Rancher Wants a Wife (12 page)

Jack shifted uneasily in his saddle and picked up speed again. Thornley turned his horse and rode down the other side of the hill, disappearing from view.

Was he warning Jack to stay away from Elise? But it wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t hers, either, that horses and cattle had taken sick. There was always some animal or another that needed Jack’s attention.

A feeling, a premonition of warning, rippled through him. He pressed his thighs to his mare, which responded by leaping into a gallop. The wind whipped around them, but this time instead of enjoying the thrill, Jack found himself fighting the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

Cassandra
. Was she in trouble? Had she come to harm?

He rushed over the slopes and splashed through a creek, flying like wildfire. His gut hammered the entire time.

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

All these illnesses of the past few days tied in together somehow. And he couldn’t shake the ominous feeling of danger.

He had to protect Cassandra.

He galloped full-force up the laneway of his ranch, hooves thundering beneath him, his blood roaring. Two of his men spotted him and came running.

“What’s wrong?” they hollered.

Jack leaped off the horse, hit the ground hard and ran like hell toward the house. “Go get the sheriff! Bring the doctor, too!
Now!
”

Chapter Thirteen

“C
assandra!” Jack’s shouting filled the house and startled her. “Where are you? Cassandra!”

She paused with the silver hairbrush in her hand when she heard him call, then finished pulling it through the swaying length of her hair. Standing in the hallway off the kitchen, Cassandra glanced into the wall mirror, gave her blue-buttoned collar a pat, then followed the sound of his clomping boots on the tiled floor.

They met in the kitchen.

“What is it?”

He whirled around from the windows overlooking the terrace, a wide-shouldered force to be reckoned with. “Oh,” he gasped. “You’re here.”

“I was just about to leave. I gave up waiting on you for lunch, so I—”

“Has anyone called on you?” A swirl of black hair fell across his forehead, framing his brown eyes. Light streaming in from the window struck his white shirt, the bunched up sleeves, and the pine table he hovered over. Another slash of sunlight cut across his jaw, which flickered with intensity as he gazed at her.

She shook her head. “No one here but me. I ate alone and was just fixing my hair.”

The strain in his face subsided, as though he was relieved by her answer. “I like it when you wear it down,” he murmured.

“Well, I do declare. There must be some other reason you’re hollering so much, other than stopping by to comment on my hair.” She flushed at the manner in which he was scrutinizing her. A flash of images—appealing visions of what he’d looked like naked beneath rumpled bedsheets last night—scorched her thoughts. Followed by the recollection of how stubborn he’d been to refuse her request to work. Her palms grew moist. She knotted one hand in her skirts.

“Is everything all right at Mr. Woodrow’s ranch? Did something go wrong?”

“No more so than I was informed of earlier. Six horses are down.”

“Do you know why?”

“Likely something they ate.”

“Seems to be something in the air.”

“That’s the thing. I think there
is
something in the air. Or more like some
one
.”

“You’re talking in riddles. What is it?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and peered around the kitchen. The pine table was still set with a plate and cutlery for his lunch. The pots were filled with potatoes and chicken. All that was missing was him.

“I’ve called for the sheriff and doctor.”

Alarmed, she asked, “Is someone hurt?”

He shook his head. “There are some theories I’d like to discuss with them. And you.”

“What kind of theories?”

He tilted his dark head, his face accentuated in shadows and light, and glanced at her blue suit, suddenly distracted. “You said you were just about to leave. Where to?”

Nervous, she grappled for an answer that wouldn’t provoke more angry words. “I thought I’d go into town.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, for what reason?”

“I thought I might...” Blazes, there was no other way to say it except outright. “To see the sheriff.”

“Sheriff? What on earth for?”

“Just some general questions, Jack, nothing for us to...to argue about.”

He must’ve noticed the apprehension in her stance, for he took a deep breath. “Then I guess when he arrives, we’ll both have something to talk to him about.”

She prodded him to finish his earlier statement. “You said you had some theories?”

“Yeah. With all these sick animals, I’m beginning to wonder if someone isn’t doing it on purpose.”

“Making them sick deliberately?” she exclaimed in surprise.

He nodded, gauging her reaction.

“Feeding them something to make them sick?” she reiterated, making sure she understood his meaning.

“Afraid so.”

“Why would they be doing that?”

“To get back at me in some way.”

Her eyes roved the kitchen as her mind worked to absorb that. “You know people who’d do that?”

He shrugged. “Desperate people do desperate things.”

“And in this case, the desperate people would be...?”

“I think you need to have a seat.” He pulled out a chair at the table and stood there, tall as timber, waiting for her.

She gathered her skirts and sat on the hard-backed chair, too anxious to argue. Riveted, she watched the expressions dance across his features—trepidation, concern and disbelief.

“Is this only a theory at this point, Jack, or do you have proof?”

He sat down beside her at the head of the table and shoved the cuffs of his sleeves over his sinewy forearms. “Theory.”

“Then you can’t be sure.”

“I can’t. That’s why I’ve sent for the sheriff and doctor. I want to discuss the details and possibilities with them.”

“You must be very serious in your allegations to have called for them.”

“Look, Cassandra...I think it’s Derik Thornley.”

She settled back in her chair, not quite as stunned as perhaps he was expecting. Something odd was going on, something she was trying to piece together herself.

* * *

“I want my wife protected.”

Less than an hour later, Cassandra flinched at Jack’s blunt words. What sort of trouble did he think she was in? Sheriff Leggett and Dr. Clarkson had arrived and were seated in the parlor in the upholstered chairs by the unlit fireplace. Cassandra and Jack were seated on the sofa opposite. At her insistence, he’d had some lunch while they’d waited for the men to get here. Now she fidgeted with her hands in her lap and listened to Jack explain.

Sheriff Leggett leaned forward, a thick-boned man with massive jowls and nose. “Has Derik Thornley come near you, ma’am?”

“No, sir. He attacked my husband.”

The lawman swiveled toward Jack. “Just the one time you told us about, Jack?”

“Yes, on the ranch. But he followed me home about an hour ago from Woodrow’s place. And something about the way Thornley was perched on that rise, sitting high in his saddle, calm as all get-out...it’s the same way he was before he punched me. The same calm way a man looks at you before he pulls a trigger.”

The sheriff uttered an exclamation. “I’ve seen that look aplenty. I know it well, Jack, but it’s not enough to accuse a man of what you’re saying he did to the horses and cattle.”

“Dammit, he’s up to something,” Jack growled.

Dr. Clarkson seemed to be churning it over in his mind. He rubbed his lower lip, his long white hair spilling over his checkered woolen suit.

Cassandra heaved her shoulders beneath the constraints of her prim blouse. Jack leaned against the sofa back, making the cushion dip beneath her, unnerving her further.

“Why would he do it, Jack?” she uttered softly. “What would he hope to gain?”

The sheriff and the doctor both grew thoughtful at the question, then riveted their somber gazes on her husband.

“That is the key question, isn’t it?” Jack ran a sturdy hand along the shadow of his jawline. She could see the concern in his eyes, and the way his mouth twitched. “He’s trying to get back at me for Elise.” He nodded in acknowledgment to Cassandra. “Sorry, these things need to be said.”

“I understand.” The logical part of her
did
understand that procedures and practices of the law needed to be followed, but the emotional side of her didn’t want any part of this discussion. It was hurtful and embarrassing to keep referring to the other woman.

However, if Cassandra thought about it from the point of view of a detective, it was easier to manage. She tried to separate her personal feelings from the cool, calm facts. She
would
plow through this puzzle of events.

Dr. Clarkson, who’d been sitting quietly and simply listening, finally asked a question. “How is he getting back at you, Jack? How is sickening someone else’s animals getting back at you?”

“I’ve been asking myself that question for the last hour. And I don’t have a clear answer, other than he knows it’s my livelihood. He knows the animals mean something to me. If that makes any sense.”

“So it’s more out of spite?” asked the sheriff.

Jack shifted on the sofa, clearly uncomfortable. “Seems petty, doesn’t it?” He stood up and walked to the unlit fireplace. With a hand on the mantel, he turned around to face the three of them. “Seems ridiculous and petty. And I come to you with this outlandish theory totally without proof.”

Cassandra wasn’t sure she could believe it herself.

The sheriff toyed with the brim of his hat. “Well, it’s just...you all know that I’ve got to have some evidence to go on.”

Jack slid his hand into his pocket. “Of course.”

“What sort of toxins do you think he might’ve used on the animals?” Dr. Clarkson asked.

“Hard to say. Any number of plants could’ve done it. Nightshade, boxwood, thistles...larkspur, foxglove, clovers. The list is endless. As a general rule, those plants don’t taste very good, so animals usually don’t eat enough to cause any trouble. Unless maybe they’re mixed with some sort of feed to mask the flavor. But the frustrating thing about this situation is that the gastric symptoms the animals are displaying—the muscle weakness and jitteriness—could be attributed to any number of causes. Including a natural illness.”

“Does the man have easy access to the animals?” Cassandra asked.

Jack nodded. “Thornley works for Elise’s father in the vineyard.”

“So I’ve been told,” she responded. “Mr. Finley and I had a pleasant chat about Sundial and his neighbors when you stopped in to have a look at his cattle. He told me that Miss Beacon’s been handling her father’s ranch for the last six months, since he’s been in South America.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up, as though he was surprised at how much she knew. “Correct,” he said. “So it would be easy enough for Thornley to ride out to the adjoining ranches and get to the other animals when they’re in the pastures. Woodrow’s on one side of them, Finley on another.”

“And your ranch is just as close,” she reminded him.

“Our ranch,” he corrected, leaving her flustered by the generous gesture. “And he hasn’t attacked any of our animals.”

“Yet,” said the doctor, who seemed to be believing Jack’s theories.

“Not to say he will,” said the sheriff, who seemed to be disbelieving.

“He hasn’t attacked any of Elise’s animals, either,” said Jack. “Which is why I tend to think he’s culpable. He won’t attack her animals because he cares for her—and he’d like to keep his position as Beacon’s right-hand man. And he doesn’t want to be so blatant to attack my animals, for that might point a finger of accusation at him.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to wait and see if he does,” said the sheriff. “Attack yours, I mean.”

Jack looked at the lawman in frustration.

Dr. Clarkson drummed the arm of his chair with impatient fingers. His shiny brocade vest tightened around his belly. “Jack, why’d you send for me? I thought when I got here it was because someone was ill. That turns out not to be the case, thank goodness,” he said pointedly to Cassandra. “Then I thought it might be to discuss the types of toxins the man might’ve used on the animals. But you said it could be anything, and there doesn’t seem to be more I could add to that discussion, either. So why exactly am I here?”

“Sorry to have bothered you, Doc. I was worried that someone might have come to harm.” He glanced at Cassandra.

Her? Jack had been concerned about her safety?

She frowned, thinking on the seriousness of the situation, and decided to divulge her own concerns. “Jack, don’t you think it’s odd what happened earlier today, at the funeral?”

“What’s that?”

“Miss Beacon attended.”

He shook his head, his dark profile a striking contrast to the light-colored plaster walls. “She knew Yule.”

“But then why didn’t she attend the wake yesterday? Everyone came, from miles away. But not her, and not Thornley. It would’ve been perfectly natural for her to make a visit. She likely didn’t feel welcome in my home, but then why show up at the funeral if she doesn’t like the sight of me? I’ve been thinking about that oddity for the past three hours.”

He scratched his temple. “I never thought of it. That is a bit odd.”

“I’d call it suspicious,” she declared.

The three men snapped to attention. Jack narrowed his eyes. The sheriff puckered his lips and the doctor shuffled his feet.

“Suspicious of what?” Jack asked, standing tall at the mantel.

“Perhaps she’s involved with whatever Thornley’s involved with,” Cassandra said. “Could she have come to the funeral just to tell you about the ill horses?”

“I suppose....”

“And Jack, the day that you and Thornley got into the brawl,” she continued, her mind racing with ideas. “Did you notice his horse?”

“What about it?”

“He had a rifle strapped to it.”

The sheriff spoke up. “I don’t see the significance.”

All three men gazed at Cassandra, waiting for an explanation.

She cleared her throat. “If the man arrived to seriously harm Jack, he’d be carrying revolvers. Not a rifle on his horse.”

“Hmm.” Jack spoke again. “Interesting point.”

“Your wife’s got a keen eye,” said the sheriff, rubbing his wide jaw.

“My father was a criminal attorney,” she told him, “in Chicago. I spent a lot of time at the dinner table discussing trials.”

“Ah,” said the white-haired doctor, his bow tie moving up and down as he nodded. “That would explain your noticing such details.”

Shifting his weight while he stood at the fireplace, Jack shot her an inquisitive look, then glanced at the sheriff. She wondered if Jack was curious about what she had wanted to speak to the lawman about when she’d been planning her trip into town. Perhaps this was the place and time for that discussion.

“Sheriff, there was something else Mr. Finley told me about that I find fascinating. He told me you used to work for the railroad police, traveling on the passenger cars.”

“That’s right, ma’am.”

“Did you ever happen to meet that undercover detective that used to work for them, too? Miss Abigail Pendon?”

He chuckled. “Oh, yeah, I know Abigail. Damn fine detective, that one. Pinkerton sends her out on special tasks, when they’re trying to recover stolen property. No man on a passenger car ever suspects a woman in a bonnet to pull out a derringer and arrest him.”