The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,41

ambling toward him.

“Surprised to see you here so quickly. I wasn’t expecting the crowd to leave the party for another hour,” Sid commented as he opened the door for Quin.

“I need a drink…or ten,” Quin muttered.

He doubted it was possible to drown his troubles and frustrations in a bottle but, at the very least, he wanted to numb his senses to the torment eating him alive. His little sister had a child and no husband? She was a saloon girl or card dealer—or both? Worse, Preston Van Slyck’s implication that she had turned to prostitution to support herself was killing Quin bit by agonizing bit.

Muffling a salty oath, Quin threw back his head and gulped the whiskey. He gestured for Sid to pour another drink…and then another.

Thunder rumbled overhead, all too symbolic of the storm of torment raging inside him. He told himself that his family had abandoned him and the ranch, not the other way around. But the niggling voice inside him whispered that he had forced his siblings into desperate situations. He should head to Deadwood and see for himself whether what Preston said was true. And maybe he would do that after the spring trail drive to Dodge City. By then, he’d have this upheaval of emotion under control. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be tempted to gun down the irresponsible father of Leanna’s child who had left her to manage all alone. Damn him to hell and back!

“A fine way for a boy to grow up,” he grumbled sourly. “But he’s a Cahill. The first of his generation. God forbid he faces the same problems with his siblings and cousins.”

The grim thought prompted Quin to guzzle another drink.

“I think you’ve had enough, Quin.” Sid removed the bottle and shot glass from his reach.

Quin nodded in agreement, then pushed away from the bar. “I suppose you heard the vicious gossip tonight.”

Sid bobbed his bald head and smiled sympathetically. “I heard. Maybe there’s more to that Cahill Curse—”

Quin exploded in a growl and puffed up like a spitting cobra. “I expected better from you, Sid. We go back a long ways and I call you friend.”

Sid heaved a sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. You financed this place so I could get a new start. I’ve been listening to too much saloon gossip instead of putting a stop to it. Count on me to quell some of the rumors, my friend.”

Quin nodded, then wheeled toward the door. He stalked onto the boardwalk and noted that a few torches and lamplights were still blazing on the square. Most of the rowdy crowd was walking toward the tracks to play billiards, monte or poker and to visit the harlots on the Wrong Side.

As for Quin, he was headed to 4C to down a few more drinks. Boston could give Elda a ride home tonight because he was the worst of all possible companions now.

Cursing Preston Van Slyck for spreading vicious rumors, Quin pulled himself into the buggy he’d driven to town to accommodate Elda’s desserts. He left the lights of town behind, then burst out with a string of obscenities when he stared northwest. Flames danced in the wind that had picked up in the approaching thunderstorm.

With a sense of urgency, he popped the reins over the horses’ rumps and sped off. If lightning had struck a tree on his property, he could expect another prairie fire to destroy the tall grass and endanger his cattle. He’d have to stop a stampede and beat out the fire with the skeleton crew of cowpunchers that was at the 4C. Most everyone who hadn’t drawn the short straw had ridden to town for the festivities.

The wind picked up another notch as Quin raced toward home in the darkness. He was reminded of the wagon accident that had killed his parents two years earlier so he tried to use caution, but time was of the essence. He still couldn’t precisely tell where the fire was. Distances were deceiving when it came to pinpointing smoke and flames.

“Of all the…!” Quin roared when he reached the 4C headquarters and realized the fire was raging at Boston’s house. Dear God! Had lightning set the fire that was spreading in the wind?

Quin raced the buggy to the bunkhouse to alert the ranch hands, but no one answered his call of alarm. Swearing foully, he guided the buggy toward the gate between his spread and Boston’s ranch. His heart twisted in his chest as lightning flickered above the