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let loose a swarm of idle town gossip that he was sweet on Betsy Lowell. He shrugged. “Just for a ride.”
    “Store’s slow today?”
    “Yep. Everyone came in for supplies during the storm. Guess they were afraid winter came early and meant to stay.”
    “I see.” Junior cleared his throat and tightened the straps under Red’s overfed belly. “You know, Betsy Lowell was in a bit ago. She took Job for a ride.”
    Treading lightly, Stuart weighed his words so as not to lie, while not giving anything away. “That so?”
    “Yessiree. She was mad as all get-out when she stormed in here, ready to put a bullet between that horse’s eyes. I talked her out of it.”
    “That’s good. Although I can see why she’d blame the horse. Old Joe spoils him so much, he thinks he’s the master and everyone else is his to command.”
    A chuckle left the liveryman as he handed Stuart the reins. “Never seen anyone take on over an animal the way Old Joe did that one.”
    “Most likely to his detriment.”
    The thought sobered both men. “It’s been two days, and he’s still not awake.” Junior scrubbed his hand across his chin.
    Stuart cringed at the image of Old Joe the way they’d placed him in the bed at Doc Avery’s. Short of a miracle, he didn’t see how the old-timer could come back from such an awful accident, but then, he believed in miracles if God so chose. For Betsy’s sake, he prayed her grandfather would pull through. Although she’d likely have plenty to say to him once he woke up.
    “You going after Betsy?”
    Stuart scowled at the way Junior had worked Betsy back into the conversation. “Ma figured she shouldn’t face the empty place by herself. Old Joe never told her what was going to happen.”
    “She knows now.”
    “You told her?”
    Junior nodded. “I figured she had the right to know, and no one else was telling her.”
    Relief washed over Stuart that he wouldn’t have to be the one to explain what happened. Still, she’d likely be in a state.
    “She shouldn’t be alone out there.”
    “Likely not.”
    Stuart mounted Red, inclining his head to the liveryman as he headed out.

    Betsy reined in Job on the hill just above the vacant cabin. The land looked so still, so lonesome, that it was difficult to hold back the tears. But she refused to cry. She preferred anger over sadness. Anger spurred her to action. Sadness made her weary. So weary she wanted to crawl into her bed—not her bed any longer—and sleep until Pops was well again and everything went back to the way it was before.
    Though there was certainly no reason to go any closer to the cabin, Betsy couldn’t help herself. Job had grown antsy and was beginning to pull toward home. Despite her desire to show him who was boss, for once, she and the horse were of the same mind. She allowed him his head, and they cantered down the grassy hill and reached the cabin in minutes. Dismounting, she let Job roam. Slowly, she made her way into the empty cabin.
    A heavy sigh left her. She had played at her grandfather’s feet as a child when Ma and Pa would take her to visit, and she’d always dreamed of the day her own children would lift their chubby little hands and take his as he led them into the yard and showed them how to feed the chickens and milk the cow. A lump formed in her throat at the thought of what might have been. If Pops had informed her of the trouble they were in, she could have taken in sewing or, heaven help her, even married Mr. Blakely, though the very idea made her skin crawl.
    “What are you doing here?”
    Betsy spun around at the man’s voice, coming face-to-face with Leo Blakely. She scowled. “So it was you.”
    He grinned and nodded. “Yep. I bought the place. Got it at a robber’s price, too.”
    “That’s fitting. Considering you’re nothing but a low-down thief, snatching Pops’ place out from under him.”
    Leo’s gaze narrowed, and his eyes darkened with a danger Betsy had never seen before.