Dreams of Gold by Linda Carroll-Bradd Page B

she started to rise. “Would you like a few minutes alone?”
    Bud held out a staying hand. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’ll tell you, and you can give him the message when he wakes?”
    “I can do that.” Relaying a message didn’t come near repaying Quinn. She wet the cloth again and draped it over his forehead, doing what she could to break his fever.
    “Quinn, this here’s Bud and I got some news.” He stepped next to the cot. “Joe brought me a wire that said the U.S. Marshals will be here tomorrow. So, don’t be a-worrying about searching for the circuit judge or the stagecoach robbery.”
    At the word “stagecoach,” Ciara realized she hadn’t thought of her lost possessions in days. Her time had been occupied with finding a job—and with the man before her. Her heart pinched at the thought of how important the lawman had become in only a few days.
    “They’ll transport the prisoners, so don’t you be worrying about that. I’ve written out a disturbing the peace complaint on the drunk, and Gibson will fill me in on damages.” For a moment, his fingertips lingered on the rough blanket then pulled back into a fist. “But what are you charging the second Irishman with You never did say.?”
    Her hand stilled, and she studied the deputy. “Second Irishman?”
    Nodding, the deputy pulled up a chair and sat. “Sheriff rode out to Crazy Woman Creek and brought back that swindler who sold shares in the gold mine last spring.”
    Her father? Here in Bull City? She expected excitement to beat within her chest at the news. Her sole purpose for traveling across the country was about to be fulfilled. But her thoughts were only on the man whose fever wouldn’t break and who lay too still on this cot.
    “Although the man denies the act.” Bud scratched his chin, rasping sounded from his thick beard. “Kept telling me the sheriff arrested the wrong man.”
    “I did.” Two gruff words rasped from the head of the bed.
    That voice. Her heart rate leapt, and she turned to look at his handsome, but pale, face. “You’re awake.”
    “Barely.” He swallowed hard, and his eyelids blinked.
    Grinning, Bud stood and slapped his hat on his head. “Glad to have you back with the living, Sheriff. I’ll get Doc.”
    Ciara lifted a nearby glass of water and held it to Quinn’s mouth. “How are you feeling?”
    “Sore, but I’ll be fine. More water, please.”
    With a handkerchief held under his chin, she gave him a few more sips, her gaze taking in his dear features. The tension she’d been carrying in her shoulders eased.
    “I’m better now, after hearing the marshals will arrive soon.”
    “You heard that? How long have you been awake?”
    “Since ‘oh my stars.’” An eyelid dropped in a slow wink, and his lips quirked up on one side. “A man would have to be dead not to react to a beautiful woman’s hands on his bare skin.”
    “Oh no.” Heat infused her cheeks, and she looked away, her heart beating double time. “I am…I do not…let me—”
    “Miss Ciara Morrissey without a quick reply?” His hand covered hers, and he brought their clasped hands to his chest.
    The gesture touched her deep inside, probably more than she dared to admit. “Wait a minute.”
    “I’ll wait forever. I want to hear everything you have to say.”
    Excitement fluttered in her stomach, and she sucked in a breath. “What are you saying?”
    “Stay here in Bull City…with me.” His fingers cupped her jaw, and his thumb brushed her cheek. “Keep me entertained with your ideas and schemes for the next forty or fifty years.”

Epilogue
    Two weeks later, Ciara tugged green-striped curtains along the wooden rod in the high window of the sheriff’s office. “There, don’t you think that looks better?”
    Quinn twisted to look over his shoulder and grimaced at the twinge in his side. “Blocks out the sky.” Although he liked the homey touch the curtains brought to the room, he found a secret pleasure in