Montana Promise (McCutcheon Family Series Book 10)

by Caroline Fyffe

  “That was a fine meal, Mrs. Drier,” Harrison said. “Thank you.” His comment brought a wide smile to the cook’s wrinkled face. Getting into the spirit of what was to come, Harrison himself stood and took up Pauline’s plate, the empty bowl of green beans, and reached for the potatoes.

  Mrs. Drier’s eyes went wide. “Sir?”

  “I want to help as well. Before I became a circuit judge, I was a lawman. And before that, a simple cowboy. I feel better doing something than sitting on my backside. I hope you won’t mind, Mrs. Drier. We want to get to the cake a little faster.”

  With an armful of dishes, he headed toward the kitchen, whistling a jaunty tune and thinking how excited Carlie would be when she heard the news. Pauline’s face flashed in his mind, and he steeled his nerves. She was a formidable woman, but he held the winning hand.

  A half hour later, the three, now finished with their dessert, sat quietly at the table. This was when Agnes would read some poetry or share an interesting article she’d seen in the Rocky Mountain News or at times play a piece of music on the piano in the corner of the dining room. His heart squeezed. Would there ever be a time that her memory didn’t color every moment of his life?

  He glanced at Pauline’s dour face and then slid his attention to his daughter, who was flicking at a cake crumb on the tablecloth.

  Mrs. Drier’s clinking and clanking in the kitchen was the only sound in the room.

  Seemed everyone was lost in memory. He gently tapped his spoon on the side of his coffee cup. “I have some news.”

  Carlie’s face brightened, and Pauline looked over.

  “I’ve had a letter from Justin.”

  “Justin!” Carlie said.

  Unable to contain her excitement, his daughter bounced up and down in her chair. She adored her older half brother. To her, he set the moon and stars as well as everything else in the universe.

  Because of Harrison’s circuit judge position and being gone much of the time, Justin had spent more time with Carlie than he had. That was about to change. “That’s right, sweetheart. A few days ago. He likes his new position as deputy sheriff in Y Knot. Says the country up in Montana Territory is remarkable. I couldn’t agree more. He’s excited to see what life brings next.”

  Pauline’s eyes narrowed to a slit. “Is the boy ready for a job like that? Think about the outlaws. And Indians.”

  “He’s hardly a boy any longer. I’ve taught him everything I know about sheriffing. Y Knot is just rustic enough Justin will get the experience he needs without facing danger night and day as he would in a more populated place—like Denver. The town is a good starting point for his career.”

  “I hope you haven’t just signed his death certificate.”

  Carlie cringed, her eyes large.

  Harrison sent Pauline a threatening look. “I’ve spent enough time in the Y Knot sheriff’s office to know the checkerboard doesn’t get dusty. And Crawford is a good man. Honest. He’ll teach Justin well. Justin will be a much better deputy sheriff than Jack Jones ever was!”

  “Oh, Papa, Justin’s wanted to be a deputy for so long.” Carlie clapped her hands. “Can we go visit?”

  Pauline pushed back in her chair, her mouth pinched. “Certainly not, young lady. That’s a man’s world up north. No place for a sweet little princess like you. I’m sure he’ll come here to visit just as soon as he can.”

  His sister-in-law would not be happy with his next statement. He should feel guilty about the happiness that thought brought him. “Actually, Justin has invited us to join him, if we have a mind to. Move to Y Knot. I’ve been contemplating my retirement for some time now.” Since Agnes’s death. I want more time with Carlie—before a disgruntled relative of some outlaw I’ve sentenced to hang shoots me down in cold blood. Has happened to more than a few of my friends. “The day has arrived, Carlie, Pauline. We’re moving to Y Knot.”

  Pauline’s eyes went wide. The cup she’d been raising to her lips returned to her saucer with a loud clank.

  “You can’t be serious, Harrison! That’s… that’s totally ridiculous. You’re talking north. Much farther north than Denver. Think of the winters.” She flipped her hand in front of her face. “The snow. The hardships. The Indians. No! I won’t allow you to put Carlie in such danger. Agnes would never agree to a move to Y Knot. I must act as the child’s protector until you come to your senses.” She glanced over to the liquor cabinet where several crystal decanters sat with a variety of bourbons and whiskeys. “Have you been drinking? You’re taking Agnes’s death harder than I was led to believe. You can’t mean a word of this crazy outburst.”

  You’re the one with the crazy outburst. He waved off her concern. The only reaction he was worried about was Carlie’s, and she seemed delighted. “Indians aren’t much of a problem these days, Pauline, but you’re correct about the hardships. We won’t have a house like this. Or paid staff. We’ll be on our own.”

  Like when I was a young man. I like the idea. Getting back to a simpler life.

  “Please, Papa. I want to live with Justin. I won’t mind cooking and washing and stuff.”

  He smiled at her obvious delight.

  Pauline’s hands trembled. “What will you do? You’re forty-four years old. Not a young man anymore, by any stretch of the imagination. To be starting over at such an advanced age…”

  He held back the retort he felt and, for Agnes’s and Carlie’s sakes, put a smile on his face. “As of yet, I don’t really know what I’ll do, Pauline. Maybe a little ranching. Or work in a shop. I’ve done my time laying down the law as a sheriff and then as a judge. Let someone else do the heavy lifting. I’ll take up the slack. Sounds just about perfect for this time in my life.”

  Pauline shifted in her chair and repositioned her napkin. “Think about Mrs. Drier. What will she do? Where will she go? She’s not a spring chicken either.”

  He had thought of the cook. Had found a friend who was in need of her services. But what about Pauline? She didn’t have anywhere to go, except with him. And unfortunately, that was the outcome he was expecting. Then again, if she really was too frightened to go north, she might find a way to support herself here in Denver. “Mrs. Drier has been taken care of. I’ve discussed the possibility of other employment with her, but at that time, I hadn’t made my final decision.”

  “And you have now?”

  Satisfaction settled in his chest. This was the correct decision. He couldn’t wait to get started. “Indeed.”

  Chapter Eight

  Barely past sunup, Francis busted through the door of the sheriff’s office, uncertainty burning his gut. When he’d first learned Luke’s predicament from Trent, hot anger made him set out for Priest’s Crossing without returning to the ranch. “Luke,” he bellowed, looking around.

  Jack Jones leaped from his chair, knocking a stack of books and papers from a foot-tall mess on his desk to the floor. “Francis!” he barked. “What’re you doing here?”

  Now as tall as Jack, Francis charged forward and grasped Jack by the shirtfront. He jerked his face close. “You know what I’m doing here, you lily-livered skunk! Do you still have Luke locked up? I ought to beat the you-know-what out of your cowardly skin for a stunt like this.” His gaze cut to the door to the cells beyond the thick oak wall. With disgust, he pushed away Jack and started over.

  “Hold up!”

  Francis glanced back to see Jack had a gun leveled at him.

  “You want to speak with my prisoner, you leave your gun with me. As a matter of fact, anyone here to see McCutcheon has to check their weapon. When you leave town, you’ll get back your Colt.”

  “You’re out of your mind, Jones,” Francis said stiffly. Trent had warned him that, after leaving Y Knot, Jack had gone to Priest’s Crossing and somehow landed the sheriff’s job. Francis still found that fact difficult to believe—but here he was, standing right in front of him.

  Jack motioned with the barrel of his weapon to the gun belt around Francis’s hips.
r />   Disgust tightened Francis’s throat. “You’re serious?”

  “Dead serious.” He slowly nodded. “I’ve never been more.”

  “Oh, yeah, you’re talking big, Lawman. I’m scared.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Set your gun belt on my desk. No fast moves, you hear? I wouldn’t like to shoot you.”

  “This is ludicrous.” He looked at the desk. “Where? There’s not a clear spot anywhere.”

  Jack frowned. “How old are you now?” he asked, eyeing Francis. “All of eighteen?”

  “That’s right. And I’m more man than you’ll ever be.” Feeling hobbled, Francis slowly unbuckled his holster, took two steps, and set his weapon and belt on top of a stack of books. Without another word, he strode to the door and went inside.

  In the second cell, Luke waited by the door. “Thanks for coming, Francis.”

  Taken aback by Luke’s unkempt appearance, Francis swallowed down the objection he’d almost blurted out. By what Trent said, Luke had been locked up now for five days. That was a hell of a long time when you didn’t know if anyone was on their way to get you out. Black whiskers covered his jaw, and his rumpled clothes were out of character for his boss. The air in the room was thick with all kinds of disgusting smells. This place wasn’t fit for an animal, let alone a McCutcheon. Francis had never seen such deep lines fanning out from Luke’s eyes.

  “I have to admit,” Luke went on in a teasing tone. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. And I can tell you, mine are sore.” His gaze went expectantly to the door.

  “They’re on their way. I was out a day’s ride from the ranch when I ran across Trent on his way back from Priest’s Crossing. He’d pushed his team hard and shaved off a day. I set out from there.”

  Luke thrust his hand through the bars and grasped Francis’s. “Thank you. You set out without even your camping gear or food. You must be starving.”

  That was an understatement. He’d ridden as hard as he could push Redmond and then lain on the ground at night with only his saddle blanket for a bed. Cold water and sunshine had been all the sustenance he’d needed to get here as swiftly as he could. “I’ll take care of that as soon as we talk. Where’s Colton?”

  “He’ll be in anytime. Poor kid’s lost. He’ll be happy you’ve arrived. Took me two days to convince Jones to give him my money clip.”

  Francis bit off a few choice cuss words. He didn’t miss the hard line of Luke’s mouth or the disdain in his voice when he mentioned Y Knot’s disgraced deputy, fired last year. Francis still couldn’t believe the slacker had ended up here as sheriff. Who would trust a man like that?

  “That swine’s butt. I’d like to…” Francis grasped one of the steely cold bars between them and rearranged his thinking. Luke didn’t need him adding to his troubles. “What’s this about, Boss? All Trent said is some woman accused you of murdering her husband and roughing her up. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Surely they can’t have any proof.”

  Dropping his head, Luke pushed splayed fingers through his shaggy hair.

  Francis watched him sympathetically. The whole situation must feel like a nightmare.

  “I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” Jack strode into the room. “I wouldn’t arrest McCutcheon without a positive identification from the victim, no matter how stupid you think I am. I knew there’d be repercussions, but what else could I do?”

  Francis swung around to face Jack. “Start at the beginning. Don’t leave anything out.”

  Looking almost contrite, Jack came closer, his gaze tracking between the two. “Mrs. Blanche Van Gleek lives a quarter mile out of town with Benson, her husband. The fellow was a freighter and often gone. The day Luke and Colton arrived, she claims Benson had just returned from a pack trip. Luke came to her house looking for something to eat. After they gave him food, he demanded what money they had. He killed her husband and beat her up, but she fell and pretended to be dead until he was gone. Look at his knuckles. There was blood on his trail clothes.”

  Luke thrust out his hand. “I explained about that. I skinned ’em getting wood for our campfire the previous night. And the blood was from game we killed along the way. We had to eat!” Luke glared at Jack. “Jack believes after I killed Benson and thought I’d killed the woman, I waltzed into town and went to Joe’s wedding. Oh, alongside my young son too? Where’s the logic in that? I’d like to know.”

  Jack shrugged. “I can’t say. But after you left, and when Blanche was able, she dragged herself into town, battered and bruised. When she saw Luke, she recognized him.” He raised an eyebrow at Luke. “That’s when Blanche and her friend, Miss Adair, came to me, and I arrested McCutcheon.”

  Francis made a sound in his throat. “That’s hogwash! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard—even from you, Jack.” Disgust filled him. “Even from you! Luke, you were with Colton. Jones can’t keep you locked up if you have an alibi.”

  Luke cleared his throat. “The day before arriving in Priest’s Crossing, Colton and I camped at the spot Pa took me when I got my first deer, even though we could have easily made the short distance to town that afternoon. Colton was excited about that, since we’d talked the subject to death on the ride.” Sucking in a deep breath, Luke’s gaze sought his. “The spot has sentimental worth, and I thought Colton would like the small lake as much as I had as a kid. After making camp, we did a little scouting that evening and found sign of deer. The next morning, before daylight, Colton up and snuck away with his rifle hoping to get his first buck on his own.”

  “Well-thought-out story,” Jack mumbled.

  Luke’s mouth flattened into a line.

  Francis felt Luke’s growing frustration as his own.

  “When I woke up and found Colton gone, I wasn’t that surprised because that’s what I’d done at his age, as I’d told him many times. He had a new rifle and a burning need to prove himself. After some time waiting for him to return, I got angry. Then worried. We had Joe’s wedding to attend, and I didn’t want to be late. We’d been on the trail for several days, doing what men do when they’re alone. We both needed a bath, and I needed a shave. So, I went looking. I admit I did happen on Mrs. Van Gleek’s cabin. I knocked on her door, and she came out. I asked if she’d seen Colton. When she said no, I asked if I could water my horse at her well and get a drink. She agreed. She was fine at that time. Not a scratch or bruise on her. I never saw her husband, but three or four mules stood in the corral, as well as a horse. After I watered my gelding, I left. But because of Colton’s sneaking off and me being alone, I don’t have an alibi. It’s my word against hers.”

  A small sound made Francis turn to see Colton in the doorway. Apparently the boy hadn’t put two and two together until hearing the words from his pa’s lips. Francis flinched at the stricken look in his eyes. He’d been doing for himself for five long days, and the consequences showed.

  Still, his chin lifted, and he stepped forward.

  “Colton,” Francis called, putting out his arm.

  “Good to see ya, Francis.” He squared his shoulders and stayed out of reach. “Are the others here too? Roady, Smokey, and the rest of the boys?”

  The grown-up talk sounded so strange in his quavering voice. “On their way.” Francis turned back to Jack. “So what’s your plan? We both know Luke would never murder anyone in cold blood—for any reason.”

  “Blanche Van Gleek is a longtime citizen of this town.” Jack shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “What am I supposed to do, call her a liar? That wouldn’t sit well with anyone, or me either. Law’s the law. She identified McCutcheon as the culprit. My hands were tied well and good. They still are. Besides,” he added, his eyes narrowing at Luke. “How do we know for sure McCutcheon is innocent? He may have a side he’s been hiding all these years.”

  Francis just stared. “How the heck did you get to be sheriff here? They must have been hard up, to say the least. You didn’t answer my question, Jack. What’s ne
xt?”

  “We’re waiting on a circuit judge to have a trial.”

  “When do you expect him?” In Y Knot, they could go months without seeing a justice to settle a case. The time frame must be about the same, or worse, for a small town like Priest’s Crossing.

  Jack’s face flamed red. “Not exactly sure. He was here two weeks ago, and the telegraph’s gone. I sent a letter—”

  “A letter.” Francis smashed his palm against one of the bars. “You’re not keeping Luke for months in this stinking cell. How long have you been sheriff?”

  Jack stuck out his chest where the star was pinned. “What difference does that make?”

  “A lot. Doesn’t take too many days for your stupidity to surface. When that happens, the citizens may be more apt to listening to another side of the story. That woman is lying, Jack. All we have to do is learn the truth.”

  A loud gasp echoed around the room.

  Turning, Francis saw a young woman clutching the side of the doorway. Chestnut waves cascaded around her shoulders as her pretty emerald eyes, lined with thick lashes, flashed angrily. Slender and of medium height, she reminded Francis of a fine yearling filly feeling her oats. His insides stirred, and he actually sucked in a surprised breath. Without a word, she spun on her heel and was gone.

  “Mrs. Blanche Vanderdick?” Francis uttered, still captured by the sweet beauty of the young woman.

  “Van Gleek,” Jack corrected. “And no, that’s not Blanche. That was Miss Ashley Adair, Blanche’s friend and the town’s schoolteacher. You’ve just offended her by calling Blanche a liar.”

  Francis shoved his hands on his hips. “I don’t care who I offend. I’m telling the truth.”