The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,74
the hitching post the night she borrowed the brown gelding with three white stockings to follow Cahill to Phantom Springs.
“Go ahead without me,” she instructed her companions as she reined Buckshot north. “There’s something I need to check before I meet you at home.”
Butler eyed her apprehensively. “This isn’t going to turn out like the Phantom Springs incident, is it?”
She flashed her best smile. “No, don’t fret. I’ll be home in time for supper.”
“You’d better be,” Butler said, then gave her a look that said, Or else…
The dear man was more protective of her than her own father!
When the threesome drove away, Adrianna trotted her dapple-gray gelding to the bunkhouse where only one horse waited at the hitching post.
“Yoo-hoo!” she called out as she poked her head around the partially opened door.
The red-haired, freckle-faced cowboy—who looked to be three or four years older—smiled a greeting as he stuffed clothing into a dingy canvas knapsack. “Can I help you, Miz McKnight?”
Adrianna strode forward to extend her hand. “We haven’t met formally but I’ve seen you around the 4C.”
“I’m Otha Hadley,” the bowlegged cowboy introduced.
“Are you leaving the ranch and looking for another job?” she asked curiously.
“No, ma’am. I’m getting married this weekend.” His smile was so wide it affected every feature of his face. “Cahill told me if Zoe Daniels accepted my proposal I could rent the abandoned cabin on the north range and fix it up in my spare time. I’m just moving up there to spiffy it up and keep watch on 4C cattle.”
“Congratulations, Otha.” She discreetly surveyed the bunkhouse lined with beds that had wooden trunks for footboards. “That was generous of Cahill.”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s always been fair and good to me.”
Adrianna sincerely hoped she hadn’t misjudged the cowboy. So much was going on around here that she still wasn’t sure whom she could trust. “I was wondering if you could tell me which ranch hand favors that strawberry roan gelding I noticed in your corral.”
Otha set aside his knapsack and strode to the window. “That’s Ezra Fields’s main mount,” he reported, then frowned. “Why’d you ask?”
Adrianna shrugged nonchalantly. “I saw it somewhere that seemed out of place.” She watched Otha intently as he shifted uneasily, then returned to his bunk to gather his clothes.
“Something’s wrong. What is it?” she demanded as she followed on his heels. “If you are as loyal to Cahill as you say you are, then I need to know what’s troubling you, Otha. Cahill was set up for murder. I want to know who is responsible.”
Otha avoided her direct stare and neatly folded his well-patched shirt. “Well, I don’t like to speak ill of folks, even ones who speak ill of others.”
“Speak ill of whom? Cahill?” she questioned, confused.
He paused from his chore to glance at the door to make sure no one was listening. “No, Ezra is always in Cahill’s ear, speaking ill of you. He seems suspicious of everything you do and makes everything out to be bad. ’Course, no one was happy when Rock went to work for you, but Ezra keeps talking about how you are stealing cattle and setting prairie fires to undermine 4C.”
Adrianna’s eyes widened in surprise. So that’s why Cahill had been so wary, just as she had been wary of him because…Chester Purvis had been casting aspersions about Cahill to her and Chester mentioned that supposed curse every other day.
Blast it, were those two cowboys from opposite sides of the adjoining fence in cahoots? Had they been involved in the extortion scheme that ended in murder? Had they set the fire that destroyed the new addition to her house?
“You okay, Miz McKnight?” the red-haired cowboy asked.
“I’m not sure.” She glanced around the bunkhouse. “Which bunk does Ezra Fields use?”
Otha shifted uneasily. “We got a pact about not messing with another man’s stuff,” he said, but he pointed left.
“You didn’t see this,” she insisted as she made a beeline for the bunk by the door—and more specifically the trunk at the end of the bed.
She halted to lock the door, then pulled a few banknotes from the pocket of her breeches. “Consider this a wedding gift, not a bribe for silence, Otha. I need your cooperation.”
He nodded somberly and refused the money, until she crammed it in his knapsack. Then she lurched around to open Ezra’s trunk. The faint whiff of kerosene rose from the rolled-up garments. Anger roiled inside her as she dug to the bottom of the trunk to pluck up a pair of