A plucky spirit. This was an attitude he could handle. “What’s your name?”
Her hands dropped into her lap, and she met his questioning gaze. “Ciara. Miss Ciara Mu—Morrissey.”
The name was lyrical to his ears and rolled off her tongue like a song. He still couldn’t place the origins of her accent.
Betsy set earthenware mugs of steaming liquid in front of them and positioned a small crock of cream close to the traveler. “Sorry, ma’am, no china cups for your tea.”
“This is fine.” Ciara grabbed her mug and wrapped trembling fingers around it. “I have never been prone to the faints, but my hands won’t stop shaking.”
“Understandable.” The urge to ride out and check the road for clues drew his muscles taut. Years of experience had taught him not to set out without a plan. And that plan involved information this woman possessed. “The experience was probably upsetting. I’m sorry to keep you from resting, but I have no choice. You’re the only person who can provide information. Are you up to answering questions?”
From over the rim of her mug, her gaze connected with his, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what I can tell you.”
“How far away from town did the men stop the stage?”
“I don’t know.” She closed her eyes, and her words slowed. “I’m not good at judging distances, especially out here in the wilderness.”
The wilderness? Her choice of words told him she was probably from east of the Mississippi River. “Okay, that’s understandable. How long were you driving the team?”
A shudder ran through her body before she spoke. “Could have been five minutes…or forever.” She paused for several moments, staring into her mug, and then mumbled, “One of the men said they were headed to someplace called Ten Sheep. I must have heard incorrectly.”
“No, that’s right.” He sat forward, scooting his arm along the table. His first clue. Maybe if they talked long enough, this woman might give him what he needed. In an instant, a second meaning of that thought hit. His gut clenched. The initial deep connection resurfaced, but he pushed it aside. He needed details of what had happened in his jurisdiction. “Ten Sheep is south of here. How many men were there?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know. The view through those small windows is not clear. First, I heard gun shots, and then riders circled the coach. They yelled a lot and kept the horses moving.” She sniffed, took a long sip of her tea, and briefly closed her eyes. Her brow puckered into a frown. “I think there were three. Then the door yanked open. They rudely pulled out the older gentleman and just tossed the poor man over the front of a horse. Surely they wouldn’t make him ride very far in that fashion.”
More evidence she was a stranger to the wild circumstances of the western frontier. Anticipation of organizing the chase flitted through him. “Did they use names? Or speak to their horses?” At her head shake, he fought back the urgency rising in his chest. “Anything that might provide a clue?”
“We heard shots, and Mr. McGinnis shouted for us to do what we were told. A man rode up to the window on each side, demanding our money and jewels.” A dainty shoulder lifted in a shrug. “That’s when Miss Fairchild screamed her virtue was about to be stolen and swooned, landing in my lap.” Green eyes danced, and a high-pitched giggle escaped. “Frankly, I doubt the robbers planned on lifting anyone’s skirts.” Eyes widening, she clapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head.
Damn. Quinn had seen witnesses suddenly realize the danger they’d been in and that’s when hysterics set in. Lord, he could not abide a crying woman. “Did you notice any detail about their saddles or markings on their faces that stood out?”
Her brows scrunched low, and she squared her shoulders, pulling her jacket snug across her breasts. “I feared for my very life, sir, and you think I should have noticed their saddles?” She inhaled deeply, and then her whole body stilled. “Yes, I do remember something about the saddles.”
He watched the movement of her chest—in particular, how the buttons strained their closures. The rhythm of his heartbeat kicked up and a bead of sweat trickled on his forehead. Lifting his gaze to her face, he leaned forward, forcing himself to concentrate on what she might share. “What’s that?”
“Each man sat in one.” Her body rigid, she raised the mug to her lips and waited, an eyebrow arched high.
As prickly as a wild rose. Quinn slumped in his chair and ran a hand over his face. He deserved that comment. He was pushing her too hard. This wasn’t the first time he’d stepped all over someone’s sentiments, digging for the truth that would bring a criminal to justice. Sometimes he wondered if he’d forgotten all the manners of his ma’s upbringing.
“Blue bandana handkerchiefs covered their faces from just below their eyes down.” Her lips pressed tight before she continued. “Their hats were pulled low. I can verify each man had guns, and at one instance or other, the vile things were pointed directly at our chests.”
The flat tone of her voice heaped on the guilt. “I apologize, ma’am, for sounding callous. In frightening circumstances, witnesses often pick one particular thing to concentrate on. Something that distracts them from what is really happening. That one clue often leads to an arrest.”
“I see.” She relaxed her posture. “Well, I can tell you the guns looked huge. I had no doubt they would use them if we stood in their way.”
“Okay.” Hands braced on the table, he readied to leave. His thoughts raced ahead to how much daylight remained, and to what he might find on the road south of town. A final thought surfaced. “Did they say anything to the man they removed from the stage?”
Fingertips rubbing at her temple, she spoke, her voice husky with fatigue. “They knew him by name. I thought that was strange.”
Might be the clue he needed. His heartbeat quickened, and he stilled. “How so?”
“This was a robbery, so obviously they took all the valuables in sight.” Her brow wrinkled as she relayed her thought. “If they used his name, shouldn’t they be worried that he’ll identify them later?”
How to answer that question? She did seem calmer than when they’d first sat. Without knowing what type of life she’d led, he hesitated to speak frankly and send her into a swoon like her traveling companion. “Robbing the passengers may not have been the main motive. I’ll know more when I talk with the driver.”
The mug landed on the table with a thud. “I know when I’m being robbed. They took billfolds, watches, and jewels.” Her eyes rounded. “My money! How will I pay for my lodgings or food?” Head bent low, she covered her face again. “I have stolen this tea and have no resources with which to make restitution.”
Her obvious distress tightened his chest, and he gently touched her arm. Miss Morrissey was so slight, his grip could have encircled her forearm.
The muscles in her arm stiffened at the contact, but she kept her face hidden.
Hand still in place, he fought to ignore the heat radiating from where their bodies touched. He refused to let the most intriguing female he’d met in years distract him from his duty. Especially if she was just traveling through. “Don’t worry, Miss Morrissey. Arrangements will be made. First, I’d feel a whole lot better if the doctor looked you over. You still appear shaky.” He glanced out the front window, hoping to spot a townswoman to sit with her, but the crowd had dissipated. “By now, Doc has taken Pete and Miss Fairchild back to his office. I’ll escort you there.”
Quinn stood and laid several coins on the table. He waited for Ciara to stand, and then he moved ahead of her to hold open the door. Once outside on the sidewalk, he grasped her elbow and guided her to the left. She stumbled on the first step, and he shifted his hold, an arm circling her waist.
“I am not normally in need of such rigorous support, sir.” Her voice softened. “My…my legs seem uncommon…” As her words slurred, her steps faltered, and she swayed hard against his side. Her head dropped against his chest.
For a moment, he wished for d
ifferent circumstances that would bring them into such an intimate position. His side warmed where her curves pressed against him.
Stick to the business at hand, Riley! When he bent to scoop her into his arms, he inhaled the scent of lemons. The fresh and tangy fragrance fit what he knew about the woman. Within moments, he reached the doctor’s office and stooped to open the door. Miss Morrissey slipped lower in his arms and he shifted his hold. The soft mound of her bottom was firm and ripe for a man’s touch, and he willed himself not to tighten his hand. Afraid she’d rouse and discover this compromised position, he slid his hand to the backs of her legs.
Through the open doorway, the doctor called out, “I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Doc, Sheriff Riley here.” He lowered her to a chair and clamped a hand on her shoulder to keep her from sliding off. “Toss me a bottle of smelling salts. I can take care of Miss Morrissey.”
The curtain parted, and the doctor poked out his head, glancing between Quinn and the woman. “She’s just fainted?”
“Yeah, one minute she was walking and talking, the next she was out cold leaning against me.” He stretched to grab the bottle the doctor placed on the desk. “How’s Pete? Can I talk to him?”
Doc’s gaze passed quickly over the woman’s face. “He’s lost a fair amount of blood. I’ve given him a draught of laudanum, so he’ll be sleepy. But he can talk.”
“How about the other one, the female passenger?”
“I revived her once. She took one look at Pete’s injury, screamed to high heavens, and fainted again. I figured she’ll sleep a bit and wake up on her own.” He cast a sheepish look at the curtain and shook his head. “No use bringing her around just to deal with hysterics again.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” Turning to face the chair, Quinn pulled the stopper from the jar and waved it under Miss Morrissey’s nose.
A gloved hand swatted at the bottle, but her eyes remained closed.
Damn, he had other problems to attend. He lifted the jar closer to her nose. This time, her whole body jerked and a foot kicked, catching him high on the inside of his thigh. Unprepared for the sharp jolt, he staggered backwards. “Ow! Watch your foot, lady.”
She shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her face. “Take away that vile jar. I am awake.”
Quinn capped the jar and set it on the desk. He leaned over, massaging the tender spot dangerously close to his groin, and peered into her face. “Let me see your eyes.”
She lowered her hands and opened her eyes wide. “I am quite all right.” Her gaze dropped to where his hand rubbed his leg. “Oh, did I do that?”
“Next time, I’ll stand to the side when administering smelling salts.” He straightened, arms at his side. “Guess everyone’s reaction is different.”
As pinkish color rose in her cheeks, she dipped her chin. “Sheriff Riley, I am sorry. I hope there will be no, um, permanent injury.”
“Thanks to your short legs, no harm done.” The woman was candid—another quality he admired. A grin touched his lips. “I’d hate to think what would have happened if you were three inches taller.” Before he took the conversation in an even more improper turn, he excused himself and stepped behind the curtain. With a quick glance, he scanned the room.
A blonde woman dressed in a faded brown dress that had seen more prosperous days sprawled on the padded examination table.
Pete rested on a cot against the opposite wall, his wiry shoulder bandaged, and a sheet pulled up under his arms. His face was pale beneath his tanned skin, and his eyes were closed.
“Pete?” Quinn waited, and then nudged the man’s good arm. “Pete, wake up. I need information.”
The man roused, but his eyelids drooped at half mast. “Hey, Quinn.”
“What can you tell me about the men?”
“Three men…well armed.” He swallowed hard. “Plugged the coach…a couple shots then team stopped.” His mouth drew into a tight line. “Told passengers to cooperate.” He shook his head and fought to lift his eyelids. “A woman screamed. Like a fool, I stood…caught this here bullet.”
Nothing new in that description. “The passenger, Miss Morrissey, gave a similar account of the event.”
“Spunky thing.” His grin drooped sideways. “Just jumped in seat and whipped up team. Not much experience driving, though.” He squinted and blinked hard. “A whole lot of bouncing and then nothing. Guess I passed out.”
So Pete recognized her individuality, too. “Were their horses or saddles familiar? Maybe you heard a name.”
“Nope.” Pete shifted his weight and winced, cradling his arm. “Weren’t there only to rob the stage.”
Quinn tensed at the insinuation in the driver’s words. Just like he’d thought. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t go for strongbox. Takin’ billfolds and jewelry…all for show.” His gaze sharpened. “Pulled out ol’ Judge Stanton…and took off at a gallop.”
“Aw, hell.” All afternoon Quinn had sensed trouble was brewing.
Now the truth was revealed. “They grabbed my circuit judge?”
For more details about this title, go to:
Amazon
The Wild Rose Press
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author
Dreams Of Gold
Capturing The Marshal's Heart (Escape From Texas) Page 15
