Chapter Eighteen

Francis strode into the livery under the suspicious gaze of Pink Kelly, the proprietor. Thick blond hair covered the stable owner’s head, and a blue kerchief was tied around his neck. Instead of the usual clothing of denim overalls most stable hands liked, Pink Kelly wore close-fitting jeans that hugged a slim waist. His shirtsleeves were rolled midway up his arms and a pair of gloves were looped over his leather belt.

Francis smiled and passed through the barn into the rear breezeway that led to an outbuilding, the one where he’d told the men to store their guns. As he grew closer, the voices he heard quieted at his approach until he turned the corner to find them circled up close. Francis glanced up the ladder. “Up top?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Shad nodded. “But I don’t like leaving them there for long. We may need ’em.”

Nick’s brows drew down. “You think a gunfight is certain?”

Roady, his arms crossed over his chest, said, “’Course not. We’re not here to break the law. If we wanted to take Luke out of the jail that way, with all of us, the doin’ would be easy. But then we’d have a chase on our hands, and someone might get killed. Francis was smart to give us a heads-up about our weapons being seized. Once darkness falls, we’ll find a better place to store them. But for now, under the hay will do.”

The men tightened their circle around Francis.

“What do you know?” Roady whispered, his tone deep in all seriousness.

Francis had never seen the ranch foreman so grave. “Luke thinks someone else, besides the woman, must have been inside. I’d say that’s a good hunch unless she’s the one who killed her husband.” He glanced over his shoulder and out the door to be sure they were still alone. “Her cabin is locked up tight. Clark and Jones aren’t saying much. I’m not sure they did any investigating at all. Just learned Jones is renovating his house, of all things. I guess he feels like his job is done now that he has an eyewitness and a suspect locked up. He’s waiting on a judge.”

Pedro’s jaw clenched and released several times. “He knows Luke’s innocent. He knows and yet keeps the jefe locked up like an animal.” The Mexican’s eyes formed into slits. “Jones is a tonto del culo. Needs a visit to the anthill.”

Smokey gripped Pedro’s shoulder and gave a little shake. “Don’t let your temper get the best of ya. We need to keep our wits about us, to help the boss, not make things worse.”

Francis nodded. “Smokey’s right. The townsfolk have been watching me as if they think I’m Longabaugh of the Wild Bunch and just broke out of jail in Sundance. There’re never less than six sets of eyes on me at all times. Feels eerie. At other times, I feel sort of famous. They’re even suspicious of Colton. Poor kid has been shouldering the scorn until I arrived. He’s not said much but feels responsible for what’s happened to his pa. If not for sneaking off, Luke would have an alibi.” He heaved a deep sigh, thankful the men had arrived. With everyone working on the case, they’d clear Luke. He glanced at the foreman. “I didn’t think I’d see you here, with Sally giving birth so recently.”

“She insisted I come. She’s staying with Heather while I’m gone and has a lot of help. She’s worried about Luke, just like the rest of us. That said, we have some investigatin’ to do. Tonight at the cabin. See if we can’t come up with something Jack missed.”

“Evening, boys,” Deputy Clark said, stepping into the shed. His eyes narrowed. “What’s going on out here?”

The strong-armed liveryman was only one beat behind. His shoulders filled the doorway.

“Just catching up on events without the town listening in,” Roady said evenly, his tone friendly. “We arrived a little while ago. We’re just sorting things out and wanted someplace quiet where we could talk. You must be Deputy Clark. I’m Roady Guthrie, the ranch foreman.”

The deputy’s nostrils flared when his gaze traveled to each man. “You came unarmed.”

His skeptical tone said he didn’t believe that for a second.

Roady smiled, then glanced at Francis and the others. “We’re a friendly bunch.”

“Yeah, right. You’ve already been at the jail. You know all you need to know.”

“Just hearing Francis’s version.”

Francis shrugged and gave his best innocent face. Clark was a big man. Looked hard of arm and strong. Not a pushover like Jack Jones.

“Did you leave your guns with Jack?” the deputy demanded.

“You’ll have to ask him,” Roady replied calmly.

The liveryman’s chin jutted out. “You’re paying me to keep your horses. Not give you a place to plot more killin’. You best get outta here!”

Nick straightened and his face turned hard.

One thing Francis had learned about Nick was that he had a fuse shorter than an eyeblink long. If a man was being square with him, he’d take orders fine, but he didn’t cotton to being on the squat end of sass. And especially not from a stranger. Shad had to intervene a few times in Y Knot when things had gotten rowdy in the Hitching Post.

Roady tipped his head toward the door. “Let’s go get a few rooms and then find something to eat, fellas.” He rubbed his stomach. “I’m plumb empty.”

Smokey played along with a smile, and the rest only nodded as they filed past the two.

The liveryman’s lingering aroma of horse manure made the air heavy, and Francis was only too happy to comply. The look Deputy Clark gave him said he knew exactly what had transpired, but maybe he wouldn’t take the time to search the place. Possibly he’d think the men had stashed their guns somewhere out of town. One could only hope.