Rancher Wants a Wife (17 page)

There was a slight chill in the air now that the sun had disappeared, so Cassandra pulled her lacy shawl over her bare shoulders.

A big bang of fireworks exploded above their heads. She jolted in surprise.

“What is it?” Jack said to the sheriff.

The lawman tilted the brim of his hat and spoke in a low voice. “I just got word by telegram that Thornley had a charge of horse theft placed against him in Cheyenne, ten years ago.”

“How much time did he serve?”

“None. He settled the dispute with the rancher, so the charges were dropped. That’s when he left town for San Diego, with his brother.”

“Tells you what sort of man he is,” Jack muttered.

“None too good,” said the sheriff. “But it doesn’t mean he hasn’t changed. I’ve seen several men straighten their ways, Jack. Especially if they were young like he was when he made the original offense.”

“Still, I don’t trust him.”

“Can’t say I blame you, seein’ how he came after you. But it’s no cause for a war.”

Jack inhaled and looked at Cassandra. The news made her bristle, too, but there didn’t seem to be much either one of them could do.

Another crack of fireworks above startled her. Then Dr. Clarkson appeared, his long white hair floating behind his shoulders as he hailed them. “Young ’uns! I thought I’d find you here.”

“Did you just arrive?” Cassandra asked, as she, Jack and the sheriff shifted slightly to widen their circle, allowing the old doctor to join them.

“Yes, I’m late because I had a babe to deliver. It was a false alarm, though. The contractions waned.”

“What’s the word?” Sheriff Leggett asked.

“Those pills you gave me, Jack? The medicine Dunleigh was taking? I tested them and they’re all clear.”

“Nothing in them? No poison of any kind?”

The doc shook his head. “I checked ’em for a few things. Nothing there.”

“But you can’t be sure. We don’t have testing for every poison under the sun.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“How can you be?”

“I consumed one of the pills myself. It wasn’t poisonous.”

Cassandra gasped in dismay.

“You crazy old-timer,” said the sheriff. “Why’d you go and do that?”

“I just took one that was labeled for angina.”

“I have to agree with the sheriff here,” said Jack. “Can’t say that was using your good judgment.”

“Don’t go all fuzzy on me. They’re the same pills I take for
my
angina.”

“Oh.” Jack took a long hard look at him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Ah, don’t be. Mine isn’t nearly so bad as Yule’s was. And I was so certain the pills weren’t tampered with, I had to prove it to you. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

Jack stared from one face to another. “Have I been that stubborn about suspecting foul play?”

“You sure have.”

“What about the tea leaves? And the honey and the milk pitcher?”

“All three negative,” said the doctor.

Cassandra was so relieved to hear it, she took a step back and sighed.

The doctor nodded his regards. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a bed to catch. Blazes, my feet are sore.”

The sheriff tipped his hat, too, and they left.

Cassandra crossed her arms over her shawl, still holding her punch and her drawstring purse, and studied Jack’s brooding face. His jaw was set in a stubborn line, then flickered at another sudden blast of fireworks. His wide shoulders remained tense, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“You’re not letting this go, are you?” she said with some regret. She sipped her punch, trying to sort out what this meant. There was no evidence of any poisoning, so shouldn’t Jack be more content?

He swigged his drink. “Anytime in the past when I’ve ignored my gut, I’ve lived to regret it. We’ll continue doing what we’re doing, with Crawford watching over you.”

She quivered with mixed feelings. “It can’t hurt, Jack, but for how long?”

“Until we both feel comfortable. What do you think about the doctor’s announcement? Do you think we should lower our guard against Thornley?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever trust him,” she whispered. “Or Elise Beacon.”

Jack tilted his head with a sober expression. He was about to reply when the sound of galloping hooves thundered up behind them. They turned to see a young ranch hand fly off his horse.

Heads swiveled as he spotted Jack and came running.

“Dr. McColton!” the young man panted. “Have you seen Miss Beacon? Some horses on her ranch just came down awful sick.”

An anxious flutter became trapped in Cassandra’s throat. She assumed this young man was a ranch hand who worked on the Beacon estate, for Jack nodded in recognition.

The messenger kept talking in nervous gulps as he peered through the crowd. “Have you seen her? Or Mr. Thornley?”

Jack stiffened and pivoted to look for them. “Not lately. But you need to tell me about those horses.”

Fireworks burst overhead, soaring and crackling, making Cassandra’s heart skitter as she, too, turned with a shudder and searched the faces for the man and woman she most wanted to avoid.

Chapter Nineteen

“T
here she is,” Jack appeared to say calmly, still holding his drink. “Miss Beacon.”

Cassandra followed the direction of his gaze to the left side of the dancing area, where Thornley stood with his arm around her waist. They were both sipping their drinks and smiling about something. Her green satin gown shimmered in the golden glow of a lantern that was hung on a post above them. Her brown hair, with its elegant braids and knots, shone, too.

The messenger ran to them. Jack followed and so did Cassandra. She knew Jack had to go, being the only veterinarian in the valley, yet she was exasperated that he had to deal with such an inflammatory couple.

On the other hand, didn’t horses falling ill on Beacon property dispute Jack’s theory of Thornley being the perpetrator? Logically, he wouldn’t harm any animals on his lover’s estate if he truly cared for her and was fighting for her honor, as he’d indicated when he’d brawled with Jack.

Unless the man himself was cruel or twisted in some way. Studying him now, Cassandra saw no evidence of that. He seemed appreciative of Miss Beacon as he conversed with her.

Several yards away, to Cassandra’s left and right, she saw Mr. Crawford and Mr. Giller walking along the outskirts of the crowd in the same general direction, keeping a watchful eye on her and Jack.

The messenger was just telling the couple the news when Jack and Cassandra arrived. Jack set down his drink on the empty table near Thornley, but Cassandra held on to hers as she slid in next to Miss Beacon.

The woman was visibly shaken by the news. “Which horses, Ben?” she asked, her forehead ruffled in concern.

The messenger gulped. “Three palominos.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “They’re such gentle animals.”

Cassandra kept up her guard, yet couldn’t help but feel sympathetic. The woman obviously cared for the horses a great deal and had to handle this crisis on her own, since her father was out of town.

Thornley had gritted his teeth at Jack’s arrival. He shifted his dark eyes to glare at Cassandra, which appalled her, then he snarled at Jack, “I think we can handle this. There’s no need for you—”

“Jack’s a doctor of animals,” Miss Beacon interjected. “His opinion is always welcome.” She sighed as she turned toward them. “Hello, Jack. Cassandra.”

Thornley shifted his weight from one boot to the other, his dark features lost in the black shadows of the night.

Cassandra nodded, but clutched her punch glass. She was grateful she had something to do with her hands so no one could tell she was uncomfortable standing here. It irked her that Miss Beacon had used her first name so casually, as if they were great friends. Cassandra still couldn’t—and wouldn’t—refer to the woman by her Christian name. She preferred to keep a formal distance.

Miss Beacon glanced down at Cassandra’s drink and nervously slid one hand into her skirt pocket. Perhaps she wasn’t comfortable here, either. Her tone was urgent. “Who’s there with the horses, Ben? Tell us what’s happening.”

All eyes turned to the young man as he described the scene. “Dickson’s there with them, ma’am. You know how good he is with horses. They were shaky about two hours ago. First we thought it had to be something minor, or maybe they got too much exercise today. We used them for riding through the vineyards, pruning and cutting the weeds. Settin’ up the scarecrows to keep the birds away. We hitched the horses to one of the smaller wagons, you know, ’cause our palominos are a perfect size to squeeze through the rows.”

Jack crossed his arms. “What are the symptoms, Ben? What do you see?”

“Like I said, shakiness was what we first noticed. Then runny noses. One’s got a puffy face, on the left side. Dickson said the heartbeats are running fast. One’s got a fever now, and that’s when he sent me to get you, ma’am.” The sweaty ranch hand looked from Miss Beacon to Jack. “And you, sir. He said to get you, too, if you were here.”

Jack glanced over at Miss Beacon. “Let’s go, then. I’ve got my medicine bag in the buggy.”

The woman peered at Cassandra. “You don’t mind that he’s leaving?”

“I admire that he’s doing what’s best for the animals,” said Cassandra. “He wouldn’t be the man I know if he let sick horses fend for themselves.” He truly had no choice but to go. “Besides, I’m going with him.” She nodded at Jack to confirm it, and he silently agreed. He searched the area and caught the eyes of Crawford and Giller.

They were in this together, thought Cassandra, and the bodyguards would be coming along, too. Safety in numbers. Although at this point, both the sheriff and the doctor didn’t think they had anything to guard against. It was simply one man, Thornley, angry and jealous at another for having courted the same woman. Cassandra was beginning to agree. Perhaps she and Jack were both too involved in the relationship to see it for what it was.

Miss Beacon’s cheeks flushed and she lowered her lashes at Cassandra’s statement that she was coming, too, but didn’t have anything to say about it.

Jack conferred with Ben about more details regarding the animals, Thornley interrupting with questions.

While the men talked, Cassandra returned her gaze to Miss Beacon. The woman tilted her head, her expression demure and yielding. “I appreciate your kindness, Cassandra.” Raising her glass, she softly clinked it against Cassandra’s, then took a sip and set her empty glass on the table. She lifted her large beaded handbag, opened the wooden handles and removed her gloves.

The toast seemed to be a gesture of goodwill, thought Cassandra, as the other woman walked away. Yet as she clutched the dangling purse that held her derringer, she vowed to remain careful. She finished her punch, set down her glass, then hastened to Jack’s side to find their buggy.

“Thanks for being understanding, Cassandra,” Jack told her. “Sorry it’s interrupted our evening.”

“Please let me know when we get there if there’s anything I can do to assist. I’d much rather get involved than stand by and watch.”

The empathetic glimmer in his eyes indicated he appreciated her offer. Jack instructed Crawford and Giller, then added, “Thanks for coming. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Sure, boss.” Mr. Crawford swung up on his horse and they all rode out.

Miss Beacon’s red leather buggy flew ahead of them. They rode a little too fast and a little too rough to be able to talk much. Cassandra held on to her seat and wondered what they’d find when they got to the Beacon estate.

As their buggy pulled into the laneway of the property, she was mesmerized by its beauty. She’d never been at a vineyard before, and could truly feel in this moment why Jack was smitten with California.

Moonlight glimmered on the still slopes. Acres of green vines clung to wooden stakes, their tendrils woven through gentle ropes that supported the weight of ripening white and burgundy clusters of grapes.

She inhaled the earthy scent of loam and silt clay. A refreshing breeze kissed her bare arms, causing her to pull her shawl tighter. The orchard held trees she wasn’t sure she recognized—apples, pears, cherries.

They raced along the laneway, leaving ample room behind the red buggy to avoid its swirling dust. As the road narrowed at the top of the hill, a cliff appeared beside them.

“Look.” Jack pointed, equally enthralled.

They were riding along a stony ridge with a breathtaking view of the valley and the town of Sundial below. Cassandra embraced the beauty, the silence and the wonder of being a part of it, at an hour when only night birds and animals were awake. It was all so calm and peaceful.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after they arrived, Jack removed his stethoscope from his ears. His guns shifted around his hips. He gave the weak palomino mare a pat on her golden coat. Her white mane and tail stood out in contrast beneath the orange glow of the lanterns they’d set up around the stall. The stable was a large one and held half a dozen horses, a milking cow and several goats.

Cassandra leaned back on her hands, standing at the stall boards immediately beside him. Both women looked odd, thought Jack, all dressed up and awkwardly out of place.

Elise stood across from him, patting the animal and doing her own visual examination, although he could sense she’d consumed a fair amount of wine this evening. For some reason, she’d always had the ability to drink a lot but not show it. Thornley stood beside her with his arms crossed. Crawford and Giller watched from a distance. As did young Ben, the messenger.

The mare coughed.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Jack said to Elise. “She’s got a respiratory illness.”

“I think it’s gastrointestinal.”

“It’s a combination of both.”

“It’s got to be something they’re eating out there,” she said. “But what?”

“We can check the slopes tomorrow. For now, you should segregate the sick horses.”

“Segregate?” Elise looked alarmed. “You think that’s necessary?”

“Only for the respiratory part. You don’t want your other animals coming down with it.” Jack looked around, hoping to make this visit a quick one. He appreciated Cassandra coming with him, but he didn’t wish to prolong their stay.

Thornley was getting twitchy, watching. Jack could smell the whiskey on his breath from ten paces.

But the annoying thing was that every time Jack spoke to Elise, Thornley’s face twisted in misery, his eyes narrowed, his mouth thinned, and he leaped to hear every word Jack said to her. As if Jack would somehow overstep his bounds and say something inappropriate!

Never.

Whatever he’d once felt for Elise sure as hell was over.

“There’s no other barn to put them in,” Thornley snapped. “Did you think of that?”

Jack was jarred by the mean-spirited words, but deliberately kept calm and avoided saying or doing anything that might provoke him. “There’s the corral out there. I had a good look at it as we rode in. All you need to do is pitch some straw in one of the corners and the animals would have a clean place to rest. You could keep them there for as long as it takes the illness to pass. I don’t expect it’s going to rain anytime soon, so it’ll likely be a good spot for a few days.”

Elise brightened. “You don’t think it’s a serious condition, then?”

“You never know, but I think it’s going to pass.”

He heard the straw crunch behind him, and then Cassandra was at his side, raising her arm, her white shawl floating over her formal dress as she stroked the golden mare.

Elise inhaled sharply when Cassandra touched her horse, and Jack had another sudden urge to hurry and leave.

“Crawford! Giller!” he called out to his men. “See if you can pitch some straw outside. Let’s speed things up and we can all be out of here in good time.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied, already scouring the stables for pitchforks and talking to each other about who was going to do what.

Ben ran for the cart.

Elise turned and looked at Thornley expectantly.

“Me?” He raised a hand to his chest, almost incredulous that she was asking him to help. “You want me to do it?”

“You are my foreman, are you not?” Elise bristled and shot him a look of disbelief. “Or shall I wake some of the laborers in the bunkhouse?”

Thornley scoffed. “Is that what you think of me? A laborer?”

“No, I simply—”

“All you have to do is ask nicely, for hell’s sake.”

Elise winced. She looked away, embarrassed.

“Easy,” Jack warned him. He didn’t like when men picked on women.

Thornley snarled. “Mind your own business, you son of a bitch.”

Everyone froze. Boots stopped shuffling. The men stopped talking. Cassandra seemed to stop breathing.

Jack’s pulse bounced inside his chest as he told himself to go easy. “If you ever speak to me like that again,” he said with cold calculation, trying to maintain his equilibrium as his arteries drummed, “I’ll take you outside. It’ll be like it was before. Just you against me. And I don’t need to remind you who won last time. Now if you don’t want to help, step aside.”

Jack led the horse out of the stall and signaled for Crawford and Giller to keep their eyes on Thornley. A storm was brewing inside that man, and he’d been drinking all night.

Jack was relieved to see that the animals weren’t in serious danger, but the only way he could’ve known that for sure was to examine them, and so he had to come. But twenty more minutes and they’d get the hell out of here.

* * *

Cassandra was appalled at Thornley’s behavior. For a grown man to snap at a woman the way he had was indefensible.

With a curse and a mutter, Thornley did what was asked of him and looked for a pitchfork.

Jack handled the horses while the other men went to prepare the corral outside. They were going to pitch a pile of fresh straw in the far corner onto the open bed of a wooden cart, then wheel it outside to unload. They’d need to make a few trips.

Miss Beacon had withdrawn into herself after Thornley yelled at her, and Cassandra couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. The woman rubbed her bare arms, then walked over to an old plaid shirt hanging on a nail, and put it on. Much too large, it spilled over her body and her beautiful gown.

She picked up her beaded handbag off the boards and tucked her leather gloves inside. Her posture was bent slightly, as if in defeat, and Cassandra went to stand beside her, holding her drawstring purse. The other woman smelled like stale red wine. Cassandra took a breath, but it made her head spin. Her eyes began to sting, too, from the late night.

“They’ll get this done as quickly as they can, Miss Beacon,” she said, hoping to lighten the woman’s concerns. From the tenseness around her eyes and lips, she seemed terribly upset.

“Elise,” she corrected. “My name is Elise and you never say it.”

Somewhat startled, Cassandra couldn’t argue. She was not comfortable being on a first-name basis. Perhaps it was simply that she’d never liked her enough to want to be familiar.

“Elise,” Cassandra said, realizing the woman was feeling hurt because Thornley had mistreated her, and had done so in public. Cassandra got the eerie feeling that perhaps Elise needed protection from him, too. That it wasn’t just she and Jack who should watch their backs.