The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,8

I am ready and willing to meet the challenges of my new life.”

Her comment reminded him so much of the clash between him and his brothers and sister that he bristled immediately. This woman represented what he had come to dislike about Bowie, Chance and Leanna. Why did folks feel the need to strike off to find a new life instead of sticking to the ones they were born to? Lives that were familiar and expected. With birthrights, family destinies and legacies.

This heiress—and he had no doubt she was wealthy if she had bought out most of the other investors—had no business trying to manage a ranch in unfamiliar territory. Obviously, she had been groomed for highbrow soirees, concerts and such.

“Look, Boston,” he said, discarding an attempt to be polite and charming. He had his limit, after all. “You are a greenhorn in rugged country. This is no place for a lady. The sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”

“Will I?” She crossed her arms over her ample bosom and glowered at him. “Let me assure you, Mr. Cahill—”

“Quin,” he corrected.

“—I did not move to Texas on a whim,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. Or didn’t care what he had to say. He figured the latter was nearer the mark. “I outgrew Boston and I became bored with shallow socialites who count their success and importance by the number of parties they attend and by how many wealthy aristocrats they know.

“I overheard my so-called friends poking fun at me. When I saw myself through their eyes I realized no one in Boston really knew me at all. They didn’t give a whit what I was on the inside. They perceived me as a pampered, helpless heiress who didn’t have to lift a finger to provide for myself.

“Furthermore,” she said through gritted teeth. “I have been raising and breeding livestock on our country estate since I was ten years old so I am not unfamiliar with the practices and the duties demanded of running a ranch.”

How dare this arrogant cowboy come marching over here to persuade her to sell out before she had a chance to meet and greet the ranch hands and to set up housekeeping! Adrianna silently fumed as she raked the big oaf from the top of his raven head to the toes of his scuffed boots. He was six foot two inches of brawn and muscle—and possessed a pea-size brain. Ruggedly handsome though he was in his Western clothing, spurs and leather chaps that showcased the crotch of his breeches—and demanded entirely too much feminine attention—she wanted to double her fist and smash it into the five-o’clock shadow that lined his jaw.

And how dare he nickname her Boston, in an attempt to remind her of where he thought she belonged. He wasn’t looking past outward appearances and that infuriated her to no end. He reminded her of the opinionated highbrows she had left behind.

Never mind that she had sailed into her cluttered parlor and felt a jolt of unexpected physical awareness when she met the brawny rancher with silver-gray eyes and wavy raven hair. He was nothing like the sophisticated dandies who sauntered through marble foyers, in hopes of charming her into a marriage that would set them up for life with her inheritance. That was a point in his favor—until he opened his big mouth and declared she couldn’t manage this ranch and he wanted to buy her property.

Blast it, he had no way of knowing how competent she was, how adaptable she could be when she tried. Hadn’t she portrayed the genteel sophisticate to appease her father? Damn this brawny cowboy. He made her want to revert to her hoyden days on the country estate and show him how disagreeable she could be when she really tried.

“I hear we have our first guest,” Bea said as she veered around the corner. “Shall I fetch tea?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Adrianna gestured toward her annoying guest. “Beatrice Fremont, this is Quin Cahill, one of the town founders. Mr. Cahill is on his way out.”

“Good day to you, then, Mr. Cahill.” Bea tossed Adrianna a bemused glance, then shrugged a thin-bladed shoulder. “I’ll get back to work.”

When Bea swept out, Elda swept in. Adrianna swallowed a grin when she noticed the cook had unpacked crumpets and toasted them with cinnamon and sugar for their afternoon treat. It didn’t matter what was on hand to whip up for snacks or meals. Elda waved her