Quinn (29 page)

“That’s the trouble with most of us. We get so busy with all the details that fill our days, we forget about the simple pleasures.” He closed both hands around hers. “Like sharing a grilled cheese sandwich with a beautiful woman who hums while she eats.”

“Or waking up in the middle of the day with a sexy cowboy.”

He arched a brow. “You think I’m sexy?”

“Did I say that? I really meant”—She leaned close to trace a finger across his furrowed brow and down his face to the curve of his lower lip—“some poor helpless slob who—”

“—is going to carry said beautiful woman across the room and, now that he’s fortified with food, intends to keep her in his bed for the entire day and night.”

“Promise?”

“Count on it.” He scooped her up and started toward the bed.

The ringing of a cell phone had him pausing in midstride.

“Sorry. It’s mine.” She couldn’t hide the regret in her tone. “I’d better answer it. It could be important.”

Quinn set her on her feet and she crossed to the nightstand, picking the phone up on the third ring.

“Yes?” Hearing the voice of the police chief, she said, “Quinn is right here with me, Chief Fletcher. Let me put you on speaker.”

She touched the speaker button and held the phone between them as Everett Fletcher’s voice pierced the silence.

“When I found no one home at Deacon Vance’s ranch, I started calling around. I finally located him and his dad,
where they took a job on the Melrose ranch assisting with the calving. That’s about a hundred miles north of Paintbrush. They’ve been bunking in the hills with a handful of other wranglers, who confirmed their story. I talked with the owners to verify the date and time they were hired. And I’ve checked out the logistics. Even if Deke wanted to hide his activities from the others, and decided to give up sleeping to head to your ranch under cover of darkness, it would have been impossible for him to traverse the snow-covered roads there and back in time.”

Cheyenne shot a look at Quinn before saying, “You’re telling me that Deke has an airtight alibi?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Quinn chimed in. “Where do we go from here, Chief?”

Everett Fletcher’s voice boomed over the speaker. “Cheyenne, I’m assuming that, like most ranchers, you’ve probably taken on extra wranglers during calving season?”

“That’s right.”

“I want the name and Social Security number of everyone who works at your place. Both longtime and current hires. I’ll turn the information over to the state police for a background check. Maybe they’ll spot something that sends up a red flag.”

“I’m not at my ranch at the moment, but I’ll head back there now. Once I pick up my records I’ll bring them to town.”

She rang off and turned in time to see Quinn give a reluctant sideways glance at the bed.

“Sorry.”

“Not nearly as sorry as I am.” He brushed a quick kiss to her mouth.

Then before she could turn away he dragged her close and kissed her again, lingering over her lips until they were both sighing.

He released her and reached for his clothes. “Next time, remind me to leave our phones in the truck.”

As their vehicle rolled up the long gravel road toward her ranch, Cheyenne’s smile turned to a thoughtful frown.

Seeing it, Quinn closed a hand over hers. “You’re thinking about the calves.”

She nodded. “I’m grateful for that… little break from my troubles. But now it’s time I faced them.”

“Chief Fletcher will get to the bottom of all this.”

She turned. “What if he doesn’t? What if these things just keep on happening?”

“They won’t.”

She heard the thread of steel in his words and tried to take comfort in his strength. But the closer she got to home, the more real and threatening the situation became. The peace she’d felt in his cabin was now shattered, and the reality of her situation seemed all the more painful after that brief reprieve.

“In the past couple of years, so many terrible things have happened in my life. My brother. My father. The fire. The calves.” She hated the way her voice trembled and nearly broke. “I’m almost beginning to think I’m living under some kind of dark cloud.”

He gave her hand a last squeeze before parking the truck alongside her house. “Just keep this in mind: No matter how dark the storm, sooner or later the sun has to come out.”

She shot him a look. “Who have you turned into? Little Suzie Sunshine?”

He grinned. “That’s me. Just a guy named Sue. How could I be anything but upbeat after what we’ve just shared?”

She shook her head from side to side and couldn’t help laughing. “Okay. I’ll admit that your little surprise visit to the cabin has made this day a whole lot brighter. But I was so hoping that Chief Fletcher would call to tell me the culprit was in jail and my worries were finally over.”

Quinn turned off the engine and walked around to the passenger side, catching her hand in his. “It’s only a matter of time until the police get their man. In the meantime, the sooner we get your records to town”—he leaned close to whisper in her ear—“the sooner we can think about slipping away to our favorite retreat.”

She couldn’t keep the laughter from her voice. “Is that all you can think about?”

He gave her a look of mock surprise. “You mean there are other things? Tell me what I’ve been missing.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “I’d say you don’t miss much, Conway.”

They were both laughing as they walked into the burned-out shell of her house to find Wes, Micah, and Austin in the kitchen. All three men looked up with surprise.

“Hey, Cheyenne.” Micah gave her a long look, from her radiant smile to her hand, firmly tucked into Quinn’s. “I’ve been calling you. You never picked up.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Her voice said otherwise. “Quinn wanted to show me his cabin in the hills.”

Though Micah held his silence, the old man’s look sharpened. The new intimacy between Cheyenne and Quinn was obvious to anyone with eyes to see them.

“Why were you trying to phone me, Micah?”

He pulled himself from his thoughts. “Chief Fletcher was trying to reach you. I told him you were heading over to the Conway ranch. I didn’t know you’d taken a… detour.”

“That’s all right. No harm done. I just spoke to him.” She drew Quinn with her as she started toward the parlor. “You can give me a hand.” To the others she called, “We’ll be right back.”

Minutes later they returned, with Quinn carrying a thick file folder.

Wes arched a brow. “Are those the employee records?”

She nodded. “The chief wants to send them to the state police for a background check.”

Austin frowned. “What about Deke? I thought the chief was heading over to the Vance place, all fired up about checking out his alibi, when he left here.”

Cheyenne looked from Austin to the others. “Apparently, unknown to any of us, Deke took a job at the Melrose ranch. It’s too far away for him to be considered a suspect, so the chief wants to look at anyone else who might have had access to the herd.”

“I’m glad he’s staying on top of it.” Wes nodded toward the file folder in Quinn’s hands. “But I’m not keen on the idea that he thinks the culprit might be one of our wranglers.”

Cheyenne touched a hand to his arm. “It’s not something we like to think about. But it’s a start, and as soon as everyone’s name is cleared, we’ll be able to breathe a little easier. I’m just so grateful that the chief is bringing the state police into it. Sooner or later they’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“I guess you’re right.” Wes turned toward Austin. “We need to get back up to the hills. We promised to bring more supplies.” He turned to Micah. “You staying in the bunkhouse tonight, or do you want to head on up with us?”

The old man rubbed his thigh. “Maybe I’ll stay here tonight. These bones are telling me there’s a change coming in the weather.”

Wes nodded toward the window. “Rain clouds up in the mountains. You can see them from here.”

“At my age, I don’t need clouds to tell me what my aching body has already said.”

They all joined in his good-natured laughter as Cheyenne and Quinn said their good-byes and walked out to the truck. They waved before driving away.

As the truck moved away Micah continued watching before he turned to Wes and Austin, who were getting ready to load up their truck for the drive to the hills. “Now that’s something I never expected to see.”

“What’s that?” Wes turned, one hand on the door of the truck.

“Our little Cheyenne in love.” The old man chuckled. “And I’m betting she doesn’t even know it yet.”

“Love?” Austin shot him an incredulous look. “How can somebody be in love and not know it?”

Micah shared a knowing grin with Wes. “I guess if you have to ask, you’ve never been there, son. Believe me, when it happens, the ones involved are often the last to know.”

“True enough.” Wes shook his head from side to side. “I wonder what the hell will happen to us if she marries a Conway?”

“Yeah. It could get complicated.”

“Complicated?” Austin looked from one man to the other.

“Well, let’s see,” Micah mused aloud. “The Conways already own more land in Wyoming than they know what to do with. One more ranch wouldn’t make much difference to them. So, if Cheyenne marries into the family, and decides that she’s had enough trouble with this place, and it’s nothing more than a headache, she could simply sell it and live the good life as a rich rancher’s wife over in that big house.”

Austin’s eyes went wide. “Cheyenne would never sell the family ranch.”

“Like I said”—Micah idly rubbed his aching thigh—“you’ve obviously never been in love. When two people fall hard, stranger things have happened.”

Austin said through gritted teeth, “Dad would roll over in his grave.”

At Austin’s vehement words Micah said patiently, “The only thing Cheyenne’s daddy wanted was his daughter’s happiness. And if marrying a Conway would make her happy, he’d be the first one in favor of the merger.”

“And you’re not going to say a word?” Austin’s tone was low, with a mixture of sarcasm and disbelief. “Can’t you let her know that you don’t approve of what she’s doing?”

“It’s not up to me to approve or disapprove.” The old man turned away and, with the aid of his cane, began limping slowly toward the bunkhouse.

Over his shoulder he called, “All I’m saying is what’s good enough for Cheyenne’s daddy is good enough for me. Whatever makes that girl happy is just fine with me.”

D
aylight was fading as Quinn and Cheyenne drove into town. Quinn steered the truck to the end of Main Street, where the police chief’s office sat in front of the tiny two-cell jail.

A short time later, after finding the office empty, they left Cheyenne’s employee records on Everett Fletcher’s desk before walking outside.

Quinn caught her hand. “We’re already too late to make it back to the ranch in time for dinner. Why don’t we eat here in town before heading out?” He nodded toward Flora’s Diner. “The sign in the window says tonight’s special is meat loaf. Want to give it a try?”

Cheyenne shrugged. “I’m willing if you are.”

They strolled across the street and walked into the small wooden building painted a garish pink and blue, with F
LORA’S
D
INER
spelled out in bright purple letters over the door.

Inside were a couple of tables and chairs, also in pastel shades, and a long, laminated counter lined with half a dozen metal stools that had been new more than fifty years earlier.

Flora, who was over eighty, looked up from the kitchen, where she was busy flipping burgers and draining baskets of French fries and passing them through to her sixty-year-old daughter, Dora, who served the customers.

“Why, Quinn Conway,” old Flora called out. “What’s the matter? Phoebe Hogan finally quit and leave you boys to cook for yourselves?”

“Last time I looked she was still there, but you never know, Flora.”

“Seeing as how your daddy hasn’t married that woman, I wouldn’t blame her one bit for leaving. If I’ve told her once, I’ve told her a hundred times she’s wasting her life out there when she could have accepted half a dozen proposals from all those handsome cowboys lusting after her. By now she could have had herself a houseful of kids of her own, instead of raising Cole’s.”