Page 17 of Setup In Montana

Fighting tears, she nodded and tried to find the silver lining her cousin Goldie was always fond of telling her patrons at her café in Dry Gulch about. Clancy told herself that she was safe here. This would give the sheriff more time to find the real killer. No one knew where she was, but that could be a blessing. She would let Sarah know she was all right, swear her to secrecy and her friend could let her know what was going on in Grass Range in the meantime.

The only problem was that bag of jewelry and the fear it filled her with at even the thought of being caught with it.

“No problem,” she said, although sounding less than enthusiastic. “I can help out around here.”

The rancher smiled at that. “You a good cook?”

“I wouldn’t say…good.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, Tanner usually handles the cooking. Anyway, you aren’t expected to pitch in.”

“I appreciate that, but I would like to help.”

“I’m sure we can find something to keep you busy, then. Maybe you could help Dub with his barn chores.”

She heard something in the man’s tone and shot him a look. He wasn’t thinking of playing matchmaker, was he? She said nothing, telling herself she’d be counting down the days until that bridge was operating again, just as Dub Crawford came through the door.

* * *

THE DEAD WOMAN’S name was Jane Cooke, the same woman who had been defending Clancy yesterday, Max realized. She lay on top of the covers on her bed, fully dressed with one leg hanging off the side and one arm thrown back as if she’d struggled against her attacker.

A brightly colored scarf was bound tightly around her slim neck. There were scratches on her neck and skin under her fingernails from where she’d fought to loosen the scarf without success. One look at the scene and Max suspected her attacker had been larger and stronger. Even if the person had taken her by surprise, Jane had put up a fight.

He glanced around the room and saw that the woman must have been sitting at her desk writing something when the intruder entered the room. He leaned to get a closer look at what she’d written. Jane’s note appeared to be a confession.

What wasn’t clear was whether she was writing the confession voluntarily before her attacker came into the room, or if she’d been coerced into writing it by her killer.

He noticed how she had stopped mid-word, the ink leaving a line across the page as if the pen had been abruptly jerked away. Was that when someone had come into the room? Or had she stopped at that point because the killer had put the scarf around her neck?

Max frowned as he realized the pen she’d been using was missing. Stepping back, he surveyed the room, wondering if the killer had taken it. That was when he spotted it lying on the floor next to the far wall.

He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket, bent down and, using his gloved fingers, picked up the bloody pen and slipped it into the bag.

Was that Jane’s blood on the pen? Or had she managed to stab her attacker?

He turned to find Vernon in the doorway and started to speak, but before he could get any words out there was a horrified scream directly behind him. They both started and looked to the hallway to see Myrna Larson.

Max was thinking, Don’t tell me there’s another dead body, when Myrna Larson cried, “That’s Hazel Brockman’s scarf!”

Chapter Seven

Dub had woken after a restless night. He’d lain in bed way too late, trying to understand what it was about Clancy that he found so appealing. She’d made it clear how she felt about him and his kind. So why had he kept trying? How many times did he need to hear no, to get it through his head that the woman wasn’t interested? He hated to think he might be as stubborn as his father.

After finishing his chores, he headed for the house, telling himself Clancy would probably be gone. His father had said he was going to drive her to the highway—unless Dub wanted to take her.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” he’d told him earlier this morning before even the sun was up—let alone their house guest. Even as he’d said no, he was still tempted. The woman just brought out stupid in him, he told himself. He couldn’t believe that he’d fallen head over heels the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

Love at first sight. Even now he didn’t want to believe it. But that was what it had been. He’d taken one good look at her and proclaimed that he was going to marry her.

It was absurd, and he wouldn’t have admitted it even to his best friend, but he’d foolishly blurted it out right there in the convenience store. He remembered the look on her face. Surprise, and then her reaction to his audacity.

“I highly doubt that because I don’t date cowboys for this very reason.”

He’d laughed, thinking in time she’d come around. He couldn’t imagine making a bigger fool of himself. Worse, he hadn’t changed his fool mind.

As he pushed open the door into the house, he heard voices and recognized Clancy’s. She hadn’t left yet? He hesitated, then kicked off his muddy boots to pull on a worn, clean pair by the door before walking into the kitchen. The moment he saw her, his heart did that crazy little thing in his chest it always did.

Honestly, he didn’t know why. Clancy wasn’t what a man would call beautiful. Not even cute, exactly. Yet something about that face drew him like metal to magnet. Her long dark curly hair was always pulled up as if she hadn’t given it any thought. She had that same “I don’t take myself too seriously” kind of look on her face. Maybe that was what had made him do a double take the first time he’d laid eyes on her. The woman had an attitude that suggested nothing could impress her—especially some cowboy like him.