Rancher Wants a Wife (15 page)

“Quit your gripin’.” Hugh leaned back in his leather chair. “Now then, about Thornley. What I’ve discovered is he moved here from San Diego—”

Jack interrupted. “I thought you never had time to look into his past?”

“I never said that.” Hugh raised his sleek eyebrows in an expression of insult. “I said it’s only been a day since you asked. Most lawyers wouldn’t be able to get it done in that time, so I hope you appreciate it. I don’t enjoy being taken for granted. Something I’m sure Cassandra can attest to, even in her short time with you.”

She nodded in solemn agreement, as if the two of them were in collusion.

“You’re a fool,” Jack told him. “What else did you uncover?”

“He was thrown in jail there once, but the charges didn’t hold up in court.”

“For what?”

“Assault with a weapon.”

“Aha. I knew it.” Jack slapped his palm against his thigh.

“He grew up with a tough older brother. The brother’s broken the law on numerous occasions for theft and assault. He’s serving time in San Quentin as we speak, for train robbery.”

“Oh,” whispered Cassandra. Her braid shifted against her blouse.

“Watch yourself,” Hugh warned Jack. “He’s already come after you once.”

Jack scowled at the recollection. “Anything else?”

“He was born and raised in Wyoming Territory. I sent some telegrams there this morning, but it’ll take a few days to hear back.”

Jack absorbed the information.

Cassandra gripped the satchel on her lap. “If you don’t mind, Jack, may I ask a few questions?”

She was always surprising him with the way her mind worked. This should be interesting. “Be my guest.”

“Would you mind if we told Hugh the entire story?” she gently urged Jack. “About your suspicions?”

Jack shifted his weight to the other side of his chair.

Hugh looked from one to the other, suddenly much more serious. “Please do. What’s this about, Jack?”

“We think some of the animals I’ve been looking after these past several days may have been poisoned. And what’s more, we wonder if Dunleigh was.”

Hugh frowned and didn’t say anything for a moment, then asked, “What makes you think so?”

Jack went into his suspicions on the timing of his vet calls, the presence of Thornley on the ridge, the fistfight, the problems with Elise and the coincidence of Dunleigh dropping dead.

“And the motivation?”

“Thornley’s anger at my involvement with Elise.”

Hugh shook his head slightly. “Thornley’s the suspect? Seems a bit far-fetched to me.”

Cassandra was straightforward. “And we have no proof, either, Mr. Logan.”

“Call me Hugh, please.”

“Hugh.” She sighed. “No proof thus far. But I was wondering if you might tell me—either one of you—where the newspaper office is. The one that delivers the
Sundial Daily News
. I think it’s worth speaking to the boy who delivered the paper that day to Mr. Dunleigh, don’t you, Jack?”

He hadn’t thought of that, but it was a damn good idea. “Yes, indeed it would.”

“It’s two streets over,” Hugh told her.

“And about Elise Beacon,” Cassandra continued. “Has she ever done anything that you might consider a touch unstable?”

Hugh looked to Jack. Both men took a moment to ponder the question.

“Nothing other than objecting to your wedding,” said Hugh.

Jack shook his head. “Her father’s the unstable one. He’s a heavy drinker. Last year he tore off to South America with a questionable woman who used to drink with him. Left Elise in charge of the vineyard, but she rose to the challenge and has done a good job with it. I’m sorry to see her involved with Thornley, to tell you the truth. She could do a lot better.”

Cassandra sat quietly listening. He felt guilty again for bringing up Elise’s name, but Cassandra was right that it should all be brought into the open with his attorney.

Her eyes roved the stack of books and papers on Hugh’s desk. “Is that the new California penal code? Released earlier this year?” she asked. “They had it at the Chicago library, but I got only three-quarters through it before I had to leave for California.”

This admission caught both men by surprise. Hugh blinked at her, likely wondering why on earth a woman would be reading the penal code, and Jack found himself growing uncomfortable again. She knew too much for her own good, for her own safety.

She answered Hugh’s unspoken question. “My father was a criminal attorney. I became interested in the law due to him.”

“You don’t say.”

“And there’s just one more question, Hugh,” she said softly. “But this one is of a more personal nature. Please forgive me for being so frank, but you must’ve had some reservations about me, when you first heard Jack answered my advertisement? When you first heard that he wished to marry me? You must’ve been very protective, because that’s how I would’ve reacted, if I had been as close a friend to Jack as you obviously are.”

Hugh’s mouth opened in obvious surprise. “I admit I was.”

“I would like to invite you, sir, for dinner at our ranch sometime. I do hope that as you get to know me, your opinion might change.”

Hugh’s expression softened. He looked at her with newfound respect, then glanced at Jack as if to say that perhaps he’d been wrong about Cassandra. “I would enjoy that.”

Jack scratched his head. How had she sensed in such a short period of time with Hugh that what the attorney most appreciated in his friendships was straight talk with no nonsense?

Jack rose from his chair and Cassandra followed suit.

“I suspect we’ll see you at the Fourth of July celebrations?” Jack asked him.

Hugh nodded. He rose in turn and shook Jack’s hand, then said to Cassandra in a humorous tone, “Fair warning—most women say he’s a lousy dancer.”

“And Hugh can never get the same woman to accompany him more than once. What does that say about his ability to entertain a lady?”

“Lucille Anderson’s coming this time,” the attorney told him.

“Lucille? She’s too good for you.”

“I know.”

Both men laughed.

Hugh opened the door for them. “Nice seeing you again, Cassandra.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” she said, smiling and appearing much more comfortable leaving his office than when she’d entered.

She had a remarkable way with people. Jack led her out, quietly thinking about all the impressive facets of her character as they headed to Lucille Anderson’s dress shop. He had an overwhelming urge to buy her the prettiest dress there, to treat her to a new wardrobe and the luxuries he could easily afford. He wondered if it was to perhaps erase his guilt for not having been there in Chicago when she’d suffered through the fire and her incredible losses.

Chapter Seventeen

C
assandra squinted in the late morning sun as she strode along the boardwalk, guarded by Jack’s towering figure to her right, and Mr. Crawford up ahead, keeping a watchful eye on them as he hovered near the horses. A handful of folks passed by. She was struck by the curious relationship Jack had with Hugh. Despite the good-natured ribbing and the humorous insults flying fast between the men, she didn’t for a moment doubt that their loyalty and friendship ran deep.

That must have made it all the more difficult for Jack to go against Hugh’s advice concerning a mail-order bride. She had a twinge of discomfort about that. It was a raw wound that didn’t need to be reopened, and so she decided to ignore it and focus instead on the more pleasurable chores ahead.

When they approached Lucille’s dress shop, Jack leaned in so close that tendrils of hair at her neck tickled.

“I’d like you to go ahead and try to break my wallet in this store.” His low voice held a fair amount of humor.

Cassandra smiled reassuringly. “I don’t need much. I’ll behave myself.”

“But I like it when you misbehave.” The mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes indicated that he was referring to something other than shopping. A seductive night they’d shared, perhaps.

“Then I’ll be sure not to disappoint you.”

“Ah,” he said, the single syllable holding a wealth of meaning.

As she walked beside him, her skirts swirled about her legs. They had almost reached the shop when he suddenly looked over his shoulder. She followed his gaze, spotting only a man dressed in overalls. On the street, there was just one passing horse and rider.

What was Jack sensing? she wondered.

Had he heard a strange sound? He took particular care to look at the buildings across the street, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She noticed the office for the
Sundial Daily News
.

“How about I drop you off at the shop,” he said, “while I go poke around the newspaper office? It’ll be less noticeable if I go alone.”

“Good plan.”

“Any particular questions you’d like me to ask?”

She stifled a smile of victory at his implication that she had some talent in questioning, and in her observation skills. “Only the obvious ones. Who was the delivery person? What did the person witness? Where, when, why and how?”

“Right.” Jack pushed open the door to Lucille’s. Bells above the door tinkled when they entered.

The sun’s rays lit the open space. Racks of colorful dresses, blouses and skirts lined the walls. Hats and bonnets hung on display hooks. Satchels, handbags, belts and shoes filled a cabinet.

A most unusual collection in the far corner caught Cassandra’s eye. It was an assortment of women’s work clothes. There were garden gloves, hats with wide straw brims to shade the sun, overalls in slender sizes, denim jeans, work shirts and rubber boots in female sizes. She’d always heard there was more freedom for women here in the West, with more ladies owning shops of their own, or panning for gold, or making business deals with bankers. Goodness, it was pleasing to her.

“Howdy, Lucille,” Jack said.

Cassandra turned to see a pretty red-haired woman with clear fair skin and green eyes stepping out from a display of high-heeled boots she’d been arranging. She had a wide, affectionate smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Jack.”

“I’d like to introduce my wife, Cassandra.”

“It’s lovely to meet you. I hope you’re enjoying California.”

“Indeed, I am. I’m also enjoying your shop.”

Lucille beamed. “Is there something in particular I can help you with this morning?”

“I’d like you to outfit her from head to toe,” Jack said generously. “What she’ll need on the ranch, both in the house and when she’s out riding. And something special for the Fourth of July. I hear you’ll be attending, by the way. Cassandra and I would be honored if you and Hugh sat with us.”

“I’d like that,” Lucille replied promptly.

Cassandra liked her. They’d only just met, but Cassandra had a good feeling about the friendly young woman, who was not much older than her. And she operated a shop. Cassandra had never met a woman who’d owned her own business. How intriguing.

“All right, then,” said Jack. “I’ll leave you two. Let me know when you’re finished, darlin’. I’m going to the newspaper office, then I’ll wait for you by the buggy.”

“I’ll try not to be too long,” she told him, flustered at the affectionate reference.

“Take your time.” And away he went.

Cassandra was distracted when Lucille held up two long skirts, one golden in color, the other a deep coffee.

“These would go well with your hair,” urged Lucille. “Match them up with a pretty blue blouse the color of your eyes...see? How do you like that?” She held them up in front of Cassandra, before a full-length wall mirror.

Lucille certainly had a keen sense of style.

“If I may try them on...I’d love to take them.”

The seamstress smiled. “Hugh told me you’re from Chicago. Sorry to hear about...about your family not surviving the Great Fire.”

Cassandra was a little taken aback by the forthright statement. What else had Hugh mentioned? “Thank you,” she replied.

“I had an uncle who also perished in the fire,” Lucille said gently. “He was one of my favorite relations.” Her eyes welled up. Then she blinked the tears away and reached for a pretty dress on a rack.

Cassandra was still trying to digest what she’d just said. “You lost an uncle. How awful. Where did he live?”

“On the outskirts, far from the fire, but he was trapped that day in the middle of it, on a business errand. It was pure bad luck.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Lucille turned her focus back to the shapely red dress with daring straps.

Cassandra hesitated. “It’s a little too bold for me.”

“Jack would like it.”

Cassandra turned back to have another look. “I suppose you’re right. Do you have something in a different color?”

“I do. There’s one here that’s even lower cut, but Jack would surely adore you in it.”

“You seem to know him well.”

“I suspect he and Hugh are the same in that regard.”

Their eyes caught in the mirror and both smiled.

Men.

“Cassandra, if I may be so forward to suggest...my sister is a theater actress in New York, and the last time she came to visit, she left me something. I liked it so much I ordered some for my customers.” Lucille reached behind the counter and came out with a small jar of powder. “They wear heavy cosmetics beneath the stage lights, and this is wonderful for masking blemishes. I thought that you might...well, maybe it’s a bit presumptuous of me to...”

“I’d love to try it.” No one had ever suggested anything like this to Cassandra. She powdered her injured cheek. The heavy scar was still visible, but the mottling had disappeared and somehow her skin color looked better. “Oh, I do like that.”

Lucille was gracious and didn’t dwell on it.

Cassandra truly enjoyed spending the next hour with her. She discovered that the Fourth of July celebrations would be the first time Lucille and Hugh would be courting. That Jack had been considered the bachelor catch of the town, and that’s why some folks might not be warming up to Cassandra, for she’d stolen the town treasure. That Jack’s favorite meal at the steakhouse was medium rare steak with a glass of red sauvignon.

And that Elise Beacon and Derik Thornley had had a big argument this morning outside the jewelry shop, and that Elise had left in tears.

* * *

Jack had the eerie feeling he was being watched. He’d taken ten minutes to check in with Sheriff Leggett, who’d reported some interesting news about an argument that had taken place between Elise and Thornley. Then half an hour later, as he stepped out of the newspaper office, after speaking with the publisher, Jack instinctively held his hands near his guns and looked sharply from left to right. He recognized the folks walking by, nodded in greeting, then watched a team of horses pull a wagon loaded with wine barrels. He waved hello to the driver, as well.

Nothing looked out of place, it just felt out of place.

He knew better than to ignore his premonition.

Still, there was nothing to react to on the street, so he headed toward Crawford, who was leaning against a post near the buggy.

En route, Jack noticed a strange woman exit Lucille’s dress shop. Her wide straw hat concealed her face. She was smartly dressed.

He peered past her through the windows, wondering where Cassandra was, as he stepped aside to let the other customer by. “Ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his black Stetson.

“Jack, it’s me.” Her hat brim shot up, revealing Cassandra’s pretty face.

“Well, look at you.” He marveled at the transformation.

She wore an enticing, silky cream blouse. A long brown skirt hugged her hips and fell to the tips of her fashionable, high-heeled shoes. The skirt had a pleat down the center, and he noticed that it was actually a pair of riding pants that some women were wearing now, concealed as a skirt. Cassandra wore leather riding gloves that molded to her fingers and matched her knotted belt.

“Very nice,” he murmured. “Very, very nice.”

A smile danced along her lips in appreciation. Her blond hair had been newly braided, and curled over her bosom like a shiny rope.

“The packages are still inside, on the counter, if you don’t mind helping me put them into the buggy.”

“Not at all.”

He went in, offered his thanks to Lucille, then loaded up the boxes and brown-paper-wrapped parcels and headed toward the ranch.

When they were back in open country, with the noonday sun blazing down on the buggy’s rooftop, Cassandra leaned over and asked, “What did you discover at the newspaper?”

“Not much. The delivery boy, Adam, was the same one who always delivers the paper, twice a week—every Wednesday and Saturday. I know him. He’s a good kid, sixteen, son of the publisher. Adam said he didn’t notice anything unusual on Saturday with Mr. Dunleigh. My paper was labeled with my name, as it always is. He reached into his sack, removed it from the top and handed it to Mr. Dunleigh. He said the front door closed behind him, so the boy didn’t see or hear Yule collapse.”

“Oh, the poor lad.”

“He said he felt bad when he heard.” Jack was well aware that Crawford could hear their discussion from the backseat, but there wasn’t any news from the publisher to conceal. Jack would keep to himself the information the sheriff had relayed, until he could speak with Cassandra in private. If they were wrong about Dunleigh being murdered, it would be a horrible rumor that might reach Mrs. Dunleigh’s ears and cause her more grief. The only thing Crawford had to know was that Cassandra needed bodyguard protection, and to be especially alert for Thornley.

It seemed as though Cassandra wanted to add something, but then her eyes shifted in the foreman’s direction and she must’ve thought better of it. She pressed her lips together and peered ahead as they rolled up the familiar laneway home.

After they alighted from the buggy, Crawford asked, “Anything else, boss?”

Jack peered at the stables, the horses being led out to pasture and various ranch hands going about their everyday tasks. “You can get back to your regular duties. I’ll let you know when I need you again. Thanks, Crawford.”

They were back inside the house when Cassandra told Jack what was on her mind. “I heard about an argument between Thornley and Miss Beacon.”

“I heard it, too, from the sheriff. He said he didn’t know what it was about, but was trying to find out. He’s also keeping an eye out for Elise’s safety, but so far there’s no evidence that Thornley is a violent type with women.”

“I never thought of it...that she might be in danger.”

“She knows he came after me on the ranch, but a lot of men are hotheaded when it comes to standing up for their women. So his behavior isn’t necessarily that unusual. I can’t tell you the number of fistfights I was in when I was young and hot-tempered myself. Stupid fights over the years. It doesn’t mean Thornley would hit a woman, though.”

“Do you think Miss Beacon and he are still together? After their fight?”

“I don’t know.” Talk of those two made Jack uneasy. And incensed.

How dare Thornley interfere with his marriage to Cassandra? How dare he make Jack worry about her safety? And dammit, if Thornley had anything to do with Dunleigh’s death...

Jack’s heart pounded in outrage.

Murder
. He was dealing with the possible murder of a good friend.

“Jack?” Cassandra was staring at him. “Are you all right?”

He kept his voice cool and calm, but his heart was pounding like a trapped bear’s. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Mark my words.”

* * *

Cassandra was worried about Jack. For the next four days, he seemed a man obsessed. She had been hoping, now that they’d found some shared moments of intimacy in bed, that the heated nights might continue. Perhaps he wanted them to, but he was pulled away by his work.

On Monday, no sooner had they arrived home than an adolescent boy knocked on the door, indicating Jack was needed for an injured horse.

“Johnny,” Jack asked, “you’re saying he’s lame?”

“Yes, sir,” said the trembling young cowboy, one she didn’t recognize. “He stumbled when my father was riding through the creek. There were some rocks there, and Pa didn’t see them, and now he’s feelin’ sick to his stomach that something might happen to the animal. Please say you won’t shoot the horse, Dr. McColton. Please say it.”

“Let me have a look at him.”

Jack looked at Cassandra, and she knew by his expression that they were both thinking the same thing. This was a physical injury to the stallion and had nothing to do with Thornley, nor did there seem to be any suggestion of possible foul play. It seemed to be an honest accident.

Jack didn’t return till after midnight. He’d sent word to Mr. Crawford to stay in the house and guard Cassandra, and Jack must’ve stumbled to bed sometime in the wee hours, after she’d finally closed her eyes.

On Tuesday he left before she rose. He’d written a hurried note telling her the stallion seemed to have an open hairline fracture, but there was a possibility no infection would set in if Jack applied poultices and helped calm the animal.