The Lone Rancher (15 page)

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.

A
drianna was greatly relieved when the doctor arrived to check on Quin. Dr. Lewis was a slight, fair-haired man who was an inch or two under six feet. He was thirty—or thereabouts—had kind brown eyes and a reassuring smile. The physician's examination revealed Quin had suffered a mild concussion.

She figured his hardheadedness was the reason he wasn't comatose. If any other man had endured repetitive blows, he probably would have been dead.

Dr. Lewis prescribed plenty of rest for Quin, then questioned her about the dead man they had found last night by the springs. As Quin had cautioned, Adrianna didn't volunteer any information other than she had gone looking for Quin when he didn't return home promptly.

The young doctor left the house in his buggy, promising to notify the city marshal as Adrianna had re quested. Surprisingly, Tobias Hobbs, the city marshal, arrived twenty minutes later. Hobbs was mid-thirties, six foot
tall with dark hair and a mustache. He was an attractive man who wore a stylish bowler hat, vest and suit.

Of course, he didn't compare to Quin Cahill in size and stature, but then Adrianna had developed a sentimental attachment to cowboys—one in particular. However, she tried exceptionally hard not to let Cahill know she was in danger of losing her heart to him.

It would humiliate her to no end to confide the truth and have him remind her that he didn't have time in his life for lasting attachments. So Adrianna behaved as nonchalantly as she knew how and kept her growing affection for Cahill a carefully guarded secret.

“That was fast,” Adrianna commented as Marshal Hobbs dismounted from his horse. “I didn't think Dr. Lewis had time to contact you so you could ride out.”

“I was already on my way out here,” Hobbs explained, his expression serious as he tipped his hat politely to her. “We met briefly at your town party, Miz McKnight. Remember?”

“I remember,” she replied. Hobbs had gone through the receiving line but Adrianna had only had time to say hello and welcome him before he'd ambled off.

“I was told you had a fire at your ranch recently. Sorry to hear it.”

She nodded. “Cahill was kind enough to offer us shelter temporarily.” She opened the door to invite Hobbs inside.

“Half the people in town wager Cahill started your fire to drive you away. The other half suspects it's a scheme to get you into his house so he can romance you out of your ranch.” Hobbs stared pointedly at her. “Apparently, it worked.”

“That is preposterous,” she scoffed. “I want those rumors quelled immediately.”

Hobbs lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug. “You and Cahill are wealthy and high profile. The rest of us are ordinary folks. Some people thrive on gossip about the activities and woes of the rich.”

“The fact is, Cahill helped douse the fire. Then he generously allowed my employees and me a place to stay until my home airs out,” she explained irritably.

“Whatever you say,” he patronized, annoying her further. “I'm not sitting in judgment. My job is to enforce the law.”

“And to investigate crimes,” she reminded him crisply. “I sent for you to investigate a shooting death last night. We didn't move the body so you can survey the area.”

“I already looked around the site.” Hobbs was all business as he stared at her. “I received an anonymous note this morning that said there was a dead body at Phantom Springs on 4C Ranch. It also said Cahill was the cause of death.”

“What?” Adrianna hooted in disbelief. “That is absurd. Cahill had nothing to do with the killing. It's a wonder he isn't dead himself!”

The marshal's dark eyes narrowed skeptically. “How do you know for certain that he
wasn't
involved?”

Adrianna heeded Quin's warning not to mention her involvement to anyone, in case she became a witness who needed to be silenced. “Because Cahill told me what happened. He arrived on the scene to find a man shot in the back.”

Hobbs glanced toward the parlor. “Is Cahill here? I'd like to speak to him.”

“He's in bed, recovering from two blows to the head.”

“So that's why Doc was here?”

“Precisely. Cahill has a concussion.” Adrianna led the way upstairs. “You may speak to him if he is awake and coherent. If not, you can question him after he has recovered.”

“Miz McKnight, might I remind you that I am the marshal of Cahill Crossing and I handle investigations as I see fit?” he said authoritatively.

Adrianna pivoted two steps above him and relied upon the lofty tone she'd heard her father employ when he put someone in his place. “Might I remind you, Mr. Hobbs,” she countered, purposely omitting his title, “that Cahill is injured. You will wait until he can answer your questions accurately. If he is still confused about what happened, then you will wait another day. If you have a problem with that, speak to Dr. Lewis and he will advise the same thing.”

They exchanged squinty-eyed stares for a long moment. Then Hobbs inclined his dark head ever so slightly. “Lead the way, ma'am. Let's see how your patient is feeling, shall we?”

Annoyed by the lawman's unyielding attitude, she strode toward the master suite. To her dismay, Quin was awake, so she couldn't shoo away the marshal.

“Cahill,” Hobbs greeted as he came to stand at the foot of the bed. “I'm hoping you can answer some questions. As I told your…
nurse
—” he cut Adrianna a wry glance “—I received an anonymous tip that someone died on your ranch last night and that you are the one
who killed him. Mind telling me what that was all about?”

Quin combed his fingers through his tousled hair and tried to look alert but he couldn't pull it off. Adrianna thought he should wait to have this discussion but his expression indicated he wanted to clear the air immediately.

“I received an anonymous letter also,” Quin re ported. “It arrived at supper time last night. According to the note, my parents' deaths were not the result of the common kind of accident on a dangerous curve. If I brought money to the meeting site I could trade it for information.”

“Are we talking
robbery? Manslaughter? Murder?
” Hobbs choked out. “I investigated the wreck at Ghost Canyon myself. There were no tracks nearby to indicate an attack. The broken debris from the wagon and its cargo were strewn over the rocks and underbrush.”

“That doesn't mean someone didn't wipe the area clean to conceal his guilt,” Boston interjected.

Hobbs sent her a silencing glance—as if that would shut her up, thought Quin.

“If anything, a wagon wheel or hub gave way at the worst of all possible times,” the marshal continued. “You read my report yourself, Cahill. Your whole family did.”

Quin snorted. “Of course, it would look bad if it turned out you had botched the investigation, wouldn't it? I can see why you might be reluctant and skeptical.”

Hobbs snapped up his dark head and his brown eyes flashed indignation. “Now see here, Cahill, no one has questioned my ability to do my job in the past. I can understand that you are upset about the loss of your
parents. But accidental manslaughter or
murder?
Why would an informant contact you two years after the fact?”

“That's what I wanted to know, Hobbs. Which is why I rode out to Phantom Springs, as the note instructed. Unfortunately, the supposed informant was already dead,” Quin replied.

“And you can prove that?” Hobbs challenged doubtfully.

“Oh, for heaven's sake, be sensible,” Boston interjected. “Why would Cahill want to shoot a man who might have vital information about his parents' deaths?”

Hobbs cut Boston an annoyed glance. “If rumors are to be believed, you and Cahill were involved in a feud. Suddenly you reconciled. Or at least that's what some folks presumed…until someone burned down the new addition on your house. Now here you are in Cahill's home and no one knows what to believe.”

“And what does any of that have to do with a dead man at Phantom Springs?” she countered sharply. “Let's stick to one investigation at a time, shall we?”

“I'm wondering if whoever deliberately set the fire during the party was under orders. Perhaps the mastermind decided to silence the arsonist permanently to avoid being blackmailed.” Hobbs glanced accusingly at Quin.

Quin was tempted to leap off the bed and sock the marshal in the jaw for voicing such ridiculous suspicions. Who was spreading rumors to make him look bad? Quin wondered. Damn it, someone was spreading incriminating explanations for everything he and Boston did these days.

“That is the most ridiculous speculation I ever heard,” Boston sputtered, giving Hobbs another glimpse of her fiery spirit. “Cahill didn't shoot that poor man to keep him silent about a fire, because it was likely set by a
lightning
bolt.” She glanced briefly at Quin. “As for the anonymous note that foul play might have been involved in Ruby's and Earl's deaths, Cahill had no reason to kill the messenger. He wanted information.”

Quin had to hand it to Boston. She could go toe to toe with the marshal, who had obviously heard all sorts of wild conjectures from the locals.

He was grateful for her assistance because his head hurt like hell and it was difficult to keep up with the rapid-fire conversation when he couldn't think straight. She distracted Hobbs by coming on like an attack dog, taking the focus off Quin while he was dazed. No one ever protected him like that. Except Boston.

Hobbs smirked and focused directly on Boston. “If you weren't there you can't know what was said and what happened. It is possible the supposed informant had nothing to offer and Cahill was furious enough to shoot him for his deception. In fact, considering the scandalous gossip circulating about Leanna during the party, I expect Cahill was in the worst of all possible moods by the time he rode off last night.”

Quin gnashed his teeth. There were so many rumors buzzing about his family that they had become tangled and cast suspicion and unfavorable light on all of them.

“
You
weren't there, either,” Boston retaliated, lifting her chin defiantly. “You can't speculate on what happened, can you? You have Quin's testimony and since
he has no prior record of criminal activity you have no reason to doubt him.”

Hobbs muttered something under his breath, then shot Quin a hard glance. He walked over to the double holsters draped over the back of the chair. He removed both pistols and sniffed the barrels before checking the chambers.

His dark eyes settled accusingly on Quin. “Do you plan to deny this pistol has been fired recently?”

“Not by me it wasn't,” Quin maintained.

“Then by whom?” Hobbs demanded gruffly. “Cahill, I know you claim to be injured but it is my duty to take you to jail for suspicion of murder.”

“Because of an anonymous tip?” Boston spewed in outrage.

Hobbs held up the six-shooter. “This is a possible murder weapon found in Cahill's possession, ma'am. I can't disregard the possibility of Cahill's involvement in the death just because he runs the largest spread in the area. If he is innocent, my investigation will clear him.”

He spun on his heels, then halted at the door. “I'll wait for you downstairs, Cahill. I expect you are as anxious to follow proper protocol as I am. Otherwise, the locals will speculate that you bribed me to dismiss any charges of wrongdoing. Time will tell if you are innocent.”

“Of course he's innocent,” Boston burst out angrily. “A stint in jail will only invite more offensive rumors about this absurd curse the spiteful locals delight in nurturing.”

Hobbs waved the pistol in her fuming face and said,
“Best not to argue with a smoking gun, ma'am. You might want to consider the possibility that Cahill is trying to use
you
to corroborate his story so he can go free.”

When Hobbs walked out, Boston lurched toward Quin. “This is outrageous! I am going to tell Hobbs that I was on hand and that I heard—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply, then winced when his raised voice sent a stab of pain rippling through his tender skull. “Stay out of this, Boston. We will sort it out without involving you. After I convince Hobbs to see reason, we'll investigate discreetly to disprove these infuriating rumors that put a negative slant on everything we say or do.”

She blew out an agitated breath, then dashed over to assist Quin when he tried to sit up on the edge of the bed. “I'm going to consult a lawyer. There is a reputable one in town, isn't there? If not, I'll send Butler to Wolf Grove to fetch one,” she insisted. “You are not going to spend unnecessary time in jail and invite another avalanche of damaging gossip!”

“I'll be fine,” he assured her—and negated his claim by wobbling when he stood.

“You are nowhere near fine, Cahill,” she grumbled as she handed him a clean shirt. “Now sit down so I can help you with your boots.”

Dutifully, he sat down. Quin was not looking forward to the horseback ride to town. However, he was anxious to clear up the misunderstanding about what happened at Phantom Springs and convince Hobbs to reopen the investigation deemed an accident two years earlier. Quin was convinced his parents' wreck was more than an
accident. Naturally, Hobbs wasn't enthusiastic about reviewing the case and risking speculation that he hadn't done his job right the first time.

Quin wondered if the guilty party responsible for the deaths of his parents might have consisted of
four
outlaws who wiped away their tracks after the wagon plummeted over the edge of the cliff. They might have stolen money and supplies without the Cahills being aware. Quin had no clue how much money his parents had carried with them to Wolf Grove. Plus, Quin had never itemized the supplies to determine if the receipt of purchased goods matched the items carted away from the wreckage.