She turned and walked back to her chalkboard, putting a good ten feet between them.
“Y Knot’s teacher has been sick on and off for months. The kids have been out of school more than they’ve been in.”
She whirled to face him, something pleasing in her eyes.
Encouragement sprouted. “I heard Rachel McCutcheon talking with her mother-in-law, saying how the children are falling behind.” What was he doing? Saying? He’d never felt so bold or certain about anything. He didn’t want to lose Ashley after he left town, and he didn’t want to leave her here either. Not with those women.
“I have no idea what you’re rambling on about, Francis, but I think your doing so is totally inappropriate. Me, move to Y Knot?” She pulled back her shoulders. “That’s preposterous. And besides, why would I? My home is here, in Priest’s Crossing. My mother and friends. The orchard that we’ve tended for years…”
Their friendship was too new to tell her about his tender feelings and that she was all he thought about, even when he was supposed to be solving the mystery of who really murdered Benson. She’d run far and fast. If she told her mother, he’d never get a chance to see her again or speak with her either. He had to play his cards carefully. Keep a few things close to his vest, so to speak, at least for now.
“Maybe I got a little ahead of myself,” he replied softly. “But speaking with those two just starts my day off wrong. What I meant to say is: I believe Miss Langford, Y Knot’s schoolteacher, is leaving. I heard she wants to be closer to her family. Mrs. McCutcheon was wondering if they should start looking for a replacement.” He took a minute to let that sink in while he gathered his thoughts. He gazed around the small room, seeing mostly a country school but also parts of the church. A piano in one corner, a small altar. A cross on the wall. A row of hymnals in the bookshelf. The room had a nice atmosphere. Was this all Ashley’s doing?
“I feel a smart young woman like yourself might find a larger town like Y Knot exciting,” he went on cautiously. “A stage comes through almost every day. We have a hotel and several restaurants. And a slew of young women for you to be friends with. I haven’t seen any here, just older wives or widows. I know Y Knot’s not Saint Louis, but from town it’s an easy day’s ride to Waterloo. That town has a dress shop called the Red Door that all the ladies seem to like better than Christmas. Other shops too. And best, train access to Cheyenne and places beyond.” He’d dug his grave. He might as well keep going all the way to China.
Her chin jutted out and she folded her arms across her chest. She couldn’t see his vision… yet.
“Anything else, Francis, while you’re sketching out my life? Why stop now?”
“Since you asked, yes, there is. I’d like the chance to get to know you better. If you were in Y Knot, I could do that. Take you to the Biscuit Barrel for pie or to listen to the Twilight Singers on a warm summer evening. You ever taste the huckleberry pie from the Biscuit Barrel?” He patted his belly. “If not, you’re missing something special.”
There. She’d almost smiled. Maybe the hole he was digging might not be his grave after all.
“I haven’t had the pleasure,” she replied, a bit softer this time. “But we have huckleberries here in Priest’s Crossing, as well, and they’re delicious. I’ve been to Y Knot a time or two. Been to the mercantile when I took a quick trip with Christine. Mr. Lichtenstein has a very nice selection of items—but the place is just a town.” She gave a dismissive wave. “Just like many others scattered about.”
“Oh, really? Ever been to the field of fossils?” This woman was educated. He’d need to pull out the big guns to get her attention. No way could she resist something so historical. He didn’t miss the spark of interest in her eyes just at the mention. “I can see you there with a handful of schoolchildren, teaching ’em all about those prehistoric creatures—and then maybe having a picnic afterward under the tall cottonwoods with soft white cotton drifting all around. Everyone I know likes spending time there.”
Her eyes had gone dreamy, but skepticism crept back into her face. “What do you know about fossils?”
He smiled, turning on all his charm. “Not much at all. But I’ve seen my share and would like to learn more.” Especially if you’re doing the teaching.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Y Knot? What was Francis thinking? Most teachers went through a two-year course at a normal school to receive a teaching certificate. They were proficient in their usage of the English language, could do their sums as well, and had a firm knowledge of the history of the Americas and Europe. What did she have to offer? Other than being the brightest student in the school, the oldest female, and an avid reader, devouring most books in a few days. Teaching here in Priest’s Crossing was one thing, because everyone had known her for years. And not much money was provided for a salary, a pittance compared to most places. But going to a new town where she’d be expected to prove herself was quite another. Francis didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Well,” he said, searching her face. “Don’t you have confidence in yourself? Would the children in Y Knot be any different than the children here in Priest’s Crossing? I don’t understand.”
“Of course, you don’t.” That was all she had.
“Try me,” he responded.
He was working to understand her. A tolerant look in his eyes warmed her through. They’d only known each other three days. How on earth could he have a grasp on any of his feelings? They’d never had a disagreement of any merit. She knew nothing about his family, and he knew very little about hers. What kind of a man was Francis, anyway? His having feelings for her was something he must have made up in his head.
Could that be true? I do feel something for him. Why, I was thinking of him a few minutes ago, before he walked through the door. I’m not being honest with him, or even myself. I’ve never believed in love at first sight, but now I’m not so sure. “I haven’t had a formal education, Francis. Y Knot is so much larger than Priest’s Crossing. I’m sure the school council will want to advertise in larger cities. Interview applicants who have a teaching credential. That’s something I don’t have.”
The small smile pulling one side of his lips fell away. “That may be, but at least you should try. Be one of those applicants. Maybe your experience will outweigh their schooling. Maybe your living in the region will be a benefit. Did you have any experience helping the teacher before the year you took over?”
Excitement rippled through her. She hadn’t thought about those tasks. “Yes, I do. For the past three years, I’ve assisted Blanche with all aspects of the day. Even helping some of the children who were older than me.” Living here in Priest’s Crossing and farming the apple orchard was so settled in her mind, she’d never considered she could do something else. Did Francis know what he was talking about? “And I was in total charge of the first and second graders. Only two students, mind you, but I was the one who taught them their letters and how to read. Simple math too.” A small spurt of pride warmed her face. She’d done more than she realized. Perhaps Francis was right.
Francis glanced at the open door.
Did he have other obligations? “I’ll consider your words. About Y Knot,” she said.
Pride shone from his eyes. “That’s all I ask.”
She glanced at the chalkboard. She should finish here and get back home. Those apples wouldn’t jump off the branches themselves. If she left them too long, the birds would pick the trees clean and the ants as well. When the harvesting rolled around, time really was of the essence. “Thank you for stopping by, but I really should get back to work.”
“Actually, I have a question for you. One I’d like you to keep secret, for the time being.”
Suspicion filtered through her. Was this the real reason for his visit? Something about Luke McCutcheon, she was sure. He’d certainly taken a roundabout way of buttering her up for the information he wanted. Angry at herself for falling for his duplicity, she once again crossed her arms acros
s her chest. “This concerns Blanche, doesn’t it? If your answer’s yes, I’m not guaranteeing anything.”
“In all honesty, I’m not sure who this concerns. Might be about her and maybe not. That’s what I’d like to figure out.” He gave her a long look. “But keeping quiet about what I show you could be a matter of life or death. After the trial, you can talk all you want.”
How could she refuse such an earnest look? “Yes, I’ll keep whatever we speak about between us. Go ahead, you can trust me.”
Nodding, he reached into his pocket and then held out his hand. “Have you ever seen this before?”
She stared. Neil Huntsman’s money clip rested in Francis’s palm. The intensity of the way he watched her told her this matter was of great importance, that his friend’s life depended on her answer.
“Ashley? Is this familiar?”
She didn’t want to incriminate anyone. Especially Neil Huntsman. She loved Tilly, and Tilly set the stars by her husband. And she was expecting. How could she point an accusing finger his way?
“Ashley?”
Still… if Neil was involved, keeping back the truth was a crime. Luke McCutcheon shouldn’t shoulder the blame. Had Neil been carrying on with Blanche and then killed Benson in his own cabin? That was difficult to believe. Neil and Tilly made such a beautiful couple. What would happen to Tilly, and the sweet, innocent babe, if Neil was taken away? Some other reason had to be why Francis was asking. Had she jumped to a crazy wrong conclusion?
“Your silence tells me everything. You know something.”
She looked into his face. She couldn’t tell a lie. “Yes. I believe Neil Huntsman is the proper owner.”
“Neil?” The name gushed out of Francis on a breath. He cut his gaze away to stare at the ceiling. Seemed he didn’t want to believe the fact either. “You sure?”
“Yes. I was in the store one day when he came in. Tilly was working. She mentioned she needed money for something she wanted to buy. He took that out of his pocket and peeled a dollar bill from the stack. I remember thinking he carried around a lot of money for a banker. You know, they’re always telling people to deposit their cash in the bank.”
He put the clip in her hand. “Could his have been something like this but different? We must be absolutely sure.”
Agitation gripped her as the cold metal weighted her palm. “Mixing up this design would be difficult. I’ve never seen one to match. The gun is so intricate. What does this mean, Francis? Do you think Neil killed Benson? That’s the only reason you’d ask.”
He arched a brow. “The fewer people who know, the better.”
“You trusted me enough to ask. Now I’m asking you…”
“The clip was wedged between the cushions at the Van Gleek cabin. To your knowledge, were Tilly and Blanche friends? Would there be any reason that she and Neil may have gone out to the cabin on a visit? If yes, then Neil may have lost the money clip then.”
“No, none at all. The two women hate each other. Blanche knows about Tilly’s past. She’s one of the only people in town that still holds her saloon girl days against her, and because of that treatment, Tilly detests Blanche. They aren’t in a room together for long. One or the other always ends up leaving.”
Francis frowned. “I was hoping for a different answer.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s guilty,” she insisted, still refusing to believe Neil and Blanche could have been involved in some way. “Maybe he went out to the cabin to talk with Benson. Maybe the two men had business. Maybe Benson was having money issues and had asked for a loan?”
“That’s possible, I guess.” Francis rubbed his hand over his chin. “Other than a loan, I can’t imagine what a banker and a freighter have to talk about. This case just keeps getting stranger by the day.”
He looked deep into her eyes causing a warm flutter in her tummy.
“I best be going,” he said low, holding her gaze. “Thanks again for your help.” He put the money clip back into his pocket and picked up his hat on his way out.
She watched him descend the steps and disappear out of sight. Concern for his safety pushed at her lungs. If McCutcheon wasn’t guilty, the real killer may be tracking Francis’s every move. As he came ever closer to the truth, would he, or she, act again? The possibility was frightening. Was Francis watching out for her safety, when in all reality, she should be watching out for his?
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Good news, McCutcheon,” Jack Jones said, sticking his head into the cell area of the sheriff’s office. “Just got word by courier ol’ Judge Wesley retired and is in the process of moving to Y Knot. Might even be there now. Denver circuit gave him dispensation to rule over cases when needed, if he wants. That’s pretty handy, I’d say. I’ve sent word to Y Knot to send him this way. He could arrive any time.”
Jack beamed as if that was the first right thing he’d ever done in his life. Probably was. Was Jack looking for approval? What a joke. He’d never get that from Luke… but Luke would play along. See what he could find out. At least Jack was trying. Clark, his deputy, was another story. He sat up. “By courier, huh?”
Jack nodded.
“About time we made some progress,” Luke mumbled from his place on the cot. He ran a hand down the front of the rumpled shirt Faith brought him. After an early visit this morning, she’d yet to come back. Roady either, or any of the men. He wondered where everyone was and felt a mite put out. “Should we throw a party when he arrives?” he said, not hiding his cynicism.
Jack’s hopeful expression hardened. He hooked one thumb in his waistband while he held a cup of coffee in the other. A heavy silver Colt rested in his holster, and a star was pinned to his chest.
Galling, to say the least.
“I thought you’d be pleased. But I can see that you’re as disparaging as ever.”
Luke scratched his scalp, thinking how greasy his hair felt. He hadn’t shaved in days. “What was your first clue?”
“That ugly frown on your face.”
Luke studied Jack from his sitting position. The days had blurred. He was damn ready to get out of his cell. Harrison Wesley was a good friend. How would the lawman deal with the fact Blanche would swear on a Bible Luke had murdered her husband right before her eyes? An eyewitness carried a lot of weight. Could the judge be swayed by her words? Could be too the judge might have good friends in Priest’s Crossing like he did in Y Knot. Would that hold any merit? Nothing in this peculiar case would surprise him.
“Don’t be so touchy, Luke,” Jack said. “I’m doing my best. We’re taking fine care of you. Making sure you have plenty of good food and coffee. Didn’t I bring you a glass of whiskey the other night? What more could you want? The law’s the law! I was obliged to lock you up.”
Jack’s stupidity was amazing. And his whiny voice made Luke want to holler. “What’ll you do when Harrison sets me free, Jack? Scramble around and start your investigation then? The real killer will be long gone. Or maybe not. Could be he’s right here in town under your nose, watching the show. You better hope no more innocent people get killed. That wouldn’t look good on your record. You’re not cut out to be a lawman, Jack. You should have learned your lesson in Y Knot and tried your hand at something else.”
Jack lifted his coffee cup to his lips, took a drink, and then studied him for several long minutes. “I don’t know nothin’ else, Luke. Being deputy for Brandon was my first full-time job. I did the best I could. I didn’t hear anyone complainin’.”
Luke grasped a bar in frustration. “That’s hogwash! You weren’t listening to the right people.”
Deputy Clark stepped into the room. “Stop spilling your guts to the prisoner.” He narrowed his eyes at Jones. “He’s the one locked up, not you. Did I hear something about a judge being on his way here?”
Luke didn’t miss his disrespectful tone and the way he glared at Jack.
“You heard right. Possibility we’ll get Wesley. He’s supposed to be in Y Knot.”
That news seemed to go in one ear and out the other.
Clark smirked as he made a deliberate search around the room. “Your pretty wife getting tired of sitting in here day after day, holding your hand, half-breed? Can’t say as I blame her any. She’s way too good for you.”
People might talk behind his back about his breeding, but this was the first time in years anyone besmirched him straight to his face and smiled in the process. Clark wouldn’t dare if these bars weren’t keeping him safe. Took some getting used to. He wondered what was being said out there on the street. He didn’t like dragging the McCutcheon name through the mud, just like when he was a kid, but here he was, repeating history.
Jack glared at his deputy, which did little to wipe the smirk off his face. “Ain’t no call to talk like that, Hoss. He’s a prisoner and no need to rile him up.”
“I got every right!” He pointed at Luke. “What kind of a man are you? Sometimes I wonder.”
Jack looked like he was about to take the deputy on, but at the last minute, he didn’t.
“Getting back to Mrs. McCutcheon,” Clark said, “I like her. She’s gonna need a new man once you hang. She’s always smiling at me when you’re not looking. I wonder if that means anything?”
Luke slowly lifted himself off his cot, wishing like hell he were free. “You better hope I never get out of this cell, Clark.” The long, intense glare he gave the deputy made the man take a step back. “Because I don’t forget. You’ll regret you mentioned my wife. I can guarantee you that.” His tone had gone deadly. Clark was strongly built, with powerful arms and legs. Jack would be powerless against him. But Clark didn’t scare Luke. Not for a second.
Jack glanced back and forth between them.
Faith stepped through the door with Smokey and Colton. She stopped and scrutinized him and then turned to Jack and Clark. “What?”
Luke never took his narrowed gaze off Clark. Would the man dare touch his wife in any way? The thought made his fingertips tingle. Even worse, would he do something to harm her? Was he the killer? He needed to warn Smokey to be all the more alert. Could he find a way to get her home? “Nothin’ important, sweetheart. Just jailhouse talk.”
Montana Promise (McCutcheon Family Series Book 10) Page 16