Free Dreams of Gold by Linda Carroll-Bradd

along Ciara’s skin. When she realized Belle referred to the owner of the mercantile instead, she relaxed. Was the sheriff always in her thoughts? She quickly finished her tea, rinsed the cup and pot, and gathered her box. “Mrs. Renato, you tell me what time is convenient, and I will show you how to brew the tea. I will retire to my room until supper.”
    “You’re still pale. You look like you could use a lie-down,” Belle called out.
    Again, Ciara’s eyes stung at the woman’s caring comment. She’d missed the feeling of another person showing concern for her welfare. Swallowing hard against a dry throat, she wondered how long she would be on her own.
    ****
    An hour had passed since Ciara swept out of his office, backbone held ramrod straight and eyes flashing with indignation. Quinn’s blood still pumped hot and fast through his veins. That woman was gorgeous when her temper was up. He’d had to use all his self-control to keep from hauling her close and kissing that sassy mouth of hers.
    But Ciara Morrissey was Mulcahy’s daughter…and a potential accomplice.
    He’d reminded himself of that fact several times since she’d made that proclamation in the café, but his body refused to listen. What explained her arrival other than to help in her father’s scheme?
    Quinn’s instinct told him something different—that the news of the mining company surprised her, but she’d keep seeking what she’d come for. If only he could figure out what that was. He stared out the window, mulling over the puzzle the petite woman represented, when the door opened and his deputy, Bud Forrester, sauntered into the office.
    “Hey, boss. Catch me up on today’s news.” Bud grabbed a straight-backed chair, turned it around, and sat, resting forearms across the back. “What more have you learned about the robbery?”
    “Not much to tell.” Unless you counted the fiery-haired woman. He banished the tempting image and turned to his deputy.
    “You didn’t find anything when you rode out to where it happened?”
    Quinn cut him a sharp look. “What makes you think I did that?”
    “Because that’s how you work. You’re a bloodhound on the scent when it comes to puzzles.”
    Quinn waved a dismissive hand. “All I found was a scrap of a letter. Might be from the robbery. But the paper was old and wrinkled, like it had been in the elements for a while.”
    “Maybe.” Bud scratched at his whiskered chin. “Or like it was read and folded a lot. My wife does that with the letters she gets from her sister in Illinois.”
    Quinn hadn’t thought of that. The wording of the letter flashed before him: I’ve encountered a tight spot in my current business dealings and could use a speedy loan. I am chagrined, my dearest, at having to ask you to withdraw funds from our special account. Wiring instructions will follow.
    “At the mercantile, your pa was going on and on about how that gal who drove in the stagecoach started asking about Mulcahy.” Bud scratched at his reddish beard.
    Quinn’s mind flashed back over his encounters with Ciara in front of the jail, their shared meal, his increasing frustration over her refusal to answer his questions, and finally the scene in the office about the mining company. Had all that happened in the span of only a few hours?
    He rubbed a hand over his jaw and told his deputy about the latest developments regarding the Prosperity Mine. “But she denies recognizing the signature on the phony certificate.”
    “You know what sounds fishy to me?” Bud scraped a nail on a light spot on his dark trousers. “I can’t remember the last time we had so many people with Irish accents through this town.”
    “I had those same thoughts, but I can’t make a connection.”
    Bud’s habit of working out his reasoning aloud sometimes brought out a detail Quinn had overlooked. He chanced this might again happen. “What do you make of it?”
    “So if the gal…what’s her name?”
    “Ciara