Chapter Fourteen
The man glared at his hands with revulsion as he walked down the side of the street, still disbelieving what he’d done only five days prior. Even the midmorning sun that had chased away the fog couldn’t lighten his mood. He felt like a fool for letting Blanche catch his eye. She’d chased him. Hadn’t given him a chance to say no. This situation was all her fault. Why had he trusted her at all? He should’ve looked out that window himself. He knew Luke McCutcheon. Almost everybody in Montana Territory knew Luke McCutcheon. Grubby clothes and whiskered or not. Everyone but Blanche.
How stupid! The woman was a moron. Now he’d have to be very, very careful. The story they’d concocted reeked of a lie. No one would believe McCutcheon killed Benson for money—at least, not for long. If things got hot, would Blanche hold up? Or would she crumble and sing like a bird, accusing him of killing Benson without her knowledge? Twisting the story so all the blame fell onto him. Keeping an eye on her would be difficult, but he’d not hang for a crime of passion that should be laid at her feet. If things didn’t conclude quickly, he’d have to find a way to silence her. He needed a judge and fast. Before someone wised up enough to ask real questions. Since Blanche was living with Miss Adair and her mother for the time being, getting access would be near impossible.
And then he faced the mystery of his missing money clip. Where had he misplaced the thing? So much for his distracted mind. He needed a rest. Somewhere he could get away from these troubles.
A woman shouted his name. At the same moment, he heard the rumble of wagon wheels. Jerking around, he stumbled back the instant before being rundown by a fast-moving buckboard. The driver’s attention was turned toward his passenger and hadn’t seen him.
Across the street, Christine Meeks was on her toes, waving her bonnet back and forth. “That was close!” she called. “You scared five years off my life.”
Busybody. Go away. He smiled as he lifted a shaky hand to his head, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t see that coming! Thanks for the warning.” Feeling a prickle on the back of his neck, he glanced behind him.
Standing at the jail, Francis, a young cowhand and McCutcheon’s boy watched.
He stretched his shoulders, shaking off the scare. He had more important things to think about.
“We’ve already had too much sorrow around town without adding more,” Christine said. “Be more careful.”
With a nod, he continued as if his only care was the fact he’d almost been killed by the wagon. In reality, Benson’s funeral was held two days ago. Most of the town turned out, teary-eyed, whispering at the horrible way one of their own had been murdered right in their midst. The undertaker wanted to wait for Benson’s sister, Pearl Brunn, to get back to town since she was his only blood relative. But the warmth of the days made waiting any longer impossible.
The cemetery was on a small rise overlooking the town. He kept his gaze trained far away from Blanche. That was easy. The sight of her made him sick. He’d been looking at the clouds when he got that feeling of being watched. He’d spotted that boy, the McCutcheon kid, watching him from the alley. Did Luke McCutcheon’s son suspect him? How could he?
He rubbed a hand over his face and kept walking. The thought of Blanche disgusted him. He hadn’t meant to cause so much damage when he’d roughed her up, but his anger had welled and his fists seemed to have a mind of their own. In actuality, he’d been tempted to kill her. That would have solved the problem he had now. Accusing McCutcheon. He still couldn’t believe she’d gone and done something so stupid. Because of her, he’d now have to live with another grisly murder on his conscience for the rest of his life. And just when he’d put the past behind him. He rarely thought back to that time long ago and his brother’s begging words.
Chapter Fifteen
The thunder of hooves pounding the dirt road outside brought Ashley running to her front window.
“What’s that sound?” Mrs. Adair asked from the kitchen.
A group of riders galloped by so fast Ashley barely had a chance to discern who or what they were. “I… I don’t know.” But she did. They must be from the McCutcheon ranch. All the cowboys, with the exception of one, were large men, their faces stony masks of anger. When they’d gone by, she noticed a long ponytail of dark hair trailing out behind the smaller rider. A woman! Who could she be? Ashley turned and met her mother’s worried gaze. “I’ll go find out.” I don’t like the thought of all those men. They could make trouble. More trouble than we already have.
Her mother looked to the hallway that led to the guestroom where Blanche still rested. After the noon meal, her friend had complained of a headache and lain down for an hour or so.
“You don’t think they’ll try to break out the prisoner, do you?” her mother asked. “I don’t want to see any more killing in our town.”
Still so skittish and frail. Even a whisper of confrontation put her poor mother into a panic. The only place she felt truly safe was among their apple trees. Ashley ran her hand comfortingly down her arm. “No. Sheriff Jones won’t let anything like that happen. Or Deputy Clark. We’re well protected here.” Both the lawmen’s faces popped into her mind. Jack Jones, with his engaging, yet a bit sneaky, smile and his deputy’s more calculating expression. Hoss Clark was a quiet man most of the time, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. Ashley had the impression he was exactly the opposite.
“Are you sure you should go? If there’s trouble, Jack or Hoss will come tell us.”
“Nothing will happen.” She thought of Francis, the handsome young man who’d taken the time to speak with her yesterday about his boss. He’d seemed kind and sincere. She barely knew him, but already she liked him better than the sheriff. And the stranger liked her. But then, the sheriff had liked her too… not that she’d felt any desire for Jack Jones. He’d been too persistent. She wondered what Francis would do in his place. “I’m going to the mercantile to see what I can find out. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Finally in town, Faith practically jumped out of her saddle and ran into the jail as the others dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching rail. She passed through the vacant outer office to the jail cells, where Luke stood at the bars as if he’d heard them coming. Francis and her stepson Colton were there too. At the sight of her husband, her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. His ragged clothes and unkempt look didn’t bother her, but the beaten look in his eyes—that frightened her to death.
“Luke!” She rushed to the bars that kept her from her love. At the same time, she put out her arm to Colton, but he didn’t fall into her embrace as she’d expected. He did come forward a few inches, and she pulled him to her side, thankful to see all of them alive. Horrible thoughts had played through her mind ever since Trent Herrick brought the shocking news to the ranch. Francis gave a nod when she looked his way, and then his gaze darted to the door where Roady Guthrie, the ranch foreman, Smokey, Pedro, Shad, and one of Shad’s younger brothers, Nick, followed.
Luke’s hands were already through the bars, holding hers.
“What’s this arrest about, Luke?” She worked to keep her voice from shaking but wasn’t being successful. Since marrying into the McCutcheon family, her life had become stable and good. These last few days reminded her all too much of her time on the run from Ward Brown and the few days before Dawn was born. “How can anyone believe you’re guilty of murder? That’s not possible.”
Luke’s hard gaze cut from her to Roady.
“She couldn’t be stopped,” Roady responded. “We tried our best. All of us did.”
Seeing Luke alive did little to quell the anxiety pinching her insides. How long had he been locked up? The entire ride here, she’d prayed that by the time they arrived Luke would have been cleared. Set free. Seeing him like this reminded her of the angry caged eagle a band of gypsies had brought through Y Knot last year. He didn’t belong here any more than that huge, wild bird belonged in a show. His Indian heritage was mo
re pronounced than ever. Black hair swept back haphazardly, long and ragged. Whiskers covered his strong jaw. Deep lines cupped his mouth and fanned out from his eyes. Would Jack Jones let her inside with him? All I want is to feel his strong embrace. She didn’t think so. “Luke, please, tell me what’s going on?”
“You shouldn’t have come.”
His sharp voice reminded her of broken glass.
“You belong at home with Dawn and Holly.” His gaze dropped to Colton, who had yet to speak. “I’m sure they’re frightened. This jail and this town is no place for you.”
At his angry tone, she took a small step back but lifted her chin. She couldn’t remember a time he’d ever spoken so harshly. And never in front of anyone else. “Don’t you order me around, Luke McCutcheon. Not now, not ever. I’m your wife, and I’ll be any place I want to be, do you understand? I don’t need protecting.”
Roady came to her side. “See what I mean, Luke? And that’s toned down, I can tell you that.”
She saw appreciation in Luke’s eyes as he took in the faces of his ranch hands all crammed in the small, dark area. The first thing she would do is bring more lanterns. This place felt like a tomb. She swiveled and looked at the door. “Where’s Jack Jones? I want to speak with him.”
“Haven’t seen him for a couple of hours now,” Francis said. “Not since he was in here asking again what Luke was doing out at the Van Gleek homestead, as if his answer would be different this time.” Francis hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “He goes off somewhere in the afternoon.”
Smokey scoffed. “Probably takes a nap with his binky and blanket.”
The ranch hands laughed, but Luke and Faith didn’t, nor did Francis or Colton.
The reality was far more serious than any of them had thought. If Jack hadn’t released him on his good name as of yet, surely her showing up with the ranch hands wouldn’t change his mind now. She turned and started for the door. “Well, then, tell me where he lives. I’ll go to his house. Luke has to be released. He’s been in there far too long already.”
“That won’t help, sweetheart,” Luke said.
His tone was finally back to something she recognized. A simmering burn constricted her throat. She’d been angry and strong during the ride here. Now she just wanted to fall into Luke’s arms so he could tell her everything would be okay. She needed to feel his kiss on her lips. This was bad. Very bad. And the scary part was, she didn’t know what to do.
Chapter Sixteen
Francis stepped out of the jailhouse into the midafternoon light, shading his eyes against the sun that beamed through the western trees. Inside, Luke was still filling in the others and answering questions. With so many men in the small area, the place felt like a coffin. Francis didn’t like small, confined spaces. When only Colton and Luke were there, he’d been fine—but seven large men, plus Colton and Faith, made the walls feel like they pushed on his lungs. He needed air.
Besides, no new information had surfaced that Luke could share. They needed to start digging. If Luke didn’t kill Benson Van Gleek, somebody else did. Since yesterday, they’d tossed around ideas, but they needed cold, hard facts. If his wife didn’t kill him, someone else had been in the cabin that day. Period.
Across the street, the man who’d served Francis breakfast yesterday as well as supper a few hours later came out with a bucket and tossed what looked like plain water into the street. Since then, Francis had learned his name was Daniel Clevenger and he pretty much ran the restaurant on his own. When he saw Francis and all the new horses, he plucked the dangling cigarette from his lips and held the smoke in his fingers. His gaze went over the scene slowly, and then his eyes narrowed.
Almost a week had passed since the killing. Francis didn’t like this fellow’s challenging regard. He was burly and looked like he could fight. Could Jack and his deputy fend off the townspeople if they didn’t want to wait for a judge and took matters into their own hands? Francis had his doubts.
Their guns. The men needed to stash them away before Jack or Deputy Clark returned to confiscate them. His hand slipped down and felt his thigh where he normally wore his weapon. He felt naked without it.
Down the same side of the street and across an open lot, Miss Ashley Adair stepped out of the mercantile, stopped, and looked down at the jail. When she noticed him leaning on the side of the building, she jerked her gaze away but stood there as if waiting on something.
“Colton,” he called inside.
In a moment, Colton came out.
“Go tell the others to hide their guns before Jack or Clark shows up to confiscate them. Like they did mine.” He wanted to speak with Miss Adair.
Colton followed his line of sight.
“Tell ’em to stable their horses at the livery and put their guns under the hay in the loft of the outbuilding. When I was there, the place looked deserted. This time of year, the stock aren’t needing much feed. The weapons should go unnoticed until we can find a better place. They need to go now, before it’s too late.”
“Fine,” Colton replied. “But how come you’re not?”
“I’m looking for evidence.”
“With that girl?”
“Her name is Ashley Adair. And yes, I’ll look wherever the evidence takes me. The Van Gleek woman is staying at her house for the time being. I’ll be back shortly.”
Colton nodded and disappeared.
Francis made his way over the dry, dusty earth to the porch of the mercantile. The small overhang gave them relief from the hot sun. He stopped when he reached Miss Adair and tipped the rim of his hat. Her curious green eyes studied him a moment as her high-set cheeks took on a rosy hue.
“Your name is Francis,” she said clearly. “But I didn’t catch a last name.”
“Just Francis. I was a foundling. I make no bones about my past. The McCutcheons took me in, and I do just fine with my first name.” The family treated him like one of them, but he wasn’t really a McCutcheon. He’d never expected to be fully adopted. Things in an untamed territory weren’t that formal. He was grateful for what he had. He lifted his chin and glanced around. What is that sweet scent? Does she smell like apples?
Her brows shot up, and she blinked a few times. “Ah, no, I didn’t mean to be rude with my question. Was wondering, that’s all. I didn’t know.”
“Good. I just wanted to have that out there right off. My lack of a name can be a stumbling block, I admit that, but most times, I shrug off the matter. Now, if someone teases me about having a girl’s name, that’s a different story entirely. I might get angry over that.”
She actually smiled.
A very pretty one too.
“No, I won’t do that. Actually, my great-great-grandfather was named Francis Melbourne Adair. He was born in Australia and came over on an America-bound ship when he was sixteen. I’m told he was a bit of a scamp, but was devilishly handsome and had his pick of wives.” Her pleased expression deepened.
“If he had a smile like yours, I can see why.”
Her cheeks bloomed scarlet, and for a moment, she glanced away.
Maybe he was rushing things. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Just stating a fact.”
For the first time in days, Francis felt a surge of happiness. He’d never met another man named Francis. A handful of women, yes, but never a man or even a boy. “Pretty remarkable—to know so much of your history.” Awe filled him at the thought of an overseas adventure. And this Francis sounded like a good man—strong minded and hardworking. He’d had a family, despite all the challenges he’d faced. “I’d enjoy hearin’ more about him sometime if you don’t mind. He sounds like a determined fella.”
Her blush-kissed cheeks darkened even more. In a nervous gesture, her glance traced to the sheriff’s office once before returning to his face. “I’d be happy to tell you more if we have a chance. Are you still working on the murder? I’ll try to help if I can.”
Surprised, he tipped his head. �
�Yes, I am. Why’re you willin’ now? Do you think my boss is innocent, like I said?”
She thoughtfully met his gaze. “No, I don’t. I have no reason to believe Blanche would lie. But I’m a teacher. I believe in open communication. The sooner we clear up this case, the faster Priest’s Crossing can get back to normal. This situation isn’t easy for Blanche, or the children of the town, hearing the whole grisly story rehashed over and over. The murder seems to be the only thing people talk about when I come into town. I hope we can soon put the whole ordeal to rest.”
She certainly has a lot to say. A long conversation with a young lady was not a daily occurrence for him. He was happy, and a bit surprised, to hold his own so well. “Has Mrs. Van Gleek been back out to her homestead since she’s come to live at your place?”
Ashley laced her fingers together in front of her dress. “No, she hasn’t. She’s mourning Benson and stays in her room most of the time, crying and staring out the window. I’m sure weeks will pass before she’s ready to face their home.”
“I see.” He scratched his chin, thinking tomorrow he’d shave more carefully. “Anyone you know of been out there?”
“I assume the sheriff and his deputy would have looked around after they removed the body. But other than that, not that I know of. Blanche said they locked up the cabin tight, waiting on the judge and the trial.”
Before Francis knew what he was up to, he let a disbelieving grunt escape his lips.
Her eyes instantly narrowed.
“I didn’t mean anything by that sound,” he quickly said. “Just thinking out loud.”
Across the street, next to the jail, Jed Kasterlee, the hotel proprietor, stepped out onto the boardwalk in front of his establishment and began sweeping. A white apron was tied around his waist, and his hair was slicked back.
A moment passed before he spotted them in front of the mercantile.
Montana Promise (McCutcheon Family Series Book 10) Page 7
