Chapter Nine

 

With Colton beside him, Francis ambled down the dusty street, Redmond’s reins dangling in his fingers and his boots kicking up the dry earth. He was dead-boned tired. “Where’s a restaurant and livery? I need to take care of my gelding so I can get some grub. Don’t think I’ve ever been this weary before or this hungry.”

Colton pointed forward. “Down there’s where we have our horses. And right across the street is the food.” He took the reins from Francis. “I’ll stable him so you can get started on the eats.”

Francis lifted a brow. “Thank you. I appreciate that. You sure have grown up. Last I remember, I was giving you orders.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been in Priest’s Crossing alone for enough days to feel pretty old.”

“I guess that’s true.” He lifted his hat and scratched his head. “But you weren’t alone. Luke was with you.”

“Locked up.” Colton started away, his shoulders slumped.

Wasn’t difficult to see the boy’s hope was all but gone. The kid must still be thinking about his pa’s statement he’d overheard in the jail. If Colton hadn’t gone off without permission, Luke would have an alibi. The sight needled Francis, making him frown. His small friend was his shadow. Where Francis went, Colton followed. He’d helped teach Colton to ride and tend cattle. Showed him what bait to use to hook the largest fish in the brook. “I’ll meet ya inside,” he called to Colton’s retreating back. “And thanks, little buddy. Be sure they rub him down and feed him some grain.”

Making for the eatery, Francis stepped inside a bustling room. He was so famished, the aroma on the air was a mixture of heaven and hell. He aimed for a table by the wall, passing the counter where a plate of several kinds of muffins were piled high. Unable to stop himself, he snatched up a blueberry and what looked to be a lemon, maybe, as he passed, imagining how good the treats would taste with his first sip of coffee. His mouth watered.

A sturdy fella working the kitchen side of the room glanced his way. Several plates ran up the man’s arm as he headed to a table across the eatery. After placing the dishes in front of each customer, he acknowledged Francis with a nod. “I’ll be right with ya, stranger.”

“Thanks. I helped myself to these.” He held up both muffins so the man didn’t think he was stealing.

“Not a problem. That’s why they’re there.”

He’s friendly enough. Francis broke apart one of the goodies and put half into his mouth as he opened the menu and glanced down the first side.

“Just makes my stomach turn,” one of the women at the next table said. “He was such a good man, and in his prime. A hard worker, polite, and God-fearing. I wonder how Blanche is doing.”

Francis stopped chewing when he realized their topic of discussion. He glanced over.

“She’ll never be the same,” the one facing him replied, the bright pink bow in her hair looking too young for her age. “You don’t live through such an ordeal and come out unscathed. Have either of you seen her since it happened? I wonder if more is involved with the story she’s not saying. Something that may have happened to her.” The woman took a bite of a muffin and chewed, both eyebrows raised high.

The wobbly skin of her neck reminded Francis of a Thanksgiving turkey.

The oldest-looking woman leaned toward Turkey, her expression dark. “Don’t go speculating. That’s as good as gossip.” She rubbed a shaky hand over her mouth. “Such a heinous act. And to happen right here in Priest’s Crossing.” Granny, as he immediately nicknamed her, raised her teacup to her lips, took a drink, and then replaced the cup on the table with a little clink of finality. She must have felt his gaze, because she slowly turned her head until they were eye to eye. Quickly he returned his attention to the menu in his hands.

The third woman pointed her spoon at the others. “I haven’t seen Blanche or Ashley since. I hear Blanche is living with the Adairs for now. She can’t bear to go back to the cabin alone. And I can’t blame her in the least. I’m just glad she has somewhere to stay.”

She reminded Francis of a months-old pumpkin because her large noggin was covered in curly orange hair. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a quiver in her shoulders as she moved one hand to her throat.

“Benson murdered in cold blood.” Pumpkin moaned low, sounding like a specter from a haunted house. “And by a half-breed Indian. If I were Blanche, I don’t think I’d want to go on living. They’d only been married a little over a year.” She patted her forehead with her napkin. “I can tell you one thing; I’ve begun bolting my doors every night—with no exceptions. I don’t care if the animal responsible is locked up. The world is changing. Men are fast and loose. Heathens, all of ’em.”

Animal? Heathen? Luke? He was the best man Francis knew, as were all the McCutcheons. Hearing such talk cut deep. Why had Luke’s words of denial been so quickly disavowed? Because of Jack Jones, that’s why. The man was out for revenge for being fired by Luke’s best friend, no matter what he said.

Granny nodded. “It’s a good thing school is over for the term, or Ashley would be forced to be out and about before she’s ready to face the people, poor dear.”

“Don’t be silly, Mildred. Nothing has happened to Ashley.”

Pumpkin sighed loudly. “She’s Blanche’s dear friend and is caring for her. They’re extremely close. I’m sure she’s living the tragedy just as Blanche is.”

When Colton came through the door, Granny, who Francis now knew was named Mildred, saw him first thing.

She nudged Turkey with a pointy elbow. All three looked askance when Colton joined him only one table away from theirs.

By now, everyone in town must know who Colton was. Son of the accused heathenistic, Indian animal.

“Order yet?” Colton asked.

“Naw, not yet.” Francis looked around for the waiter, aware the old busybodies had stopped speaking and were undoubtedly listening to his and Colton’s conversation.

“He’s sorta slow,” Colton went on. “I wouldn’t want to count on him if my barn was on fire.” He picked up Francis’s menu.

Colton, unaware of the hostility wafting over from the women, browsed the contents. His mouth pulled down in a frown, and his heavy-lidded eyes were things Francis wasn’t used to seeing.

Colton glanced up from the menu. “I’ve pretty much tried everything. Not as good as the Biscuit Barrel.”

The spark of life that usually infused Colton’s voice and face was missing. He’d been shouldering this burden alone for days. Francis was glad he was here to help. “I’m trying the batter-fried steak.” He pointed to the item at the bottom of the paper menu in Colton’s hands.

Colton nodded. “It’s good.” He closed the menu and laid the list of options on the red-checkered tablecloth, fingering a small snag close to his hand. “Sorry I got Pa in this trouble,” he said low. “I didn’t mean to. If I’d stayed put where I was supposed to, none of this would have happened. I wish we’d never came for Joe’s wedding.”

Horrified to see Colton’s teary gaze, Francis reached out and touched his arm. “You didn’t cause this trouble, Colton. Trouble found you in the wrong place at the wrong time. Things happen. And your pa would be the first to say so.” He sat back and glanced at the women, who abruptly buried their gazes into their plates. “This is gonna get straightened out. Then we’ll all head home. No one gets away with falsely accusing a McCutcheon. You have to have faith.”

“But Grandpa and Grandma are away in Cheyenne. I’d feel a whole lot better about things if they were here to help.”

“I know what you mean, but we won’t need them,” he said, forcing a smile on his lips. “Truth is on our side. All we have to do is make our case to the judge. Luke is innocent. Period. Nobody can change that.”

The man with the dirty white apron he’d seen earlier was back. When he saw Colton, his steps slowed. For a moment, Francis wasn’t sure he’d speak.

His eyebrows creeped up. “You with him?”

“I am,” Francis said, feeling overly protective. “And also with the innocent man your sheriff has locked up in your jail.”

Colton’s eyes grew round.

The man snorted. “We’ll see about that when the judge arrives, won’t we?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard by now that he’s a McCutcheon,” Francis stated matter-of-factly as he felt his own ire rising.

The waiter shifted his weight, his face a stone mask. “McCutcheon or not, he’s gonna pay for killing Benson in his own cabin. And then roughing up Blanche. Benson was a good friend, and I don’t take that lightly.” He pulled the pencil from behind his ear and nailed Francis with an angry stare. “You want to eat or not?”

Do I trust this man with my food? “That’s why I’m here. Give me a batter-fried steak plus three eggs over easy and potatoes”—he turned over the white porcelain coffee cup already on the tabletop—“and coffee. I already ate two muffins, and I’m going for more.”

“They’re two cents each,” the waiter stated and then looked at Colton.

“Bacon and eggs,” Colton said quietly, not meeting the man’s gaze. “Coffee too.”

Francis could understand Colton feeling shy, being he’d been an army of one for a good five days. Under the scrutiny of these people, anyone would crumble. Not many nasty looks and harsh words were needed to feel like an outcast. Well, things were about to change. Francis waited for the man to leave. “Is there anyone in town who believes your pa?”

“Tilly, the old saloon girl from Y Knot, and her husband. Not sure about Christine Meeks.” Colton pushed away the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “She runs the mercantile. She’s been real nice to me though. She’s Joe’s sister.”

“That’s right.” Francis straightened. “I remember Tilly. I haven’t heard her name mentioned for a long time. I’ll look them up next. What’s Joe been doing to help?”

Colton leaned back in his chair. “He doesn’t know yet. Once the wedding was over, he and his new wife took a honeymoon trip. I think they’re set to get back to town soon.”

Francis nodded. “That’s good.”

“One thing,” Colton added, still picking at the tablecloth snag.

“Yeah?”

“Benson Van Gleek, the man who was murdered, is Joe’s new wife’s brother.”

A rock of disappointment hit Francis’s stomach like spoiled meat. Blood is thicker than water. “That might be a problem.”

Colton lifted a shoulder. “That’s what I think too.”

“Well, we know your pa is innocent. For now, we’ll sit tight and wait for Roady and the rest to arrive. Having reinforcements will help.” He wadded his napkin and tossed it, hitting Colton playfully in the face.

The boy looked up and grinned.

“Stop fretting,” Francis ordered. “Make yourself useful and go get me two more muffins. They’re tasty, and my stomach is aching.”

The boy jumped up. “Sure thing.”

The second Colton turned away, Francis smiled at the ladies who were still conspicuously quiet. Not one cup had been raised since the boy returned. “Luke McCutcheon is innocent,” he said politely. “He didn’t kill that man, and we’ll prove that fact. Just wanted to give you ladies something to talk about.”

They gasped in unison.

The fluster, patting, and babbling to have been caught in the act of eavesdropping was almost funny. Chuckling, Francis gave a good-mannered nod and reached for the plate Colton held out, questions in his eyes.

“What was that about?” he asked quietly, slipping back into his seat.

“Just meeting some of the locals. No telling how long we’ll be here. May as well be friendly.”

Colton took one of the muffins, his eyes narrowing.

As the waiter poured two cups of coffee, Francis acknowledged to himself that this straightening out wouldn’t be as easy as saying the McCutcheon name a time or two. A man was dead, and the eyewitness had accused his best friend. She must be in on the crime. He hoped, for Luke’s sake, they could clear his name. And then set him free.