The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,69
neck and back, then expelled a heavy sigh. It was time to move home, she told herself sensibly. An extended stay at 4C would invite more gossip. Heaven knew there was too much of that floating around Ca-Cross!
Adrianna went downstairs to see Butler in the office, entering expenses from their ranch into his ledger. Bea was flitting around, dusting everything that didn’t move. Elda was in the kitchen putting together a gourmet meal for supper.
Their last meal at 4C, she mused. She and her adopted family would leave in the morning. She would divide her time between overseeing her cattle and horse operation and checking to see what Lucas and Dog’s search turned up. In addition, she was going to keep a watchful eye on her cowboys. She wanted to know who favored that brown gelding with three white stockings she had commandeered the night of the murder.
“Leaving?” Elda chirped after Adrianna made the announcement to go home. “But I like it here. There’s more room and this kitchen is spacious so I don’t bump into myself when I turn around. Plus, the cowhands are so kind and courteous that I prepare them snacks to take to the bunkhouse.”
“You can stay if you prefer,” Adrianna told the plump cook. “I’m sure Cahill would be delighted.”
“I’d be delighted about what?”
Adrianna pivoted to see Cahill leaning against the doorjamb of the parlor. His clothing was wrinkled, his hair was mussed from sleep and a five-o’clock shadow that was two days old lined his jaw. Still, the sight of him squeezed at her heart and desire coiled deep inside her. It amazed her that she could look at this ruggedly handsome rancher and want him with every fiber of her being.
“I said you would prefer Elda remained behind when we leave tomorrow,” she said belatedly.
His thick, dark brows furrowed. “You’re leaving?”
She was pleased that he looked and sounded disappointed. She would feel ever so much better if he’d miss her half as much as she was going to miss being with him.
She sent her employees dismissive glances and they took their cues to grant her privacy. “We both know my staying here fuels gossip.”
He scoffed caustically. “It won’t matter, Boston. Gossip will claim we had a spat and you left me. I told you, it makes no difference what we do. Wagging tongues will put an unflattering spin on everything.”
“Regardless, it’s best for me to leave and we both know it,” she said as she stared out the window, watching the hired hands tend their evening chores.
When he moved up behind her, his warm breath fanned her neck, leaving erotic fires burning in its wake. Adrianna closed her eyes and marshaled her failing willpower.
“Don’t go, Boston,” he murmured, then skimmed his lips over the column of her throat. “I like having you here.”
For how long? she wondered. Until the demands of the ranch occupied all his time? Before he left on the spring cattle drive and never gave her another thought?
How long would it take him to forget his interest in her while he was on the trail, visiting cow towns where ladies of the evening entertained drovers and cowhands? She’d become a half-forgotten memory and she would be pining away for him like a brokenhearted fool.
“I can’t stay,” she replied, trying to ignore the reckless desire spiraling inside her.
He stepped away, and when she turned to face him, his expression was impersonal. “Whatever you want, Boston. But before you go, I want to thank you for pressuring Hobbs to release me.” He held out his hand. “And before I forget, I’ll need that note you waved in the marshal’s face this morning. It’s all I have to prove I was lured to Phantom Springs.”
Adrianna retrieved the note, then handed it to him. She pasted on a cheery smile. “You’re welcome, Cahill. I enjoyed telling that stubborn, by-the-book marshal what was what.”
“Good, I’ll be sure to call on you next time I’m arrested.”
“There will be a next time?” she asked flippantly.
“Sure, once you’re arrested for murder you become everybody’s favorite scapegoat and prime suspect.”
“Supper is served,” Butler announced formally, then took his leave in his usual stoic manner.
Cahill smiled dryly. “I still say your man of affairs enjoys acting like a stuffy butler. I think he missed his true calling.”
“No, his calling is numbers, investments and balancing financial ledgers,” she assured him on the way to the dining room. “It’s a game he plays to keep others off guard and to amuse himself.”
Just