By the contrite grin on Nick’s face, he was enjoying the dressing down more than he should.
“I’m sorry, Miss Adair,” Nick finally said. “Francis and I have this ongoing competition, you know, between friends. By the way, my name is Nick Petty, and I ride for the Heart of the Mountains, just like Francis here.”
Yeah, but you’re a newcomer. Who knows how long you’ll last?
“Let’s be friends.” Nick stuck out his hand, but she just stared. When she didn’t take it, he shrugged and turned his attention back to Francis. “So did you make that appointment yet?”
“Which one of you is the young man who came asking to see me?”
Francis turned, as did Ashley and Nick. A woman with just the shadow of a black eye stood in the bright sunlight not twenty feet away. She was of average height and looked about thirty years old. A few strands of gray glittered in her black hair.
Ashley’s mother stood a few steps behind.
Francis walked forward and put out one hand. “That’d be me, ma’am. I’m…” He glanced at Nick. “We’re from the McCutcheon ranch, and our foreman is asking for the privilege to speak with you for a few minutes.” The way she held herself was surprising. He’d expected someone timid, especially after what had happened to her and her husband. Not Mrs. Van Gleek. Her stance was challenging, if not confrontational. “Today, if you could.”
Mrs. Van Gleek’s gaze strayed over to Ashley and then returned to him.
“Won’t take long.” If you have nothing to hide, you’ll accept.
“Today will be fine. Tell him to come here at two. I don’t have anything more to say that I didn’t already tell the sheriff.”
Ashley’s mother nodded.
The words she’d said about Luke kept pricking his mind. Luke never seemed to outlive the stigma of being a half-breed. Well, Francis didn’t care, and neither did the other fellas. They were loyal to him and the brand. Nothing could change that—ever. “Thank you, ma’am.” He glanced back at Ashley. “I’ll take these apples to your porch, and then I best get back to town. The morning is long past.”
She nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Thank you for your help, Francis. You’ve already taken a big bite out of the chore. I appreciate your kindness.”
“I’ll be back again to help finish the job, but that might not be today.” And I’ll come without Nick Petty to poke fun at me every chance he gets.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Harrison Wesley sat on the wagon seat next to the freighter he’d hired to transport their possessions from the train stop in Waterloo to their destination in Y Knot. A second wagon followed, loaded with the belongings the judge had collected throughout his life. Approaching the east end of town, they would enter Y Knot and pass the Biscuit Barrel, then travel down Main Street to the sheriff’s office where he’d meet up with Justin.
Seated on the bench behind his, Carlie could hardly contain her excitement. She’d been a chatterbox the entire journey, first on the train and then again during the wagon ride. Her questions might be many, but they were intelligent, and he wondered where she’d learned so much. She was a joy, and he’d never tire of answering her animated queries or hearing her soft voice.
“Are we almost there, Harrison?” Pauline whined. “My bottom has taken a beating. The journey in this dilapidated buckboard has ruined my health. At least the seats in the train had padding, albeit cracker thin. I don’t think I have the strength to climb down.”
When she moaned loudly, the freighter next to him scowled and snapped the lines.
He was probably more than ready to be rid of the faultfinder. His sister-in-law was the exact opposite of Carlie. Where his daughter was cheerful and excited for the move, Pauline was dour and walked around with a scowl. She’d cried the whole week before they’d left Denver. A scowl was frozen onto her lips for the majority of the trip, which in return had kept his gut in a knot.
Did any possibility exist that here in Y Knot she might meet a nice fella and fall in love, move out, and leave him and Carlie in peace? She wasn’t that old. The thought had merit, but the gent would be a country fellow, a cowboy, or a miner. With those choices and her fussiness, Harrison didn’t see a marriage happening.
Mr. Simpson, nailing a flyer to the mercantile post, caught his eye. With a big, toothy smile, the elderly, hard-of-hearing clerk lifted a large hand in hello. Harrison smiled and waved back. Nearby, Mr. Lichtenstein was deep in discussion with Chance Holcomb. Old Mr. Herrick, the leather shop owner, sat in a rocking chair outside his front door, a blanket folded over his lap. Harrison was surprised at how much the man had aged since his trip last May, but that was understandable with the horrible winter they’d suffered. Trent came out of the building and handed his father a cup, laying a hand on the back of his chair. Yes, this was a good town. Moving here was the right thing to do.
“Papa, look!” Carlie screeched, pointing at Mr. Tracy, the telegraph operator. “He’s so tiny. Why is he so short?”
Turning, Harrison caught Pauline as she pushed Carlie’s arm down before Mr. Tracy saw his daughter pointing. Harrison didn’t think the man had heard her innocent question over the rumbling of their wagon wheels and the buckboard behind.
Tracy did look up, a handful of mail in his palm. He smiled and waved. “Heard ya was moving to Y Knot, but I didn’t believe my ears,” he called out in a loud voice. “Welcome ta town! You’ve arrived just in time. We’re in a predicament and need your help.”
What did that mean?
The man’s eyes went wide when he spotted Pauline.
Everyone knew Harrison had lost his second wife and that he was again a widower.
The telegraph operator nodded politely.
Pauline’s indignant huff reached Harrison’s ears, and he didn’t have to turn to know what she looked like. “Thanks, Tracy,” he called. “I have to say being back sure feels good. Especially since I won’t be riding out tomorrow. A new experience for me!”
The wagon had reached the telegraph operator and was now moving past.
“Don’t count your chickens…”
Confused, Harrison tipped his head. “I’m just one of the regular folk now,” he called back. With a target on my back. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the wagon. No. He’d not let morbid thoughts ruin his new life. Months would pass before anyone from his past cases would hear that he’d moved away. He had plenty of time before he had to worry. “I’m retired.”
The small man’s wide grin made him chuckle.
Harrison put an elbow on the back of the seat and turned to Pauline. “I think you have an admirer.”
“Oh, please. That just tickles your fancy, doesn’t it? You like to see me miserable.”
His smile faded. “That’s not true.”
Carlie looked up. “Who, Papa? That funny little man?”
Harrison chomped down on his bottom lip. He’d have to have a talk with his daughter and point out a few things. “Never you mind, sweetness. This is our new home.” Where you’ll be safe, and life will be uncomplicated. Getting lost in the slowness will feel good.
The air was sweet and clean, quite a difference from Denver. Harrison took a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs for several seconds. Moving to Y Knot would not only be good for him but Carlie and Justin as well. Maybe even Pauline. Today was the first day of the rest of their lives.
“Pa!” Justin hurried from the jail.
He must have heard them coming. The freighter behind called to his animals as he parked his rig behind the lead.
“Good to see you, son.” Harrison jumped down and embraced his boy, feeling a deep, abiding love surge between them. Justin felt good and hearty in his arms, and by the expression on his face, his son was genuinely happy. They stepped back, identical smiles between them.
“You’ve arrived early. I didn’t expect you until suppertime.”
Harrison glanced at the drivers. “They could feel my need.” He reached up and easily lifted Carlie from the back of the wagon
. Extending a hand to Pauline, he helped his sister-in-law to the street, ignoring her pinched face.
“Good to see you, Aunt Pauline,” Justin said, kissing her cheek. “I hope your trip was pleasant. You’ll like Y Knot. I’m sure life will be slower than you’re used to, but the quiet grows on you.”
Harrison gauged the interchange between his son and his sour sister-in-law. He hadn’t wanted to put a damper on their arrival, so he’d kept Pauline’s reticence about the move a secret.
“Yes, I’m sure I will,” she had the decency to say. She patted her shiny forehead with her hankie.
Carlie bounded up and down on her toes. “Justin! Justin!”
“There you are, little mouse.” He picked her up and twirled around, the skirt of her prairie dress billowing out. “I thought you decided not to come and stayed in Denver,” he teased. Setting her back on her feet, he gave her a good long look and then glanced at Harrison. “What have you been feeding my sister? Carlie’s grown a whole foot since I saw her last.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw, his brows bunched. “Whatever the mash, I’ll sell it to the McCutcheons and Chance Holcomb to feed to their cattle. I’ll make a fortune.”
“You’re teasing me, Justin,” Carlie sang with happiness. “I only eat people food.”
He nodded. “Really? Say, how about before taking this stuff out to the house and unloading, we walk down to the Biscuit Barrel and get something good to eat? You must be hungry. I wouldn’t want Carlie to stop growing. My treat.” For a moment, his smile faded. “And, Pa, Luke McCutcheon has some trouble, but we can talk about that after you get a hearty meal, and not a moment before.”
Harrison’s intuition said maybe he had indeed arrived at the correct time as they ambled toward the Biscuit Barrel. He’d taken this walk to the café a hundred times, if not one. But today was different. A sense of wonder lifted his chest as he held Carlie’s warm hand in his own.
In front of them, Justin pointed out the businesses to Pauline.
Harrison wondered if Justin noticed his aunt barely responded to his observations. The warm air felt good. The blue sky, filled with puffy white clouds, reminded him of the ice cream social at Denver’s National Bank where he’d taken Agnes on their first outing.
He pushed away his hurt. This was their new beginning. His new beginning. From this day forward, he wouldn’t look back. Only forward.
“That you, Judge Wesley?” a tottery voice called. Old Mr. Herrick made to stand.
Harrison released Carlie’s fingers and rushed forward, gently setting his hand on the man’s shoulder to ease him back into his chair. “You’re absolutely correct. Harrison Wesley, at your service.” He hunkered down to chair level, and the leather shop owner’s eyes brightened in his wizened, timeworn face. They’d shared some good times over the years, sitting in his shop by the woodstove, drinking coffee and sharing conversation. Even out here in the fresh air, Harrison imagined the leathery scent bringing a smile to his lips. This dear friend wouldn’t be around much longer.
“Well, I’ll be.” Mr. Herrick looked around and just now caught sight of the others. “That boy of yours is sure helpful ta me. Ya should be proud. Followin’ in his ol’ man’s tracks.”
Harrison cut a quick glance to Justin, who stood there smiling. Herrick was right, he couldn’t be prouder of his son if he tried.
“And who’s this sweet young thin’?”
Harrison looked at Carlie, but when she didn’t move or step forward and a disgusted look appeared on Pauline’s face, he glanced back at Mr. Herrick to see him casting a sparsely toothed, come-hither grin at his sister-in-law. Seemed she’d have all the attention she wanted here in Y Knot.
“What’s her name, Harrison? Or are you keepin’ her all to yerself?”
Behind him Justin chuckled.
He reached back and took his sister-in-law’s hand, slowly bringing her forward. “This is my beautiful sister-in-law, Pauline. She’s moving to Y Knot with us.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Mr. Herrick said again, a sense of wonder filling his voice. “She married?”
“Nope.”
“I never expected this. All the mail-order brides that show up in Y Knot are far too young for me. This one looks more my style.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Priest’s Crossing
Blanche mentally forced the tremors from her hand as she reached for the cup of tea only a few feet away on the pinewood table. Bending low, she took a shallow breath to hide her rattled countenance from Mr. Guthrie. He sat opposite in a straight-back chair, and the other men had politely asked if they could stand quietly along the side wall, the young man Ashley was taken with being one of them. Thank goodness McCutcheon’s wife hadn’t come too or his boy. Ashley sat beside her on the small sofa, giving her courage.
“You may only have ten minutes of her time.” Angelia sent her a compassionate smile.
Little did Angelia know Blanche couldn’t stand her simpering ways and just put up with her for propriety’s sake—and for a roof over her head that wasn’t hidden away on the outskirts of town like her cabin.
Angelia looked at Mr. Guthrie. “Her ribs are still healing.”
Why am I sitting here as if I’m the one on trial? She hadn’t killed Benson. That moron had. Now that she’d had time to go over that fateful day, surely she could have thought of something that would have satisfied Benson’s angry questions. Maybe Mr. Romantic was delivering a package to the homestead and twisted his ankle. That was why he was lounging in their chair where she’d tripped and fallen into his lap. That amusing thought almost made her smile. Convincing Benson might have been difficult, but he was a simple man—or had been, she should say. After he got over his anger, he’d have forgotten and forgiven, especially with the extra attention she would have given. Could she get through these next few days without breaking down?
Mr. Romantic, ha! That stupid nickname now only made her laugh. If she never saw him again, that would be too soon. But she would, on every trip into town.
“Ten minutes should be fine, ma’am,” Mr. Guthrie said. “My questions won’t take long. But before I begin, first let me say again thank you for agreeing to see me, Mrs. Van Gleek. The fact you’ve been though a trauma and are in mourning isn’t lost on me.”
Now, here was a man who would make any woman proud to call her own. His large, rough hands sent a delightful quiver down Blanche’s spine, thinking about how they might feel on her skin. “You’re welcome, Mr. Guthrie. It’s the least I can do. Once you know the truth about your boss and realize he’s been lying ever since you’ve arrived, the sooner we can stop all this foolishness.”
He looked over to his comrades and then back at her. “Can you please tell me, in your words, how that morning took place?”
She swallowed. Remembering exactly what she’d said to Sheriff Jones was critical.
“Don’t be nervous. Just state what happened.”
Easy for you! She felt like sneering but kept that impulse to herself. “Thank you. The sun had just crested the mountain. Benson had returned from his last freighting trip only minutes before. He’d barely come into the house when we heard a horse whinny. Looking out the window, he said someone was coming. Someone he had never seen before.”
“He’d never seen Luke McCutcheon? From what I learned, your husband was born and raised here. Not knowing Luke seems strange.”
To fortify herself she took a sip of her tea. “Strange or not, that’s the truth.”
“Go on when you’re ready.”
“Benson opened the door when the stranger knocked. He asked for food. I had some leftovers so I gave him those, but then he wanted more. When Benson told him we weren’t a restaurant, he got angry.”
Ashley’s mother nodded from her chair. “That Indian blood. Makes a man crazy.”
Thank you, Angelia.
Mr. Guthrie nodded for her to continue.
“Lunging forward, McCutcheon wrenched Benson’s arm behind his back,” she whis
pered in a shaky tone, “demanding money or gold—whatever we had.” She glanced away, made her lips tremble. “We aren’t rich people by any stretch of the imagination. We don’t have money lying about. We live day to day.”
Taking her handkerchief from her pocket, she twisted the material in trembling hands. Is anyone buying my story?
“When Benson told him that, McCutcheon got irate. He began shouting. Said he’d give Benson one last chance, and then he would hurt me. Thinking we were both dead, I pushed McCutcheon from behind giving Benson a chance to pull his gun. But that didn’t happen. That heathen picked up the fireplace poker and smashed Benson on the side of his head. Benson fell to the floor right before my eyes and that madman turned on me.” For a brief moment, she clenched her eyes closed before continuing. “He hit me in the face, breaking my lower lip, and punched me in my ribs more times than I can remember. He would’ve killed me too, if I hadn’t played like I was dead.”
Forcing several hot tears from her eyes, she brushed them away with her handkerchief.
Roady sat back and placed his hands on his knees. “You already knew your husband was dead?”
She stiffened. Did I slip up? “I thought he was dead. H-He looked dead.”
The foreman nodded.
But she could see deep in his eyes he didn’t believe a word she was saying. Who would? Now that she’d learned the drifter was Luke McCutcheon, no one would think him capable of such brutality. And especially not over money. She was in deep trouble and had only one person to blame. She’d not take the fall for him!
“Is there anything else you’d like to say, Mrs. Van Gleek?”
“Isn’t that enough?” She gently blew her nose and then put her linen away. Her gaze went to the listeners along the wall. The whole time, Francis had been staring at her feet, of all things. Like he was afraid to look into her eyes. She carefully pulled them back under her skirt.
Why on earth did I agree to this interview? I should’ve made them wait until the trial. But to refuse would seem like I had something to hide. I must remember I didn’t kill Benson. I am innocent.
Montana Promise (McCutcheon Family Series Book 10) Page 12
