Quinn (27 page)

When the police chief arrived, Cheyenne, Quinn, and Wes climbed into Everett Fletcher’s truck and began the drive into the hills.

As he drove, he said to Wes, “Give me all you’ve got so far.”

While the others listened in silence, Wes filled in the details as the police chief maneuvered the sturdy, four-wheel-drive vehicle along the twists and turns of the snow-and-mud-covered trail.

When they arrived at the site, they stepped out and walked among the lowing cattle.

It was a familiar scene that always tugged at Quinn’s heart. The soil soggy underfoot as the snow melted in the afternoon sunlight and was trampled by hundreds of animals. The plume of warm breath in the frosty air. The smell of earth and dung. The sight of calves standing on
wobbly legs and cows seeking their errant young as the herd milled about.

Above the din could be heard the more urgent lowing of cows, heavy with milk, searching for their newborns, who were nowhere to be found.

Wes led the chief, Cheyenne, and Quinn to an area of the range ringed by mounds of earth high enough to keep the cattle at bay. As they climbed atop a mound they peered down to see that it was a burial ground, freshly dug, holding the bloody carcasses of calves.

Cheyenne wasn’t the only one to gasp. Even the police chief, who had witnessed his share of the seamier side of life, couldn’t hide his horror at the scene of carnage.

While the others remained above, Chief Fletcher strode down into the pit and began examining the bodies. When he rejoined them, his lips were a thin, tight line of fury.

“It’s just as you said, Wes. Their throats were slashed. This was a deliberate act. And whoever did it wanted that fact to be known.”

He strode toward his vehicle, with the others trailing.

Quinn kept his arm around Cheyenne’s shoulders and could feel how tightly she held herself, as though afraid that if she should relax the tight grip she had over her emotions for even one moment she would fall apart.

The chief drove almost the entire distance back to her ranch in silence, his eyes narrowed in thought.

When they came to a halt he waited until they’d exited the vehicle before lowering the window.

“My first stop will be at the Vance ranch. Young Deke claimed he was home the night of your fire, Cheyenne,
and his father confirmed it. But since then I haven’t been able to reach him or his father. There’s been no answer at their ranch. Something like this would have taken a man several hours to inflict so much damage, so young Deacon had better have witnesses who’ll swear under oath exactly where he’s been spending his time, or he’ll be answering a whole lot of questions from behind bars.”

Quinn’s voice was low. “Do you think he’s capable of this kind of violence, Everett?”

The chief shrugged. “Hard to believe that any man who’s grown up on a ranch could do something like that to helpless animals. But right now he’s my prime suspect, and he’d better have an airtight alibi.”

As the chief drove away, Quinn turned to find Micah and Austin standing alongside Wes and Cheyenne.

She looked so defeated, Quinn couldn’t help wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. At his obvious sign of affection the men stared at the two of them in stunned silence. At the moment, Quinn didn’t care if the whole world was watching. He just wanted to offer her a measure of comfort.

Against her temple he muttered, “You okay?”

She stood very still, grateful for the strength of his arms. “I feel… numb.”

“Yeah.” He looked over her head to where the others were standing and watching them with rapt interest. “I’m going to take her home now.”

Austin shot him a look. “Hey, man. This is her home.”

Quinn ignored him to speak directly to Cheyenne. “You’re in no shape to drive. Give me your keys.”

Without a word she dug into her pocket and handed them over.

Quinn helped her up to the passenger side before rounding the truck and climbing up to the driver’s side.

With a salute to the others, he put the truck in gear and drove away.

As they started along the highway he shot a look at Cheyenne, her head turned away, the backs of her hands covering her eyes, as if to blot out all thought.

They drove in complete silence.

A short time later he muttered an oath and veered off the highway onto a narrow dirt road.

Cheyenne pulled herself back from her dark thoughts and turned to him with a look of alarm. “What’re you doing?”

He didn’t reply as the truck began climbing through a heavily forested area.

She leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to get the scene of carnage out of her mind. It was impossible. “Oh, Quinn. All I can see is that burial pit and the mutilated corpses of newborn calves. What sort of madman could do such a cruel, savage thing?”

“I wish I knew.”

“I’m feeling overwhelmed. The way I did when Buddy…” Her lips trembled and she couldn’t say the word.

She took in a deep breath. “And then, just a year later, my father. It was too much. I felt as though my entire life was spiraling out of control, and there wasn’t a thing I could do but hang on.”

She reached out a hand and Quinn curled his fingers around hers.

“There were so many days after that when it seemed too much to bear. The pain. The sadness. The emptiness
of my life without them. It was all too much. And now, I’m feeling that way again. Like I’m drowning, and there’s nobody there to throw me a lifeline.”

“I’m here, Cheyenne.”

“I know. And I’m so grateful.” She clung to his hand.

The truck jolted to a halt, causing her to look up in surprise.

They were high in the hills, parked alongside a small log cabin.

“What…?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute.” Quinn unfastened his seat belt, stepped down, and rounded the truck to open her door.

Taking her hand, he led her inside. “I’ll start a fire.”

He left her to stare around with interest as he crossed to the fireplace and knelt, holding a match to kindling.

There was a fully equipped kitchen, with a stove and microwave and a rough-hewn table and two chairs. Across the room was an enormous four-poster bed made of logs and covered with a blanket that bore intricate Arapaho designs. A stone fireplace dominated one wall. Beside it, on handmade wooden shelves, stood a number of leather-bound books, binoculars, camera equipment.

When a fire blazed on the hearth, Quinn stood to wipe his hands on his pants, before turning to her. “Welcome to my place.”

“Yours?”

He nodded. “I built it years ago. I’d originally intended it as a simple shack. A place to watch wildlife from the safety and comfort of a small, natural building in the forest and record in my journal. Then I decided to enlarge it and make it my home away from home. Whenever I need
a refuge, a spot to get away from the world, I come here. It’s my thinking place. My private place.” He stepped close and caught her hand. “My healing place.”

He looked down at their linked hands. “I’ve never brought anyone here before, but I thought maybe you could use a little healing of your own.”

She felt her heart swell with emotion. “Thank you, Quinn. I’m… honored.”

He lifted his palm to her cheek. “You’re welcome. You can stay here as long as you’d like.”

When he started to turn away, she tugged on his hand. “Where are you going?”

“I thought I’d give you some privacy. I understand your need to be alone. Consider this your own private retreat.”

She looked into his eyes, narrowed on her with such fierce concentration her heart actually skipped a beat before starting to race.

Without a word she stood on tiptoe to press her mouth to his.

Against his mouth she whispered, “I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay here with me.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He took a half step back, as though unsure just what she was implying.

“I don’t know about wise, but I’m tired of trying to be strong and smart and cautious, Quinn. Right now, all I want is for you to hold me.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

Seeing her look of surprise, he added, “I doubt I can hold you and not want to do more.”

“Ah.” She suddenly smiled. “Well, then, I suggest you start with holding me, and we’ll see what that leads to.”

It was his turn to look surprised. “I don’t think you under—”

She touched a finger to his lips. Just a touch, but the heat generated by it was enough to ignite a forest fire.

When he saw the half smile in her eyes, his lips curved into a sexy, dangerous grin. “Well, now, I guess a gentleman should always accommodate a lady.”

And then there was no need for words as he dragged her close. His mouth closed over hers with such heat they both felt seared by it.

At long last all pretence fell away as they gave themselves over to an all-consuming need.

D
ear God, Cheyenne.”

His mouth crushed hers with a fierceness that left her gasping. If she’d expected tenderness, she was mistaken. Instead she discovered a desperate passion that ignited her own, until she returned his kisses with a fever that matched his.

“Wait.” He shrugged out of his parka and tore hers aside like a man possessed.

Too impatient to bother with the buttons of her shirt, he caught the lapels and tore it from her, shredding the fabric. Laughing, she kicked aside her boots and jeans, while he did the same.

Before he could finish unbuttoning his plaid shirt she had her hands on him, sliding them up and under the fabric to run her fingertips over the flat planes of his stomach and the taut muscles of his torso. She sighed from the sheer pleasure of it.

The touch of her hands on his naked flesh sent his heart into overdrive. The more she touched him, the more impossible it became to slow the madness.

Beneath her rough shirt she wore lace. Pale, nude lace.

At any other time he might have paused to enjoy the contrast of the lace beneath rough denim. Now all he could think of was tearing even that last thin barrier aside. He was frantic to see her. All of her.

He ripped aside the lace, and for the space of a heartbeat all he could do was stare.

“God, you’re so beautiful. So perfect.”

On a sigh his fingers dug into the tender skin of her upper arms as he dragged her close. He nearly lifted her off her feet while he savaged her mouth like a man starved for the taste of her.

He was a glutton, wanting to devour her in one quick bite. He knew he ought to slow down, but he’d waited so long. So long. And now what had started out to be a simple gesture of comfort had become so much more.

Hadn’t he known that once he had her alone, this would happen?

Since he’d first seen her, she’d been this burning fever in his blood. Like the wolves he’d studied through the years, the need for her had taken on a life of its own. A driving force that was out of control. Nothing could satisfy the hunger for her except this. Only this.

She added to the fever by giving a low moan of pleasure before digging her fingers into his hair and cupping his head, driving him closer for an eager, avid kiss.

With a savage oath he drove her back against the rough wall and lifted her until her legs were wrapped around him. And all the while he was kissing her, touching her
at will, driving them both so high, so fast, needs exploded through them, tearing the last threads of control, threatening to burn them to ash.

Instead of the soft words of love and whispered promises that he’d planned, he was in the grip of a deep, dark passion that had spun completely out of control. More than mere passion, this thing that had him in its grasp was a firestorm of such turbulence, all he could do was ride it to its conclusion.

His lips left hers to nuzzle her throat. She threw back her head, giving him easier access. The feel of all that soft flesh, his for the tasting, brought the most amazing pleasure.

When his mouth closed over her breast she gasped and clutched his head. He gave her no time to breathe as he moved from one erect nipple to the other until she moaned and writhed and cried out in a fever of need.