The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,38
when the silence consumed the house and seeped into his soul, he wondered if he should select a wife and fill the family home with a child to carry on the Cahill ranching tradition that his brothers and sister discounted as insignificant. What if Quin’s future children did what Bowie, Chance and Leanna had done? The next generation might scatter in the wind to seek their fortunes and stumble into disaster.
Thunder rumbled in the night and Boston glared at the sky in defiance. “Don’t you dare ruin the party.”
“Miss McKnight? Quin?”
Quin gave himself a mental slap, then glanced sideways. The sixty-year-old banker sported a neatly clipped mustache and beard. He was in charge of collecting town rent and monthly installments for the loans Quin carried for residents who purchased Cahill land in town. The older man approached, then bowed politely.
“We haven’t met yet,” the banker said, clearly dazzled by the enchanting beauty in green silk. “I’m Willem Van Slyck. My son, Preston, is around here somewhere. He’ll want an introduction, too.”
Boston curtsied gracefully. “A pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you for coming this evening.”
“It is nice to have an Eastern heiress among us,” Willem remarked. “Western society must seem lacking in sophistication, compared to what you are accustomed to.”
Quin could feel Boston tense beside him. Of course, Van Slyck had no idea that the heiress had no use whatsoever for exclusive social circles and name-dropping.
“On the contrary, sir,” she replied through a smile that Quin noticed did not reach her eyes. “I’m fascinated with life in Texas and I’m relieved to have left that other world behind. In fact, I’m considering the idea of joining the trail drive to Dodge City when I sell my cattle next month. It should be a memorable adventure.”
Quin choked on his breath and the banker’s blue eyes nearly bugged from their sockets. Boston slid Quin a challenging glance, daring him to object to her plans.
“Well, um, if I can be of financial service to you in the future, Miss McKnight, do not hesitate to stop by the bank,” he said before he went on his way.
“You dashed Willem’s hopes of forming an elite social circle in Ca-Cross,” Quin commented.
“He can form one without me. I left that pretentious lifestyle behind for a dozen good reasons.”
“Do your good reasons have a name?” Quin questioned, staring interestedly at her. “Someone specific who destroyed your faith in high society men?”
She turned away, disregarded his question, then frowned thoughtfully at Willem’s departing back. “Is there a Mrs. Van Slyck?”
“No. I don’t know what became of Willem’s wife,” Quin said. “As for Preston, he works at the bank with his father…when it suits his whim. I think Willem is disappointed that his son doesn’t live up to expectations.”
Boston hooked her arm in his and urged him forward. “I need to check the refreshments. Are you hungry?”
“Of course. I told you, I’ve been on a steady diet of hardtack for two days,” he reminded her.
She arched an amused brow when Quin drew the attention of a flock of women beside the dance area. “It seems several females would eagerly line up on your doorstep to dance. Or better yet, become part of the Cahill family. Maybe they are interested in helping Willem form an elite social circle.”
“They should look elsewhere. I’m not good marriage material,” Quin assured her.
“Nor I.”
“Too independent-minded and contrary?” he said helpfully.
She smiled good-naturedly and returned his taunt. “What sensible woman would want to play second fiddle to the 4C? Even if it meant marrying a high-and-mighty Cahill?”
“There might be a few interested takers,” Quin contended, then nodded a greeting to Oscar and Minnie Jenkins. “Here’s a perfect example. The owners of the Château Royale Hotel have a daughter named Ellen. They have shoved her at me on several occasions and don’t appreciate my lack of interest.”
“Are they disgruntled enough to grind you up in the gossip mill and besmirch your reputation every chance they get?” she asked as she studied the older couple astutely.
Quin frowned in thought. “I don’t know, but that’s a possibility, I suppose. I doubt Ellen would be a party to it. She seems timid around me and not particularly disappointed I didn’t pursue her.”
“Maybe she doesn’t prefer domineering ranchers like you,” Boston teased, then glared skyward when lightning flickered ominously. “You might crush Ellen’s spirit in nothing flat.”
“Unlike you, who’d bite my ankle before I could stomp on your spirit.” He chuckled, delighting in their playful banter.
“A matched set,” she declared.