Rancher Wants a Wife (13 page)

Cassandra swallowed hard and tried not to show how pleased she was at his approving summation. “I imagine it was very difficult for some of the other men to work with her. I mean, her being a woman and all.”

He nodded emphatically. “Some refused. I was one of them, first time I worked with her. But she proved herself awful quick. Saved my life one time, when someone pulled a knife behind my back. She didn’t hesitate to use hers.”

Cassandra’s mouth twitched. Well, she wasn’t so pleased at the mention of the violence. She looked to Jack to see his reaction. His jaw was tense and he was glaring at her. She’d made her point.

The doctor sighed and shifted in his seat. “I’ve got some patients to attend to, so if you all don’t mind—”

“Please,” she interjected, stopping him from leaving. “I’d like your opinion on something else.”

The doc leaned back and the three men waited.

She cleared her throat again, trying to get her thoughts clear. A reprehensible idea was storming through her mind, but as vile as it was, she had to lay it out as a prospect. “Since we’re throwing out possibilities on crimes and suspicious behavior...why stop at the suspected poisoning of animals?”

They didn’t seem to understand.

“This may seem far-fetched,” she said, “but Dr. Clarkson, could you tell us, please, when you examined Yule Dunleigh the night he died...is there a chance he may have been poisoned?”

Jack sputtered, one hand on the mantel.

The doctor looked aghast.

The sheriff muttered, “Hellfire.”

“Are you serious in this line of questioning?” Dr. Clarkson asked.

“Dead serious,” Jack replied for her, his dark eyes acknowledging hers in sudden agreement.

“But who would want Yule dead?” asked the sheriff.

“Assuming there’s logic to the killer,” Jack said, gaining traction with her idea, “and not just heated rage, maybe it was someone who was trying to get back at me. Someone who wants to destroy the things that mean something to me, as I mentioned. Remember? Animals and perhaps people who are close to me.”

“Your wife?” said the sheriff.

“Possibly.”

“Well, now.” The white-haired doctor scratched his bushy eyebrow. “Let’s see if I can give you a rundown on what I observed in his final minutes. Yule’s heart was racing awful fast. However, he did suffer from angina, so that would be a fitting symptom. His palms were cold and clammy. Again, symptomatic. Pale skin, then a sudden attack to the heart. It’s totally inconclusive. These same symptoms could be attributed to poison, or simply that the man’s heart gave out in natural circumstances.”

“Same as the animals,” said Jack. “It’s all so cloudy, isn’t it? That’s why Thornley figures he can get away with it.”

“Or Miss Beacon,” Cassandra interjected. Her heart was racing. Could her life truly be in danger? Good Lord.

“Elise Beacon adores animals,” said the sheriff. “I can’t see her poisoning any.”

“Truthfully, neither can I,” said Jack. “I don’t think she’s involved.”

Cassandra sighed and clamped her lips together. She didn’t wish to be resentful of the fact that Jack was supportive of Miss Beacon, but for heaven’s sake, the woman was acting suspicious.

The doctor nodded in agreement with the other two men. “I’ve seen her handle horses and kittens, Mrs. McColton. The woman’s got a heart.”

Cassandra wasn’t convinced.

“Yule’s medical condition,” Jack added solemnly, “would’ve made him an easy target. No one would suspect poison if the man already suffered from a heart ailment. Hell, we didn’t. Cassandra noted it.”

“It’s all very far-fetched,” said the sheriff, still disbelieving. He stretched his long legs. His cowboy boots thumped on the carpet. “Could be this. Could be that. Maybe he was poisoned. Maybe he wasn’t. What the hell am I supposed to go on? Jack, I trust your judgment, but maybe you’re just as riled up as Thornley is about his woman.”

Jack tensed. “Now just a minute—”

“Dammit, you know what I mean. Two men fightin’ over a woman. Get into a brawl and the next thing you know, one’s accusin’ the other of poisonin’ his animals and his butler!”

The comment knocked the wind out of Cassandra. And Jack’s neck turned red.

“Now, fellas,” said the doctor, trying to make peace between them. He turned to Sheriff Leggett. “If the man here thinks his wife might be under attack, he’s got a fair opportunity to speak up and say so.” Then he turned to Jack. “I’ve known you long enough to know you don’t jump to conclusions about matters like this. But you’re an educated, logical man. You know Leggett needs proof.”

“You could check Mr. Dunleigh’s room.” Cassandra repositioned herself on the cushion, her blue skirts shifting about her ankles and boots. “He and Mrs. Dunleigh shared one on the bottom floor,” she explained to the two gentlemen. “She hasn’t touched his things, as far as I know. She packed a suitcase to take with her to her daughter’s home, but otherwise it’s all intact.”

“Good idea,” growled Jack.

He led them out of the parlor, across the front hall and down the other wing of the house into the bedroom. The large double bed was immaculately made with crisp linens and pillows. The floor was spotless, the curtains dusted, the lamps polished.

“Where might he have kept his medicine?” asked the doctor.

Cassandra peered at the long chest of drawers. “In one of the drawers, perhaps?”

Jack checked one of the night tables and found women’s accessories—hairbrush and writing papers. “I don’t feel right rifling through their things.”

“It’s a lawful matter,” said the sheriff. “May I look on the other side?”

Jack nodded.

The sheriff found two vials of medicines labeled with Mr. Dunleigh’s name. He passed them to Jack, who removed the caps, looked inside, sniffed, and handed them to the doctor.

“You’ll take them and check for accuracy of the medicine?” Jack asked.

Clarkson nodded in turn.

There was nothing more to see. As they walked out, Cassandra’s gaze fell on the newspaper rolled up on the chest, the
Sundial Daily News
. It was flecked with splattered drops, as if someone had read it while sipping coffee, or in this case, knowing the Dunleighs, tea.

Jack picked it up. “Saturday’s date. I never did read it. Dunleigh always read the newspapers when I was done with them.” He set it back down. “I could always count on him for a good conversation afterward.”

“But he wouldn’t have read it, Jack,” Cassandra reminded him. “This was the one he collected at the door, then immediately collapsed. That’s what Mrs. Dunleigh told us.”

“I guess she read it, then. It looks thumbed through. She likes to read any news she can find about England.”

Sheriff Leggett returned to the parlor for his hat and the doctor for his medical bag, then rejoined Cassandra and Jack at the front door.

“I could arrest Thornley for assaulting you, Jack.”

“What good would that do?” he asked.

“He’d spend the night in jail. There’d be a record of it.”

“I still don’t see what good it would do. There’s already a record of his assault because of the eyewitnesses, and me telling you about it now.” He looked to Cassandra. “What I would appreciate you doing, Sheriff, is checking into Thornley’s past. I don’t know much about him. I know he came into the valley shortly after I did. From Wyoming Territory, I believe.”

“I will.”

“I’ll speak to my lawyer about it, too,” Jack told him. “I’ll talk to Hugh tomorrow.”

The men shook hands and tipped their hats to Cassandra.

When Jack shut the door behind them, he turned and studied her. She felt vulnerable again, beneath his scrutiny. His voice was gruff, his dark gaze intense. “I’d like to provide you with an armed guard as a precaution.”

“A bodyguard? I...I suppose that’s a good idea.” She ran a hand along her neck. “And I’ll carry my pistol from now on.”

Jack shifted uneasily, but didn’t object.

“Look, I’m not sure about any of this,” he reminded her. “It seems unlikely someone would sicken the animals, but with Dunleigh passing...protection can’t hurt. A lot of my ranch hands can shoot real well. I’ll ask one of them. No one will think anything of it, if he’s accompanying us.”

“Us?”

“I don’t wish to alarm you, Cassandra,” he said, but of course he was. “However, I’m not leaving your side for the next little while.”

Chapter Fourteen

I
t was silly to be staying in the guest room, thought Cassandra as she tossed and turned. The bed was comfortable enough and the room very quaint, but she was married, for heaven’s sake, and she should be more giving to her husband.

But shouldn’t he also be more understanding toward her, and what she wished to achieve with her life? He was a practicing veterinarian and rancher. Was she supposed to pretend she had no interest in law and police procedures?

Was she supposed to pretend it for the rest of her life?

Jack had shown such care toward her this afternoon with the sheriff and doctor—yet he had spent the rest of the afternoon working on the ranch while leaving her indoors, alone. They had spent a couple quiet hours in the evening reading in the parlor, but there hadn’t been very much interaction. All her personal things from last night were still in the guest room, so she had headed that way when they said good-night, half expecting him to invite her back into their matrimonial bedroom, but he hadn’t said a word. So she’d bathed, put on her nightgown and retreated to the guest bed.

She turned over and peered at the clock on the night table. Eleven minutes past midnight.

Go to him. Tell him you’re sorry you argued about being a detective. Tell him you’d like to work things out.
And please, might he only listen to what she had in mind?

She should try. Being separated from Jack and stingy with her kindness wasn’t helpful to their marriage.

Feeling a sense of relief, Cassandra flung back the covers, rose in the darkness and padded across the warm plank floors to their bedroom.

The door was ajar, as if he might be expecting her. On the other hand, ever since she had arrived in Sundial, they’d slept with it open, so maybe he wasn’t expecting her at all.

Taking a deep breath, she flattened a hand on her waistline and stepped into the shadowy room.

Moonlight spilled across the bed.

He was facing away from her, toward the window. His bare shoulder twitched slightly. Even alone, it appeared he slept with no clothes.

He’d tossed the blanket to one side and was lying beneath a single cotton sheet. His legs were outlined by it and she imagined what he might look like if she were to go to his other side and see the front of his body draped by the warm light of the moon. She recalled how the rays had rippled along the muscled planes of his chest and abdomen the other night....

My, it was getting steamy in here. She fanned a hand in front of her face. But they were married now, and she was allowed to fantasize in any manner she chose.

“Jack,” she whispered, reaching the foot of the bed as he snored softly. “I’m sorry for everything. I know you’re under a lot of strain, and it’s not that I think you’re badly intentioned. I only thought your intentions were misplaced, by hiring the investigator to investigate me. And then forbidding me to work as one, as though you’ve got veto power over me.” She shifted her bare legs beneath her long flannel gown. Very quickly, she could be out of it and lying naked beside him. “I do wish we could discuss this rationally.”

She slid into her side of the bed, her toes gliding over the smooth cotton sheet.

“Jack?”

His snoring grew louder, rattling through the room.

Disappointed that he hadn’t heard a word she’d said, she sank onto her pillow. She was hoping for a heated rendezvous, that he might make her body and spirit feel as splendid as he had last night, but she wished to receive an invitation first.

She had half a mind to give him a good elbow in the ribs...but instead she lay there for a solid five minutes, staring up at the ceiling beams. She wondered if his hands had helped build this place, and what his hands might feel like running along her rib cage and over her breasts.

He had such a way with his hands.

Frustrated, she threw off the covers.

He was still snoring.

With a huff, she rose from bed, tucked her feet into her slippers and left the room.

She went down to the kitchen, lit a lantern and rifled through the cold pantry. She came out with some sausage, a loaf of bread and strudel.

It made a nice midnight feast.

When she finished eating, she fetched some writing paper and the large square package she’d wrapped earlier in brown paper, while Jack had been working in the stables. The package was light as she set it on the massive kitchen table.

The glow of the flickering lantern guided her hand when she sat and placed a sheet of paper before her.

The darkness around her felt suddenly lonely. There was so much darkness. The window beside her was outlined faintly by a waning quarter-moon. Outside, the blackness of the night seemed to swell.

What was she doing here? Here in California?

She was married to a man she barely knew. They were sleeping in separate beds. He was caring on the outside, and did and said all the right things in front of others, but when the doors closed and it was just the two of them this evening, he’d barely spoken to her.

And now with everything that was happening—or
perhaps
was happening with Thornley and that woman and the possible murder—Cassandra was afraid of how everything might end.

Had she been wrong to accept Jack’s proposal of marriage?

Looking down at the parchment filled her with a severe bout of melancholy, missing her friends at Mrs. Pepik’s boardinghouse.

She dipped the nib of her fountain pen in black ink and began writing.

Sundial, California

Monday June 30, 1873

My dear friend Natasha,

I pray this letter finds you well. Please give my regards to Mrs. Pepik and the others, and let them know I’m doing well in California. I think of you all with fondness, and eagerness to hear of any news.

Sundial is prettier than I expected. You would love it here with all the sunshine and rolling hills. My wedding to Jack McColton went as planned, and I am settling into his house on the ranch. I do wish you were close by, as I miss our coffee hours together and more importantly, our friendship.

I was grateful for the use of the wedding gown. Please let Mrs. Pepik know I am returning it, enclosed, in the hopes that another lucky bride may wear it in good health.

Natasha, please write me back at the address below. I would dearly love to hear from you.

Warmest wishes and affection,

Cassandra McColton

There was no need to tell Natasha about the death of Mr. Dunleigh, or Cassandra’s problems in her marriage with Jack and their distrust of each other, or the dismal prospects of her becoming a detective. The news would only worry her friend.

Cassandra folded the letter, stuffed it into an envelope and sealed it. She was about to carry the letter and package nearer to the front door when Jack’s sultry voice called, “Can’t sleep?”

With a jolt, she whirred around in her high-collared flannel gown to see him standing at the kitchen doorway, barefooted and bare-chested, in nothing but his blue jeans.

* * *

The scent of the kerosene lantern filled the tense air between them, and the glow flickered over Cassandra’s innocent face as Jack strained to read her. She looked so damn vulnerable in the soft flannel, even though it covered nearly every inch of her body. Even those inches it didn’t hide—her face, her slender hands, her pretty ankles—made him react with something raw and intense.

God, he only wanted to protect her. He hadn’t been able to in the Chicago fire, and look what had happened to her there. He couldn’t let her become a detective. Never ever. The next time he let her out of his sight, it might be worse than a burn injury—she might lose her life.

He always felt as though he was on the outside, looking in. Now she collected her envelope and package as if she was hiding the world’s biggest secret from him, as if he couldn’t be trusted to ask his wife who she was writing to and why she was up in the middle of the night.

He cursed the fact that he felt as vulnerable as she looked, and that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

“Problems sleeping?” he asked again.

“I—I found it hot and stuffy in my room.”

“You could have joined me in our bedroom.”

Her dark lashes fluttered over her cheeks, as if she was debating what to say.

“Cassandra?”

“I thought about it...but you were sleeping.”

“So you did look in?”

She nodded very properly, adjusting her posture and pulling her feet underneath her chair.

“Was there any particular reason why you wanted me
not
to be sleeping?”

She flushed, her cheeks stained an enthralling raspberry color. He’d hit a nerve and he enjoyed seeing her wiggle. Her mouth opened slightly; her blue eyes grew wider. She shrugged a soft shoulder and even beneath the thick flannel, he could imagine her bare breasts moving up and down with that shrug.

“No particular reason,” she said in a breathy voice.

She did something crazy to his stomach. It turned and flipped and tightened.

His body hardened.

He would try to resist. He would give it his best shot to resist the temptation of his wife.
She
would have to come to him. He wanted to hear her beg for his touch.

“Why won’t you admit it?” he asked.

“Admit what?”

“That you wanted me to be awake because you wanted to seduce me.”

That flustered her. “Well, I just...it isn’t... For heaven’s sake, someone does think quite a lot of himself, doesn’t he?”

Jack stood there, fighting desire, fighting every impulse his brain was sending to his muscles to reach out and catch her and take her right here on the spot.

“You want me, Cassandra, admit it.”

“I won’t.”

“You like the way I touch you.”

“I don’t.”

“You mean it’s awful for you?” He raised his eyebrows, but there was amusement in his voice.

She responded with some teasing of her own. “It’s...it’s all right, but I wouldn’t be calling for any parades, if you know what I mean. I don’t know what all the fuss is about, really.”

He wasn’t sure if she was kidding or being truthful, which put him off-kilter again.

“The fuss...?” He floundered, then realized she was too stubborn to even admit she enjoyed being made love to. He’d never met any woman like her. “Well, maybe I need to show you what the fuss is all about.”

“No,” she said, grappling for words. “No need to show me anything.”

“Oh, but I must.” He straightened at the door, getting ready to move toward her. “I think it’s absolutely necessary when a wife tells a husband—”

“The wife didn’t mean it!” Cassandra jumped up from her chair, but was a fraction too late.

He moved.

She leaped.

He grabbed her around the waist. She panted and heaved and grabbed for the back of her chair, but it tumbled over.

With ease, he scooped her into his arms, and as she tried to push with her palms against his bare chest, he laid her, struggling, across the kitchen table.

He pinned one of her hands high above her head, and found her face infused with color, the lantern light skimming across the bridge of her nose and puckered lips.

“Beg me, Cassandra,” he urged.

“I won’t!”

He smiled softly as she continued to struggle and gyrate beneath him on the massive slab of wood.

“I can feel every part of your body underneath mine,” he said with warning, “and if you continue to squirm like this, I may need to show you right here and now what I think of your nonsensical talk.”

With her turbulent gaze riveted to his face, she threw out a challenge he could not resist. “You wouldn’t dare!”