Chapter Thirteen

Luke paced a circle in his cell before he remembered Colton was sitting quietly on the long bench opposite, watching his every move. Luke looked over and stopped. His son’s fretful gaze hurt. What had happened in the Van Gleek cabin? That was the winning question. All he’d done was ask the woman if she’d seen Colton, watered his horse and himself, and left. He needed to figure out the puzzle because Jack wouldn’t. His gaze narrowed on the wood grain of the dry-looking oak above Colton’s head.

Francis came through the door and pulled up. “What’re you thinkin’?”

Luke turned and gave him quizzical a look. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve known you long enough to recognize when you’ve got something important on your mind. Your forehead crinkles and your head tilts to the side. Just like now. Something has struck you. What?”

Luke straightened his head.

Colton got up and came over to the bars, the worry lines still deep in his forehead.

Luke reached out and placed his hand on Colton’s shoulder, but only for an instant. His son didn’t like to be treated like a baby. And he shouldn’t be. He could help. Be Luke’s eyes and ears.

Francis tipped a pie he’d purchased somewhere to one side and slid the pastry through the bars.

“Thanks. This looks good.” Luke retrieved the dirty fork from his breakfast dishes sitting on the cot and dug in. “I sure miss Faith’s cooking, I can tell you that.”

Francis nodded. “I’m sure that’s not all you miss.”

“You’re right there,” he said enjoying the sweet taste of the apples and tangy cinnamon. The butter-laden crust crumbled in his mouth. He brushed a few morsels away with the back of his hand and kept eating. “I miss my home, the laughter of my children and wife, and tucking everybody in at night.” He glanced at Colton and smiled. “And spending quiet time speaking with Faith after everyone is asleep. I’ll never take those things for granted again.”

Deputy Clark came through the door, the heavy iron key ring, with a key for each cell, dangling in his fingers. He stood for a moment and then turned to leave.

“Hold up,” Luke called.

The heavy-shouldered man turned back.

His tangle of short brown hair reminded Luke of a shaggy buffalo. He looked about Luke’s age, with a hard glint to his eyes. Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited for Luke’s question. This man would give as good as he got, Luke figured, not like the faint-hearted Jack Jones. Priest’s Crossing had put the two men in the wrong positions. “What’s the status of things? Is anyone investigating who else may have killed that fella? I’m innocent. Do some detective work.”

“Who says we’re not?”

“Me. I haven’t heard a peep out of either one of you.” Luke grasped the bars. “I won’t be a scapegoat for anyone.”

Clark chuckled nastily. “You don’t have much say in this, McCutcheon. How does being on the other side of the bars feel?”

“That’s uncalled for,” Francis barked. “He’s only asking a logical question, considering the circumstances.”

“Leave the law to us.” Clark punctuated his words with a pointed finger first at Luke and then Francis. “You’ll get a fair trial, when the time comes.” Without another word, Deputy Clark stamped out of the room.

Yeah, a trial would be held all right, and the jury would find him guilty if they didn’t have any other possibilities to consider. His appetite gone, Luke set the pie on the cot.

“What now, Pa?” Colton asked.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?” Both Francis and Colton moved closer to the bars.

He motioned with his hand to keep their voices low. “What if Mrs. Van Gleek’s husband was already dead when I rode up? She wasn’t very friendly or keen on inviting me in. She stood like a warden with feet planted and hands on hips as if guarding the door. Didn’t move from her spot when I asked about the surrounding area.” He gave Francis and then Colton a long stare.

Francis’s eyebrow lifted. “Maybe so,” he said just above a whisper.

“But she wasn’t beat up, yet, Pa.”

“You’re right, she wasn’t.” She looked a bit disheveled, like maybe she’d been sleeping late and I’d disturbed her.” He looked straight into Francis’s eyes conveying a silent message.

Francis gave a slight nod.

“Say she and her husband had a fight,” Luke went on. “And she killed him in self-defense?”

Francis scratched his chin and whispered, “Self-defense is hard to prove. Men don’t like thinkin’ women can get away with nothin’. Some don’t consider using their fists to discipline their spouse a crime.”

“That’s sadly so. But how could she blacken her own eye and bruise her ribs? I’d say that’s impossible.” He didn’t like speaking about such unseemly issues in front of his boy, but Colton was growing up. He’d said so himself several times.

Colton glanced around. “Then someone had to help her. Maybe he was inside waiting to kill you if you came in and discovered the crime.”

Nodding, Luke pointed to the door.

On silent footsteps, Colton walked as quietly as a cat and glanced into the outer room where the sheriff had his desk. Quickly returning, he mouthed the word “Empty.”

“Good.” Luke leaned one palm on a shiny metal bar. “I know I didn’t kill him or beat her up. And yet she claims I did. My first thought was they’d had a fight, he beat her, and then she smacked him on the head when he wasn’t looking. Now I’m not so certain.”

“Are you talking premeditated crime?” Francis asked, still leaning toward the bars.

“Could be.”

“Well, we better get busy.” Francis straightened. “I met Joe’s sister, Christine Meeks, at the mercantile. She said she met you at the wedding and knows how close Joe is to you and the family.”

Luke lifted a shoulder. “That’s pretty much common knowledge.”

“She didn’t appear all that sympathetic to your plight. I told her you were innocent, but she’s feeling pretty bad for her friend becoming a widow and about Benson. You’ll be going up against the whole town if this goes to trial. If we can’t even get the support of Joe’s sister, we may have trouble convincing anyone else.”

Luke scratched the side of his face, fingering the unfamiliar whiskers. “You’re right on that account, Francis. Then we better get cracking. If I didn’t kill him, and she didn’t kill him, who else was in that cabin that morning? Had to be somebody.”

“If the judge arrives tomorrow, Pa, what’ll happen?”

That was a very good question. He respected the law as much as, if not more than, most men, but he wasn’t hanging for a murder he didn’t commit. If what Francis said was true, he wouldn’t find much understanding in Priest’s Crossing.

“Would they hang ya?” Colton’s voice quivered unsteadily.

“Maybe.” How difficult to admit to my own son. A hot despair clawed at Luke’s throat. He’s trying to be so brave. But better for him to know the truth than paint an unrealistic picture. “For now, you’ll have to continue being my eyes and ears. Make note of everything. Go places and hang around. Someone might let something slip.” Luke reached out and ruffled Colton’s hair, not caring if he got mad. Luke wished with his whole heart he could pull his son into his arms and tell him everything was going to be all right. He’d like to be a little more sure about that himself. “Francis, I’m thankful you’re here, but I’ll feel a lot better when the rest of the men arrive.”