Chapter Seventeen

Ashley knew she needed to stop fostering these warm thoughts toward this cowboy from Y Knot. He was on the wrong side. Blanche’s enemy, so to speak. And especially now, with the ardent widower, Jed Kasterlee, watching her and Francis’s conversation as he swept clean his boardwalk kitty-corner across the street. Last year, the hotel owner had set his sights on her, but since she’d turned him down, he hadn’t said more than boo in passing—which suited her just fine. But now that didn’t stop his glances from under his small-brimmed brown hat. She avoided him whenever possible, but today his chore out front had him close enough she could feel his intent gaze. “Francis, your thinking out loud puts me off. As much as you believe your boss is innocent, I think the same of my good friend.”

“Sorry, Miss Adair, that isn’t my intent. I appreciate your willingness to help me work through my questions. I really do. Jack Jones and Deputy Clark have been noticeably closed-mouthed about any evidence. I wonder if that’s why Jack’s been disappearing. I don’t see him around much during the day.”

“He’s working on his house, a deserted shack he claimed soon after he came to town. Making improvements. At least, that’s what he does with most of his time after he comes into town in the morning and returns again in the late afternoon. Deputy Clark sees to most of the lawbreaking matters.”

“Where is the place?”

She pointed past the jail. “A quarter mile beyond my house.” Was she giving away too much information? A niggle of apprehension swirled inside. Telling the truth couldn’t hurt. But if what Francis said about his boss was true, then some sort of blame for Benson’s death might lie at Blanche’s feet. That just wasn’t possible. Blanche Van Gleek had been nothing but sincere and morally upright for all the time Ashley had known her. She had been full of energy and maybe a little restless, but that was only natural. Before she’d arrived in Priest’s Crossing, she’d probably been used to a more exciting life than people led in this little town. When Blanche fell in love with Benson and he asked for her hand in marriage, Blanche spoke to the town council in favor of Ashley taking over her position, even though she was only seventeen at the time. She owed Blanche so much. Ashley would never turn her back on her.

One by one, the men she’d seen galloping past her home stepped out of the sheriff’s office. They glanced slowly up and down the street, as if committing every small detail to memory. Four large white men and a dangerous-looking Mexican made up the group. The woman must be McCutcheon’s wife, for she remained inside.

“Those are the ranch hands from the Heart of the Mountains,” Francis said when he saw the men emerge. “The remainder stayed back at the ranch to watch over things there. The operation is large.”

“It appears so. That many ranch hands bespeaks great wealth.”

He captured her gaze. “Exactly my point.”

He didn’t have to say any more. She wondered if something was amiss with Blanche’s story of how things happened, but she’d not tell him that.

The men collected their horses and proceeded down the street toward the livery. As they approached, they stared at her and Francis.

Embarrassment turned to anger. Had they no manners? Just as that thought was about to pass her lips, the men nodded and touched their hats.

“Francis,” a bowlegged, leather-skinned fella called out. “We’d like to speak with you, when you can tear yourself away.”

“On my way, Smokey.” He didn’t make a move to go.

Flattered, she dropped her gaze to the boardwalk and felt a tiny smile on her lips. She liked his attention and conversation.

“I have one last thing to say.”

Francis held her gaze longer than was proper. The fact that she didn’t look away troubled her conscience. “Yes?”

“Be careful.”

“Careful?” Her heart did a summersault. “Why?”

“I know Luke is innocent. That means whoever killed Benson Van Gleek isn’t locked up. That person is out there—somewhere. Who knows what might spook ’em?”

When she opened her mouth to object, he held up a silencing finger to his lips. “Just consider what I’ve said. Please.” With that, he turned on his boot heel.

She watched him walk away, catching sight of Jed Kasterlee still snooping. Angered, she looked directly at the hotel owner.

He snapped away his gaze.

A plausible explanation had to exist why a rich McCutcheon would come to Blanche and Benson’s home and demand money. Perhaps he had a secret history with Benson, the money was owed him from a past debt, and he was angry Benson hadn’t yet paid. Or he’d found himself in financial troubles and was too embarrassed to tell his family. Several different situations not yet explored were possible. She’d not turn her back so quickly on her best friend just because Francis made her feel all warm and fluttery. Or that his sincerity and claims had merit. She wasn’t a warm and fluttery type. She thought things through. Looked for evidence in every situation, and that’s just what she would do here, before things got out of hand.