The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,57
didn’t work, she cupped her hands and dribbled more water on his face.
Finally, he stirred, grimaced uncomfortably, then exhaled a wobbly sigh. He looked incredibly vulnerable. Compassion squeezed Adrianna’s chest. Impulsively, she pressed her lips to his, wishing her kiss would revive Quin and restore him to the energetic, commanding—and sometimes maddening—man he usually was.
Eventually he opened his eyes, but he looked so dazed that she wondered if he recognized her. “Quin, it’s me. Boston.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” he grumbled sluggishly.
“I came to tell you I told you so, of course,” she muttered caustically, her fear transforming into annoyance.
“What hit me?” he asked dazedly.
“I don’t know, but I’d like to hit you. You scared me half to death,” she snapped, even as she cradled his injured head on her lap and held the cold compress against his skull.
Quin pried open one eye and squinted up at her. “My brain might be scrambled but I remember telling you to stay put,” he mumbled. “Did you bribe Butler to let you follow me?”
“No.” She offered no explanation. “What happened here?”
Quin tried to lever himself onto an elbow, then wilted back to the ground. “The world is spinning and my skull feels like it split wide-open. It’s making me nauseous.”
“I’m sorry…now tell me what happened,” she demanded as she cast the dead man a hasty glance. “Your friend has a hole in his back. Any idea how it got there? It wasn’t your work, was it? I can’t picture you gunning down someone in that cowardly fashion. Me, maybe, but no one else.”
Quin gingerly inspected the twin knots on his head, then grimaced in pain. “All I know is I crept in here and found this man with his head draped in the spring. He had a bullet hole in his back.”
He dragged in a restorative breath but Adrianna thought he still looked pale and shaky so she refused to let him stand until he regained a bit more color.
“I turned the man over and remembered that I saw him at the party,” he went on to say. “I don’t think he’s a local, which strikes me as odd. I was hoping he was still alive, but he was long past telling me what I wanted to know. Then someone clubbed me from behind. I tried to spin around but he hit me again. That’s the last thing I remember. Except your voice in my head saying, I told you so.”
“Next time listen to my voice in your head, Cahill,” she advised. “Now what about the other three men?”
Quin frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard a gunshot. Then three men rode off in different directions,” she reported. “One went east, one west and one south. I was unable to identify any of the men or describe their horses in the darkness.”
“Three?” he croaked. “Are you sure about that, Boston?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’m not the one with two knots on my head…. Do you think you can stand up yet?”
Quin pushed upright and leaned heavily against her. He waited a moment, inhaled a few deep breaths, then tried again—and failed.
“You wait here while I fetch Cactus,” she ordered as she scrambled to her feet.
When she returned a minute later, leading Cactus, Quin said, “Check the saddlebags to see if the money is where I left it.”
She did as he asked. “There’s nothing here.”
“Hell and damnation,” Quin bit out as he rolled onto all fours, then tried to stand.
Adrianna darted over to lend support. She felt a sentimental tug at her heartstrings when Quin draped his arm around her shoulder, then kissed her on the cheek.
“I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” he murmured. “I want to make double damn certain that everyone around here knows you can’t identify the other men involved. As far as anyone knows, you weren’t here. Understand, Boston?”
“Fine. We’ll play it your way for the time being, at least.” She glanced down at the dead man. “My guess is that whoever dreamed up this extortion scheme decided to split the money three ways instead of four. Worse, we still don’t know if there is any truth to the possibility of foul play in your parents’ death.”
Quin muttered a string of expletives as Adrianna assisted him into the saddle. She frowned in concern when Quin doubled over Cactus’s neck, then groaned miserably. She was no doctor, but she suspected he was suffering from a concussion. She needed to get him home so he could rest.
She