The Lone Rancher

Chapter Nine

Adrianna had a bad feeling about Cahill’s evening excursion. Blast it, too many things could go wrong. There were enough problems with the rustling and arson that plagued both ranches. True, other ranchers had been targeted—Womack, Fitzgerald and Burnett, to name only a few. But it seemed to Adrianna that the most frequent criminal activity centered on Cahill and her and was written off to the supposed feud between them.

She had no idea what that implied—maybe nothing. Yet, she wondered if someone was using the feud to explain the rustling and fires, and letting the “curse” take the blame. If someone might have upped the ante to extort more money by preying on Quin’s emotions concerning his parents’ deaths.

What better way to get a man to do your bidding than to suggest the family wagon wreck was no accident? Adrianna didn’t trust this mysterious informant. Unfortunately, Quin was personally involved and burdened with grief and guilt. He was risking peril by venturing out alone at night, carrying money. His family had imploded after the untimely deaths. He wanted to believe someone else was to blame for the tragedy.

But why now? Why two years after the wagon wreck? she asked herself repeatedly. It was too suspicious not to raise concern and doubt.

Bearing that in mind, Adrianna pocketed her pistol in her jacket, then exited Quin’s former bedroom. She nearly jumped out of her own skin when a shadowy silhouette pounced on her.

“I knew it,” Quin muttered sourly. “I told you that you aren’t invited to this meeting tonight and I damn well mean it, Boston!”

“You are not my boss, my father or my husband,” she sniped as she jerked her arm from his grasp.

“Butler!” Quin called out loudly.

“Tattletale,” Adrianna snapped at Quin.

Hiram Butler—the traitor—stepped around the corner. Adrianna glowered mutinously at him, then glared pitchforks at Quin. “What did you do? Pay him to side with you?”

“No, that’s your tactic.” Quin smirked. “I lost my foreman to that trick, as you well know.”

Adrianna stared down Butler when he walked up beside her. “I thought you were my loyal friend and part of my family,” she said, trying to shame him.

“I am,” Butler affirmed. “Which is why I have no choice but to stand guard over you while Cahill rides off on his foolhardy errand.” He glanced meaningfully at Quin, then Adrianna. “No sense both of you walking into a death trap.”

Quin clasped her shoulders, turned her around, then gave her a nudge over the threshold of his former bedroom. No doubt, he didn’t want Butler to know she and Quin had become intimate in the master suite. She should tell her overprotective accountant about last evening’s escapade so he would be tempted to shoot Quin, she thought spitefully. And she would be happy to load Butler’s gun for him.

“And stay there,” Quin barked sharply. “Butler will be sitting outside the door until I get back.”

She glowered at Quin. “What if you don’t come back? Am I supposed to stay here forever?”

“If the news of my demise arrives in a day or two, then take over the house and run the ranch as you see fit,” he offered generously.

“And deal with your wayward family?” She scoffed in annoyance. “They might swoop in like vultures after you’re gone. No, thank you. I have my own problems so I have no need of yours, Cahill.”

She did have a serious problem. She was very much afraid that she was in love with Cahill. She must be, because the thought of him walking into a trap and never coming home terrified her. She had never felt so protective of a man, never felt so content with a man. Cahill challenged her, amused and aroused her. She didn’t want to lose him.

When Quin shut the door—slammed it was more accurate—Adrianna flounced on the bed. “Butler, you are not going to hear the end of this!” she shouted at her turncoat of an accountant.

“I didn’t expect to, my dear,” Butler said from the other side of the door. “But it’s for your own well-being.”

Adrianna blew out an exasperated breath when she heard Quin’s footsteps recede in the hall. Taking advantage of the noise Butler made by scooting a chair in front of the door to block her exit, she opened the window. She glanced speculatively at the private balcony outside the master suite, then she surveyed the sloped roof outside Quin’s former room.

Back in the day at her country estate, she and Rosa had performed disappearing acts and acrobatic maneuvers so they could sneak from the house for midnight rides and walks along the river. The only difference between now and then was Adrianna was inspired by the noble purpose of saving Quin from disaster.

Quietly, she straddled the windowsill, then eased onto the steep roof. She made as little noise as possible, so as not to alert Bea and Elda, who might be part of the conspiracy with Butler. It wouldn’t surprise her, considering their loyalty and affection. She loved her overprotective, adopted family despite their misguided intentions, she mused as she inched along the wooden shingles to reach the balcony. She slung a leg over the railing, then glanced around, trying to decide how best to descend to the ground without breaking her neck.

The only sensible escape route was to crawl along the overhanging tree branch that was a few feet beyond the railing. She pulled off her boots, then tucked them in the waistband of her breeches. Apprehension sizzled through her as she balanced on the railing and extended herself to grasp the branch. It was a long way to the ground, she noticed. One misstep and she would nosedive to the lawn. She would do Quin no good whatsoever if he became the victim of an ambush and she landed in a broken heap.

Adrianna inhaled a bolstering breath, then sprang forward to grab the limb. Reverting to her hoyden days, she crawled along the branch, then picked her way down to the tree bough. She cursed sourly when she saw Quin trotting the bloodred bay gelding from the barn. If she didn’t quicken her pace, she would be too far behind to follow his trail to the place called Phantom Springs.

She hopped lightly to the ground, then darted from one tree to the next to prevent being seen. She cast an occasional glance toward the window of the room where Quin had imprisoned her, hoping her well-meaning guard had yet to realize she had snuck out. Adrianna couldn’t spare the time to saddle Buckshot. She dashed toward the bunkhouse where two saddle horses—a strawberry roan and a brown gelding with three white stockings—were tied to the hitching post. She borrowed the closest one to her. She’d explain later, she decided as she mounted up and raced off in the darkness.



Quin trotted Cactus through the shadows, headed toward the wooded hillside where the cool springs bubbled from a jumble of rocks to flow across a rapid-filled stream. The creek meandered southeast, eventually providing the water supply for Cahill Crossing.

Anticipation crackled through him as he glanced this way and that, searching the swaying shadows in the trees. Boston’s objections rang in his ears, but the prospect of discovering what happened the evening Ruby and Earl Cahill died overrode the possibility of personal danger. True, there was the dangerous curve that overlooked a rock-filled ravine on the road to Wolf Grove. But if his parents had been chased by thieves and were driving too fast in the overloaded wagon, Quin wanted to know. His father, who had been nursing an injured wrist, could have oversteered the wagon in his attempt to beat the outlaws back to town. The robbery could have caused the disaster.

Damnation, Quin and his family had been through hell after their parents’ sudden deaths. He just had to find out what had happened at the site the locals had named Ghost Canyon after the accident. The incident, Quin hastily corrected. By the time he had returned from Kansas, Marshal Hobbs had investigated the site and removed the bodies. Quin had stood on the cliff at the bend of the road, listening to the Texas wind whisper through the canyon like voices calling from the Great Beyond.

The thought gave him cold chills, especially when he was headed for Phantom Springs where the murmur of water rushing over the rapids created a sound similar to the wind whipping through Ghost Canyon. Quin didn’t want to end up dead during his crusade to discover the truth.

Just to be on the safe side, Quin retrieved one of his six-shooters, then dismounted. He had dealt with plenty of dangerous situations during trail drives and he was accustomed to proceeding with caution. Tonight was no different. There were plenty of trees and boulders in the area to conceal bushwhackers. He did not intend to ride up to the site, making a racket to invite an ambush.

Guided by dappled moonlight, Quin crept forward. A dozen questions chased one another around his mind as he sought out the mysterious informant. Why now? How did you come by this information? Who was involved? How can I contact you later to serve as a witness at a trial?

The sound of twigs snapping in the darkness brought Quin to high alert. He aimed his pistol toward the sound, then tethered Cactus on the lower limb of a nearby tree. As a precaution, he left the money in the saddlebag, in case this was a hoax and he stumbled into a trap, as Boston predicted.

Cautiously, he crept toward the springs. He blinked in surprise when he saw a man lying facedown, his head dangling in the water. There was a bullet hole in his back.

“Damn it,” Quin muttered as he squatted down to grab the man by the shoulder and ease him to his back. The would-be informant—or bushwhacker, Quin wasn’t sure which—had sandy-blond hair, bowed legs and a skinny physique. The dead man was in no condition to convey information.

Quin studied the man’s features closely, then recalled that he had brushed shoulders with this character at the wedding party. He hadn’t recognized the man as a local and he hadn’t given him another thought—until now.

Setting aside his pistol, Quin dug into the pockets of the dead man’s wet jacket, breeches and shirt. He found a few coins but no identification.

“Damnation!” he growled irritably.

Quin was about to rise to his feet when he felt a presence behind him. He made a grab for the pistol but someone clobbered him over the head. He swayed on his knees when stars exploded in front of his eyes. He took a blind swing at whoever had snuck up behind him but he received another blow to the skull for his effort. A boot heel slammed between his shoulder blades, sending him sprawling beside the dead man.

His last thought, before he blacked out, was that if he wound up with a bullet in his back his last memory would be Boston’s voice ringing in his ears, reminding him that she’d told him so….



Adrianna heard the gunshot in the distance and felt her heart shrivel in her chest. Blast it, she should have pushed the borrowed horse to a swifter pace so she could keep a closer eye on Quin. Now he was likely dead and she was no use to him whatsoever.

Damn him, why hadn’t he listened to reason? If she had been nearby, things might have turned out differently.

She winced, remembering what Quin had said about feeling guilty because he hadn’t been home the fateful day his parents drove to Wolf Grove—and never made it back alive. Now she knew how he felt—angry, guilty and full of regret. She should have pitched a royal fit until he agreed to let her accompany him. She should have descended the tree faster so she could have been on hand to help him spot the bushwhacker….

Her wild, tormenting thoughts trailed off when she heard the thunder of hooves racing to the east. She gouged her horse, then jerked back on the reins when a second horse galloped hell-for-leather to the west in the darkness.

As anxious as she was to locate Quin—to see him, touch him and know he was safe, she forced herself to wait another beat. Sure enough, a third rider headed south. No doubt, there was a gang involved. They had split up to avoid capture—in case Quin hadn’t come alone as instructed.

Once she was reasonably certain the danger had passed, Adrianna nudged her horse, unsure where she was going. In the near distance, she heard murmurs. Alarmed, she halted and pricked her ears. She realized the sound she heard was water rushing over rocks. Phantom Springs, no doubt.

She nudged the horse forward, then swore sourly when she spotted Cactus tethered to a tree. She dismounted in a single bound to rush toward the sound of gurgling water. Her thudding heart ceased beating the moment when she saw Quin sprawled facedown beside another lifeless body that was faceup.

“Quin?” she choked out as she skidded onto her knees beside him. “Quin, can you hear me?”

Nothing. He didn’t respond or move, just lay motionless beside the other man—who looked vaguely familiar. She was too distressed to recall where she might have seen him.

Desperate, Adrianna ripped off the hem of her blouse to dip in the water. Since she didn’t see a bloody wound on Quin’s back she rolled him over, then frowned, bemused. There was no pool of blood or seeping stain on his chest or torso. But she knew for a fact that she had heard a gunshot.

Confused, she rolled over the other man and found the fatal wound on his back. Surely Quin hadn’t shot this man in the back—it wasn’t his style. But why did Quin look as dead as his companion when he wasn’t lying in a pool of his own blood?

Muffling a sniff, she wiped the tears from her eyes, then pressed shaky fingertips to the side of Quin’s neck. She half collapsed in relief when she noted he still had a pulse. Frantic to determine why he wasn’t moving, she ran her hand over his scalp. There were two goose-egg-size knots on the back of his head.

Why didn’t I notice them when I rolled him to his back before? she asked herself. Because she had been expecting to see bullet holes. Thank goodness, she hadn’t found any.

Adrianna grabbed her makeshift rag and blotted the knots on his head. Then she eased Quin to his back to sprinkle water on his pallid face. When that didn’t work, she cupped her hands and dribbled more water on his face.

Finally, he stirred, grimaced uncomfortably, then exhaled a wobbly sigh. He looked incredibly vulnerable. Compassion squeezed Adrianna’s chest. Impulsively, she pressed her lips to his, wishing her kiss would revive Quin and restore him to the energetic, commanding—and sometimes maddening—man he usually was.

Eventually he opened his eyes, but he looked so dazed that she wondered if he recognized her. “Quin, it’s me. Boston.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he grumbled sluggishly.

“I came to tell you I told you so, of course,” she muttered caustically, her fear transforming into annoyance.

“What hit me?” he asked dazedly.

“I don’t know, but I’d like to hit you. You scared me half to death,” she snapped, even as she cradled his injured head on her lap and held the cold compress against his skull.

Quin pried open one eye and squinted up at her. “My brain might be scrambled but I remember telling you to stay put,” he mumbled. “Did you bribe Butler to let you follow me?”

“No.” She offered no explanation. “What happened here?”

Quin tried to lever himself onto an elbow, then wilted back to the ground. “The world is spinning and my skull feels like it split wide-open. It’s making me nauseous.”

“I’m sorry…now tell me what happened,” she demanded as she cast the dead man a hasty glance. “Your friend has a hole in his back. Any idea how it got there? It wasn’t your work, was it? I can’t picture you gunning down someone in that cowardly fashion. Me, maybe, but no one else.”

Quin gingerly inspected the twin knots on his head, then grimaced in pain. “All I know is I crept in here and found this man with his head draped in the spring. He had a bullet hole in his back.”

He dragged in a restorative breath but Adrianna thought he still looked pale and shaky so she refused to let him stand until he regained a bit more color.

“I turned the man over and remembered that I saw him at the party,” he went on to say. “I don’t think he’s a local, which strikes me as odd. I was hoping he was still alive, but he was long past telling me what I wanted to know. Then someone clubbed me from behind. I tried to spin around but he hit me again. That’s the last thing I remember. Except your voice in my head saying, I told you so.”

“Next time listen to my voice in your head, Cahill,” she advised. “Now what about the other three men?”

Quin frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard a gunshot. Then three men rode off in different directions,” she reported. “One went east, one west and one south. I was unable to identify any of the men or describe their horses in the darkness.”

“Three?” he croaked. “Are you sure about that, Boston?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m not the one with two knots on my head…. Do you think you can stand up yet?”

Quin pushed upright and leaned heavily against her. He waited a moment, inhaled a few deep breaths, then tried again—and failed.

“You wait here while I fetch Cactus,” she ordered as she scrambled to her feet.

When she returned a minute later, leading Cactus, Quin said, “Check the saddlebags to see if the money is where I left it.”

She did as he asked. “There’s nothing here.”

“Hell and damnation,” Quin bit out as he rolled onto all fours, then tried to stand.

Adrianna darted over to lend support. She felt a sentimental tug at her heartstrings when Quin draped his arm around her shoulder, then kissed her on the cheek.

“I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” he murmured. “I want to make double damn certain that everyone around here knows you can’t identify the other men involved. As far as anyone knows, you weren’t here. Understand, Boston?”

“Fine. We’ll play it your way for the time being, at least.” She glanced down at the dead man. “My guess is that whoever dreamed up this extortion scheme decided to split the money three ways instead of four. Worse, we still don’t know if there is any truth to the possibility of foul play in your parents’ death.”

Quin muttered a string of expletives as Adrianna assisted him into the saddle. She frowned in concern when Quin doubled over Cactus’s neck, then groaned miserably. She was no doctor, but she suspected he was suffering from a concussion. She needed to get him home so he could rest.

She glanced back at the dead man. He wasn’t going anywhere so he could wait until she had tended to Quin.

Leading Cactus back to the borrowed horse, Adrianna mounted up and kept a watchful eye on Quin, who faded in and out of consciousness during the ride. When they reached the house, she shouted for help. Bea, Butler and Elda appeared on the porch. Three sets of eyes rounded in concern when they spotted Quin.

As expected, Butler’s disapproving gaze zeroed in on her. “You’d better be all right,” he huffed. “And do not pull a prank like that again! I thought you had passed that hoyden stage a decade ago. Your father would not approve.”

“He didn’t approve of anything unladylike that I did,” she countered, then directed everyone’s attention to Quin. “Someone pounded Cahill over the head twice and took the money.” She bounded from the saddle, then rushed over to Quin. “Help me get him upstairs.” She glanced hastily at Bea. “Bring your needle and thread. I think he’s going to need stitches.”

“Where am I?” Quin mumbled when the foursome jostled him off the horse.

“In hell, Cahill,” Adrianna told him. “I’m in charge now. You cannot rise from bed without my permission.”

“Damn, my worst nightmare,” he groaned.

Adrianna wasn’t sure but she thought she saw the smallest hint of a smile pass his ashen lips before he collapsed again.



Quin awoke to find himself tucked in the oversize bed in the master suite. His stomach pitched and rolled like a ship at the mercy of a storm-ravaged sea. His head pounded in rhythm with his pulse. His eyes blurred when he kept them open too long at a time. It hurt to think but he tried to remember what had happened after someone clobbered him the previous night. Unfortunately, bits and pieces of the incident kept flitting through his mind, then shattering like glass.

What he recalled clearly was that Boston had defied his orders and followed him. “The damn fool woman,” he grumbled crankily.

“I do hope you aren’t referring to me, Cahill,” came Boston’s familiar voice from somewhere behind him. “The only damn fool in this room is you. And you have three stitches on your scalp to prove it.”

The moment Quin levered himself up on his elbows to settle into a half-inclined position nausea pelted him. Boston was there in a flash to assist him. He sighed heavily as he leaned against the pillow she propped behind his tender head.

“Elda brought up some broth and crackers,” she informed him. “You are going to eat them.”

“I’m not hun—”

She crammed a spoonful of tasty broth in his open mouth, then said, “Do as you’re told. Dr. Lewis will be here soon. We’ll see what he has to say about your condition.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You are a mean, bossy tyrant, Boston,” he complained, but his voice held no censure.

“Thank you, Cahill. I love you, too.”

That’d be the day, he predicted. He’d made Boston irate the first time they met because he’d opened his big mouth and spouted off about how she was out of her element in Texas and she should go home. Then they had engaged in a feud to annoy each other and someone had used their conflict as an explanation for rustled cattle and destructive fires. Now she was a witness to murder and she could find herself in jeopardy.

He frowned, bemused. “How many riders did you say you heard racing away from Phantom Springs?”

“Three.” She shoved a cracker in his mouth to ease his nausea. Surprisingly it helped. “They left one at a time,” she continued. “That was after someone fired a single shot.”

Quin munched on the cracker pensively. “I didn’t hear the shot so I must have been unconscious when it happened.”

“I thought you shot someone or someone shot you. It was very disconcerting.”

He sent her a discreet glance, wondering if she liked him well enough to worry about him. “Careful, Boston, you keep saying things like that and I’ll start thinking you care.”

She shrugged nonchalantly and stuffed a spoonful of broth in his mouth again. “I’m returning a favor. You allowed me and my family to stay at your house after the fire.” She bent to graze her lush lips over his and he felt better immediately…until she added, “Now hush up and eat. I have better things to do besides mollycoddle you, Cahill.”

“Boston?” he said when she rose from the edge of the bed.

“Yes?”

“Um, thank you…” He wasn’t accustomed to having to depend on others and it injured his pride. When his brothers and sister abandoned him, he had vowed to manage without anyone. For the most part, he had, though he had practically worked himself to death doing it.

She braced her hands on either side of him, then leaned down to kiss him again. “You’re welcome, Cahill. Now get better. That’s an order.”

When she walked away, he swallowed a smile and decided a few dozen of Boston’s kisses were the only remedy he needed to get back on his feet.