The Lone Rancher Read Online Free Page B

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.”
    â€œI like your abbreviated version of the town name,” she remarked. “I shall remember to use it so I can I fit in.”
    â€œIt 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.”
    â€œDid 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.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œThis 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.”
    â€œThat 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 clashbetween 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.
    â€œLook, 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.”
    â€œWill I?” She crossed her arms over her ample bosom and glowered at him. “Let me assure you, Mr. Cahill—”
    â€œQuin,” he corrected.
    â€œâ€”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.
    â€œI 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 asa pampered, helpless heiress who didn’t have to lift a finger to provide for myself.
    â€œFurthermore,” 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