The Lone Rancher

by Carol Finch

  “A. K. McKnight?” Quin presumed as he grabbed the man’s hand and gave it a firm shake.

  The man wriggled his hand loose and stepped aside. Then he said, “And you are…?”

  “Quin Cahill, your neighbor to the north and to the east,” he replied as he entered the hallway that was cluttered with the fanciest furniture he’d ever laid eyes on. Even his mother’s fine taste in furnishings didn’t compare to this stuff, he mused.

  “Come sit down, Mr. Cahill…if you can find an empty space in the parlor. I’ll return in a moment.”

  Quin nudged a stack of boxes out of his way to make room for himself on the sofa. He waited an impatient moment for McKnight to drag his uppity posterior back to the room that was heaped with displaced furniture. Quin had a ranch to run and he didn’t intend to waste unnecessary time before presenting his offer and haggling over a fair price.

  “I don’t see anyone, Butler,” came a woman’s voice from the doorway of the parlor.

  Butler? Quin frowned, puzzled. He presumed the man he’d met was A. K. McKnight, not the butler. So where was this McKnight character? Was he still back East?

  Quin surged to his feet to locate the source of the feminine voice. He blinked in surprise when he spotted a riot of tangled chestnut curls surrounding a bewitching face smudged with dirt. The woman stood five foot five and looked to be in her mid-twenties. Her faded gown was a mass of wrinkles and grime. Cobwebs clung to the mane of shiny hair and stuck to her well-endowed bosom. He couldn’t help but notice the fetching creature had the kind of shapely body that could stop traffic on the bustling streets of Cahill Crossing. Her tempting assets certainly had his undivided attention.

  So this was the housekeeper—and no telling what other services she performed for the master of the house. Quin wondered if she had been sent to offer him a spot of tea before she scuttled back to her daytime duties.

  “Nothing to drink for me, honey,” he said as he removed his hat and tossed out his best smile. “I have a business proposition for McKnight, then I’ll be on my way.”

  She tilted her head to study him from a pensive angle. “What sort of proposition?” the shapely young housekeeper inquired.

  None of your business, sugar, he thought, but he said, “I prefer to discuss the details with Mr. McKnight.” He glanced over her mussed head, wondering if the gent had arrived in Texas yet.

  “I am A. K. McKnight.”

  Slack-jawed, he turned his attention back to the woman. “You?” he croaked when he finally found his tongue.

  Her chin tilted to a challenging angle that reminded him of his sister—wherever the hell she was these days.

  “I am Adrianna Kathleen McKnight,” she introduced herself with icy formality.

  “But who was the man I met?” he asked, baffled.

  “Butler.”

  “You call him butler?” This tenderfoot was a snob, he decided.

  “His name is Hiram Butler. It amuses him to let people think he is a butler, not an amazingly efficient accountant.”

  Quin smirked. “I can see he has a killer sense of humor.”

  She stared down her pert nose at him, the same way the stuffy Butler had done. “You are one of the town founders, I presume. Or are you a shirttail cousin of some sort?”

  Her critical tone and her crisp Eastern accent made him bristle, for it sounded suspiciously like she had made a snap judgment and found him sadly lacking. “I’m named after my grandfather, Quinton Cahill.” He veered around two stacks of furniture to tower over her. “So, yes, Ca-Cross is named after my family and I manage 4C Ranch.”

  “I like your abbreviated version of the town name,” she remarked. “I shall remember to use it so I can I fit in.”

  “It won’t matter, sugar, you are way out of your element in Texas,” Quin said under his breath.

  She studied him challengingly. “Come again, Mr. Cahill?”

  He flashed the most winsome smile in his repertoire—which, admittedly, wasn’t extensive. “I came by to offer you a fair price for this property. I tried to buy it six months ago. But now that you’ve seen the poor condition in which the former overseer left this spread, I figured you’d have a change of heart.”

  “Did you now? I had no idea you had the ability to read minds. Another service you helpfully provide, I’m sure.”

  He ignored her caustic comment. She looked peeved, for reasons he couldn’t understand. Since he had very few dealings with Yankees he had no clue what made them tick.

  “I wanted you to know I’ll take this property off your hands. You won’t have to fret about it when you leave town.”

  She clamped her lush lips shut, stared at him with those vibrant cedar-tree-green eyes and said nothing.

  “This place is a mess. Half the longhorn cattle herd has been stolen. Probably by some of the cowhands who worked the place. Also, you’ll find very little of the comforts and luxuries you enjoyed in Boston.”

  “That is true, Mr. Cahill. But 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 magic wand and always came up with something tasty.

  “Ezmerelda Quickel, this is one of our neighbors, Quin Cahill,” she introduced hastily. “I doubt Cahill is hungry.”

  How could he be? Obviously, he was quite full…of himself.

  “Of course, I’m hungry,” Quin insisted as he plucked up a few treats from the tray. “I skipped lunch in order to welcome my new neighbors.”

  Adrianna gnashed her teeth when the ruggedly handsome rascal flashed Elda a wide grin and winked down at her. Elda was at least fifty if she was a day, but she let this Texas devil charm her. Elda blushed like a school-girl when Quin oohed and ahhed over the tasty snacks. The annoying rancher gave new meaning to the cooking term buttered up.

  Impatient to have Quin gone, Adrianna clutched his arm and grabbed a few crumpets to lure him out the door like a pesky dog that had barged, unwelcome, in the house. She shoved him onto the porch and thought, And stay out!

  “Nice of you to drop by, Cahill,” she said dismissively. “Hope to see you in Ca-Cross sometime soon.”

  He gobbled down a couple more crumpets, then turned to face her. “Accept my offer to buy you out, Boston. Go home where you belong.”

  She really wanted to clobber him for being so persistent and agitating. Somehow, she managed to restrain herself. She was convinced it was divine intervention at work. Either that or the classes on deportment and refinement at the private finishing school her father forced her to attend.

  “I have no intention of selling,” she assured him in a tone that could barely be considered civil. “Not now. Not ever. I will make this place prosper and then I will be stopping by the 4C to make you a fair offer for your spread.”

  His eyes turned as cold as granite and his dark brows swooped down his forehead. A muscle ticked in his suntanned jaw. He looked quite intimidating, but Adrianna refused to back down to him or anyone else in the state of Texas.

  “First off, Boston, a woman overseeing a Texas ranch, especially one the size of this one, has disaster written all over it. Secondly, as long as I have a breath left in my body, 4C will never be sold off part or parcel!”

  Clearly, she had hit an exposed nerve, though she had no idea how or why. But since he had hit a sensitive subject with her, she didn’t give a flying fig what had upset him.

  She fisted her hands on her hips and met his intense glare. “Then it seems we understand each other perfectly. You are going nowhere and neither am I. You stay on your side of the fence, Cahill, and I will stay on mine.”

  “Fine, then, you upkeep your half of our shared fence and I’ll repair my half. That’s how it’s done in Texas.”

  “Then that’s how I’ll do it,” she snapped back.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal, Boston. And don’t come crying to me when you can’t turn a profit with your Herefords or you discover your foreman is as incompetent as you are.”

  On that ridiculing comment, he whipped around and stalked off to mount the striking bloodred bay gelding.

  “And good riddance!” she called after him when he thundered off. She lurched toward the house, muttering under her breath. Adrianna vowed, there and then, to make this place prosper, if for no other reason than to assure that cocky cowboy that she was made of sturdy stuff.

  He represented the opinions of narrow-minded men—and apparently there were as many in Texas as there were in Boston, after all—who didn’t think a woman could survive and thrive in a man’s world. But someday Quin Cahill would apologize for dismissing her as incompetent, she promised herself fiercely.

  On that defiant thought, Adrianna stomped into her run-down house and put her bottled anger to good use by setting her bedroom to rights…before she collapsed in exhaustion that night.

  Chapter Two

  “Addie K.! I’m so glad to see you!” Rosalie Greer Burnett called out excitedly when Adrianna entered the fashionable boutique on Town Square. “I was afraid you’d be so busy settling in that you wouldn’t be in town for a week.”

  Adrianna gave her beloved cousin an affectionate hug, then surveyed the shop filled with racks of stylish gowns and hats that Rosa had designed herself. She had struck out on her own to follow her dream and she had a successful shop to show for it. Plus, Rosa had married the previous month and she looked so happy she was about to burst her seams.

  “Was the house in better condition on the inside than the outside?” Rosa asked anxiously. “Are Butler, Elda and Bea satisfied here?”

  “They are undertaking the challenge but the interior needs as much attention as the outside.”

  “Do you need more help? I could—”

  Adrianna flung up her hand, then shook her head. A curlicued strand of hair tumbled from her hastily assembled coiffure and dangled by her cheek. She shoved it out of the way and said, “We are managing fine. You have your shop to tend and a husband to boot.” She frowned disapprovingly at her blond-haired cousin. “And by the way, I am none too happy that you couldn’t wait to marry Lucas until the railroad tracks were completed so I could move here. You know I wanted to help with your wedding.”

  “We, um, decided not to wait that long.” Rosa’s lovely face turned pink. “I already waited twenty-six years to find the perfect man for me, after all.”

  “I’m thrilled for you, Cuz, really I am. But I thought we’d made a pact to become spinsters together and let the male population of Eastern society go hang.” She wrinkled her nose distastefully. “I have only been here a few days but I’m not sure Western males are better than their counterparts. What was that nonsense you fed me about men in Texas being more tolerant and accepting of women who decide to enter careers usually filled by men?”

  “It’s true,” Rosa declared. “Texas is far more forgiving than New England. Men and women have to work hand in hand to run businesses and build homesteads and ranches. There is more Spanish influence here and women enjoy more rights than we did back East where English influence still reigns supreme.”

  “Maybe you should tell that to Quin Cahill,” she grumbled sourly. “I don’t think he knows it.”

  Rosa blinked thick-lashed amethyst eyes. “Quin came to call? I haven’t even told him we are cousins. I wonder how he knew.”

  “He didn’t. He doesn’t,” she clarified. “The annoying rascal swaggered over to offer to buy the ranch. I would have shot the infuriating man for the insult of nicknaming me Boston and insisting a woman rancher was an inevitable disaster, or something to that effect. Lucky for him that I hadn’t unpacked my pistol before he showed up.”

  Rosa’s jaw dropped open. “Quin said that?”

  “Yes, so don’t invite me to any activity you plan to host if his name is on the guest list. We have an understanding that we will take a wide berth.”

  Adrianna strode over to survey the bolts of expensive fabric piled on the shelves.
“I’m hoping you have time to design breeches and blouses to suit my needs. I intend to take an active part in running the ranch and I refuse to do it in a hampering dress.”

  Rosa groaned. “Please tell me that you aren’t reverting to your teenage persona of hellion and hoyden.”

  Adrianna elevated her chin to a rebellious angle. “Those were the best years of my life. I was allowed to be myself.”

  “I know, Cuz. I remember the freedom we both enjoyed at your country estate.” She smiled ruefully. “Things were much better when your parents, and mine, were indulgent and less concerned about introducing us into Boston society.”

  Everything had changed when Rosa’s father died shortly after Adrianna’s mother passed. Rosa’s mother married a decorated naval officer, Commander Hawthorne. They had sold their home in Boston, packed up Rosa and moved to Maryland. Adrianna’s father had sent her off to boarding school, then bustled her into high society, hoping to make a proper match that bore his stamp of approval.

  Reuben McKnight had not been pleased that Adrianna rejected one proposal after another. But Adrianna, who discovered her so-called friends and acquaintances were jealous of her wealth and cared nothing about her, had refused to fit into that pretentious world.

  “Luckily, Lucas doesn’t complain when I straddle a saddle on his prize horses.” Rosa smiled in satisfaction. “For a man who was once known as a hard-bitten part-Comanche and ex–Texas Ranger, he dotes on me. Life doesn’t get better, Addie K.”

  “My life is improving by the day,” Adrianna insisted as she scooped up several bolts of sturdy-looking fabric. “I need five sets of breeches and shirts for chores and riding. In addition, I’d like you to make one of your most creative gowns and have it ready as soon as you can design it.”

  Rosa frowned, befuddled. “I thought you planned to become the independent, free spirit Uncle Reuben stifled, in hopes of making you the most sought-after debutante in Boston. Why do you need a dress?”