Chapter Fifty

What was happening? This morning, Blanche finally got up after lying awake through the night, elusive sleep playing with her mind.

Angelia made her toast and told her Ashley must have risen early and gone into town—for what, she didn’t know.

Blanche thought she might. Was it possible the girl overheard any of the conversation last night? Had she gone to the sheriff? Not knowing was almost worse than being in jail. She was in a prison of her own making.

How long can I continue? Feels like I’m losing my mind… Either I’ll have to confess or sneak away in the night. I’d better make a decision before my options are gone.

A loud knock sounded on the front door.

Blanche’s cup clattered into its saucer. She glanced at the clock, and a sick feeling welled up inside. “Who could that be, Angelia? It’s barely past six.”

Angelia set the dish she’d been drying into the cupboard, fear flashing across her face. “Another mystery? I pray nothing has happened to Ashley. Now her absence is scaring me. Could she have eloped last night with that young cowboy? She’s been acting very strange of late. I’ve never seen her so taken with anyone.”

Blanche made a movement to stand.

“You stay put,” Angelia commanded. “I’ll see who’s at the door.”

Francis and Ashley were together again yesterday? My situation is more precarious than I thought.

Blanche glanced to the hallway with an overwhelming desire to flee.

The door opened. She heard men’s voices and then footsteps. Her stomach painfully clenched. Sheriff Jones and the deputy, as well as men from McCutcheon ranch.

Jack Jones’s gaze flitted to the side and then back at her. His chin dipped low. “Blanche, you’re under arrest. Stand and come peacefully.”

Words she’d thought she’d never hear. Every ounce of energy drained away. Jail. Will being locked up keep me safe, or will I be more vulnerable for Mr. Romantic to kill me? “W-Why? What for?”

Mr. Guthrie’s eyes twinkled. He and two other ranch hands tried to hide their wobbly smiles, but their delight was clear as water at the turn of events.

“Killing Benson,” Jack said. “But then, I’m sure you already knew that.”

Her muscles tensed and she glanced at the kitchen door. Was a getaway possible? There were five of them and one of her.

“What’s this?” Angelia demanded. “That’s preposterous. What evidence do you have? Blanche was an eyewitness to his murder.”

“You’re correct, Mrs. Adair,” Roady said. “But not by Luke’s hand.”

Angelia’s narrowed gaze slid over to Blanche, and she slowly backed away. “Where’s Ashley?” she whispered. “She wasn’t here this morning.” She searched one face and then the next. “Do you know? Has Blanche hurt her too?”

“She’s safe in town, ma’am,” the cowhand named Shad Petty said. “Has been since last night. No need to worry about her.”

Blanche sat there, stunned, moisture slicking her palms. What did they know? “On what grounds do you arrest me?” she found herself asking. She didn’t recognize the deep, calm voice that came out of her mouth.

“We’ll go over that when we get you into town,” Jack said. “If you don’t want us taking you in in your nightclothes, I’d advise you get dressed.”

“Nick’s standing guard outside, so don’t think you can climb out your window,” Mr. Guthrie said, his tone hard.

She stood, went to her room, and dressed. Soon they were on the way to town, her hands shackled behind her back as she walked ahead of the horsemen. Cool air kissed her cheeks. How had her life gotten so out of control? One bad decision had led to another, and another, until she lived each day in a web of lies. A breeze swayed the green treetops, and she raised her face to the sun. This might be her final walk on this road. Regret gripped her stomach, making her want to be sick. She did her best to take in the view, the frilly birch trees, the hawk floating in the wispy clouds, the tiny lacy flowers growing beneath the small buttercup leaves. Nothing was worth losing all this…

The handcuffs pinched and she straightened. What had Ashley heard? If only she knew, perhaps she’d have a chance to lie her way free. Maybe Jack and the others were bluffing, waiting for her to confess or say something they needed to know but didn’t. For now, she’d stick to the story, like she’d been told. Maybe a miracle would happen.

Leaning against the saloon’s bar top, Tanner took a sip of warm beer, letting the brew ease his midmorning hunger. He’d needed to wet his whistle, even though the saloon was around the corner and off the main street where he’d been flashing the money clip Francis had given him last night. So far, only a couple of people commented that Neil Huntsman had one like it. He’d had to wait until they asked about the unusual thingamajig and then he’d casually pick up the conversation. People had been interested, some only because they’d never seen the likes before. Still, he shouldn’t get discouraged. He’d only just started. Hopefully somebody soon would give him a lead. At the moment, the piece, holding the original two dollars, sat beside his glass of beer.

Being the only one standing at the bar, Tanner rested on his elbows and lifted his almost-empty mug to his lips, scanning the room.

A man sat in the back of the room by himself. His hat rested crown down on the tabletop next to a bottle of whiskey. Even this early in the day, he was sunburned and his clothes sweat-stained.

The bartender came through the side door, three bottles in his hands, and proceeded around the bar, setting the whiskey on the back wall shelf. “You want another, friend?” he asked, looking at Tanner’s empty glass.

“No, thanks. Best be on my way.” He made a show of peeling off a dollar bill and then waited for change which he dropped into his pocket.

“I like that clip,” the bartender said. “Seems I’ve seen one like it.” He looked up at Tanner. “But you’re new, aren’t ya? You with the ranch from Y Knot?”

“Nope. Looking for some odd jobs before moving on. You say you’ve seen a clip like this before? I thought mine was one of a kind.” He bounced the clip in his palm.

“Sure. A man don’t forget something like that.”

Tanner winked. “I’ve never been in Priest’s Crossing until today. Who has one like it?”

The bartender scratched his chin. “Darned if I can remember.”

The man in the back stood and ran his hand through his thick hair. He glanced around and then tossed a coin onto the tabletop, starting their way.

“Who’s that?” Tanner whispered to the bartender. “Maybe I’ll ask if he needs help. From the looks of his clothes, he’s been working.”

“Livery man, Pink Kelly. He just might give you a go, at that.” The barkeep’s face brightened. “I know! Neil Huntsman, teller at the bank, has one exactly the same.” A narrowed gaze slid Tanner’s way. “That ain’t his, I hope.”

“Said the clip’s mine,” he said defensively, guilt pricking his conscience. For the time, that is.

The livery man looked over Tanner’s shoulder as he passed. His feet stopped as he stared.

Tanner tried to read his eyes. “The piece gets me a lot of attention.”

“I can sure see why.” Kelly pushed on his hat and took a step.

The bartender reached out and stopped him. “This young fella is looking for work, Pink. Can you hire him on? You’re usually running a couple of weeks behind. He might give you some relief.”

The man swung around.

The dark gaze taking in his countenance sent a chill down Tanner’s spine.