The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,29
and her entourage as foreigners.
Otha shifted awkwardly in the saddle, then crammed his stained hat back on his red head. “Ya see, I met this real nice girl and—”
“Sure, you deserve a break after riding with me each time I’ve sorted calves,” Quin cut in, and then watched the cowboy’s freckled face turn a deeper shade of red. “Is this real nice girl anyone I know?”
His blush deepened. “Her daddy’s a tracklayer and she works at Monty’s Dance Hall. Don’t think she rightly belongs in that place but she says money is hard to come by so she smiles and dances with cowboys and soldiers for a fee.”
Quin hoped the woman in question wasn’t feeding Otha the same line she fed other customers. The cowboy didn’t need his heart broken. Of course, Quin wasn’t sure what that felt like because the 4C had consumed his life for as long as he could remember. His liaisons were infrequent and impersonal. The occasional scratching of an itch, so to speak.
He knew his brother Bowie had had his heart broken once by Clea North. Quin grimaced, remembering his snide comment about Bowie’s rejection. Salt to a wound, he mused regretfully. Quin had struck out when Bowie had landed on a sensitive nerve about his delay in arriving home to help his parents tend to the business of signing contracts with the railroad.
“I’m thinking about asking Zoe Daniels to marry me,” Otha commented as he reined toward 4C headquarters. “There’s that cabin up north that once belonged to the previous English owners of the property you bought last year.” Otha stared hopefully at Quin. “I wondered if we might rent the place. I could keep a watchful eye on your northern pastures since I’d be riding home in that direction every night.”
Quin nodded. “It might be nice to have a full-time hand keeping up with those far-removed pastures. But the place needs some repair, Otha.”
The cowboy beamed excitedly. “I know ’cause I looked it over pretty good the last time we rode through there. But I can make the repairs myself.”
Quin leaned out to shake Otha’s hand. “Then we have a deal. I’ll pay for the materials for repair if you do the work in your spare time. I hope things work out for you and Zoe.”
Otha smiled so widely he nearly split a lip as Quin turned his attention back to the butchered calf. Someone was preying on 4C and other spreads in the area and Quin would dearly like to know who was behind the rustling, butchering and rebranding of his cattle.
Exhausted from long days of hard work and extensive hours in the saddle, Quin glanced south. He was anxious for a soaking bath and one of Elda Quickel’s gourmet meals. Not that the chuckwagon cook didn’t do his best, but the older man’s fare couldn’t compare to Elda’s. Quin could almost taste the cook’s delicious baked bread from here.
Adrianna waved to Elda, who was making her second visit since she had moved into the 4C ranch house.
“I brought cookies,” Elda announced as she bustled up the steps, with the handle of her basket draped over her elbow. She halted to admire the gleaming woodwork and recently polished floors. “My, Bea has this place shining, doesn’t she? Knew she would.”
“How are things at 4C?” Adrianna asked as she grabbed a couple of melt-in-your-mouth cookies.
“Quiet.” Elda held out the basket for Bea and Butler, who showed up the moment they heard her voice. “It’s sad, really.” She plopped down on the parlor sofa. “That man left everything as it was before his parents died. Why, he didn’t even move into the master suite, and you can tell that not one stick of furniture has changed position in the office or parlor. It’s like a monument to the past.”
Adrianna frowned thoughtfully. Why hadn’t Quin moved on with his life and made the ranch house a reflection of his own tastes? She, on the other hand, had sold the mansion in Boston and only kept the country estate that held fond childhood memories of a life similar to what she experienced now. She had chased new dreams and adventure while Quin Cahill remained entrenched in the past. Maybe being intolerant of change was who he was. Why else would he live in his parents’ shadow and allow their dreams to become his?
It dawned on her that they were alike but in different ways—if that made sense. Cahill kept his father’s dream alive, as if he