Montana Promise (McCutcheon Family Series Book 10)

by Caroline Fyffe

  “She loves you, Luke.” Faith reached into the cell and tenderly stroked his arm. “We all do. I understand her motives. Besides, you didn’t really think she’d leave, did you?”

  He gazed at her, wondering where she was taking this.

  “The two of you have the same blood. What if she’d told you to go home that horrible night in Pine Grove when that horde of fired-up men wanted to hang her? I’m sure you’d have just ridden out because she asked you nicely.”

  His gut tightened. That was a terrifying night. “It’s not the same thing. She’s a girl. Younger than Charity.”

  “A young woman. She and Painted Stone are married. All her life she’s been fighting to stay alive. You might be surprised at how clever a young, helpless woman can be.”

  Faith had him there. A day didn’t pass that he wasn’t surprised by his wife, Charity, or now Fox Dancing. Even Dawn and little Holly were turning out to be forces to be reckoned with. He might as well give up trying to get his younger sister to comply.

  “Good. I can see you’ve come to your senses.”

  Faith might be right that he didn’t have any power to protect Fox Dancing, but that truth didn’t make him happy. No sir. Not one little bit.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The heat in the kitchen rose by several degrees, and not because of the weather. The expression on Blanche’s face had Ashley terrified. Ever since Francis and the other men rode off ten minutes ago, her behavior had been frightening.

  The words that spewed from her mouth were enough to shock a sailor, let alone her and her mother. Had seeing Benson murdered right before her eyes caused her friend to lose her mind? Blanche was calm and collected before and during the interview with Mr. Guthrie. Ashley thought the whole process had gone well.

  And yet a niggle of doubt had already sprouted last night when she’d found Blanche smoking alone in the dark. That behavior was so unlike her. Did Blanche have more alarming aspects Ashley wasn’t aware of? Were there more parts of Blanche’s life that her friend kept safely hidden away—from everyone?

  I mustn’t think these things. They’re shameful and wrong. Blanche needs my support now more than ever. Poor thing is distraught and doesn’t know what she’s saying. Or doing.

  “How dare he act like I’m some criminal!” Blanche cried out, her right fist clenched before her face. “I know where his questions were leading. I saw the speculation in his eyes. How stupid does he think I am?” She kicked out in anger, sending a small stool clattering across the room. Ashley winced and turned to the stove. She’s innocent. She’s scared. She feels backed into a corner. Perhaps I’d act the same.

  The picture of Blanche alone at the window in the dark room had Ashley spooked. Ashley didn’t like the direction of her thoughts. As much as she liked Francis, and felt in her heart that he wouldn’t lie for his boss just to get him off a criminal charge, she also owed loyalty to her friend.

  If only a judge would show up soon. Or even if Joe and Pearl would return. A new viewpoint on the situation couldn’t hurt. The town seemed to be rallying behind Blanche, and Ashley wasn’t sure that was the right place to be.

  “So, you like that young man? Think he’s handsome and nice?” Blanche said from behind her.

  Ashley almost dropped the peeled apple she was placing into the boiling pot. Making applesauce took time and patience. One had to be cautious around the hot water or get scalded. Trying to control her expression, she brushed some strands of hair from her sight. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I saw the way the two of you acted out in the orchard this morning, and again when he returned with the others to question me. You like him, and he likes you.”

  Was she spying on me?

  Ashley heard Angelia move into the room. “She better not like that boy. We have more things to worry about than love.”

  Shocked, Ashley spun, facing her mother. They’d never talked about men or her future. She had the impression her mother never expected her to marry and move away. Or have a life of her own. “What do you mean, Mother? Francis and I are barely even friends. I hardly know him. But I have to say he was unbelievably kind to help me this morning with the harvesting.” She frowned. If not for him, they’d have so much more work to do. “A lot was accomplished in a short amount of time.” She forced a small smile and lightened her tone. “I’d think you’d be thankful to him for lightening your load. He’s taken some of the burden off our shoulders.”

  Her mother’s expression softened. “I do appreciate his help. But plenty more needs to done in the next few days.” She glanced at Blanche.

  “I can’t help. My ribs are still painful.” She put a hand on one hip and slowly stretched her ribcage.

  “We don’t expect you to,” her mother replied. “And I like the work. Hours in the air and sunshine keep me young.”

  Feeling the weight of the responsibility she’d carried for the past few years since her father’s death, Ashley couldn’t believe the course of the conversation. “I can’t imagine what either of you have against Francis.”

  A sly smile stretched across Blanche’s lips. “You can’t? Could he be sweetening you up for a reason? Maybe getting you to trust him for some other aim besides just liking you?”

  Ashley’s hand stilled as she reached for the bowl of apples. Her gaze fell to the stack of long, jagged peels in the dry sink. “What on earth are you hinting at, Blanche? Why would he do something like that? That’s awful to think, let alone say to me.” Although she acted as if she didn’t understand, a sick dawning spread throughout her body, bringing a crushing disappointment. Is Francis using me to help free his boss? Is what Blanche is alluding to true? Everyone can see how much he thinks of Luke McCutcheon.

  Her mother shuffled forward, righted the stool Blanche had kicked across the room, and sat. “Blanche makes a very good point, although I can’t imagine what he might think Ashley could know about Benson’s murder or how she could help. You should be careful.”

  Blanche glanced into the pot of boiling apples. “Perhaps he doesn’t think she knows anything at all. Perhaps he’s just keeping her from giving me her full support. Those men could change the opinion of the town, one mind at a time. If that happens, public scrutiny may turn some other way. I think that’s what they’re doing. They aren’t sitting around twiddling their thumbs while they wait for Joe and Pearl to return. You heard what good friends they are. Joe worked for McCutcheon’s father for years.” She stood very still. “You can bet once he’s back in town he’ll be working on Jack to set McCutcheon free.”

  “How could they do that, Blanche?” Ashley asked. “You’re an eyewitness. You told the sheriff the truth. If truth is on your side, nothing else matters.”

  Her mouth thinned. “If?”

  The way Blanche said the single word made Ashley’s blood freeze. “I meant that metaphorically, because truth is on your side. Let them do and be whatever. Their efforts don’t matter a bit.” Unless you’re lying, and you did have something to do with Benson’s death. At this moment, I’m really not sure what I believe anymore. And I don’t like the way you’re staring as if you’d like to kill me.

  Without one ounce of passion, Blanche began clapping her hands.

  Ashley had heard stories about sicknesses of the mind. How a person could act like two different people at once without even realizing it. Was something like that wrong with her friend and mentor? Impossible to know, and very frightening to consider.

  Angelia draped an arm over Blanche’s shoulders. “You’re worn out, Blanche. Go slip into your nightgown, and let me tuck you back into bed. You’ve been though a horrible experience.”

  Blanche looked deeply into her mother’s eyes, bringing a smile to the older woman’s lips.

  “And this too shall pass,” her mother whispered.

  A phrase her mother used often in the years following the atrocity that had happened to her father, leaving him mangled for his daughter to find. Ashley tried to banish the hor
rible memory, but the action of peeling the apple made that difficult. Everything felt difficult today. Did a person’s scalp come off as easily as this apple peel?

  “Mother’s right, Blanche. Go lie down, at least until suppertime.” She glanced over her shoulder and forced a smile onto her lips. “Unless you’d like me to do something for you? Anything at all.”

  “Forgive me,” Blanche replied, her tone back to normal. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night, and then that man asking all those questions has me more than a bit rattled. Four days since we buried my love.” She choked back a sob. “Thinking of Benson in that cold grave makes my blood turn to ice. I’ve never felt such a horrible sensation. I miss him. I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without him.” She sniffed loudly and held her handkerchief to the corner of her eye. “I just can’t accept that fact.” She looked between them. “I’m a widow. How will I make my way?”

  Your eye looks as dry as a desert in July. Shamed for her wayward thought, Ashley cut her gaze back to her chore. Perhaps her friend was anxious from recounting the day of the murder. Or on the verge of a nervous breakdown. What she experienced would not have been easy for anyone—let alone someone who had suffered injuries, as well. Setting the apple down, Ashley turned and wrapped Blanche in her arms. “Nothing needs forgiving, Blanche. I’m the one who needs forgiving for not seeing your fatigue.”

  What Blanche and her mother said about Francis using her for his own purpose kept circling around in her mind. He had sought her gaze more than a few times when he’d come back with the other men. She felt a closeness to him that she shouldn’t. She never got the impression he was leading her on, but maybe he was a good actor.

  Blanche pulled away and patted her cheek. “I forgive you, then. You’re a sweet thing. You’d never hurt a fly on purpose.”

  Her voice was gravelly, low, and her eyes at half-mast. Her skin was sallow and her head had a slight quiver. She was exhausted, that much was true.

  Ashley nodded to her mother to help Blanche to her bedroom and then went back to her apples. Life wasn’t so bad here with her mother. She should be thankful to have a roof over her head. When school started, life would be exciting again. Every day teaching the children involved something new.

  But you’ll miss Francis when he’s gone. After the trial, whatever happens, he’ll go back to Y Knot. That’s a fact that can’t be disputed. And a fact I better remember.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Still unarmed, and not liking the sensation one bit, the men rode the short distance back from Ashley Adair’s home to the jailhouse in silence. That woman, Mrs. Van Gleek, gave Francis the shivers. She was creepy. She was nice-looking when she smiled, which wasn’t nearly enough, but he didn’t like the way her gaze kept searching him out. Why me? Doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never done one darn thing to her, and yet…

  Seemed she was thinking things she shouldn’t. And that being the case, he didn’t like her living at Ashley’s. To his way of thinking, that woman was capable of anything, not just murdering her husband. Maybe someday she’d snap and hurt Ashley, or her mother. Why wasn’t Jack Jones doing more to break this case?

  Because he thinks he has everything all figured out.

  Francis reached into his pocket and fingered the fancy money clip he’d found stuck in the cushions. Roady had told him to stay quiet until they knew more. That was easy. Who did he have to tell?

  Ashley.

  They reined up in front of the jail. Pedro was off doing what he did best. Watching the town without being seen. Tracking people. Staying out of sight.

  Francis swung his leg over his saddle when he spotted Joe Brunn standing in front of the mercantile a few doors down. “Look who’s back,” he said, wrapping his reins around the hitching rail. “Joe. And he’s headed this way.”

  Roady hitched his head. “Let’s meet him halfway. More privacy.” He cut his gaze toward the jailhouse. “I have no idea who’s inside with an ear turned this way. And for now,” he gave them all a stern look, “don’t say anything about what we found at the cabin to anyone. That includes Joe. We’ll know soon enough which way this trial is turning, but let me do the talking. That clear?”

  Francis nodded, relieved Roady and the men had arrived to help when they had. He still didn’t trust Nick Petty wholeheartedly, especially after this morning. The fella was either scheming or trying to get a laugh. Well, some of the tricks he pulled weren’t funny at all. Someday one of the hands would get fed up and bounce him out of the bunkhouse onto his ear. And that just might be him. Still, Francis didn’t like having irritated thoughts about one of the ranch hands, especially since he liked Shad so much.

  Joe’s face was unreadable as he approached.

  Roady and Joe clasped hands as soon as they were close enough. “Good to see you, Joe. It’s been too darn long.”

  Joe nodded to the rest of the group. He smiled at Francis.

  Still thinks I’m a kid.

  “How long has it been, Guthrie? Three years, maybe? I see you’ve taken on a couple of new faces.”

  “That’s right. Shad and Nick Petty.”

  Small talk. Francis didn’t like the feel of the conversation. Joe seemed nervous.

  “Christine has just spent the past hour filling us in on everything that’s happened. It’s been a shock, I can tell you. And Luke locked up for the crime? What the hell is going on around here, anyway?”

  A whoosh of relief coursed through Francis. Finally, someone to take Luke’s side. Someone with a good standing in the town. Someone the others would listen to. Joe could make a difference, if anyone could.

  “Where’s your wife?” Roady asked. “Still in the store?”

  Roady probably wanted to get all the talking done before a woman filled with grief over her murdered brother was thrown into the fray. Francis wasn’t looking forward to anything like that. Women were volatile. Mrs. Van Gleek looked about ready to explode behind a tight, angry smile when they said their goodbyes. He wondered how Ashley was making out.

  “Still in the store with Christine. I helped her upstairs to Christine’s bed so she could lie down.” He glanced off down the street just looking for several seconds. “I’m having a hard time believing all this.”

  Roady jerked straight, as did Shad and himself. Nick looked angry, but Francis thought that was his normal expression when he was following a conversation.

  “What d’ya mean, Joe?” Roady shot back. “What’s hard to believe? Luke didn’t kill anyone, and especially not Benson.”

  “Don’t get your back up, Guthrie. I didn’t mean that. Benson was murdered, and Blanche roughed up. You have to understand that Benson is—was—my brother-in-law. I’ve just spent a gut-wrenching hour witnessing Pearl’s grief inside that mercantile and me unable to ease her sorrow.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, his tone icy. “I’m sorry to say, but Christine believes Blanche. The woman’s been living in Priest’s Crossing for many years. They’re friends. Blanche has been the schoolteacher and a model citizen for longer than I can remember. She’s an eyewitness to the crime. She was there! What does that leave?”

  Francis couldn’t keep quiet a moment longer. “It leaves Blanche is lying!”

  “Exactly my thought!” Roady blurted.

  Reservation moved over Joe’s face. “I know, I know. No way in hell will I ever believe Luke is guilty, but my wife—my new wife—does! Christine too! And just about every other person living here in Priest’s Crossing. What’re we doing about that? And since Luke didn’t kill Benson, who did? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  Roady and Joe were toe-to-toe. Their faces strained and bodies rigid. Francis would never believe a day like this could happen. He didn’t want to see Joe and Roady fight.

  They all turned at the sound of horse hooves clopping up the street. Pedro.

  Francis also spotted Faith in the doorway of the jailhouse, watching their conversation. With the distance, he doubted she could hear their words, but th
eir body language said enough.

  Turning on her heel, she disappeared back inside.

  Francis squeezed the money clip in his pocket, desperation growing inside. If the town took matters into their own hands without waiting for a judge, the men and him would have to take the matter back. That was all there was to it. He couldn’t imagine that happening. People would get killed. Something had to be done and quickly.

  From across the street, Daniel Clevenger watched them from the doorway of his eatery.

  The icy stare he sent Francis was more than challenging.

  “I’d like to take him on,” Nick whispered close at his side. “Thinks he knows everything, but he don’t.”

  Hmm, maybe Nick Petty wasn’t all bad. “I know what you mean. And look down the street.” The undertaker watched, as well as the livery man.

  Nick nodded. “Tempers are short. I think the real killer must be getting nervous right about now. He’s wondering what side Joe’s gonna take. He’s also wondering when a judge will show up, and what kind of evidence we’ve found.” He nudged Francis’s shoulder. “Something’s always left behind at a murder scene. Some clue to point a finger. Someone hidden to whisper a name. We know what that is. But he don’t. Maybe he’s just now discovered he can’t find his money clip and is sweating bullets.” He gave a low chuckle. “He wants to see Luke swing. The sooner, the better.” They exchanged a look. “Maybe he’ll start something himself.”

  “Sounds like you’re enjoying this, Petty. Like you think Luke’s life is some game or something.”

  “Not true. I don’t like seeing Luke locked up any more than you do. But I’m not gonna sit back and do nothin’ to help. The killer is out there, watching, waiting. I can feel him like the air I breathe.” He nudged Francis with his elbow. “I know I like to tease, but never doubt my loyalty.”