Restless Hearts Read online

  He smiled. “Take it easy.”

  “My father’s pistol isn’t the murder weapon, is it?”

  Dave sighed and sat back down in his chair. “They’re running the test again, but just because the gun he was holding wasn’t—”

  Blaze slammed her palm down hard on his desk, making everything on the wood-smooth surface vibrate. “He didn’t kill Frank.” She said it with some amazement because she now realized it was true. “He didn’t kill Frank.”

  “We don’t know that. We’re trying not to jump to conclusions.”

  “You mean like arresting my father without evidence that he was the one who shot the man?”

  “He was standing over him with a loaded gun.”

  She shook her head. “And if your second test proves that Frank wasn’t killed with the gun my father had been holding?”

  Dave sighed again. “Then we are asking for a warrant to search the ranch for other weapons.”

  She felt all the air rush out of her. “You can’t be serious.”

  The prosecutor leaned back in his chair. “Blaze, there’s a reason your father isn’t talking, why he wants to plead guilty. Why would he do that if he wasn’t guilty? Maybe that pistol wasn’t the gun he used. Everett heard two shots. One of them was a rifle.”

  She felt her eyes widen. “A rifle? Is that what you’re telling me? Frank was killed with a hunting rifle, not a pistol?”

  Dave was holding up his hands again. “I’m not saying that. Just that it’s possible your father shot him from some distance, ditched the rifle and walked up to him holding the pistol in his hand because he planned to finish him off if he wasn’t dead.”

  “That is a lot of supposition for a man who just said he was trying not to jump to conclusions.”

  “Frank’s dead. Your father wants to plead guilty to his murder. There isn’t a lot of room here for confusion.”

  “What if he didn’t do it? What if he is covering for the person who did?”

  “You have someone in mind?”

  They both knew whom she had in mind. “You’ll let me know when the ballistics results come back. Clarkston Evans is handling my father’s case. He’s waiting for those results.” She tossed Clarkston’s card down on the desk.

  Dave groaned. “Called in the big guns, did you?”

  “He isn’t going to let the judge move ahead until he sees the ballistics test results.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed if you think your father is innocent.”

  She chuckled. “I’ve never said he was innocent. I’m just questioning if he killed Frank Anson. You should be questioning the same thing. Unless you want to put Monte away because it would be good for your career, considering how people in this county feel about him.”

  “I hope you know me better than that.”

  Blaze scoffed. “I know you’re under pressure to put this one away.”

  “You’re right about that, but not for the reasons you think,” Dave said as he leaned forward to look her in the eye. “Sentiments in this county are against your father. With you throwing yourself into this, you’ve upset some people.”

  “Spit it out, Dave. What are you trying to say?”

  “That I’m worried you’re in danger.”

  She laughed. “Apparently the sheriff didn’t tell you that Jake and I could have been killed on the ranch yesterday because of some...locals starting a buffalo stampede?”

  “My point exactly.”

  “So I should back off? How about you get on the sheriff to find those men and prosecute them before they do something worse?” With that, she stormed out, slamming the door so hard it rattled the windows.

  She looked around for Jake. Earlier as they were leaving the jail, Jake said he would wait for her outside. She hadn’t asked why or even cared. She’d been furious and had wanted to talk to Dave alone anyway.

  Now, though, she saw Jake standing outside the door. He pocketed his phone as she approached him. Had he been giving Judge Landusky an update? He smiled at her, obviously having overheard at least the final part of her tirade.

  Like him, she desperately needed fresh air and space. She was so angry that she feared she would break down and cry. Judge Landusky had been right to ask her to come here. Something was terribly wrong, and the prosecutor knew it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ALLIE DROVE FRANK’S old International into town that afternoon. She hadn’t been into Saddle Butte since Ty Garrison had been injured. Before that it had only been to go to the funeral home to make arrangements to have Frank buried once his body was released.

  He’d already bought a plot for himself next to his mother and father in the town cemetery. As a wedding present, he’d bought Allie one on the other side. One she had no intentions of ever using. The last place she wanted to be laid to rest was near his mother.

  Hilda had resented her from the first day she set eyes on Allie. Nothing Allie could do met with the woman’s approval. It wasn’t until Hilda was on her deathbed that she finally said something nice to her daughter-in-law.

  “You are better than what I expected him to bring home,” Hilda had said, taking Allie’s hand in her bony fingers. “Promise me that you will take care of him as long as he lives.”

  Promise kept, Allie thought as she drove into Saddle Butte.

  With arrangements already made, the funeral to be set after the autopsy was complete and his body turned back over to her, she drove on past the funeral home to the bank. She didn’t need much since, living on the ranch, she had her own canned fruits and vegetables along with at least half a beef cut and wrapped in the freezer next to elk, venison and antelope.

  Frank had always prided himself on living close to the land. He hated being even a little dependent on the town. A neighbor had a couple of dairy cows and kept them in milk, cream and butter. Flour and sugar were bought when they went to what Frank called the big city so they could hit a big-box store. Simple living, he’d called it. That wasn’t what Allie called it.

  After pulling into the bank parking lot, she sat for a moment, trying to settle her nerves, as well as her stomach. She’d had morning sickness—what a misnomer that was, since she’d had it all day for months. She waited for her stomach to settle down before she climbed out of the rig and entered the side door. Frank had never let her have a checkbook.

  He’d handled all the finances, giving her cash when she needed it but always demanding to know what she needed it for. If it wasn’t something he thought necessary, he’d talk her out of buying it. Or if she insisted, he’d pout for days after. She was fine putting up with his pouting. It was when his mother was alive that she couldn’t bear the two of them ganging up on her. Back then, she’d just give up, telling herself to bide her time. One day she’d be free of them both.

  The bank president, Abram Curtis, saw her and waved her into his office. “Mrs. Anson,” he said, coming around his desk to take both of her hands in his. “My condolences.”

  “Thank you.” She retrieved her hands from his damp ones.

  “Please have a seat and tell me how I can be of help.” He took his chair behind his desk and leaned forward, the elbows of his shirt on the shiny, clean surface.

  She cleared her voice, her stomach doing tiny flips. “I need to know how I stand financially.”

  “How you stand?”

  “Frank handled all the finances.”

  “Oh, I see.” He moved to his computer and began to type. She watched him, nervously expecting the worst. At college, Frank had talked about how much land his family owned, how many cattle they ran. It wasn’t until she’d arrived on his so-called spread that she realized that the ranch was small, the house old, the outbuildings dilapidated and everything needed work. The first thing he’d told her was that money was hard to come by so he expected her to make do without it.


  Abram stopped typing, stared at the screen and then swiveled around to look at her. She tried to read his somber expression. He seemed hesitant to tell her just how bad it was.

  “It’s bad, right?” she asked, bracing herself. She’d already figured that if she could sell the ranch and the cattle—not nearly as many as Frank had led her to believe—she might have enough to start over somewhere. That was if anyone wanted to buy the place. And if she had enough money to live on until it sold.

  “At the end of last month, you had a balance of $2,113.97 The payment on the loans your husband had came out the first part of the month, leaving you with $743.19.”

  It was even less than she’d expected. She gulped back the angry sob that rose in her throat. “Is there a savings account?”

  The banker shook his head, making her eyes burn. She would have to sell the ranch and cattle as soon as possible to survive. That didn’t bother her as much as the thought that there would be nothing left once she paid off the loans the banker was referring to—let alone Frank’s burial costs.

  “These loans,” she began but had to clear her voice. “How much is owed against the place?”

  “Well...” He squinted at the screen for a moment before looking up at her. “It appears those have been paid off as of a few minutes ago.”

  “What?” He didn’t answer. He was staring at the computer screen as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “How is that possible?”

  Abram coughed. “Not only was the loan against your place paid off, but a bank transfer just came in a moment ago, bringing your current balance up to $50,743.19.”

  She blinked, leaning forward because she knew she hadn’t heard correctly. “I’m sorry? Are you telling me someone paid off my loans and deposited money into my account? That has to be a mistake.” She had a sudden thought. “Was it like a life insurance policy or something?” She knew it couldn’t be life insurance. Frank hadn’t believed in it, thought insurance men were all crooks.

  The banker shook his head.

  Allie stared at him. “Then who would...?” She’d barely gotten the words started when she saw Abram make a few taps on the keys and stiffen.

  “Montgomery McClintock had the money moved from his account across the street at our competing bank into your account.” Abram turned off the screen to look at her. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Anson?” he asked, his voice colder than the November day outside.

  * * *

  “MY FATHER DID WHAT?” Blaze moved about the kitchen of the ranch house as she listened to Clarkston Evans on the other end of the line.

  “I just spoke with the sheriff. Apparently, he got a call from Abram Curtis at one of the banks. He’s trying to read something into this. Were you aware that your father had his banker transfer money to the widow of the dead man? He gave her fifty thousand dollars and paid off the loans against her ranch.”

  “He’s in jail. How could he—”

  “He had Martin Shores take care of it. Is that his banker?”

  She groaned. “Yes.” Did her father really not know how bad this looked, giving money to Allie? “Have you spoken with my father about this?”

  “I plan to see him again tomorrow. I’m hoping the ballistics tests results will be back by then, but I will definitely ask him about this money changing hands. Forgive me for being indelicate, but—”

  “Were they having an affair? I have no idea. I haven’t been back here for years.” She didn’t add, though, that almost a year after her mother disappeared, she’d seen his father coming back from a ride from the direction of the Anson Ranch. Her father had looked so young, so vibrant, so...happy. Which had only made her angrier at the thought that he could be any of those things with her mother missing.

  “I’ll discuss it with your father.”

  “Won’t this make him look more guilty?” she asked.

  “You’re forgetting that he wants everyone to believe he is guilty.”

  “But if he was having an affair with Allie...”

  “I’d rather hear it from him before I consider any consequences. I’m thinking of talking to this woman as well tomorrow. Would you like to come along when I do since you apparently know her?”

  “Sure.” He suggested a time and she hung up and looked at Jake.

  “I hate to even ask,” he said.

  “He gave her fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Allie Anson, the dead man’s widow? That could be seen as guilt.”

  She laughed. “You think? What it sounds like to me is premeditated homicide. Doesn’t Montana still have the death penalty?”

  “It hasn’t been used in twenty-one years. The last time they hanged anyone was 1943. Lethal gas was adopted in 1983 but was never used.”

  “You researched it?” The realization made her feel even worse. Like her, he’d assumed her father was guilty, given everything she’d told him about Monte. “You checked because you’re worried, aren’t you?”

  “There are only two people on death row. It would be very unusual for the prosecution to ask for the death penalty in a case like this.”

  She shook her head. “But Montana still has the death penalty,” she argued. “This judge just might sentence him to death.”

  Jake got to his feet. “That’s why your father has a lawyer.” He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Don’t buy trouble. Just because he gave this woman money... Maybe he was merely being kind.”

  Blaze scoffed. “Try selling that to a judge.” His palms were warm against her shoulders. She yearned to be in his arms, to feel safe and warm and protected for just a few moments.

  “Didn’t you say you felt sorry for her?” he asked as he removed his hands.

  “I didn’t think she was happy and that was a long time ago. If I’m right, she’s the one who shot her husband and my father is taking the rap for it. The money just makes him look more stupid.”

  “Stupid? Or in love?”

  “Please,” she said, moving away from him out of self-preservation. Being close to him only made her ache inside for what they once had.

  “People do stupid things for love,” he said behind her, his voice soft, seductive. She closed her eyes, drawn to what he was offering. Why fight it? Why not enjoy the time they had together? It wasn’t like he could hurt her again. She was too smart for that.

  She turned toward him and started to say... She didn’t know what she might have said because his cell phone rang. She watched him check it, then excuse himself, saying he had to take the call.

  “What’s up?” he asked into the phone as he headed for the front door.

  Her heart dropped like a rock as he stepped outside. She was such a fool. Had she really been thinking about climbing back into his bed?

  Blaze watched him pacing a little in the cold outside, his breath coming out in puffs as he talked in the dark to whoever was on the other end of that call. She turned away, unable to watch, her heart aching as much as her body. Damn Jake. Damn her body for wanting him, needing him, aching for him. And damn that weak moment only seconds ago when she’d almost fallen into his arms—and his bed—again.

  Behind her, she heard him come back into the house. He brought with him a gust of Montana winter wind.

  “Brrr, it’s cold out there,” he said. “I was thinking we could watch another movie and I’d make—”

  “I’m tired. I’ll go to bed and read,” she said without turning around.

  A heavy silence fell between them. He knew her. He knew she was hurt and angry and suddenly trusting him even less, if that was possible.

  “Blaze, if it’s about that phone call. It wasn’t—”

  “I couldn’t care less.” She didn’t wait for the lie he was about to tell her. “Lock the door behind you.” She walked down to her bedroom and closed and locked that door,
as well. She leaned against it, letting tears trail down her cheeks unheeded for a few moments. Hastily, she wiped at them, angry with herself for letting Jake get to her again.

  * * *

  JAKE HEARD HER lock her bedroom door and swore under his breath. He shouldn’t have taken the call. But even if he hadn’t, Blaze would have thought the worst. He considered going after her and what? Pounding on her door? Trying to reason through the locked door?

  He stared after her, cursing himself. They were getting closer earlier. But the moment had been lost when he’d taken the phone call. Sighing, he knew it was because she didn’t trust him. Could she ever again? If she couldn’t then they would never survive together. She would always be waiting for him to prove again what a bastard he was.

  Even though it was pitch-black outside, it wasn’t late. Montana in winter, he thought as he headed for the bunkhouse. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep and, unlike Blaze, he didn’t have a book to read. He’d packed too quickly to get here, to be with her. He thought about going back to the house to see if there was one in her father’s den that might hold his attention. Also, he’d forgotten to lock the door as she’d asked.

  As he started back, he caught the glow of a set of headlights on the road past the ranch. The roar of what sounded like a pickup engine reached him about the time the vehicle dipped down a hill and the lights blinked out. He listened, but it appeared the pickup had gone on past.

  Standing in the dark, he reminded himself just how dangerous this mission could get. The buffalo stampede was still fresh in his mind. The men had wanted to scare them off. Their attempt had failed. So what would they do next?

  He listened for the pickup engine until he heard it in the distance. No late-night visitor. At least not tonight.

  He glanced toward the house. He could see that Blaze’s bedroom light was on. He caught glimpses of her shadow moving around behind the drapes. He realized that she would be fuming and probably wouldn’t be able to sleep again. He’d prefer to talk to her in the morning, but he feared she would only work herself up more if he didn’t tell her tonight.