The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,84

was anxious for information to appease Cahill’s curiosity. The anonymous notes Ezra and Chester received suggested a similar method of operation. What the devil did that mean?

Were the four men who were involved in the murder and extortion at Phantom Springs connected to the mastermind behind the arson and rustling? What about George Spradlin, her former foreman? Was he mixed up in this? And what did anyone know—if anything—about Ruby and Earl’s wagon wreck?

For sure and certain, Adrianna wouldn’t allow this rendezvous to play out the way the last one had. She was going in Cahill’s stead. He could back her up—which is how it should have played out at Phantom Springs, she told herself sensibly.

Her unexpected appearance would surprise the would-be informants, she reasoned. No one was going to set up Cahill a second time for murder—if that’s what these encounters were really about. Or was it a scheme to dispose of a gang member and steal money? If Cahill followed her—and she was certain he would, mad as hell at her though he’d likely be—he could get the drop on these hooligans. His dealings with Ezra and Chester were proof enough that Cahill was a tough, deadly force to be reckoned with. He had certainly impressed Adrianna when he had outdrawn the outlaws.

Determined of purpose, she left the note in the parlor, along with a letter she’d written. She borrowed Cahill’s Sunday-go-to-meeting hat and a jacket that hung by the front door. She hiked to the barn to borrow a saddle horse that looked similar to Cactus. She left her carriage by the house to ensure Cahill went looking for her.

A relieved smile pursed her lips as she glanced northwest to see Cahill and Rocky appear on a rise of ground, herding cattle to the corrals. Good, Cahill wouldn’t be too far behind her. Just far enough that he couldn’t discourage her from following through with her plan to disrupt the outlaws’ scheme and have Cahill provide reinforcement.

With a pistol tucked in her waistband and her trusty dagger in her boot, she trotted toward the junction of the three creeks at sunset. She veered to the eastern side of the tree-lined stream so Cahill wouldn’t spot her immediately. No matter what else happened, he wasn’t going to be clubbed on the head or bushwhacked, she vowed resolutely.

The thought of him being hurt was unacceptable. She was in love with the man, after all. She would do all within her power to protect him from harm. It was her way of expressing her carefully guarded affection without blurting out her feelings and facing embarrassing rejection.

“This is your second good deed of the year,” she told herself as she trotted away.

Quin herded the cattle he and Rock had found in an obscure box canyon into the corral. He’d hoped to locate another note with instructions, but no such luck. He wondered where the stolen cattle had been sold but it would take time to check around. Damn it, he wanted answers…now.

His mood improved when he noticed Boston’s carriage near the house. A passionate evening spent in the privacy of the master suite held tremendous appeal. Leaving Rocky to sort 4C cattle from McKnight cattle, he trotted Cactus to the house.

“Hey, boss! Elda’s back!” Skeeter called to him.

Quin nodded and smiled. Skeet had a sweet tooth that wouldn’t quit. Quin’s appetite, however, required a steady diet of a green-eyed, chestnut-haired firebrand named Boston.

He barreled through the front door but she wasn’t there to greet him so he went looking for her. She wasn’t in the kitchen or dining room and neither was Elda. His stomach dropped to his boots when he veered into the parlor to see two notes lying on the seat of his father’s leather chair. With mounting dread, Quin approached, wondering if there was something symbolic about where the notes had been placed.

He plucked up the first one that offered information about his parents’ wreck and he noted different handwriting. He picked up the second note in Boston’s elegant script—and cursed the air black and blue. Twice.

I’m posing as you to determine if this rendezvous at Triple Creek is a hoax. I’m using my extra payroll money as bait. Maybe we’ll find out if there is any truth to the possibility of foul play in your parents’ deaths.

Yours truly, Boston

Yours truly? Quin swore he’d never live to see the day she signed a note “Love, Adrianna.” “Dang and blast it!” he roared. “Are you trying to get yourself