Dreams of Gold (6 page)

His thoughts kept coming back to the first sight he’d had of her eyes, wide open and unguarded. Those gorgeous green eyes had flashed emotions he suspected normally lay buried behind her display of spunk. For an instant, he’d glimpsed the innocence of babes and the sagacity of crones swirled together, and she’d touched a deep part of his soul. Thoughts like that last one bothered him the most.

A feeling, long ago withered, of wanting to personally watch over someone had stirred to life, but he forced it aside. Eight years ago, he’d vowed not to let anyone close again. Not after the way he’d let down his brother Logan in the war. Quinn couldn’t live with another failure on his conscience.

“Do I deserve such a glare, Sheriff? Look, I have done as you ordered.”

Her sweet voice drew him from his reverie. “That wasn’t a glare. I was thinking of another matter of business.” He glanced at her almost-empty bowl. “And how are you feeling now?”

“I believe those words have comprised half of our shared conversations since we met, sir.” With delicate moves, she dabbed the napkin at her lips and smiled. “Again, I appreciate your solicitude regarding my welfare.”

His concern over her health was nothing more than professional. Ciara Morrissey was the only passenger on the stage who might supply a clue to the identity of the men from the robbery. And now she might have information he’d sought for the past two months. “All part of making sure people passing through town leave with a favorable impression.”

“But I am not passing through.” She rested an elbow on the table and leaned forward, enunciating in crisp tones. “I have business here in Bull City.”

“You mentioned that.” He matched her posture and watched her expression, his gaze caught up in her jade green eyes. Their gazes held and his heart pounded double time. Bewitching eyes. He clenched his hands to keep from reaching across the table for this intriguing woman. “The same business involving inquiries about a certain man to various store owners?”

Her entire body jerked, and she glanced away then back. “You know about that?”

“That’s my job.”

She drew a quick breath then straightened in the chair. “But how? When?”

Did she ever answer a question? “Doesn’t matter.” He leaned close, the muscle in his jaw jerking. “Let me be direct. Do you have business with Mulcahy?”

“If you are referring to Shamus Mulcahy”—she lifted her chin and narrowed her gaze—”yes, I do.”

Was that guilt he’d seen cross her face? “What could you possibly want with a man like that?”

Her shoulders squared and her eyes flashed green fire. “That is not your concern.”

“I’m the law here. I determine what is or is not my concern.” Had a witness ever argued with him like this? When had he ever withstood this behavior?

“I am not accustomed to having my actions scrutinized in this manner. Where I come from, your behavior would be considered boorish and heavy-handed.”

He rested both forearms on the table and leaned closer, bringing his face within inches of hers. The women needed a reminder of his size and authority. “But we’re not back east, are we? You’ll do well to remember this badge—” he tapped a finger on the tin star pinned to his shirt “—gives me the right to decide what or who needs to be scrutinized.”

She paused then lowered her eyelashes and a coaxing smile crossed her lips. “All I require is the location of his place of business. Each time I have asked, I am told I must speak to you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her sudden change in attitude and bristled at the thought she’d stoop to the use of feminine wiles. “As it should be.”

Color rose in her cheeks and her lips pursed. “Why should it be? Are you the keeper of a special book containing business addresses?”

“As sheriff, I’m responsible for everything that happens inside and around this town.” If she sought Mulcahy, she must have some idea how the scoundrel made his living. Why couldn’t she see he was the wrong sort of man for a lady such as herself to seek? He forced sternness into his voice. “What is your interest in this man?”

That pointed chin came up and she leaned back, narrowing her gaze. She crossed her arms. “Just what do you hope to gain by keeping the information from me?”

He stared back, surprised at the flash of desire that flared deep inside at her defiance. Most people buckled under his stern look and provided the information he wanted.

Spunk. The auburn-haired lady had it in spades. Eyelash batting and simpering expressions left him cold, but a show of spunk never failed to heat his blood. Sturdy—like a wild rose.

The lady should be glad they were conducting this interview in public. If they’d gone to his office and she’d taken this attitude, he’d have been tempted to teach her a lesson about sassing an officer of the law. The image of ending her backtalk by kissing her senseless galloped across his mind.

At that thought, he glanced at her dark pink lips drawn into a tight line, and he cursed himself for being ten kinds of a fool. He couldn’t remember ever being thwarted by a woman. Time to change tactics.

The waitress set down his pie and coffee and cleared away Ciara’s empty bowl.

“Thank you, Betsy.” He looked at the pie and then at Ciara, who still fumed in his direction. Not matter his irritation, he’d been raised with good manners. Holding his fork poised above the sweet treat, he asked, “Care for some? I can vouch for how tasty Mollie’s pies are.”

She shook her head, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I’ve had quite enough…thank you.”

Lowering his fork, he dug into the spiced apples and flaky crust, finishing the dessert in a half dozen bites. Only after he’d drunk half of his coffee did he look back across the table. Somewhere around his third bite, he’d heard the soft impatient tapping of her shoe against the floor. “Ready to answer my question?”

Her spectacular green eyes flashed as if lit by an inner spark. Cheeks flushed, she braced her hands on the table, her heightened emotions causing her to breathe deeply. “Ready to tell me how to locate Shamus Mulcahy?”

Jaw clamped, he looked away, avoiding the distraction of rounded breasts straining the buttons of her bodice. He glanced at the nearby tables to see if anyone sat close enough to overhear their conversation.

Quinn was well aware the man she sought had made a passel of enemies in this town. This morning, Ciara’s inquiries had already raised the hairs on the necks of several people—business owners and influential citizens, people to whom he had a sworn responsibility. A responsibility he intended to honor by tracking down the man who had swindled these honest, hard-working citizens. The image of his parents who ran the mercantile and struggled to put aside money for their old age strengthened his resolve. He would get to the bottom of the gold mine swindle.

A chair scraped against the wooden floor. With swishing and rustling, she gathered her skirts and stood. Straightening to her full height, she looked down her nose and spoke. “If you will not help me, Sheriff Riley, I intend to speak to every person in this town until I find someone who will.”

Damn
. The exact circumstance he couldn’t allow. If she started talking to the townspeople, she’d get the town whipped into an uproar that would take all his time to settle back to normal. He halted her escape with a firm hand on her arm, gritting his teeth against the warmth that shot through him at the physical contact. “Miss Morrissey, I’ll tell you what you want to hear. Sit down.”

Brows pinched over her nose, she stared, foot tapping, then her gaze went to his arm detaining her exit.

Forcing a tight smile he didn’t feel, he dropped his hand to his side. “Please.” Pure instinct told him a fast-talking Irish dandy selling certificates in a phony gold mine, an Irish gambler caught cheating at poker, and a well-bred young lady, a lady with a definite Irish accent, all passing through a sleepy frontier town within the span of a few months could not be a mere coincidence.

So far, he hadn’t put together the pieces. But he would. He just needed more time to figure out how all three fit into the gold mine scheme. When he did, he might accomplish the task that would put hope back into his mother’s eyes.

Ciara’s eyes lit, and she dropped back into her chair then bobbed forward. “You will? Where might I find his office? Have you seen him in town lately?”

“Office?” The woman was sorely mistaken about the caliber of man she sought. Maybe she didn’t know him as well as her earlier comments indicated. Maybe if she learned about the man’s reputation, she would leave off trying to locate him. “Shamus Mulcahy isn’t exactly your run-of-the-mill businessman.”

“I certainly do not understand the disdain in your voice, sir.” Her face clouded into a frown and her posture stiffened. “I have received a letter that details his mining ventures and the numerous plots of land he owns in this region. Surely a man of such substance has a place of business where he conducts his affairs.”

A letter…interesting bit of information. Quinn leaned back in his chair and crossed both arms over his chest. “If Mulcahy has a ‘place of business’ as you call it, look to the building directly across the street.”

“Oh, so close?” She half rose from her chair, craning her neck to look out the front window, and then looked back in confusion. “All I see is The Red-Eye Saloon. Are there rooms upstairs that are rented out?”

“There are.”

“Which one is his? Do you know the number?” Her words tumbled together, and her eyes glowed. “I’d like to see him as soon as I can.”

For a moment, the green fire directed his way distracted him, and he wondered if that was the color her eyes turned after a passionate kiss. Desire swirled in his gut, and he shook his head to dispel his wayward thought, knowing he couldn’t let this strange attraction keep him from his duty. Especially after what he’d found along the road outside of town. “One problem.”

“A problem? What’s that?”

“Those rooms”—he drew out his answer, carefully watching her face for a response—”they aren’t rented for the kind of business Mr. Mulcahy was involved in.”

Her hands fisted on the table, and her lips pulled into a tight line. “You said you would tell me where I might find him.”

“I did, and I will. In my own way.”

She huffed out a loud breath. “Are you being vague on purpose?”

“Never said he had rooms there. I said he conducted his business there.”

“You mean, downstairs in the saloon? What kind of business is conducted—” Her eyes widened and her mouth slackened. “Oh.”

At the first sight of her devastation, he regretted the game of cat and mouse he’d been playing. The dullness filling her eyes and the despair crossing her face shot him through with guilt.

With most people, his roundabout way of divulging information forced them into saying more than they intended, and he then learned what he was after. He was real sorry she’d traveled this far only to hear this acquaintance was not a gentleman. Maybe now she’d take the next eastbound stage back to where she’d come from, and he could forget her green eyes and ready smile.

And he would…eventually.

“I have no wish to risk a social faux pas like earlier this morning. May I ask if women are allowed in the saloon?” She glanced at her lap and then raised her gaze to taunt his. “Or do I send someone inside to tell him I wish to speak with him?”

For a moment, the words refused to come out of his mouth. What kind of woman wanted to meet such a man now that she knew his reputation and the facts of his habits?

Quinn raised a hand to his shirt pocket, and the soft crinkle of paper reached his ears. Unless she was Mulcahy’s accomplice. Like the scraps of a letter he’d found stuck in a tumbleweed this morning hinted. “You won’t find him there. What’s so important that you have to see this man?”

A sigh sounded. “Are we back to that question again? I thought I made it clear the matter is none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What did you mean when you said I wouldn’t find him there? Do you know where he is right now?”

“Maybe.” His purpose wouldn’t be served to tell her tracking down the man in question had been his sole preoccupation for the past two months. “Answer my question.”

****

Blood pounded in her ears. Ciara had reached the end of her patience and fought back a scream of frustration. This arrogant man’s refusal to give her the information she desired infuriated her. His half-answers and vague statements only served to spin their conversation in a confusing circle. “Why is that your business?”

He cocked one eyebrow and leaned his forearms on the table. “I don’t usually encourage young ladies to associate with the likes of wretched men such as Shamus Mulcahy.”

Wretched? Her mind raced for a response that would convince him. She needed information Quinn Riley obviously had but refused to divulge. That left following through with her threat to talk to the town’s citizens. Given her earlier experiences, the task might prove fruitless.

They’d reached an impasse. Neither would be the first to give in.

She stared into his eyes, and her breath quickened. Even while battling on opposite sides of this situation, she couldn’t deny her attraction to the hard-nosed sheriff. But she had to gain distance from this intriguing man or risk losing sight of her goal. A knot formed in her stomach, and she spoke the words guaranteed to push him away. “What if I said he was my father?”