The Lone Rancher

Chapter One

Cahill Crossing, Texas springtime, early 1880s

Quin Cahill dismounted from his horse, then stared at the string of saloons and dance halls that lined the north side of the newly completed railroad tracks. He doubted his parents would have approved of the disreputable businesses that had sprung up in the town that bore their family name….

The tormenting memory of losing both parents at once—not to mention the devastating family split that had followed—put a scowl on Quin’s face and left an empty ache in his heart. Squaring his shoulders, Quin forced aside the bleak thought and decided to treat himself to a drink at Hell’s Corner Saloon before he crossed the tracks to the respectable side of town to pick up supplies.

“Afternoon, Quin,” Sidney Meeker, the baldheaded, dark-eyed bartender, said as Quin strode across the planked floor.

Quin nodded a greeting as he leaned against the bar. He glanced around the saloon to note several unfamiliar faces at the poker tables. Cardsharps, he supposed, all waiting to prey on off-duty soldiers from nearby Fort Ridge, the cowboys from neighboring ranches and trail drives and the tracklayers who were constructing iron rails westward.

Sid arched a questioning brow as he dried off a shot glass, then set it aside. “How are things going on the 4C? Still having trouble with rustlers and squatters cutting your fences?”

Quin took a welcomed sip, allowing the liquor to slide down his throat and wash away the bitter memory of his brothers and sister bailing out on him and how hard he’d worked to take up the slack. “Not as much trouble as I had a year ago,” he said before he took another drink.

“That’s good news for you and the other ranchers in the area.” Sid absently wiped the scarred bar with his dish towel. “Especially the new owners of the ranch west of your spread. I saw ’em climb off the train this morning.”

Quin jerked up his head and frowned. He had been trying to purchase that run-down ranch for six months. Some highfalutin family had bought out the other investors from Boston and England that had run the spread long-distance—which almost never worked. Quin had written several letters to the headquarters in Boston and made a generous offer to M. G. & L. Investment Group. He had received notice that someone named McKnight had acquired most of the shares.

Sid grinned, exposing his horselike teeth. “It was a sight to behold at the new train depot. Boxcars of fancy furniture, a new breed of cattle and stacks of lumber arrived with ’em.” He inclined his bald head toward the door. “Folks scrambled out of here to watch. Most of the ones who showed up at the station were offered jobs of transporting wagonloads of belongings to the ranch.”

Quin smiled wryly, then took another drink. This was the perfect chance to meet his new neighbor—who wouldn’t last long when he realized the ranch house had fallen into disrepair and part of the livestock had been stolen because only a skeleton crew of hired hands had been retained to watch the place.

“Quite an entourage,” Sid continued as he propped both elbows on the bar. “One well-dressed gent with fancy manners and three women. They purchased a two-seated carriage from the livery and headed west a few hours ago.”

Quin’s lips quirked in wicked amusement. He could imagine the cultural shock those Easterners would encounter. While it was true that Cahill Crossing had increased in population since the coming of the railroad, social events here were infrequent. Sure, there was the occasional school function to raise money for supplies and church socials—that sort of thing—but nothing compared to the gala affairs rumored to take place in New England.

He predicted his uppity neighbors would turn up their aristocratic noses and scurry back to Boston soon. And Quin was going to be first in line to offer to take the property off their hands. The land west of his ranch had an excellent water source, pastures of thick grass and wooded hills to shade the livestock during oppressive summers and to block the brutal blue norther winds during harsh winters.

Yes, indeed, Quin was going to get his hands on that tract of land, just as he had bought up other available property to fulfill his father’s dream of expanding the 4C Ranch.

“And Bowie, Leanna and Chance should be here to help me,” Quin muttered resentfully.

Sid arched thick black brows and frowned curiously. “Pardon?”

“Nothing.” Quin set the empty glass on the bar, then spun on his boot heels. “I need to pick up supplies. Thanks for the drink, Sid.”

Quin mounted the bloodred bay gelding, with its sleek black mane and tail. He’d named him Cactus because of his prickly disposition. Quin had overheard some of his hired hands mutter that Quin and Cactus were a helluva lot alike. Though Cactus was a bit hard to handle at times, the horse had amazing stamina and endurance that was invaluable on trail drives. Plus, Cactus had never abandoned Quin the way his two brothers and sister had when the going got tough.

Tugging the packhorse behind him, Quin passed the train depot and Château Royale Hotel—the fancy new establishment constructed to accommodate passengers from the railroad and stage depot. He smiled as he dismounted at the general store on Town Square. How he wished he had been there to see the look on McKnight’s face when he arrived at the run-down ranch house. No doubt, the man would be begging Quin to take the mismanaged property off his hands. Very soon, Quin would add another tract of land to the sprawling 4C Ranch.



Adrianna McKnight gaped at the clapboard ranch house that cried out for a fresh coat of paint and the bare windows that needed bright curtains. There were no gardens to give the place a speck of color. Nothing to welcome her home.

“Good heavens! I traded cooking in a posh Boston mansion for this?” Ezmerelda Quickel, the short, round-faced, red-haired cook, chirped as she stared goggle-eyed at her new home.

Adrianna pasted on an optimistic smile as she swiveled around to glance directly at Ezmerelda, who had half collapsed in disappointment on the backseat of the buggy. “I’m sure we’ll be in a more positive frame of mind after we recuperate from our exhausting journey. Hopefully, the interior of the house is in better condition than the exterior.”

“Let’s hope so, Addie dear,” Beatrice Fremont, the longtime housekeeper, harrumphed distastefully. “But I have the uneasy feeling I’ll face a pile of dust and I’ll be sneezing my head off while I try to set this residence to rights.”

Hiram Butler, her man of affairs who was like an honorary uncle, glanced this way and that, then said, “I knew Texas claimed to be wide-open range country and wooded hills, but goodness! Our nearest neighbor must be miles away!”

Honestly, she was surprised anyone had volunteered to make this long journey after she had purchased the shares in this Texas ranch. Save those shares belonging to her first and only cousin, Rosalie Greer Burnett. Rosalie had cautioned Adrianna in her last letter that the property had been neglected because the previous manager had embezzled money meant for the upkeep of the home. But this?

Adrianna had planned to construct a new addition to enlarge the existing house but she hadn’t anticipated remodeling the entire residence! Still, she needed this change of address, this new challenge to prove to herself that she was capable and that she counted for something besides tramping around ballrooms in Boston, fending off adventurers who sought to attach themselves to her vast fortune.

By heavens, Adrianna Kathleen McKnight was going to put this ranch on the map—or die trying! She wasn’t the witless debutante her so-called friends in Boston pigeonholed her as. She had disappointed her departed father because she had only made a halfhearted attempt to become the dignified lady he had expected her to become when he introduced her into society. Adrianna had tried for her father’s sake. Unfortunately, she had been unhappy and she had been untrue to her nature, while trying to live up to his expectations.

Now, after Reuben McKnight’s lengthy illness, Adrianna had taken Cousin Rosa’s suggestion to move west and begin a new life for herself. She would make her father proud that she had inherited his knack for business. She was not an empty-headed china doll destined to become the trophy wife for some snobbish social climber.

Mustering her resolve, determined to meet the difficult challenge, Adrianna grabbed hold of her full skirts so she wouldn’t swan dive from the carriage, subsequently embarrassing herself in front of all the local workers she’d hired to transport and unload her cargo.

“Please cart the luggage upstairs,” she instructed in an authoritative tone that would have done her father proud—or at least she told herself that he would approve of her emulating his impressive organizing skills. “Then bring in the furniture. I will direct you where to put it.”

“What about all this lumber?” one of the off-duty soldiers she’d hired called out.

Adrianna gestured toward the storage building west of the house. “Stack it over there, if you please.” Drawing herself up to full stature, she marched onto the porch that surrounded the house. When she unlocked the front door, her spirits suffered a crushing blow. Whatever furniture had once filled the corrupt manager’s home was gone. So were the rugs. Dust covered the floors, staircase and windowsills.

“Oh, my,” Elda crowed as she poked her red head around Adrianna’s shoulder to inspect the place. “Bea, brace yourself, dear. It’s as bad as we thought.”

When Bea elbowed her out of the way, Adrianna stepped aside, but she clamped hold of the petite housekeeper’s elbow, in case she fainted in distress. Sure enough, Bea staggered sideways, as if knocked off balance.

“Lord have mercy!” Bea bleated as her wide-eyed gaze circled the hall and parlor.

“I appreciate everyone’s loyalty in coming with me, but if you want to return to Boston and more familiar surroundings, I will understand,” Adrianna insisted. “I will purchase rooms at the new Château Royale Hotel in town and you can be on the first train east, if you wish.”

Bea strode forward to run her forefinger over the dusty banister. “And leave you in these abominable conditions?” she said, and sniffed. “I stood by your mama and papa and I am not abandoning you. Even if it takes me a month to remove this pile of dust I will get it done.”

“I feel the same as Bea,” Elda spoke up. “Or at least I think I do. Let me have a look at the kitchen first.”

They trooped off in single file and Adrianna sagged in relief when she entered the kitchen to note the stove, pantry cupboards and worktable were where they were supposed to be. She glanced through the dirty window and noticed the summer kitchen stood behind the house.

“I’m staying, too,” Elda announced decisively.

“I insist on a bucket of paint to freshen up these plastered walls,” Bea said as she fussed with a coil of coal-black hair that had worked loose from the bun atop her head. “And no telling what varmints—the two-legged, four-legged and eight-legged varieties—have prowled around this house.”

Adrianna pivoted to face her stoic accountant, who was scrutinizing their new home as studiously as he pored over financial ledgers. “What about you, Butler? Do you wish to return to town and stay at the hotel?”

Hiram Butler drew himself up to full stature—all five foot ten inches—then brushed a speck of lint from the sleeve of his stylish jacket. “I gave your father my word that I would make sure you got off to a good start without him, my dear. I intend to honor that vow.”

Adrianna inwardly winced, wondering if all three devoted employees had made this trip because her father had wrested promises from them on his deathbed.

Adrianna waved her arms in expansive gestures. “You are hereby released from any vow you made Papa,” she decreed. “I intend to make a go of this ranch and to be near Cousin Rosa and her new husband. Boston has nothing for me now.”

“We are staying,” Butler declared after he received nods from Bea and Elda. “You, dear girl, are all the family we have. Besides, I am not going anywhere until I spend more than the passing moment we had at the train depot to determine if that Lucas Burnett character is good enough for our Rosalie.”

Adrianna flung her arms around Butler’s neck and practically squeezed the stuffing out of him. Then she hugged Bea and Elda. “I love you all and I am humbled by your loyalty during this adversity.” She stepped back, blinked the sentimentality from her eyes and added, “And this ranch is definitely an adversity I intend to overcome. The first order of business is to get our bedrooms into a habitable state.”

She spun on her heels to breeze through the empty dining room. “We need a place to collapse after a hard day’s work.”

“That is exactly what we have ahead of us,” Bea insisted. “As soon as I change out of my traveling clothes I will roll up my sleeves and get started on this place. At least our bedrooms will be free of dust by tonight.”

While the threesome directed traffic to have their belongings carted upstairs, Adrianna strode outside to oversee the stacking of lumber and the corralling of her herd of purebred Herefords into the pens beside the oversize barn.

Although Adrianna had sold the opulent mansion in Boston, she had retained the country estate where she had grown up raising prize cattle and horses. The place held sentimental memories of the freedom and happiness she had enjoyed during the first eighteen years of her life.

Before she had been instructed to behave like the proper, dignified lady her father insisted she become—and never could.

“Never again am I going to try to live up to anyone’s expectations,” Adrianna vowed fiercely. “This is my independence day. I’m going to make something of myself!”



Quin trotted Cactus through the pasture, taking the shortcut to the neighboring ranch. He leaned out to open the adjoining gate that led into McKnight’s pasture and noted the convoy of empty wagons moving in the direction of town. Too bad the McKnights hadn’t reversed direction before unloading their belongings. It would have saved them time and money.

He had seen this scenario several times before. Investors from England and Ireland had purchased Texas ranches and unknowingly hired incompetent managers. In the past eighteen months Quin had purchased two English-owned properties at rock-bottom prices and added pastures, bunkhouses, line shacks, barns and ranch homes to the sprawling 4C Ranch.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t gloat over his hard-earned success to his siblings because he only knew where Bowie was—and they weren’t speaking. He suspected Chance and Leanna had kept in contact with Bowie. But Quin had no clue where the two youngest siblings had begun the new lives they were so hell-bent on leading. Well, he hoped they were happy.

At his expense, of course. They didn’t care if he worked himself into an early grave to make the ranch the largest and most influential spread in the whole damn state.

Just as Earl and Ruby Cahill had dreamed of doing.

Ranching wasn’t in their blood, his siblings had said. Quin wasn’t sure Cahill blood ran through their veins. How could they be so different and still be related? That question continued to confuse him. And damn it, what was wrong with the life they were born to? Wasn’t it good enough for the lot of them?

He thrust aside his exasperated thoughts, then urged the muscular bay into a gallop. He smiled in anticipation as he surveyed the home, barn, sheds and bunkhouse that sat on a hill surrounded by a copse of shade trees. One day this property would belong to him, along with the spring-fed fork of Triple Creek.

It was only a matter of time before A. K. McKnight packed up and went home where he should’ve stayed in the first place, Quin assured himself confidently. Yankees had no place in Texas. They weren’t accustomed to the rigorous demands of managing thousands of acres, controlling predators and battling rustlers. What in hell were these people thinking?

Quin rolled his eyes when he saw several cowboys draped over the corral fence, surveying the newly arrived livestock. Those Yankees thought the Hereford breed could withstand harsh weather conditions and compete for grass in pastures with longhorns?

“Those white-faced cows had better be hardy,” he said, and smirked. “Otherwise, they’ll be dropping like flies and wolf packs will make a feast of them.” Sure, he had crossbred livestock, hoping for the best characteristics possible, but he had seen too many English breeds fail miserably in this climate. He hoped the McKnights had plenty of money to cover their losses.

Anxious to meet his short-term neighbors and present his offer, Quin bounded up the steps two at a time, then rapped loudly on the door. After knocking a second time, the door finally opened. He sized up the lanky, hazel-eyed man in a stylish suit. He looked to be in his late forties, judging by the strands of gray mingling with brown hair. The well-dressed gent looked down his hawkish nose, as if Quin didn’t measure up. To what Eastern standard Quin didn’t know—or care.

“A. K. McKnight?” Quin presumed as he grabbed the man’s hand and gave it a firm shake.

The man wriggled his hand loose and stepped aside. Then he said, “And you are…?”

“Quin Cahill, your neighbor to the north and to the east,” he replied as he entered the hallway that was cluttered with the fanciest furniture he’d ever laid eyes on. Even his mother’s fine taste in furnishings didn’t compare to this stuff, he mused.

“Come sit down, Mr. Cahill…if you can find an empty space in the parlor. I’ll return in a moment.”

Quin nudged a stack of boxes out of his way to make room for himself on the sofa. He waited an impatient moment for McKnight to drag his uppity posterior back to the room that was heaped with displaced furniture. Quin had a ranch to run and he didn’t intend to waste unnecessary time before presenting his offer and haggling over a fair price.

“I don’t see anyone, Butler,” came a woman’s voice from the doorway of the parlor.

Butler? Quin frowned, puzzled. He presumed the man he’d met was A. K. McKnight, not the butler. So where was this McKnight character? Was he still back East?

Quin surged to his feet to locate the source of the feminine voice. He blinked in surprise when he spotted a riot of tangled chestnut curls surrounding a bewitching face smudged with dirt. The woman stood five foot five and looked to be in her mid-twenties. Her faded gown was a mass of wrinkles and grime. Cobwebs clung to the mane of shiny hair and stuck to her well-endowed bosom. He couldn’t help but notice the fetching creature had the kind of shapely body that could stop traffic on the bustling streets of Cahill Crossing. Her tempting assets certainly had his undivided attention.

So this was the housekeeper—and no telling what other services she performed for the master of the house. Quin wondered if she had been sent to offer him a spot of tea before she scuttled back to her daytime duties.

“Nothing to drink for me, honey,” he said as he removed his hat and tossed out his best smile. “I have a business proposition for McKnight, then I’ll be on my way.”

She tilted her head to study him from a pensive angle. “What sort of proposition?” the shapely young housekeeper inquired.

None of your business, sugar, he thought, but he said, “I prefer to discuss the details with Mr. McKnight.” He glanced over her mussed head, wondering if the gent had arrived in Texas yet.

“I am A. K. McKnight.”

Slack-jawed, he turned his attention back to the woman. “You?” he croaked when he finally found his tongue.

Her chin tilted to a challenging angle that reminded him of his sister—wherever the hell she was these days.

“I am Adrianna Kathleen McKnight,” she introduced herself with icy formality.

“But who was the man I met?” he asked, baffled.

“Butler.”

“You call him butler?” This tenderfoot was a snob, he decided.

“His name is Hiram Butler. It amuses him to let people think he is a butler, not an amazingly efficient accountant.”

Quin smirked. “I can see he has a killer sense of humor.”

She stared down her pert nose at him, the same way the stuffy Butler had done. “You are one of the town founders, I presume. Or are you a shirttail cousin of some sort?”

Her critical tone and her crisp Eastern accent made him bristle, for it sounded suspiciously like she had made a snap judgment and found him sadly lacking. “I’m named after my grandfather, Quinton Cahill.” He veered around two stacks of furniture to tower over her. “So, yes, Ca-Cross is named after my family and I manage 4C Ranch.”

“I like your abbreviated version of the town name,” she remarked. “I shall remember to use it so I can I fit in.”

“It won’t matter, sugar, you are way out of your element in Texas,” Quin said under his breath.

She studied him challengingly. “Come again, Mr. Cahill?”

He flashed the most winsome smile in his repertoire—which, admittedly, wasn’t extensive. “I came by to offer you a fair price for this property. I tried to buy it six months ago. But now that you’ve seen the poor condition in which the former overseer left this spread, I figured you’d have a change of heart.”

“Did you now? I had no idea you had the ability to read minds. Another service you helpfully provide, I’m sure.”

He ignored her caustic comment. She looked peeved, for reasons he couldn’t understand. Since he had very few dealings with Yankees he had no clue what made them tick.

“I wanted you to know I’ll take this property off your hands. You won’t have to fret about it when you leave town.”

She clamped her lush lips shut, stared at him with those vibrant cedar-tree-green eyes and said nothing.

“This place is a mess. Half the longhorn cattle herd has been stolen. Probably by some of the cowhands who worked the place. Also, you’ll find very little of the comforts and luxuries you enjoyed in Boston.”

“That is true, Mr. Cahill. But I am ready and willing to meet the challenges of my new life.”

Her comment reminded him so much of the clash between him and his brothers and sister that he bristled immediately. This woman represented what he had come to dislike about Bowie, Chance and Leanna. Why did folks feel the need to strike off to find a new life instead of sticking to the ones they were born to? Lives that were familiar and expected. With birthrights, family destinies and legacies.

This heiress—and he had no doubt she was wealthy if she had bought out most of the other investors—had no business trying to manage a ranch in unfamiliar territory. Obviously, she had been groomed for highbrow soirees, concerts and such.

“Look, Boston,” he said, discarding an attempt to be polite and charming. He had his limit, after all. “You are a greenhorn in rugged country. This is no place for a lady. The sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”

“Will I?” She crossed her arms over her ample bosom and glowered at him. “Let me assure you, Mr. Cahill—”

“Quin,” he corrected.

“—I did not move to Texas on a whim,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. Or didn’t care what he had to say. He figured the latter was nearer the mark. “I outgrew Boston and I became bored with shallow socialites who count their success and importance by the number of parties they attend and by how many wealthy aristocrats they know.

“I overheard my so-called friends poking fun at me. When I saw myself through their eyes I realized no one in Boston really knew me at all. They didn’t give a whit what I was on the inside. They perceived me as a pampered, helpless heiress who didn’t have to lift a finger to provide for myself.

“Furthermore,” she said through gritted teeth. “I have been raising and breeding livestock on our country estate since I was ten years old so I am not unfamiliar with the practices and the duties demanded of running a ranch.”

How dare this arrogant cowboy come marching over here to persuade her to sell out before she had a chance to meet and greet the ranch hands and to set up housekeeping! Adrianna silently fumed as she raked the big oaf from the top of his raven head to the toes of his scuffed boots. He was six foot two inches of brawn and muscle—and possessed a pea-size brain. Ruggedly handsome though he was in his Western clothing, spurs and leather chaps that showcased the crotch of his breeches—and demanded entirely too much feminine attention—she wanted to double her fist and smash it into the five-o’clock shadow that lined his jaw.

And how dare he nickname her Boston, in an attempt to remind her of where he thought she belonged. He wasn’t looking past outward appearances and that infuriated her to no end. He reminded her of the opinionated highbrows she had left behind.

Never mind that she had sailed into her cluttered parlor and felt a jolt of unexpected physical awareness when she met the brawny rancher with silver-gray eyes and wavy raven hair. He was nothing like the sophisticated dandies who sauntered through marble foyers, in hopes of charming her into a marriage that would set them up for life with her inheritance. That was a point in his favor—until he opened his big mouth and declared she couldn’t manage this ranch and he wanted to buy her property.

Blast it, he had no way of knowing how competent she was, how adaptable she could be when she tried. Hadn’t she portrayed the genteel sophisticate to appease her father? Damn this brawny cowboy. He made her want to revert to her hoyden days on the country estate and show him how disagreeable she could be when she really tried.

“I hear we have our first guest,” Bea said as she veered around the corner. “Shall I fetch tea?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Adrianna gestured toward her annoying guest. “Beatrice Fremont, this is Quin Cahill, one of the town founders. Mr. Cahill is on his way out.”

“Good day to you, then, Mr. Cahill.” Bea tossed Adrianna a bemused glance, then shrugged a thin-bladed shoulder. “I’ll get back to work.”

When Bea swept out, Elda swept in. Adrianna swallowed a grin when she noticed the cook had unpacked crumpets and toasted them with cinnamon and sugar for their afternoon treat. It didn’t matter what was on hand to whip up for snacks or meals. Elda waved her magic wand and always came up with something tasty.

“Ezmerelda Quickel, this is one of our neighbors, Quin Cahill,” she introduced hastily. “I doubt Cahill is hungry.”

How could he be? Obviously, he was quite full…of himself.

“Of course, I’m hungry,” Quin insisted as he plucked up a few treats from the tray. “I skipped lunch in order to welcome my new neighbors.”

Adrianna gnashed her teeth when the ruggedly handsome rascal flashed Elda a wide grin and winked down at her. Elda was at least fifty if she was a day, but she let this Texas devil charm her. Elda blushed like a school-girl when Quin oohed and ahhed over the tasty snacks. The annoying rancher gave new meaning to the cooking term buttered up.

Impatient to have Quin gone, Adrianna clutched his arm and grabbed a few crumpets to lure him out the door like a pesky dog that had barged, unwelcome, in the house. She shoved him onto the porch and thought, And stay out!

“Nice of you to drop by, Cahill,” she said dismissively. “Hope to see you in Ca-Cross sometime soon.”

He gobbled down a couple more crumpets, then turned to face her. “Accept my offer to buy you out, Boston. Go home where you belong.”

She really wanted to clobber him for being so persistent and agitating. Somehow, she managed to restrain herself. She was convinced it was divine intervention at work. Either that or the classes on deportment and refinement at the private finishing school her father forced her to attend.

“I have no intention of selling,” she assured him in a tone that could barely be considered civil. “Not now. Not ever. I will make this place prosper and then I will be stopping by the 4C to make you a fair offer for your spread.”

His eyes turned as cold as granite and his dark brows swooped down his forehead. A muscle ticked in his suntanned jaw. He looked quite intimidating, but Adrianna refused to back down to him or anyone else in the state of Texas.

“First off, Boston, a woman overseeing a Texas ranch, especially one the size of this one, has disaster written all over it. Secondly, as long as I have a breath left in my body, 4C will never be sold off part or parcel!”

Clearly, she had hit an exposed nerve, though she had no idea how or why. But since he had hit a sensitive subject with her, she didn’t give a flying fig what had upset him.

She fisted her hands on her hips and met his intense glare. “Then it seems we understand each other perfectly. You are going nowhere and neither am I. You stay on your side of the fence, Cahill, and I will stay on mine.”

“Fine, then, you upkeep your half of our shared fence and I’ll repair my half. That’s how it’s done in Texas.”

“Then that’s how I’ll do it,” she snapped back.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Boston. And don’t come crying to me when you can’t turn a profit with your Herefords or you discover your foreman is as incompetent as you are.”

On that ridiculing comment, he whipped around and stalked off to mount the striking bloodred bay gelding.

“And good riddance!” she called after him when he thundered off. She lurched toward the house, muttering under her breath. Adrianna vowed, there and then, to make this place prosper, if for no other reason than to assure that cocky cowboy that she was made of sturdy stuff.

He represented the opinions of narrow-minded men—and apparently there were as many in Texas as there were in Boston, after all—who didn’t think a woman could survive and thrive in a man’s world. But someday Quin Cahill would apologize for dismissing her as incompetent, she promised herself fiercely.

On that defiant thought, Adrianna stomped into her run-down house and put her bottled anger to good use by setting her bedroom to rights…before she collapsed in exhaustion that night.