Montana Promise (McCutcheon Family Series Book 10)

by Caroline Fyffe

  Colton came out of the jailhouse and hurried over to the group. His eyes lit up when he saw Joe.

  Faith hadn’t passed on the news that he’d returned to Luke and Smokey. He wondered why. Because she’s scared half to death. And looks like she has more reason now than ever.

  Colton tugged on Francis’s shirtsleeve. “Hey, Francis. My pa wants to talk with Roady as soon as he’s available.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  “Did Roady find out anything talkin’ with Mrs. Van Gleek today?” he asked. “Or anything out at the cabin?”

  “Nothin’ solid, Colton, just that the widow gives me, and the rest of the boys, the creeps.” He hated holding back from Colton, but Roady had given a direct order about keeping his mouth shut.

  Across the street, Daniel retreated inside his restaurant and now Jed Kasterlee, the hotel clerk, watched. What did they expect? For the ranch hands to sit around and do nothing? That wasn’t going to happen. Luke’s time was ticking. Making every second count was vital. They had no time to lose.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The café crowd was boisterous for a Monday morning, making it difficult to think. He glared at his cup of coffee. Ten days had passed since Benson surprised Blanche and him in the cabin. He didn’t like to remember the moments that came after. His sudden decision. The look of surprise on Benson’s face as he fell to the floor. He was usually a good, God-fearing man. Violence went against everything he was. His brother had pushed him beyond his senses. Blanche had tempted him beyond his resolve. They were to blame for his violent actions, not himself.

  And on top of all that, he’d gone and lost his money clip and two whole dollars! That mystery bothered him more each day. Was it possible he’d had it with him at the cabin? He couldn’t remember. If doing so wasn’t so risky, he’d sneak out and search the place. But that would be foolish. If someone had found the clip at the crime scene, there’s a chance he’d already be arrested.

  Making a quick sweep of the room, he lifted his cup and took a drink. Nothing would happen. The judge would show up soon and put this whole thing to rest. Blanche was an eyewitness. McCutcheon couldn’t get off. Still…

  With a clatter, his cup settled back in his saucer, splashing a good amount of coffee on his hand, as well as the tablecloth.

  People looked over.

  “Oh, my, are you feeling unwell?” Mildred asked, her wrinkled brow crumpled. She scooted from her chair and came his way, leaving her table empty.

  He took a deep breath and steadied his nerves. If he didn’t watch out, he’d give himself away, first with almost getting hit by a wagon and now acting like a fool.

  “Just fine, Mildred. I have a to-do list a mile long, and here I linger at the counter, sipping coffee like I have all the time in the world.” He looked into the kitchen and then away. Does she suspect me? Is a large M tattooed on my forehead?

  Mildred smiled. “I know how pesky responsibilities can weigh on a person,” she replied in her shaky old voice. “Stop by tonight, say about six, and I’ll prepare you a nice pot roast with all the fixings. A home-cooked meal is what you need.”

  Her come-hither smile almost made him recoil. Those eyes, those lips, those teeth. Who did she think she was? She was old enough to be his grandmother.

  “You probably haven’t had home cooking for some time. Am I right?”

  He’d never get rid of her. He nodded. Still, the dark gravy she was known for did have his mouth watering. Mashed potatoes, caramelized onions, and her famous tender beef. Maybe he’d go. “You’ve hit the problem on the nail. I’m much obliged.”

  She tittered, patted her dry, gray hair, and tottered away.

  He stared at his half-empty cup. He hadn’t spoken to Blanche. He’d seen her from afar three times, one being the funeral. She’d looked old and rumpled. He’d heard Ashley Adair was seeing to her needs. A hot, angry bolt of hatred straightened his spine. If not for Blanche, he wouldn’t be lying awake all night, looking over his shoulder, or hearing voices of people who weren’t there.

  And the boy. What did he know? Colton McCutcheon stared at him every chance he got. And his mother? He’d seen the way she watched him.

  A snicker slipped out, and he quickly covered his mouth with his palm, glancing around to see if anyone noticed. Hadn’t been all that long ago that her brother-in-law dragged her to Priest’s Crossing in an old wagon that had seen better days. He remembered the boy too and the wails of the baby as Ward Brown pulled Faith off the wagon, dumping her in the dirt.

  He’d witnessed the whole scene from the front of his establishment, his breath coming quick. So close, and yet he’d not step between a man and his woman, no sir, not him. He was actually sorry to hear that McCutcheon had rescued her on their getaway from Priest’s Crossing. Him and that gang of ranch hands he’d unleashed on the town.

  He’d not kid himself—they were a dangerous lot, even if they weren’t armed. They’d hidden their guns somewhere so they wouldn’t be confiscated, but he wasn’t fool enough to think they wouldn’t retrieve them. If they were uncovered, he’d laugh in their faces. Once that happened, no way in hell could anyone break out McCutcheon. Until then, so many facets existed to his predicament he could be found out at any moment. Good thing he had nerves of steel.

  Blanche was his biggest risk. He really should do something about that. But what? Talk to her? Threaten her? Just being in the same proximity might shred her resolve. And then came the culpability. He could handle guilt. He had for years. But could Blanche? What if those cowboys offered her clemency in exchange for the truth? What if she snapped from the strain on her own accord?

  Straightening, he looked to the door. Only one thing left to do.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  At the livery, Francis went about seeing to the stock. Ever since last Saturday, when he’d helped Ashley pick apples, he couldn’t keep her out of his thoughts. She was the first thing that popped into his mind each morning as soon as consciousness dawned, and today had been no exception.

  Even before he’d opened his eyes, a vision of her vivid green eyes gazing into his made his heart skip a beat. In the still-dark room, he’d remained stretched out on his bed, listening to the others breathe as dawn settled over Priest’s Crossing. The fact her searching gaze had taken precedence over Luke’s predicament troubled him. No one was more important to him than Luke. How was his friend handling being locked behind bars for so long? Francis couldn’t imagine.

  The situation with Luke was at an impasse. Luke had told Roady about Fox Dancing and Painted Bear Stone, and in turn, Roady passed that information to the hands to keep under their hats. Nobody wanted to see anything happen to them. Francis remembered the skirmish he’d had with Painted Bear Stone when he’d discovered the Cheyenne brave hiding in the McCutcheon barn. They’d tumbled out in a test of strength, all the while Francis holding back the wicked-looking knife he wielded.

  Francis shook off the memory, went outside, and dipped a bucket into the livery water trough. Inside, he filled each horse’s water bucket. “Here you go,” he said, rubbing Fiddlin’ Dee’s velvety muzzle. Continuing, he watered Redmond, War Bonnet, and the rest.

  Trouble was in the air. The town was changing. People now spoke openly about the half-breed locked up for Benson’s murder with a tone that made Francis want to take some of the salt out of their hides. They talked about the poor, suffering widow as she’d watched her husband’s coffin be lowered into the ground. How would she get along now that her man was dead? How would she make ends meet? Life was hard enough already.

  And to his shock, he hadn’t seen much of Joe Brunn since Luke’s friend returned to town, although Francis didn’t believe Joe had abandoned them completely. He was walking a thin line between his friendship and his wife. Was biding his time. Francis just hoped he didn’t wait too long to make a move. Francis had imagined, before Joe’s arrival back into town, Luke’s friend would be beating the drum of Luke’s innocence as soon as he
learned what had taken place. Talking up the citizens and gaining trust for Luke. Francis had expected more, a lot more. Just because his new wife was Benson’s sister shouldn’t make a difference. Luke was innocent, and nothing would change that. Would Joe act differently if Flood were here to take him on? A new wife might be a formidable opponent.

  Surely the situation would ease on the arrival of a judge. Whoever he was, the lawman would no doubt know the McCutcheon family and most likely believe without a trial that Luke was innocent. Might even be a personal friend. But leaving Luke’s life in the hands of someone else, a man who just might possibly be bought off, didn’t sit well either. And what about the real murderer? Was he creating a case against Luke as they were collecting evidence of his innocence? They couldn’t let this rest. Luke’s side had to uncover the guilty party before he, or she, had time to poison the well. They had one article of evidence in the boot print. He needed to know if they had a second piece of evidence with the money clip.

  Only one way to know existed.

  The usual scents of hay, horseflesh, and sweet feed did little to soften Francis’s growing unease. Finished with the chores, he gazed through the tall front doors of the livery and suddenly knew he couldn’t wait another moment to do something constructive. The money clip he’d picked up at the scene of the crime was still in his pocket for safekeeping. He’d go see what he might find out.

  The walk to Ashley’s house took five minutes. He didn’t trust speaking to anyone else, and besides, he couldn’t go another minute without seeing her. A bevy of nerves raced down his back as he waited at the door. He sure hoped Blanche wouldn’t be the one to answer. Her penetrating gaze was unnerving. He’d rather face a cloud of locusts than be alone with that woman. Something frightening lived in her eyes.

  The door opened to the scent of lye soap.

  A sour expression came over Ashley’s mother’s face, and her eyes went half-mast. He pushed away his disappointment and struggled to smile.

  “May I help you?”

  Francis had already removed his hat. “Yes, ma’am. I’m looking for Ashley. I’d like to speak with her for a moment, if I could.”

  “She’s not here. You’ll have to come back later.”

  Her tone let him know she was only too happy that she’d confounded his plans. “Is she out in the orchard, harvesting more apples? Because if she is, I can help again. For a few hours, anyway.”

  Blanche appeared in the background, still dressed in her bedclothes, her messy hair tumbling into her eyes.

  The sooner Ashley was away from that woman, the better.

  “No. She’s away doing something else,” her mother said.

  The woman knew but wasn’t saying. “Thank you. Will you please tell her I stopped by?”

  “No,” Blanche said from the hall. “Her seeing you can only come to no good. You may as well set your sights on someone else, cowboy. Ashley’s not ruining her life by stepping out with the likes of you.”

  Seemed the woman had taken over the household. Francis didn’t reply, just turned, securing his hat on his head. He wondered where Ashley might be. He’d been around town all morning and hadn’t seen her. Where else would she go? Would she be in the schoolhouse? He’d heard that most Sundays the structure sat vacant since they didn’t have their own preacher and relied on Reverend Crittlestick from Y Knot or another traveling minister. He’d gone right past the place on his way here. Still, he’d stop in on his way back and see if she was there.

  At the church, he took the three steps and paused at the open door, propped wide by a large rock.

  Ashley stood at the chalkboard hung on the side wall. She looked up. “Francis?”

  He wiped his boots, removed his hat, and proceeded in, setting his Stetson on a bench. He halted in the middle of the room. Confidence warmed him through at seeing her. “Miss Ashley. I went by your house to see how you’re holding up.”

  She glanced around the empty room and then at the doorway. “Mother told you I was here?” Ashley’s innocent green eyes made him feel worldly, even though he’d never before been with a woman. The act of lovemaking was still a mystery. He and Fancy, the saloon girl in Y Knot, had a flirtatious relationship, but he liked her too much as a friend, an older friend. He couldn’t imagine being with her in that way. Here next to Ashley, he felt like a knowledgeable king.

  He chuckled. “Not on your life.”

  Ashley set down the chalk and dusted her hands.

  A list of seven names occupied two columns, one for boys and one for girls. “You doing some schoolwork?”

  She shrugged, her face turning a light shade of pink. “Just listing the names of the students I expect for the next school term. When the townsfolk come to church service, the names remind them about school. Some are still of the opinion children don’t need much more than to know how to read and write. This keeps education in the forefront of their minds. Then my job in September won’t be so difficult when time comes to round them up.”

  Not only pretty, but smart too. She was young to be a schoolteacher, but she was already preparing for the next term. She took her responsibilities seriously. “How long you been teachin’?”

  She straightened and a smile appeared. “Just since last year when Blanche got married and quit, putting me in charge. I still have a lot to learn.”

  Everything about her brought his senses to life. The small lift to her lips, the dark lashes that rimmed her attractive eyes, and the way she made his chest fill up when she looked his way. Did he have any chance with a woman like her?

  He came closer, now only a few feet away. She didn’t smell like her mother at all, no lye or any other kind of soap, but he did detect a slight scent of honeysuckle, making him a mite light-headed. After closer inspection, he noticed a sprig pinned on the front of her bodice, camouflaged by the flowered pattern of her dress. “How’ve things been out at your place? How’s Blanche? Feeling any better?”

  She closed the small space between them as graceful as a flower petal on the wind, the deep concern in her eyes taking him by surprise. She’d always been so adamant that things were fine. As soon as she was close enough, he put out his hands, taking hers into his own, as natural as if they’d been holding hands for years. She was turning to him for help, and he wouldn’t let her down.

  “I fear she’s getting worse. The past three nights she’s thrashed around in her sleep so violently I’ve had to go in and wake her up.” Her brow creased with worry. “I’m afraid she may be losing her mind.” Her gaze searched his but her warm, soft hands cradled in his own held most of his attention. “Is that possible?” she asked quietly. “I’ve looked through a medical book I have for class, but haven’t found anything. I know she’d be furious if she knew what I was thinking. I did ask her if she’d like to see a doctor. That I’d make the trip with her to Y Knot or Finleyville up north.”

  “Those are lengthy trips. You’d need others to go with you.”

  She nodded. “Never mind anyway, because she flatly refused. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “You look tired,” he replied, taking in the shadows beneath her eyes. “I don’t like you staying in that house with her any longer. I know I’m just your friend, and a new one to boot, but I care about you. I think you should move into town proper. I think that woman might go off her rocker and harm you.”

  Ashley drew back, their hands fell away, and she stared at him with wide eyes.

  He didn’t know what had caused her surprised reaction, his saying that about Blanche or his saying he cared. Either way, if the reason got her out of that house, he’d be a happy man.

  Her gaze skittered away. “Francis? I… I don’t know what to say.”

  Well, she didn’t slap me or tell me to scat. “What I said is true. I do care, Ashley. And I don’t want to see you hurt. I won’t lie; I don’t like Blanche, and your mother doesn’t like me. You seem different from them.” He rubbed his palm across his face. Was he saying too much? “I thin
k you would be much happier and safer away from those two.”

  The surprised, caring look fled from her face leaving annoyance. “How can you say such a thing? Who are you to judge my mother? You’ve barely just met her. She may be strict, but she’s just looking out for my welfare.”

  He was saying too much, but he’d rather make her mad and keep her safe. Seemed the days were running together. Time was building toward a grand crescendo. He didn’t want her involved when things finally let loose. “Maybe she is, but I’ve observed her enough that doesn’t seem the case. I got my feel and I’m not changin’. The skill is like reading animals. With some you just know you have to watch your back. With those two, I’m keeping my eye on ’em at all times. I’m not stupid. I know when someone is out to get me.”

  Her back snapped straight. “I think you better go.”

  “Not until we talk about what I came here for.”

  “Your reason wasn’t to denounce my mother and condemn my best friend?”

  “If she’s your best friend, you need a new one. If I didn’t suspect you were in danger, I’d have the luxury of beating around the bush and hinting at my meaning. But I don’t. I saw her this morning. That woman could snap any time. She’s like a badger with rabies or a clock spring wound too tight. She’s ready to blow. When she does, I don’t want you anywhere near. And actually, why is she being so snappish? Has she always acted that way?”

  Ashley’s lips thinned, she drew back the tiniest bit. “No.”

  He longed to reach for her hand again but didn’t. “I’ve seen people grieve before, Ashley,” he said, thinking about everyone after Uncle Pete was mauled to death by wolves. “What she’s doing ain’t it. More is going on in her mind than you believe. And I think we’d both be frightened if we could read her thoughts.” Ashley still looked a little put out about what he’d said about her mother and moving into town.