“Not that I know of.”

  She drew in her breath and studied the wanted poster again. The sketch looked like Hank had still been in his teens at the time. “That was a long time ago. Before the war.”

  Scooter shrugged. “Like Grandpapa always said, ‘Once a fool, always a fool.’ I think the same holds true for arsonists.”

  “But that makes no sense. Hank loves the Gazette as much I do. He considers it his home. He would never do anything to jeopardize it. Why would he?”

  “Won’t know that till I question him.”

  Josie covered her face with her hands. Oh, God, no. Not Hank. There had to be a logical explanation. She gazed at Scooter over her fingertips. “Let me talk to him first.”

  “Can’t do that, Josie. If he’s guilty and knows we’re on to him, he might skedaddle—”

  “He didn’t do it. He didn’t burn down the Gazette. I know he didn’t.”

  “If you’re wrong—” Scooter shook his head. “—you could be puttin’ yourself in harm’s way.”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t imagine the man she had come to know and love as a friend hurting her. The problem was she was having the same trouble thinking him capable of setting a school on fire.

  “I’ll take my chances. Scooter, please.”

  Scooter rubbed his chin and grimaced before pulling out his watch. “I’ll give you a half hour, tops.”

  “Thank you.” She frowned. “About Pepper—”

  Scooter rubbed his forehead. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Nodding, she turned to the door on wooden legs. Hank an arsonist? She couldn’t believe it.

  “Josie.”

  Hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder.

  “I done heard that you have to the end of the month to remove the tent,” he said. “Is that true?”

  “’Fraid so. I’m looking for a new place. Any ideas?”

  “I got a free jail cell,” he said and tossed a nod at the cellblock in back.

  She managed a wan smile. “I may have to take you up on that offer.” Growing serious again, she bit her lip. “Hank’s not the arsonist. I know he’s not.” With that she shot out the door.

  ***

  Josie headed back to her office, her heart so heavy she could barely pick up her feet. How she dreaded having to confront Hank. She couldn’t imagine his destroying property or putting others at harm. Could she really have been that wrong about him?

  Hank was still setting type when she entered the tent, his back toward her. He spoke without turning. “She said yes.”

  Josie placed her purse in the bottom desk drawer. “Who said yes?”

  He swung around in his chair, a silly grin on his face. “Why Miss Read, of course. She’s havin’ supper with me on Saturday.”

  “That’s . . . wonderful news, Hank.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound happy. You look . . .” His forehead creased. “What’s going on?”

  Stalling for time, she pulled out her chair and sat. “I just saw the sheriff.”

  “And?” His gaze sharpened. Remaining seated, he walked his chair to her desk. “Did he catch the arsonist?”

  She clenched her hands. “Not exactly.”

  Hank gave an impatient wave. “What, then?”

  “Scooter showed me an old wanted poster.”

  Hank studied her, eyes narrowed behind his spectacles, and then his face suddenly drained of color. “A panted woster?” Silence stretched between them before he spoke again. “Of me?”

  She moistened her lips. “I’m sorry, Hank, but I have to ask.”

  His shoulders slumped as if all the air had suddenly left his body. “Seems to me I’m the one should be apologizin’.”

  She held her breath. “You didn’t—”

  “Gurn down the Bazette?” He shook his head. “No, I did not, and that’s the Hod’s Gonest truth.” He spoke with such vehemence that she immediately believed him.

  “What about the other?” She hated to ask, but she had to know. “The school?” She

  hoped he would deny it as well. Prayed that he would say that it was all a big mistake. Instead, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a cork in a stormy sea.

  “As a youth . . .” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his forehead. “I was . . .” His face contorted as he struggled to say the words, stopping and starting over as necessary. It took a while to figure out what he was trying to say, but her heart sank as his meaning became clear. Instead of the denial she’d hoped for, he fully confessed to the crime he’d been convicted of.

  She stared at him in shock. Kind, gentle Hank was an arsonist?

  She fought to control her disgust, but the hurt of betrayal was not so easily contained.

  “Why?” she whispered when at last she found her voice. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “I was angry,” he said simply, as if that was explanation enough.

  Her temper flared. “Angry? That’s your excuse?”

  “It’s not an excuse.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “What, then? Talk to me. And why a school?”

  His facial features sagged, and furrows appeared between his eyebrows. “M-my pa was headmaster.” He spoke slowly in a monotone voice, as if each word had to be painfully constructed before leaving his mouth. Even so, she had to mentally decipher his mixed-up words.

  Hank blew out his breath before continuing. “He walked out on the family. Then one day I stopped at the school to talk to him, and I saw him with one of his pupils. It occurred to me that he was kinder to his pupil than he ever was to me.” He tipped his head back and stared at the canvas ceiling. “Guess you could say I let my anger get the best of me.”

  He gave her a beseeching look before adding, “It’s not somethin’ I’m proud of. Fortunately, no one was hurt.” He paused for a moment as if to gather his thoughts. “Case you’re wonderin’, I’m a different person today than I was back then. The war messed up my head, but it straightened out my heart.”

  “How do you mean?” she asked.

  “Saw a lot of good people die during that war, including the man whose name I now use, Hank Chambers. He was a good man. The only real friend I ever had. I thought by using his name, it would help me be a good man too.”

  “Oh, Hank. I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Papa had a similar look of desolation on his face whenever he spoke of that awful War between the States. His “war look,” she called it. As a child, that look had scared her. It scared her now, but not for the same reason.

  “I kept askin’ myself why Chambers died and not me? That’s when I decided to leave my wild ways behind me. Guess you could say it was my way of honorin’ the good people who didn’t deserve to die.” He looked her straight in the face. “Jack Casey might have burned down your office, but Hank Chambers never would.”

  His voice, his eyes, told her he spoke the truth, and relief washed over her like spring rain. “I’m sorry I had to ask,” she said. “But when I saw that wanted poster—”

  “I know.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I wasn’t very good at hiding my tracks. Someone had spotted me with a can of gasoline and went to the sheriff. I was standing in a post office when I first saw my picture on the wall. You know what I thought at the time? I thought, ‘Coly how. Someone wants me.’ For the first time in my life someone really, really wants me. That’s when I turned myself in.”

  “Oh, Hank. I want you. I couldn’t run this paper without you. Your friendship means the world to me. Miss Read wants you too.”

  “The jury’s still out on Miss Read.” Hank let out a long sigh. “She’s a former schoolteacher. If she finds out I once tried burning down a school, I don’t know that she’ll want anything to do with me.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” Josie said. “And Miss Read has had enough experience working with troubled youths to know that people change.”

  “We’ll see,” he said, the hope in his eyes contradicting the doubt in his voice. “Do I still jave my hob?” he asked.

  “Of course you still have your job,” she said. “What do I call you? Jack or Hank?”

  “Jack is dead,” he said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  She nodded. “I’m really glad we had this talk.”

  With a sigh of relief, he swung his chair around and walked it back to his desk. “Me too,” he said. “Me too.”

  “Make that three of us,” the sheriff said.

  Josie spun around. She had been so intent on Hank she was unaware of Scooter’s presence until he spoke. “Did you hear?” she asked.

  “I heard,” Scooter said.

  “Does that hake me off the took?” Hank asked.

  Since Scooter looked puzzled, Josie interpreted.

  “Yeah, you’re off the hook,” Scooter said. “Least for now.”

  Chapter 18

  If the news seems a bit on the slim side this week, please bear in mind that the telegraph office was closed, the mail from the east held up and no one was accommodating enough to get married, die, or have a baby. —Two-Time Gazette

  Almost three weeks had passed since the mayor gave his ultimatum, and still Josie had made no progress in finding office space. The recent success of her paper made the problem even more dire.

  She still ran the “Love Links” column, but with a difference: the Gazette now had a strict advertisement policy. Those wishing to describe themselves as rich, beautiful, thin, or handsome were charged double. A woman asserting to be younger than her years, or a man professing to own a suspiciously large spread, were referred to the nearest notary for claim validation.

  The policy didn’t do away entirely with exaggerations and downright lies, but there were fewer reader complaints.

  Though the “Love Links” column was popular, the real attraction was the rekindled feud that now raged between Josie and Wade. Bets were placed as to which publisher would win the next round.

  Even though Hank had doubled and nearly tripled the Gazette’s print run, they still had trouble keeping up with demand. The way papers were flying out the door that Friday morning, it looked like it would be another great week.

  Wade had been right about her selling more newspapers than she ever thought possible. But even with her sudden success, she couldn’t afford to pay rent—not while she was still paying on the mortgage. The prospects of rebuilding anytime soon didn’t look all that promising either.

  That’s why Josie had arranged to meet with the bank president, Mr. Mooney, that morning.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs. Johnson?” he asked as she entered his office. Standing politely until she sat, he then lowered his bulky form onto his chair and folded his hands on an oak desk the size of a boxcar.

  Everything in the office was large, including Mr. Mooney, and Josie felt uncommonly small and insignificant seated in front of him. No doubt that was the banker’s intention.

  In an effort to compensate, she sat tall, chin held high, and lowered her voice an octave to sound more businesslike. “As you know, I’ve had a recent setback.”

  His gray eyes met hers. “Ah, yes, the fire. Any news of who might have started it?”

  “Not yet.” She cleared her voice and lowered her voice yet another notch. “I wish to renegotiate the terms of my mortgage.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Renegotiate?” Somehow, he managed to make it sound like she had asked him to turn over the contents of the safe.

  Relying on her carefully rehearsed words, she plowed on. “My intention is to rebuild, but that would be difficult under the current terms of the loan.”

  “Your father agreed to those terms.”

  Actually, she was the one who had agreed, but since the bank required a male signature, her father had signed the contract.

  “I have every intention of living up to my obligations,” she assured him. “I’m just asking for more time.”

  He tapped the edge of his desk with a pencil. “I’m afraid changing the terms of a contract at this late date would be impossible.”

  “Why impossible?” she asked.

  The question seemed to surprise him, and the pencil stilled in his hand. “Why, it’s simply not done,” he said. He made it sound like no other explanation was needed. When she demanded clarification, he simply shrugged. “The bank has a strict policy against changing the terms of a contract.”

  “I’m only asking for an extension,” she said.

  He tossed the pencil aside. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. As you must know, I stuck my neck out in the first place by approving the original loan.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Because I’m a woman?”

  “I was just following bank policy.”

  “The bank makes concessions to farmers whose crops fail,” she said. “Male farmers.”

  With a sigh of impatience, he reached for his pocket watch. “A woman in business does not command the same, shall we say, confidence as a man. Nevertheless, I approved the loan as a favor to your father. As for changing the original terms, I’m afraid my hands are tied. It’s nothing personal.” He rose, signaling the meeting was over. “Hope you understand.”

  She stood as well, almost trembling with anger. “And I hope you understand why I find it necessary to write an editorial regarding the bank’s unfair practices toward women.” Her sister Amanda would be so proud. Stalking across the room, she reached for the doorknob before leveling one last glance at the bank president. “That’s Mooney with an e, right?”

  ***

  Josie left the bank feeling worse than when she’d arrived. She hadn’t really expected the bank to comply with her wishes, but she had to try.

  Now what?

  She stepped off the boardwalk and dodged around the wagons and buggies that had come

  to a standstill. Curses were directed at the hapless man who had accidently dumped a pushcart of bricks in the middle of Main.

  As she made her way across the street, a red-white-and-blue banner announcing the opening of a new photography studio caught her eye. Josie brightened. If she could convince the new photographer to advertise in her newspaper, the morning wouldn’t be a complete waste.

  Josie stopped to look at the photographs displayed in the window before stepping inside. She was greeted by a large portrait of Mrs. Gilbert arranged on an easel. The bank clerk’s wife was dressed in the same fancy gown worn at the May dance, with the same cameo and earbobs. The black-and-white portrait failed to do the dress justice, but the camera had captured the woman’s delicate features and large expressive eyes. She looked even younger in the photograph than in real life.

  A voice from the back room called out. “May I help you?”

  Drawing her gaze away from the portrait, Josie turned toward the speaker. Through the open doorway, she could see the shop owner fiddling with a large boxy camera saddled upon a tripod. A tall, thin man with long sideburns, he looked like he was preparing to take someone’s picture, but his client was not visible from where she stood.

  She glanced at the sign over the counter. “Are you Mr. Farthing?”

  “Yes,” the man answered, adjusting the camera’s bellows.

  “I’m Mrs. Johnson, publisher of the Two-Time Gazette. I’m offering an advertising special this week.”

  Mr. Farthing admonished his client to stand still before addressing his comments to Josie. “I’m already advertising. In the Lone Star Press.”

  Admonishing herself for not having approached the newcomer earlier, she went into her spiel. “My newspaper has more female readers. As I’m sure you’re aware, it’s the woman of the house who usually decides on a family portrait. Also, many single women read my newspaper, which means you’ll be reaching potential brides.”

  It was hard to tell from Mr. Farthing’s profile if anything she’d said had made an impression. There was only one way she knew to find out. “You’ll find my rates lower than Mr. Wade’s.”

  “Lower than free?” he asked, draping the black focusing cloth over the back of the camera. “Don’t move,” he called to his hidden client.

  She sucked in her breath. Free? Wade gave away ads for free? Why that low-down, sneaky— Surprised by the fierce competitiveness that made her shake, her fingers curled around the purse clutched in her hands.

  Mr. Farthing ducked beneath the black cloth. “Hold it.” A flash of white light exploded from the magnesium tray.

  Josie waited for the photographer’s head to reappear. “Not only will I charge you nothing for trying out the Gazette, but I will also double the size of Mr. Wade’s ad.” Just don’t let it be page size.

  “I think you should take the lady up on her generous offer,” came a male voice that made Josie’s jaw drop. Before she could recover from her surprise, Brandon Wade stepped out of the back room, hat in hand.

  Josie forced herself to breathe, but nothing could be done about her flaming cheeks. “I didn’t think you’d be the kind to subject yourself to a camera,” she said. He seemed much too restless to sit still for any length of time.

  He smiled. “A surprise for my daughter. She’s always complaining that she doesn’t have a photograph of me.”

  At mention of Haley, Josie forgot her irritation with him. “Is she all right?” Josie hadn’t seen the girl since the day of the circus, though she’d looked for her daily.

  “She’s . . . recovered from the camel ordeal. Thank you for asking.”

  Josie’s senses sharpened. Had she only imagined his hesitation? “Such a lovely child. You must be very proud.”

  His handsome smile offered reassurance. “I’ve been very fortunate.”

  She recalled Haley asking to see a photograph of Ralph. “I’m sure your surprise will make your daughter very happy.”

  Mr. Farthing stepped forward and handed her a sheet of paper. “That’s the information for the ad.”

  “Ah, yes.” The free ad.

  Brandon must have read something in her face because he said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Johnson, you only have to double a quarter of a page. That shouldn’t be a problem now that the Gazette is doing so well.”