-husk dolls tucked them into their coats, and the big girls whispered behind their hands as he approached. All eyes darted to a tall, dark-haired beauty, one who’d been spending her time at the Murphys’ lately. Hopkins’s daughter gathered her courage like a soldier gathers his camp gear and marched directly at him. Exactly the kind of woman he’d learned to avoid.
“Good morning, Deputy Eduardo,” she said.
Where had he heard that name before? Seemed like someone else had called him that once. Still, he wasn’t fool enough to encourage her banter. “It’s Deputy Puckett. May I help you?”
The girls at the schoolhouse steps giggled as she threw a triumphant glance toward them. “Deputy Puckett, we wanted to know when you stopped riding your white horse. Did you leave it in Texas?”
His blood chilled. What did they know about Texas? Had he said something over dinner when talking to Fred and Betsy that would make them suspicious? The only connection he could find was that Miss Hopkins seemed cut of the same cloth as Mary Blount. All the more reason to cut this encounter short. He had more important matters to attend to.
“I don’t own a white horse.” He tipped his hat. “Good day, ma’am.”
Her face crumpled into annoyance at his dismissal, but she mastered it before she turned to her friends. “Good day, ma’am,” she crowed, as if it were the most profound utterance since the Gettysburg Address. They exploded in laughter, causing Joel to stop altogether and stare. Didn’t they know something terrible had happened last night?
Girls. Women. Females of all ages. His Betsy was the exception.
When had she become his Betsy? Probably when she made that trek to the jailhouse the night of the fire. He’d needed a friend. She fit that bill and proved she could be so much more. Never before had he met a woman who made him want to settle down and make his mother’s dreams come true, but Betsy had him thinking along those lines. If he could lose his bachelor status, then those silly encounters with the girls would peter out soon enough.
The white siding of the newspaper office shone through the tree trunks. Just as Joel was reaching the path to the door, Betsy strolled around the corner of the building. Upon seeing him, her face went white as a Sunday slice of bread. She hid her hands behind her back, but not before he caught sight of another letter.
She looked sorely put upon, but no wonder. Over the last sleepless night, she’d ridden through the mountains, been tied and left in the elements, tracked a bad guy, and then heard a wounded man moaning in agony. How he wanted to gather her into his arms and ease her exhaustion. Was it right to feel that way? He’d talked to God about base temptations before, but this was something more. Something stronger. He realized he wouldn’t be satisfied until she admitted that she felt something special for him, too. And he shouldn’t have to tie her up to hear it.
He stepped forward to intercept her. She slowed, then stopped altogether. Her eyes remained lowered, her hands hidden.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“It was a rough night. And you?”
“Today isn’t going to be any better.” Especially with their one witness proving unreliable. “The good news is that the sheriff is improving. Doctor Hopkins said he’ll survive.”
“And did he tell you who shot him?” Betsy pinned him with a searing gaze. “He did, didn’t he? Who? Who shot him?”
Joel shook his head. “You’ve got to give me some room, Betsy. Give me some time, and I’ll let you know when I can.”
“You said you liked my company, that I was an asset. Then let me come with you.”
“Letting you come with me could put you in danger. It’d be irresponsible.”