The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,50

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“Yoo-hoo! Breakfast is ready,” Elda called from the kitchen door.

Adrianna scurried to the dining room. “I’ve missed Elda’s delicious meals,” she told Quin, then added confidentially, “Her attempt to spy on you wasn’t very informative, anyway. I’m ready to have her back.”

He grinned and another chunk of her heart crumbled down her rib cage. Honest to goodness, Quin Cahill could become a ladies’ man if he really tried, she decided. His boyish smile could warm the coldest of hearts—and Adrianna had packed hers in ice the past few years so she wouldn’t become susceptible to the ploys of gold diggers and greedy adventurers. But now she was in danger of losing her heart to Quin.

Be sensible, Boston, she lectured herself sternly, unaware she had referred to herself by the same name Quin used. She wasn’t playing for keeps, she mused as she took her seat at the table. She’d had her fun with Quin and he’d had his with her. This was her temporary residence. She would enjoy him, then walk away. It’s what Quin expected—and she had better not let herself forget that.

Later that afternoon, Adrianna and Quin investigated the site of the fire. Unfortunately, they couldn’t tell if it had been set deliberately or if it was the result of a lightning strike. True, the peak of the new addition was the highest point on the hill and had yet to be equipped with a lightning rod. The storm could have ignited the fire, she supposed. However, instinct warned her that something else was going on that had nothing to do with Mother Nature hurling random lightning bolts at the earth.

“Should we contact Marshal Hobbs?” she wondered aloud.

“No, not yet,” Quin murmured pensively.

“Then the next order of business is to question my ranch hands,” she declared as she spun around to head to the barn.

“I questioned my men already,” Quin reported. “They said they saw the fire from the bunkhouse and came to lend a hand.”

Adrianna received the same information from her cowboys when she interrogated them. Everyone on hand had grabbed buckets to douse the fire, they claimed. No one had spotted her former foreman or other suspicious characters skulking around the house.

“That doesn’t mean someone wasn’t sneaking around here.” Quin fell into step beside her while she checked her Herefords and the black shorthorn bulls that had arrived recently.

“The timing was too convenient. With the party in town, and only a few cowboys on hand, it would have been easy to start the fire and duck out of sight during the gathering storm and darkness.” Adrianna frowned speculatively as she veered toward Buckshot’s stall in the barn. “I want to check my longhorns and my other herd of Herefords. Maybe the fire was a diversion for more rustling.”

“I need to check my livestock, too.” Quin grabbed her saddle and tossed it on the dapple-gray gelding’s back for her. “Take Rocky with you, in case you have trouble. I’ll meet you at 4C after I check my pastures.”

He dropped a hasty kiss to her lips, turned away and then wheeled around to kiss her again. Then he walked off.

Adrianna brushed her fingertips over her mouth, surprised by Quin’s impulsive display of affection. Affection? Is that what it is? Or is this how a man behaves after bedding a woman? Adrianna didn’t have a clue, since this was her first clandestine affair.

“Blast it, there should be an instruction manual for handling affairs properly,” she grumbled to Buckshot as she stuffed her booted foot in the stirrup.

She could name on two hands various women in Boston who flitted from one tryst to another, while juggling their loveless marriages. It was all so pretentious. Adrianna was glad her Western-style affair with Quin was uncomplicated. Especially considering the complications life kept tossing in her path while she faced the challenges of establishing herself as a credible and successful female rancher.

“Rocky?” she called to her new foreman. “Will you ride north with me to check the herds?”

The cowboy, who was about Quin’s age, set aside the block of hay he was tossing to the penned Herefords. He ambled over to mount his horse. Then he raked his hand through his sandy-blond hair and set his straw hat in place.

“Are we looking for anything in particular, ma’am?”

“Counting heads to see if someone stole a few cattle while we were distracted by dousing the fire.”

His pale blue eyes narrowed in self-deprecation. “I should’ve thought of that early this morning.” He waited a beat, then