Someone shouted and stepped into the street, raising a hand to catch the sheriff’s attention. He reined in, bending over the pommel to speak to the person.
Ciara focused on his hand resting on a muscled thigh, the same hand that had grasped her elbow and escorted her into the café. The memory of the previous day’s encounter caused her blood to heat again. Or was that from the afternoon sunlight?
She wished for her fan to cool the flush that crept up her neck and over her cheeks. The horse eased back into the street and headed in her direction, its rider fixated on her spot under the tree. Although she couldn’t see the sheriff’s dark eyes under the brim of his hat, her skin tingled with the awareness his look caused. Several seconds passed as she sat still, trapped by the sensations running through her body.
When he reined in his horse, she looked away, braced a hand on the ground, and levered herself up. She needed all the height she could get. Her boot heel caught in the hem of her petticoat, and she stumbled.
A strong hand wrapped around her waist and held tight. “Steady.” His husky voice was close to her ear, his breath ruffling the springy tendrils that escaped her bun.
At the tickling sensation on her neck, she inhaled with a gasp and willed her body to subdue its response to this virile man. “Thank you, sir. My feet are under me now.” His arm was firm and steady, preventing her from falling, and for just a moment, she leaned into the security his solid body offered. Even if her body heated more.
Security was an unfamiliar feeling, unknown for the years since first her grandparents and then her mother took ill. Unknown when Ciara had to find whatever jobs she could to provide for them all. She’d almost forgotten what leaning on another person felt like, but couldn’t allow herself to get used to the experience. Life had taught her she had only herself to rely upon. With a small sigh, she straightened and stepped to the side.
He dropped his arm and leaned over to recover the shawl. His chin dipped in greeting. “Miss Morrissey. You were waiting to talk to me?”
Stepping out of the tree’s shade brought her into the sunlight, and she blinked, trying to focus. As a spot of blackness threatened her vision, she swayed and reached out a hand. The muscled chest she touched felt as solid as a brick wall, and her fingers closed around a fistful of cloth. “Oh, my stars.”
Chapter Three
“Are you ill, miss?” The sheriff stepped in front of her and supported both her elbows, peering at her face.
“Only a trifle overheated.” Ciara attempted a smile, but tilting her head to look into his eyes rocked her equilibrium, and she almost stumbled. If only she could pull a full breath into her lungs. “Maybe we could go into your office…”
His expression hardened, and his eyes flashed. “No. What you need is a cool drink and maybe some food.” He tucked her right hand into the crook of his elbow and started walking, a scowl darkening his expression.
The quick movement pulled her forward, and she struggled to catch her balance. To keep up with his long-legged gait, she stretched her stride to the limits of her skirt. “Excuse me, Sheriff Riley. Are you particularly anxious about obtaining your meal?”
“Anxious? Why?” He glanced to the side and slowed his pace. “Sorry.”
“Thank you.” Spotting the intrigued stares of the pedestrians on the street, Ciara remembered what Mrs. Turner said earlier. More gossip. If they were headed in the opposite direction, many might guess she was being arrested. “I appreciate your concern over my welfare, Sheriff, but it is not necessary. We could have conducted our business in the privacy of your office.”
At Millie’s Café, the sheriff pushed open the door and escorted her inside, his hand resting at the small of her back.
The cooler air brushed her warm cheeks, and the smells of cooking food teased her nose. Two apples didn’t stave off hunger, especially in the face of the unaccustomed exercise she was getting. Grateful to be out of the direct sun, she hesitated in the doorway and folded her parasol, then hung it from her elbow. She pressed a hand against her rapidly moving chest, inhaling enough air to keep her from swooning.
Sheriff Riley scanned the tables and steered her through a crowded dining room to a table toward the back.
As they moved across the room, Ciara looked above the staring diners’ heads. Probably more notoriety than she needed—especially for a person who needed a job. Déjà vu hit at the almost exact duplication of yesterday’s entrance into the town’s only café.
As soon as he pushed in her chair, her knees gave out. Never prone to such feminine behavior as “spells,” she was thoroughly disgusted with her traitorous body. While the sheriff signaled the waitress, Ciara dabbed her napkin over her damp cheeks and forehead.
Possibly she was more affected by the robbery than she wanted to admit. She wished for the privacy of her room where she could unbutton her blouse and let the breeze cool her. Was the weather affecting her in this way? Or was this her body’s reaction to the presence of one striking male?
Ciara recognized the young girl who now approached their table as the same server from yesterday, but couldn’t remember her name. She greeted her with a wan smile.
“Two bowls of stew and two glasses of lemonade. Thank you, Betsy.” The sheriff spoke with authority, and then turned to fix his dark-eyed stare on her. Without breaking eye contact, he pulled his chair closer and leaned his forearms on the table.
Goodness, when had the man found time to remove his hat? His hair was luxuriant and heavy, dark brown with hints of cinnamon running over the top layers. Today, dark stubble surrounded his mouth and shadowed his jaws. Grandmother Morrissey’s warning about never trusting men with hair on their faces flitted through her mind.
More important was the need to explain herself. “I assure you that in most circumstances, I am perfectly capable of navigating under my own power. Perhaps the difference in climate has sapped my strength.” As unobtrusively as possible, she used the napkin to fan her face. “This is the second occasion you have insisted on bringing me to this café. Do I appear undernourished?”
“A little.” He nodded. “Some folks are affected by the thin mountain air. By tomorrow, you should be fine. So, you were waiting for me?”
His dark brown eyes captured hers. An idle thought flashed across her mind that she’d been waiting for a man like him all her life. Tall, handsome, muscular, confident—Quinn Riley had all the attributes of a fine, upstanding man. Except she didn’t need a man. “First, I wished to inquire about the freight company. Yesterday, you mentioned contacting them about my stolen belongings.”
Quinn frowned, and his gaze moved to the side. “You were upset. I said the first thing that came to my mind.”
Irritation heated her pulse, and she sucked in a breath. “You were placating me?”
“I didn’t want you getting hysterical and swooning.”
“I don’t get hysterical, nor do I swoon.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
“Well, at least not on a normal day.” She searched his expression and saw the crinkles at the corners of his eyes relax. Disappointment weighed on her shoulders. “So, you do not believe the freight company will search?”
“Not the freight company. I rode out to the stretch of road where Pete said the stage was stopped and looked around. Figured once the thieves had the valuables, they’d toss aside the rest.”
The image of her treasured belongings lying in the rocky soil hurt. She tensed, preparing herself for the inevitable. “What did you find?”
He picked up his knife and ran the dull edge along the large gingham squares of the tablecloth. “Nothing. Last night, I searched until after dark, then went back out and did a wider search this morning.” He ran a hand over his jaw, glancing at her from under lowered eyebrows. “I’m sorry, Miss Morrissey, but your valuables are gone.”
Betsy brought their food and drinks, setting the items on the table and leaving without a word.
Ciara picked up her glass of lemonade and
wished she could rest it against her forehead. Why did being near this man raise her temperature so? Sipping the tart liquid and watching the sheriff attack the food in his bowl gave her a moment to think. Her traveling money and her watch were gone, but so was the precious letter from her father. Although she’d read it enough times to almost have it memorized, she hadn’t studied the return address very closely. What street name had he written on the envelope? Without that information, she would face a longer delay in locating him. A delay that would keep her from the adventures that awaited her in California.
“I am grateful for your help yesterday with our remaining bags and the rooms you obtained for Miss Fairchild and myself. By the time we left the doctor’s office, neither Miss Fairchild nor I were up to the task of searching for lodgings.” Nor did I have the funds to do so. “The doctor informed me our lodging expenses would be covered by the freight company.”
The sheriff swallowed with a gulp and reached for a slice of bread. Buttering it took all of his attention for a few moments. “The rooms have been rented for one week. Should allow you sufficient time to wire relatives for more money before you catch the next stage.”
Ignoring the stab in her heart at the mention of relatives, she glared. He presumed to know her business? “But this is my destination.”
“You intended to stop in Bull City?” A shake of his head accompanied his question. “Most folks are just passing through, heading toward Sheridan.”
She bristled at the skeptical note in his voice, a flush rising in her cheeks. This man incited her temper with only a word or two. “I believe you will discover I am not ‘most folks,’ Mr. Riley. And I am quite capable of looking out for myself.”
Glancing to the side, he raised a hand to a man and woman sitting two tables away. “Good day, folks.” When he turned back, his gaze was commanding. “Lower your voice, please. No need to tell everyone your troubles. You told me most of your money was stolen.”
“True. I have only a small sum remaining.” Being reminded of her precarious financial position did nothing to calm her temper. “I told you I needed to secure employment.”
“Really? Here in Bull City?”
“Don’t sound so skeptical, sir. Back East, women are employed in great numbers. I myself have worked many jobs over the past several years.” Her throat constricted at the reminder of how they’d lived before her mother’s recent death. “I followed with great interest the campaign for the women’s vote here on the frontier. In fact, I have received an employment offer from Mrs. Turner that I may pursue. I will know better what my plans are by the end of the week.” Lordy, she was prattling on. “Excuse me for monopolizing the conversation. I must be boring you.”
“On the contrary, I find your opinions interesting.” Frowning, he glanced at her bowl and back at her face. “Are you going to eat?”
The man certainly was demanding. If only her stomach weren’t rumbling with hunger, she’d leave her food out of spite. When he continued to stare at her bowl, she speared a gravy-coated chunk and chewed it with exaggerated movements before swallowing. The fluffy potato seeped in rich meat juices tasted so good, she immediately speared another.
Was his insistence on feeding her concern for her personal welfare? At the possibility, a thrill ran through her like a gentle breeze. For years, no one had watched out for her.
Losing her grandparents and mother, one after the other, over the past three years made her aware time was passing. At twenty-seven, she needed to make decisions about her future. The different life she hoped for would have to wait. Ciara intended to keep the promise made at her mother’s deathbed and reunite with her father.
Once Ciara recovered from the shock of learning the man she’d thought long dead was still alive, she couldn’t deny her curiosity about meeting him. The divergent descriptions she been raised with—the dreamy-eyed one from her mother and the no-good, shiftless one from her grandparents—convinced her to make this man’s acquaintance.
****
With arms crossed, Quinn scowled at the slim woman picking at her food. His stew finished, he ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie. By the looks of her lean frame, Ciara Morrissey didn’t eat enough. And he would wait until she finished every bite before asking the questions brewing since their encounter at the boarding house.
Since this morning, he’d learned from Belle that Ciara had slept late and skipped breakfast, and two shopkeepers informed him of her interest in Shamus Mulcahy, the notorious gold mine swindler. Why would a well-bred young woman be searching for a hustler like Mulcahy? Something else niggled at his thoughts—she spoke with a lilting accent similar to Patrick O’Malley’s.
Thoughts of Miss Morrissey’s features shouldn’t have occupied so much of his morning, but they had. Hers was not a classic beauty. He’d seen enough of her hair to know it was thick and wavy, the type of hair a man longed to tangle his fingers in. Her heart-shaped face ended in a chin he’d seen raised in stubbornness on several occasions—a stubbornness that no doubt caused agitation for her male relations.
His thoughts kept coming back to the first sight he’d had of her eyes, wide open and unguarded. Those gorgeous green eyes had flashed emotions he suspected normally lay buried behind her display of spunk. For an instant, he’d glimpsed the innocence of babes and the sagacity of crones swirled together, and she’d touched a deep part of his soul. Thoughts like that last one bothered him the most.
A feeling, long ago withered, of wanting to personally watch over someone had stirred to life, but he forced it aside. Eight years ago, he’d vowed not to let anyone close again. Not after the way he’d let down his brother Logan in the war. Quinn couldn’t live with another failure on his conscience.
“Do I deserve such a glare, Sheriff? Look, I have done as you ordered.”
Her sweet voice drew him from his reverie. “That wasn’t a glare. I was thinking of another matter of business.” He glanced at her almost-empty bowl. “And how are you feeling now?”
“I believe those words have comprised half of our shared conversations since we met, sir.” With delicate moves, she dabbed the napkin at her lips and smiled. “Again, I appreciate your solicitude regarding my welfare.”
His concern over her health was nothing more than professional. Ciara Morrissey was the only passenger on the stage who might supply a clue to the identity of the men from the robbery. And now she might have information he’d sought for the past two months. “All part of making sure people passing through town leave with a favorable impression.”
“But I am not passing through.” She rested an elbow on the table and leaned forward, enunciating in crisp tones. “I have business here in Bull City.”
“You mentioned that.” He matched her posture and watched her expression, his gaze caught up in her jade green eyes. Their gazes held and his heart pounded double time. Bewitching eyes. He clenched his hands to keep from reaching across the table for this intriguing woman. “The same business involving inquiries about a certain man to various store owners?”
Her entire body jerked, and she glanced away then back. “You know about that?”
“That’s my job.”
She drew a quick breath then straightened in the chair. “But how? When?”
Did she ever answer a question? “Doesn’t matter.” He leaned close, the muscle in his jaw jerking. “Let me be direct. Do you have business with Mulcahy?”
“If you are referring to Shamus Mulcahy”—she lifted her chin and narrowed her gaze—”yes, I do.”
Was that guilt he’d seen cross her face? “What could you possibly want with a man like that?”
Her shoulders squared and her eyes flashed green fire. “That is not your concern.”
“I’m the law here. I determine what is or is not my concern.” Had a witness ever argued with him like this? When had he ever withstood this behavior?
“I am not accustomed to having my actions scrutinized in this manner. Where I come from, your behav
ior would be considered boorish and heavy-handed.”
He rested both forearms on the table and leaned closer, bringing his face within inches of hers. The women needed a reminder of his size and authority. “But we’re not back east, are we? You’ll do well to remember this badge—” he tapped a finger on the tin star pinned to his shirt “—gives me the right to decide what or who needs to be scrutinized.”
She paused then lowered her eyelashes and a coaxing smile crossed her lips. “All I require is the location of his place of business. Each time I have asked, I am told I must speak to you.”
He narrowed his eyes at her sudden change in attitude and bristled at the thought she’d stoop to the use of feminine wiles. “As it should be.”
Color rose in her cheeks and her lips pursed. “Why should it be? Are you the keeper of a special book containing business addresses?”
“As sheriff, I’m responsible for everything that happens inside and around this town.” If she sought Mulcahy, she must have some idea how the scoundrel made his living. Why couldn’t she see he was the wrong sort of man for a lady such as herself to seek? He forced sternness into his voice. “What is your interest in this man?”
That pointed chin came up and she leaned back, narrowing her gaze. She crossed her arms. “Just what do you hope to gain by keeping the information from me?”
He stared back, surprised at the flash of desire that flared deep inside at her defiance. Most people buckled under his stern look and provided the information he wanted.
Spunk. The auburn-haired lady had it in spades. Eyelash batting and simpering expressions left him cold, but a show of spunk never failed to heat his blood. Sturdy—like a wild rose.
The lady should be glad they were conducting this interview in public. If they’d gone to his office and she’d taken this attitude, he’d have been tempted to teach her a lesson about sassing an officer of the law. The image of ending her backtalk by kissing her senseless galloped across his mind.
Dreams of Gold Page 4