by Debra Cowan
Addie nodded. “4C livestock were moved over to McKnight land to make it look as though I was stealing Quin’s cattle. And my cattle were moved over here so I’d think Quin was responsible for the thefts.”
“We knew it had to be somebody with access to both ranches,” Quin said.
“We caught them.” Addie’s green eyes sparked with anger. “One was a man from McKnight Ranch named Chester Purvis.”
“And the other was a ranch hand from the 4C named Ezra Fields.”
“Fields? I don’t know him,” Bowie said.
“That’s because I had to hire him after the three of you took off.” His brother’s even tone told Bowie that Quin still resented the fact that his siblings had left.
He wasn’t sorry for striking out on his own, but sometimes he regretted that he’d done so in anger.
“These two men also set fire to the addition Boston was building on to her ranch house.”
“They tried to blame that on Quin, too,” Addie said indignantly.
Bowie focused on one of the corrals. “And you’re sure these ranch hands, Purvis and Fields, had nothing to do with the anonymous notes you received about Ma and Pa being murdered?”
“We questioned them pretty hard and they said no.” Quin shook his head. “I’m of a mind to believe them. They’re sittin’ in Ca-Cross’s jail right now.”
“What about the man you were falsely accused of killing? Did you find a connection between him and these ranch hands?”
“No. They swear they got orders and were paid by anonymous notes left at a remote ravine where they hid cattle on the 4C. They claim to know nothing about our folks’ wagon accident.”
“They’re no-account, but I don’t think they could murder anyone,” Addie said.
“So, what do you think?” Quin shifted, favoring his left side. “Do you agree Ma and Pa were murdered?”
Bowie glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not inclined to dismiss it. What I can’t figure is why someone would want them dead.”
He turned to face his brother and sister-in-law, resting his backside on the window frame. “Who could profit from their deaths?”
“Or who had a grudge strong enough to do murder?” Quin asked.
Bowie nodded, staring absently at his mother’s walnut dressing table and mirror. The marble-topped piece matched the dressers in the big room and had been her favorite. Pa had given it to her one year for their anniversary.
He tapped his hat against his thigh. “I would say Ma and Pa were victims of a random attack, but the man you shot and killed told you their murders were part of a scheme. That isn’t random.”
“Right.”
Bowie’s gaze kept going to his mother’s dressing table, bare now of her silver brush and comb, her small bottle of perfume. His attention lingered on the two-poster mirror where she always hung her only necklace when she took it off. He didn’t recall burying her with it.
He straightened and walked to the dressing table, frowning. “Did you do something with Ma’s jewelry when you moved in here? Maybe put it somewhere for safekeeping or give it to Addie?”
“No,” Addie said.
Quin’s eyes narrowed. “There wasn’t any jewelry. Ma was buried wearing her wedding band. That’s all she had.”
“What about her ruby necklace?”
The other man’s gaze went to the mirror. “I forgot about that. She only ever took it off at night.”
“That trip to Wolf Grove was for a special occasion. She would’ve worn it that day.” Bowie dragged a hand across his nape.
“I haven’t seen it around here. Haven’t seen it since before they died.” His brother scowled. “Hell, I didn’t even notice!”
It wasn’t really surprising given the fact that he had been single-handedly trying to keep the ranch going while dealing with trouble after trouble.
“Her necklace wasn’t anywhere around Ghost Canyon when we went back to see where the wreck had happened,” Bowie recalled. “We looked over every inch of that place. The only things we knew had been stolen were their supplies and money.”
“That means the necklace had to have been taken when the wagon was wrecked,” Quin said gruffly.
Bowie clenched his fists as he fought to control the anger burning through him. “It looks that way.”
“Do you think robbery was the reason your parents were killed?” Addie asked.
He intended to find out. “If so, maybe the men who contacted Quin were involved. How else would they know about it?”
“The man I killed said the scheme went deep,” his brother said slowly. “Don’t need much of a scheme to steal a piece of jewelry.”
“Good point.” He shook his head. “Why would someone wait for two years after Ma’s and Pa’s deaths to come forward with information?”
Quin studied Bowie. “So you believe it was murder?”
“I believe it needs to be looked into.” He dragged a hand down his face. “If it was murder, we’ll find whoever’s responsible. And they’d better have that necklace.”
A look of relief crossed his brother’s face. “So you’ll stay long enough to help?”
Hadn’t he just said so? Bowie’s jaw clamped tight. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Well, you’re in no shape to find out anything.”
Quin’s eyes flashed with resentment.
Bowie was already forming a plan. “One of the first things I’m going to do is find out who those dead men are.”
As he walked to the door, Quin moved as though to stand.
“Stay put,” Bowie said. He glanced at his new sister-in-law. “Nice to meet you, Addie. Congratulations to you both.”
“You’re not going to stay here at the ranch?” Quin asked. “Your room’s sitting empty.”
Bowie hesitated. Just because his brother had asked him to come home didn’t mean the invitation extended to the ranch.
“I thought you newlyweds might like to have your privacy. I got a room at that boardinghouse when I stopped earlier.”
“Lovely!” Addie said. “Merritt will treat you right.”
Quin nodded. “She’s a friend. She was to Ma and Pa, too.”
“She came to Ca-Cross after her husband died,” Addie put in.
“It was after you left, four years back.” Quin’s pointed words brought back Bowie’s humiliation over Clea North’s jilting.
Quin had been poking at Bowie since he’d arrived. Just another reason he wasn’t staying here.
“So she said.” Again, he found himself wanting to know more about the petite woman with the quick smile, like why she had come to Cahill Crossing, but he didn’t ask. He had enough questions to deal with if he was going to find out who had killed his parents.
“I’ll let you know if I learn anything.”
Just as he stepped into the hall, Quin said, “Bo?” He turned.
“Thanks,” his brother said gruffly. “I appreciate it.”
Bowie started to say he wasn’t doing it for Quin, but he stopped himself. His brother was making an effort; Bowie could do the same. “You’re welcome.”
He bid his brother and new sister goodbye, then made his way downstairs. Stopping in the doorway of the parlor where hot tempers and careless words had sent him and his siblings scattering, he was hit with twin waves of regret and a burning urge to leave again.
He didn’t want to stay, but he owed Ma and Pa. He’d let them down the day they’d died. He wouldn’t do it again.
Chapter Two
Why was Bowie Cahill really back in Cahill Crossing? Merritt was still wondering that just before dawn the next morning as she stoked the cookstove, then walked across the kitchen to the small room built on the side of the house. The single bunk in there was available to whoever might need it.
It was none of her business why Mr. Cahill had returned, but still she wanted to know. Maybe he had come home to patch things up with his older brother. She had half expected Bo
wie to stay at the 4C last night, despite what he’d said about not doing so, but she’d heard him return late.
His sister-in-law, Addie, had told Merritt that there had been a family fight after Earl and Ruby’s funeral that had driven a wedge between the siblings. It must have been a humdinger.
Thanks to her friendship with Bowie’s mother, Merritt already knew quite a bit about the man. So why did she want to know more?
Maybe because she’d felt a tug in the pit of her stomach when she’d first laid eyes on him. And when he had touched her cheek to tell her about the flour she had on her face. Merritt hadn’t had a reaction like that to a man, a connection like that, since her marriage.
She frowned. That was enough of Mr. Bowie Cahill. She opened the door to the small room off the kitchen where Lefty Gorman sometimes slept off his overindulgence of liquor, but not last night. The bed was empty.
She walked out of the kitchen and crossed the dining area, moving down the short hall to the back of the house. She carefully opened the door in case Lefty had chosen to spend the night on her stoop. He had done so before, though more often than not, he spent the night in an empty bunk at the jail.
Pushing open the screen door, she stepped out and was hit immediately with the strong odor of whiskey on the summer air. Lefty was slumped against the adjacent wall, his long legs sticking out in front of him. His graying brown hair stood up at the back, testament that he had been in that position for some time.
He had once told her he had owned a successful business back in Missouri, but the financial panic that had swept across the country in 1873 had ruined him. He’d begun drinking and over a period of years had lost his wife and children, his home. So he had headed to Texas, arriving in Cahill Crossing about the same time Merritt had.
Occasionally, he did jobs for her. But he still had frequent nights when he drank himself into oblivion. The liquor didn’t make him violent or cruel, just helped him forget for a while.
“Oh, Lefty,” she murmured. She couldn’t turn him away and didn’t want to. She could have been in his same situation.
She knew from bitter experience that a life could be destroyed in the blink of an eye. After Seth was killed, she had wanted to lose herself in a bottle every single day for two years. The prisoner he was escorting—a murderer—had escaped when his friends ambushed her husband and the two Texas Rangers who were in charge of getting the man to Austin for trial.
Seth had been a Texas Ranger, too, but his commanding officer hadn’t ordered or even requested that he go. Her husband had volunteered, despite being told it wasn’t necessary. And he’d been killed protecting some outlaw who wasn’t his responsibility. Instead of liquor, Merritt had lived on anger for two years.
She knelt in front of Lefty and shook his shoulder.
The older man opened one bleary blue eye, peering at her. “Miss Merritt.”
“Come inside and have some coffee.”
“’Kay,” he whispered, trying to get to his feet.
She slid a shoulder under his arm, propping the door open with her foot. Getting him upright was a slow process, but she did it. With a lot of turning and shifting, she got him inside.
“Sorry.” The word was slurred. It seemed a major effort for the man to put one foot in front of the other.
She tightened her hold around his waist, staggering under his weight. They veered toward the wall.
“Sorry to dis’point you, Miss Merritt.”
“You haven’t disappointed me,” she said, her voice labored as she struggled to keep the man upright. “Keep moving toward the table.”
He took a step, his heavy booted foot coming down on her toes.
She winced.
“The jail was full,” he said.
She nodded, concentrating on keeping her balance and trying to steer him in a straight line. Suddenly, he turned toward her and stumbled, dislodging her hold.
She grabbed for his arm. “Hang on to me, Lefty.”
His feet tangled with hers and they both crashed into the wall.
A dull pain shot through Merritt’s hip. She would have a bruise, but it was nothing serious.
“Ooomph,” Lefty grunted, sliding to the floor. Kneeling in front of him, she held on to his wrists and pulled until he sat up.
“Sorry, Miss Merritt. You okay?”
“I am. Now come on. Once you have some coffee in you, you’ll feel much better.”
She wasn’t sure how she was going to get him to the table if he couldn’t make it on his own. “Can you stand?”
“Yes.” But all he managed was to get to one knee.
Merritt moved to his side, trying to figure out how to get the man on his feet. “Brace yourself against the wall. I’ll count to three, then you lean on me and use the wall for support to stand.”
He nodded.
She bent to slip her shoulder under his arm. “One, two— Oh!”
A pair of strong, hot hands clamped around her waist and lifted her effortlessly to the side, setting her on her feet.
She whirled to see Bowie Cahill.
As he released her, he glanced at Lefty. His gaze sharpened as it came back to Merritt. “You bring in drunk men often?”
Not liking the way he said that, she lifted her chin. “If necessary.”
“Hmph.” His blue eyes glinted. “Looks like you could use some help. What are you trying to do?”
“Get him to the table and get some coffee in him.”
“Is this your boarder, Mr. Wilson?”
“No. This is Lefty. He…sometimes sleeps here. This morning I found him on the back stoop.”
The older man squinted up at Bowie. “I’m not liquored up all the way.”
Bowie nodded, stooped and helped Lefty to his feet. Draping one of the man’s thin arms around his neck, Bowie practically carried him to the dining table.
Merritt followed, unable to tear her gaze from Bowie’s broad back. The muscles in his shoulders and arms strained against the seams of his white shirt. My, he was big.
Giving herself a mental shake, she hurried around him and pulled out a chair, pressing back against the table to keep out of the way.
He lowered the older man into the chair.
After a mumbled “Thanks,” Lefty put his head in his hands.
Merritt smiled at Bowie. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll get that coffee.” Intending to go to the kitchen, she turned and was pulled up short. Frowning, she looked back to find her skirts caught beneath her intoxicated friend. She tugged, to no avail.
Looking as though he was hiding a grin, Bowie tipped Lefty forward slightly and gathered Merritt’s skirts in one hand, freeing them.
She expected him to drop them straightaway, but instead his gaze lingered on her exposed ankles and calves. His eyes darkened. Despite her stockings, her skin tingled as if he had touched her bare skin.
Feeling her cheeks burn, she tugged at her skirts.
This time, he released her garment. “Here ya go.”
“Thank you.” She hurried into the kitchen, anxious to get away from him. The man had eyed her as if he could see all the way up her skirts!
It irritated her that merely his looking at her stocking-clad limbs could affect her so strongly. She hadn’t felt a stir in her blood like that since her marriage and she didn’t care for it. Why was it happening? Had she been oblivious to men for the past three years? She certainly wasn’t oblivious to Bowie Cahill.
She checked the coffee on the stove. Wrapping a cloth around the handle of the percolator, she returned to the dining area and poured a cup for Lefty.
“Would you like some?” she asked Bowie, staring at the hollow of his strong throat.
“Please.” He pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table and sat.
Taking another china teacup from the cupboard behind her, she went to him and poured. She moved to Lefty’s far side and shook his shoulder.
He lifted his
head and struggled to focus his red-rimmed blue eyes on her.
She pushed the cup toward him. “Drink some coffee, Lefty. Just a little.”
He studied the steaming brew, then carefully picked up the delicate dish. She waited until he had taken a couple of sips before she filled her own cup.
She set the coffeepot on the table. “I’ll start the biscuits. Breakfast will be ready shortly.”
Fighting the urge to escape, she moved into the kitchen and began to roll out the dough.
“You’ve got a nice place here.”
“Oh!” Startled, she almost dropped the rolling pin. “Thank you.”
Bowie braced one broad shoulder against the door frame, his gaze scanning the room with its long counter and currently dormant fireplace.
He had the same hard angle to his jaw as his brother. “I left your room key on your washstand. Did you find it?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“I hope you slept well.”
“I did.” His voice was deep, causing a flutter in her belly.
Using a tin cup, she cut out biscuits and placed them in a pan. Why had he followed her to the kitchen? “How was your room last night? Was everything okay?”
He nodded. “The window wouldn’t stay up, but it didn’t keep me awake.”
“Were you uncomfortable?” Last night’s temperature hadn’t been much lower than that of the daytime. “It was hot.”
“I was fine.”
“I’ll get the window fixed.”
“It probably doesn’t need much work. I’ll take a look at it.”
Merritt didn’t believe in having her boarders take care of repairs. Or meals or chores.
As he took a sip of coffee, she noted that he had big hands. Except for the delicate handle, the china cup was completely hidden in his grasp.
“How many are you feeding this morning?”
“The three of us and Mr. Wilson.” She felt the need to fill the silence. She smiled. “Do you cook?”
“A fair bit. Being a bachelor, I have to.”
Merritt remembered his mother telling her that Bowie had left the family ranch four years ago because of a woman.
