The Lone Rancher Page 22

  Yours truly, Boston

  Yours truly? Quin swore he’d never live to see the day she signed a note “Love, Adrianna.” “Dang and blast it!” he roared. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, woman?”

  Damn the woman; he knew she thrived on excitement and adventure but she faced uncertain danger. She was putting herself in harm’s way for him. That tormented him to no end.

  Scowling furiously, he stalked outside to mount Cactus. Too many things could go wrong with Boston’s harebrained scheme. Besides, this was his problem, not hers. “Someone needs to get control of that woman…if that’s even possible,” he rumbled as he gouged the bloodred bay gelding in the flanks and raced off, praying he wouldn’t arrive too late.

  Adrianna dismounted in a stand of trees. She took the precaution of stashing the money pouch behind an oversize stone on the path. She intended to use the money as insurance. No answers, no money, she vowed as she walked toward the meeting site. Her plan was to find out everything she could and stall until Cahill arrived. As plans went, it was iffy at best. But it provided protection for Cahill.

  “Toss out your pistols, Cahill,” came a gruff voice from the underbrush to her left.

  The sound startled her but she composed herself, gathered her courage and tossed her pistol into the clearing beside the junction of the three creeks.

  “Where’s your other six-gun?” the man demanded.

  “I only have one,” she called out.

  “What the hell—?” came a deep voice from her right.

  That accounted for two men, she thought. Where was the third man?

  “Take off that hat!” the first bandit ordered sharply.

  Adrianna removed Cahill’s oversize hat and her thick braid tumbled over her shoulder.

  “You?” the second outlaw crowed incredulously. “What are you doing here? We sent for Cahill.”

  “He wasn’t home. He was herding the stolen cattle your sidekicks stashed away. Those are your sidekicks, right? Ezra and Chester?”

  “Are those the two cowboys you stuffed in jail?” the first hombre asked.

  “Yes, friends of yours?” she questioned persistently.

  “No,” said the second man. “Now move to the clearing. Don’t try anything, lady, or you’ll be damned sorry. And get those hands up where we can see ’em.”

  She did as she was told. Her objective was to keep the men busy talking and gather vital information. “Which one of you shot your cohort at Phantom Springs?” She walked into the clearing, then glanced sideways to note both men were wearing black hoods and long duster coats to conceal their identities.

  “That don’t concern you, lady,” the second outlaw scowled. “Now where’s the money?”

  She turned slowly to face her mysterious captors. “You’ll receive no money until I have information,” she insisted, lowering her arms. “What do you know about Ruby and Earl Cahill’s deaths? Was it a robbery attempt?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” the first bandit muttered evasively.

  She rolled her eyes. “No straight answers, no money.”

  “Lady,” the second ruffian growled, “you ain’t in no position to make the rules. Now where’s the damn money!”

  Okay, Cahill, you can show up now, she thought anxiously. These men were short on patience.

  “So you and the other two men planned to rob the Cahills on their return trip from Wolf Grove,” she speculated. “They tried to outrun you in their wagon, right?”

  “Shut up, lady,” Number Two sneered beneath his black hood, then aimed his pistol at her chest.

  “So you chased them and the Cahills lost control on the sharp curve at Ghost Canyon?” she prompted, calling upon every ounce of bravado she could muster.

  “You don’t hear too good, do you, lady?” Number One said sarcastically. “Be quiet!”

  “I will not be quiet.” She tilted her chin defiantly. “I came here for information in exchange for money. Now, did you climb downhill to rob the Cahills of money and take their supplies after the wreck?”

  “Yes, damn it,” Number One muttered in exasperation.

  “Then you wiped away the tracks so no one would suspect foul play,” she ventured. “What did you remove from the bodies?”

  “Don’t you ever shut up, woman?” Number Two sneered as he took a step closer. “Maybe I’ll make you shut up.”

  “We don’t have the money yet,” Number One re minded his angry cohort.

  “Where is the third man?” she questioned, glancing this way and that. “Or did you dispose of him so you could have more money for yourselves? Was there a falling out between thieves that resulted in the death at Phantom Springs? Or did your friend try to extort money behind your back and you shot him for it?”

  The question was met with silence and Adrianna swore under her breath, wondering if she would ever find the third man. Was he here now, hiding in the trees, taking her measure with a rifle?

  “Lady, you are a pain in the ass,” said the second outlaw.

  “I hear that often,” she said, undaunted. “So why did you wait two years to approach Cahill about the wreck? Why did you set him up for murdering your buddy at Phantom Springs?”

  “Enough!” the second thug snarled as he stalked toward her. “Where’s the damn money!”

  “Answer my questions and you can have it,” she countered defiantly. “You—”

  Her voice became a pained yelp when the stocky, thick-chested hooligan backhanded her, causing her to stumble and fall. Despite her stinging cheek and the stars revolving around her eyes, she scrambled to her feet to plow into the first thug. He yelped as the two of them went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Adrianna made a wild grab for his pistol but Number Two pounced on her and jerked her up by her braid.

  He crammed his pistol into the underside of her neck and clamped his burly arm diagonally across her chest. The man reeked of whiskey and sweat. She stamped on his foot, hoping he’d recoil so she could launch herself away from him. No such luck. He grabbed her braid like a rope and jerked her against him again.

  “Let her go,” Quin snarled viciously as he appeared from the shadows of the trees. He stepped into the clearing with both pistols drawn and ready to spit lead.

  Both men lurched sideways. The first man stepped behind the second—who held Boston as if she were his shield of armor.

  “Give us the money and we’ll let this hellcat live,” the second ruffian demanded as he crammed the pistol barrel deeper into Boston’s throat.

  “I don’t have money. I just returned to the house, then came looking for Boston.”

  Both men muttered beneath their concealing black hoods. It no longer mattered if Quin received the answers to the questions that hounded him. His only concern was Boston’s survival. If these men had killed his parents in a robbery attempt, he’d track them down and dispose of them later.

  “Let her go. I’ll bring money to you,” Quin bargained, holding both men at gunpoint—while they held him at gunpoint.

  “I don’t trust you—awk!” The bandit’s voice dried up suddenly.

  Quin nearly suffered a stroke when Boston took advantage of her captor’s distraction and gouged him in the soft underbelly. The outlaw cursed foully and backhanded her, sending her cartwheeling in the grass. Then he aimed his pistol at her.

  Quin moved into the open to make himself a target. He fired both six-shooters simultaneously, drawing attention away from Boston. He hit the second hombre twice in the chest. The man yelped and slammed into his friend but he fired off a shot before his legs buckled and he dropped to his knees.

  “No!” Boston shrieked at she stared at Quin in horror.

  Quin felt the burning pain in his left side but he was too intent on holding the first man at gunpoint so he couldn’t use Boston for his shield of protection.

  Stalemate, he thought, breathing raggedly.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Boston reach into her boot to grab her concealed dagger. She sprang t
o her feet and charged the bandit left standing. She managed a glancing blow to his neck before he knocked her aside but she came at him again, slicing his arm.

  “Where’s the money?” the thief demanded as he pointed his weapon at Boston and cocked the trigger.

  Somehow, Quin found the strength to shoot the pistol from the man’s hand, but the outlaw swung his second revolver toward Quin, who wobbled unsteadily, then sagged to his knees.

  “Get the money, lady, or I’ll kill him, I swear it!”

  Quin swore mightily as his strength ebbed and the world faded in and out of focus. He tried to raise his arm to fire off another shot but the bandit darted over to kick the six-shooter from his hand. The coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils. He refused to look down to see how badly he’d been injured. All that mattered was seeing Boston escape with only two bruises to the cheek.

  “I’ve got the money with me,” she insisted as she bounded to her feet. “He’s been shot. He can’t attack you. Just let him be.”

  She dashed off, then returned a minute later with a leather pouch. Defiant to the end, Boston tossed the money out of the man’s reach. “Take it and go.”

  The gunman kept his gaze trained on Quin as he scooped up the leather poke. When he turned to leave, Boston darted toward the downed man’s pistol.

  “Damn it, Boston, don’t draw fire,” Quin panted as he tried to prop himself on his elbow.

  She didn’t listen to him. When had she ever? She fired off three shots as the bandit darted into the underbrush, then disappeared from sight.

  A moment later, Quin heard the sound of two—maybe three—horses thundering into the darkness. He suspected the first thug had taken the second horse and had ridden hell-for-leather. Either that or a third outlaw had been watching from a safe distance. Damn it, he wished he knew for sure!

  Quin dragged himself by one arm to reach the downed man. With what little strength he could muster, he shoved the thief to his back. He jerked off the hood to reveal a mop of black hair and dull brown eyes that stared dazedly at him. Bloodstains soaked the man’s shirt.

  “Did you purposely kill my parents during the robbery?” Quin demanded in panted breaths.

  The dark-haired hombre nodded ever so slightly. “Wasn’t just a robbery,” he rasped. “Murder… You got no idea how deep this goes….”

  When he slumped lifelessly on the ground, Quin swore ripely. He’d learned his parents had been murdered, but he still had no idea why this information had surfaced two years later or if their deaths were somehow connected to the rustling and robberies plaguing the 4C for the past few years.

  “I’m so sorry,” Adrianna blubbered as she stared at the bloody wound on Quin’s side. “This is my fault. I’m so sorry!”

  He sucked in a ragged breath as he slumped to the ground. “Not your fault,” he whispered. “I got you into this.”

  Tears erupted as she ripped away the dead man’s shirt to use as a makeshift bandage for Cahill. “Can you stand up? We need to get you to the doctor.”

  “I don’t think so,” he wheezed.

  Heavens, thought Adrianna, the very thing she had tried to prevent from happening had happened! “Stay here,” she ordered as she sprang to her feet.

  “Don’t think I have much choice,” he mumbled dully.

  Adrianna dashed off to locate Cactus, then brought the horse to Cahill. The improvised bandage was soaked with blood so she ripped off another section of the dead man’s shirt to tie around his belly. Then she grabbed Quin beneath the armpits and heaved him upward to clamp his hand around the saddle horn for support.

  “You listen to me, Quin Cahill, you are going to help me get you on Cactus so we can ride to town,” she raged at him through her sobs and tears. “I love you like crazy and I refuse to lose you. Now help me, blast it!”

  Adrianna wasn’t sure how they managed to hoist him onto the saddle before he collapsed against Cactus. After she mounted up, she led Quin to town for help—and prayed nonstop that he would survive.

  And damn the man! she railed silently. She had tried repeatedly to draw attention away from him but he had left himself open to attack to draw gunfire away from her. He had taken a bullet for her and that tormented her beyond words.

  “Blast it, you just can’t do some people a favor, and you’re one of them, Cahill,” she muttered. “Now look at you.”

  He didn’t comment, just lay over Cactus like a feed sack.

  Adrianna bawled her head off all the way to town. Anger, guilt and regret hounded her every step. Her attempt to spare Cahill from danger had backfired.

  Plus, the dead outlaw had only lived long enough to impart a tidbit of information. The other bandit had escaped with the money—and no more than minor stab wounds on his neck and arm.

  Adrianna had no idea whether the third thief had stood guard, then rode off. There was no conclusive sign of him. The third bandit could be dead already, for all she knew.

  Even worse, Cahill could be a dead man riding. She might have killed the only man she had ever loved—by trying to protect him! The tormenting thought circled her mind like a vulture. She would give her fortune if it could save Cahill.

  Muffling a sniff, she glanced back to see Cahill’s motionless form and pale face in the moonlight. Her heart twisted in her chest and another sob burst from her lips.

  It wasn’t enough that Cahill had to deal with that stupid curse and rumors constantly circulating around town. She had become the worst curse of his life…or what he had left of it….

  Chapter Fifteen

  Quin groaned miserably. He felt like death warmed on a dim flame and he wondered if he was still alive. He couldn’t tell for sure. He’d hoped dead would feel better than this, but who could say for certain?

  Before he could take inventory to see if he still had most of his body parts, a fuzzy haze overtook him and he dozed off.

  A few hours later—or maybe it was a century, he wasn’t certain—he regained consciousness. He opened his eyes to realize he was sprawled in bed at Doc Lewis’s infirmary. He turned his head sideways to see Boston draped uncomfortably in the chair beside him.

  Quin tried to ease onto his side so he could reach out to limn the refined features of her enchanting face, but it hurt to move. He groaned involuntarily, causing Boston to come awake instantly. Her green eyes were noticeably puffy from crying. There were red welts on her cheek and a concerned frown etched her brow.

  “How are you feeling?” she whispered as she combed her hand through his tousled hair.

  “Like hell,” he croaked. “How about you?”

  “The same. It’s killing me to know I’m responsible for your injury. I was trying to help and I made matters worse.”

  “I already told you it’s not your fault.”

  She glanced away, shifted uncomfortably, then murmured, “Do you remember what I said after we managed to drag you onto Cactus’s back?”

  “Sorry, no. I guess I blacked out. What’d you say?”

  She bit her lip, then smiled ruefully. “I don’t know if it will make you feel better or worse. Maybe I should let it be.”

  “Spit it out, Boston. It isn’t like you to mince words.”

  She took an enormous breath, as if she were diving off a cliff into fathomless depths. “I’m in love with you.”

  Quin smiled faintly. “Are you saying that because you know I’m dying?”

  She shook her head adamantly, sending the chestnut-colored braid rippling over her shoulder. “I realized I loved you before I managed to get you shot. You aren’t dying. The bullet missed vital organs but it nicked muscles and ligaments. Doc Lewis patched you up and said you’d be stiff and sore for a couple of weeks.” She squeezed his hand. “Just because I love you doesn’t mean you’re obligated—”

  He pressed his forefinger to her lips, wishing he had the strength to pull her into his arms and hold her close. “I love you, too, Boston,” he whispered earnestly. “There aren’t the right words to describe
how much you mean to me.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” she huffed, but grinned—and he felt a hundred times better when he basked in the warmth of her glorious smile.

  “I kept silent because I didn’t think you wanted me and I didn’t want to crowd your independent space,” he replied.

  She pressed her lush mouth to his. “I want you like crazy and you can crowd my space anytime you please, Cahill.” Her long thick lashes fluttered down to shield her gaze as she trailed her fingertip over his jaw and cheek. “Are you going to ask me to marry you?”

  “No. Every man you know proposes to you,” he reminded her. “I don’t want to be anything like them because I’m not after your money.” He grinned rakishly—and wondered if he’d been able to pull it off since he wasn’t an accomplished ladies’ man. “I’m fascinated with your fiery spirit, your intelligence and your gorgeous body. All of the person you are. But you’ll have to ask me if you want to move to 4C and stay forever because that’s how long I promise to love you, Boston. You are my heart.”

  “I want to be with you always, Cahill,” she choked out as tears dribbled down her cheeks. “Marry me.”

  “Name the time and place,” he insisted as he rerouted her tears with the pad of his thumb.

  “On two conditions,” she negotiated.

  “Here it comes,” he grumbled playfully. “What do I have to do to keep you with me forevermore?”

  “I want to add my herd of longhorns to yours and find out what it’s like to make the trail drive to Dodge City. Doc says you’ll be up and around by then.”

  Quin blew out his breath. “Damn it, Boston. Spring trail drives are notorious for violent storms, bandits, stampedes, dangerous river crossings and renegade Indians on the way to Kansas.”

  She got that determined tilt to her chin that he’d come to recognize at a glance. “You are not going without me and that’s that, Cahill. I crave new experiences and adventure.”

  “I was hoping our marriage would be adventure enough,” he mumbled.