Quinn (7 page)

T
hey rode the entire distance in silence. Quinn noted that the woman, riding ahead of him, was paying very careful attention to her surroundings. As though expecting at any moment to be attacked. By wolves? he wondered. Or by the person she’d named during their scuffle?

Deke.

Quinn tucked that away in the back of his mind. For now, he intended to get this over with as quickly as possible. He’d prove to her that the wolf pack had every right to kill a deer for survival, and then he’d accept her apology and move on.

The night had turned bitter. Between the raw wind flinging snow into their faces and the horses stirring up fresh snow with every step, Quinn was soon numb with cold.

He glanced at the woman, hunched into her parka, head down against the assault, and felt a brief wave of
remorse. If not for him she would have been snug and warm in her ranch house by now and probably enjoying a hot meal. Instead, she had to be every bit as cold as he was.

Still, he reminded himself, it was her deliberate act that had forced his hand and had them both out on this frigid night. He was convinced that there was nothing she could say or do that would absolve her of her guilt.

As they drew near the snow-covered hill, she reined in her mount and glanced back at Quinn. They studied the wolf’s carcass that had bled into the snow, turning the killing site crimson.

After a brief pause, Quinn urged the mare up the hill and pointed to the stand of trees where earlier the herd of deer had taken shelter.

“That’s where the wolf was headed. I saw a doe giving birth. The scent of it would have alerted any predator in the area to the doe’s location. He was about to provide food for his pack when your bullet stopped him.”

She shot Quinn a look of disdain. “Now let me show you what your wolf was really after.”

She flicked the reins and descended the hill before pointing.

In the darkness were several darker shapes, visible against the white snow. As they rode closer Quinn was able to make out a number of cows and their calves that had been isolated from the herd by the blizzard. Standing beside their mothers were several newborns, and one so new it was still lying in the snow, with its nervous mother standing guard.

Quinn couldn’t hide his surprise. And then he had a flash of memory. Of the wolf veering off-course. At the
time Quinn had wondered about that strange behavior. Now it made perfect sense. A herd of deer could scatter and run, making a predator’s job difficult. The cows, however, not as agile as animals in the wild, were practically immobile in this heavy snow, making them ideal targets.

“Sorry.” He held up a hand. “I know that my apology doesn’t make up for what I called you. But I honestly didn’t see these cows here. After spotting the deer, I really believed that the wolf was headed toward them.”

The woman barely acknowledged his words. Distracted, she slid from the saddle to lift the head of the newborn.

“He’s freezing. He’s too weak and cold to even stand. He’ll never survive the night out here.”

Quinn was beside her in an instant. “We’d better take him to your barn.”

He lifted the shivering animal in his arms as though it weighed little more than a puppy, before nodding toward the cow. “If you rope her and tie her between our two horses, we can probably tow her through the worst of the drifts so she can nurse her calf in the barn.”

The woman nodded and looped a rope over the neck of the cow, and then a second rope, which she tossed to Quinn before pulling herself into the saddle.

With snow slapping their faces and the weary cow bawling and fighting every step of the way, they headed into the raw wind once more. If the journey to the hill had been bitterly cold, the return trek facing into the wind was almost unbearable. They were forced to bend low and tuck their heads almost to their chests to escape the stinging bite of icy crystals.

At last they were back in the safety of the barn. There
they settled the cow and her newborn into a stall with plenty of hay and water before unsaddling their mounts and tending to their needs, rubbing them down and filling their troughs.

Quinn stowed the pitchfork and turned toward his gear, lying near the door where he’d dropped it.

Seeing what he intended, the woman walked over and extended her hand. “I never introduced myself. Cheyenne O’Brien. If you hadn’t goaded me into going back out there, I’d have lost this calf. I never thought I’d be saying this after the way you behaved before, but… thanks for your help.”

He arched a brow in surprise before giving her a quick, charming grin. “You’re welcome. It’s the least I could do after heaping all that blame on you.”

She struggled to ignore his unexpected smile and glanced at the blizzard still raging outside the door. “You’re welcome to spend the night before moving on.”

Quinn didn’t need any coaxing. The thought of a warm, dry bed after such a long time on the trail was irresistible. “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.”

She led the way across the snow-covered yard that separated the barn from the house. They stepped into a utility room with a row of hooks along the wall holding a variety of coats, scarves, and work gloves.

Cheyenne eased off her boots and parka and hung her wide-brimmed hat on a hook before giving her head a shake, revealing a mass of thick, dark, tangled curls that glistened with snowflakes. Without the heavy parka, her body was surprisingly slender.

Quinn followed her lead, hanging his sodden outerwear and hat beside hers.

They stepped into a kitchen that was filled with the most mouthwatering fragrances. Bread baking. Stew simmering in a heavy skillet on the stove. Cinnamon coffee cake, fresh from the oven, cooling by the window.

It was enough to make a grown man weep.

He glanced at the woman, lifting lids and sniffing the air. “Don’t tell me you threw all this together before heading into that storm.”

She laughed. A clear, joyous sound that had him relaxing even more.

“I can’t take credit for anything that goes on in the kitchen. I leave that to Micah.”

“Your husband?”

She laughed again. “Micah’s better than any husband. He’s my cook, housekeeper, and all-around caretaker of everything on this ranch.”

She looked up as a door opened and an old man hobbled in. His hair was the color and texture of cotton—thick, white, and curled around the ruddy face of a gnarled cherub. Despite the pronounced limp and the three-pronged cane held tightly in his right hand, there was a childlike twinkle in his dark eyes. Eyes that were fixed on Quinn with curiosity.

“Hey, cowboy. What’re you doing so far off the beaten track? The storm blow you off-course?”

Quinn stuck out a hand. “Quinn Conway. Cheyenne invited me to stay the night.”

“Micah Horn. I hope you brought your appetite.” The old man began ladling stew into big bowls.

When they were filled, Cheyenne carried them to the table and indicated the opposite side. “Sit. Enjoy.”

“I’d be a fool to refuse.” Quinn watched as she removed
a square of linen from a basket to reveal a loaf of freshly baked bread still warm to the touch. After slicing several thick slabs and taking one for herself she passed the basket to Quinn.

He slathered butter on the bread and took a big bite, then closed his eyes. “I didn’t think anybody could outdo Phoebe when it comes to baking bread, but this just might top it.”

“Your wife?” Cheyenne asked.

Quinn shook his head, taking his time to enjoy every morsel. “Housekeeper at our ranch. She could make old leather taste good.”

The old man chuckled. “Sounds like my kind of woman. Where’s this ranch of yours?”

“About fifty miles east of here.”

“East?” Cheyenne’s brow lifted. “The Conway ranch?” Her eyes widened as the truth dawned. “Of course. I guess I had other things on my mind. You’re one of those Conways?”

“Yeah.” Quinn looked up. “You’ve heard of our place?”

“Anybody who’s lived in Wyoming knows of it.”

Micah nodded in agreement. “I even worked it a time or two in my cowboy days. I used to lend a hand bringing the cattle down from the high country. I know Big Jim and his son, Cole.”

“My grandfather and father,” Quinn said.

“Good men. Both of ’em.”

That had Quinn smiling. “I can’t argue with that. They’re the best.”

Seeing his bowl empty, the old man nodded toward the stove as he sat down and reached for the pipe in his breast pocket. “Help yourself to more stew.”

“Thanks. I don’t even remember eating this.”

Micah tamped tobacco into the bowl of his pipe and held a match to it, sucking until he drew smoke into his lungs and exhaled it into a wreath that circled his head in a rich, aromatic cloud. “When’s the last time you ate?”

Quinn crossed the room and filled his bowl before returning to the table. “I had some dried jerky this morning. Dawn, I guess.”

“Jerky.” Micah chuckled, shaking his head from side to side. “That saved my life more times than I can count. There were plenty of times on the trail that all I had for a week or more was jerky and melted snow to stave off starvation.”

Cheyenne laughed. “I believe you refer to them as the good old days, right?”

The old man’s eyes twinkled. “That’s right. And I honestly wouldn’t trade them for a month on some island paradise with half-naked females serving me rum punch.”

“That’s good,” Cheyenne said with a laugh. “Because I can’t possibly spare you for a week, let alone a month.”

“You better not try.” Micah leaned back and regarded the young woman through his smoke. “What were you two doing out on the trail on a night like this?”

“Rescuing a newborn calf.”

At her explanation he saw the way Quinn’s brow lifted.

The old man chuckled. “I think there’s a story in there somewhere, but maybe you ought to save it until you’ve finished that stew.”

“Good idea.” Quinn tucked into his food, mopping up the last of the gravy with a slice of warm bread.

While he ate, Cheyenne drained a tall glass of milk
before turning to the old man. “Quinn was trailing a pack of wolves.”

“What for?” Micah poured himself a mug of coffee.

“He says he studies wolves.”

The old man shook his head. “Takes all kinds.”

Quinn was too busy eating to explain. At the moment he didn’t feel the need to defend himself.

“Anyway, I shot one, when I saw him about to attack one of my herd, and by the time Quinn trailed me to the barn, he’d worked himself into believing I was some kind of crazed wolf killer.” Cheyenne glanced over at Quinn. “That is what you called me, isn’t it?”

He shrugged and continued eating. Between bites he said, “You’re doing a fine job of explaining. I’ll leave you to it.”

She winked at Micah. “You know how I can’t ignore a challenge…”

At that the old man burst into raucous laughter.

She went on as though she hadn’t heard it. “… so when this deranged cowboy insisted that I’d killed a poor, misunderstood wolf, I had to prove him wrong.” She shot Quinn a triumphant smile. “And I did. Turns out his wolf wasn’t so innocent.”

“That so?” Micah turned to Quinn. “So now what? Do you pick another wolf to study?”

“Yeah. But not right away. First I’ll have some papers to write.”

“Papers? Like newspapers?”

Quinn shook his head. “More like journals documenting the wolf pack’s hunting grounds, habits, mating rituals, habitat. That sort of thing.”

The old man studied Quinn more closely. “You some kind of wolf whisperer?”

That had Quinn chuckling. “I haven’t had a chance to get close enough to whisper to them, but I’ve been tracking them long enough to understand why they do the things they do.”

“So you’re not out to change them?”

Quinn gave a quick shake of his head. “I’m out to change people’s attitudes about them. Wolves are a whole lot more than just predators who feast on a rancher’s herd. They’re smart and clever and loyal and courageous, and sometimes they do really stupid, silly things, just like people.”

“That’s a pretty passionate speech.” Cheyenne was studying him with new interest. “From the tone of your voice, I’d say this is a whole lot more than just a job.”

“It’s been my passion since I was a kid. I hope to spend my life learning everything I can about wolves.” While he talked he pushed aside his empty bowl and sat back, sipping strong, hot coffee.

“Why?” She was blatantly staring.

He shrugged. “Everything about them calls to me. The fact that they’ve had to adapt after being nearly extinct. The fact that they’re smart, clever hunters who are being hunted by ranchers. And I like the fact that they’re fiercely loyal to their family.”

Cheyenne shivered at the passion in his tone.

Quinn could feel his energy flagging. For hours he’d been going on nothing but adrenaline, and now the long days on the trail were catching up with him. He recognized that he’d been running on empty and now, with his stomach full and his body warm, he was desperate for sleep.