Read Online The Littlest Cowboy by MAGGIE SHAYNE - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: MAGGIE SHAYNE
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nodding to Chelsea. “Good to meet you, Senorita Brennan. You are from the east, yes?”
“New York.”
Silvery brows went up. “And which of the Brands is it you’ve come to…see?”
Chelsea frowned. “I’m not sure what—”
“None of them, Marisella,” Garrett interrupted. “She’s a friend. That’s all. Now listen, I’ll bring Jessi by this evening to have a look at that old cat of yours, all right? Maybe we can doctor him up for you.”
“It will be a relief to me if you do! When Pedro is not well, I feel as bad as he does.”
“We’ll be there.”
She reached up to pat Garrett’s cheek: “You do your papa proud,
hombre.
Never a time anyone in Quinn has trouble, but that you offer a hand. I do believe the woman who captures your heart will have her hands on a diamond.” After the last pointed statement, she aimed a wink in Chelsea’s direction, then turned to go.
Garrett hurried to grip her elbow and ease her down the steps, his hands touching her as if she might break.
He really did
seem
gentle.
As he stepped outside with Marisella, a breeze wafted in through the door, lifting the papers from the desk and scattering them. And then it died, leaving the air as still and muggy as before. Chelsea automatically went to pick the papers up, gathering them into a stack, one by one. But she paused with one sheet in hand because the date across the top caught her eye. April 1.
She froze, then hurriedly scanned the sheet, certain she was about to find a record of a return trip from N.Y. detailed there somewhere. But instead, she found the opposite.
Each sheet in the stack was a typewritten record of the day’s events. Only they didn’t read like dry, technical police reports. More like a journal or a diary. This particular page began with a single paragraph that took all the wind out of her sails.
Nine a.m.—Career Day at Quinn Elementary. Talked until 10:00 and answered questions till 10:40. Lord, but we have some characters in this town! Almost made me wish I had my own little brood at home.
Below that, marked with two stars, a postscript: “Note—check in on Brian Muldoon’s mamma.”
“Those are personal notes you’re reading, Chelsea, not official records.”
She looked up with a start to see Garrett lounging in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, looking at her. She swallowed hard, shook her head, added the sheet to the top of the stack and crossed the room to hand it to him.
He took the papers, glancing down at what she’d been reading, and nodded. “Career Day,” he said. “How could I have forgotten that one?”
Chelsea tried to drag her gaze away from him, but couldn’t. Had she been all wrong about him? She cleared her throat, searching for something to say, before latching onto the first thing that came to mind. “What was wrong with Brian Muldoon’s mother?”
Garrett frowned down at the paper, then lifted his head and focused his big, soft brown eyes on her face. His voice more gentle than she’d heard up to now, he said, “Brian’s daddy liked to hit her.”
Pain sparked to life, though she slammed the door on her emotions before they could show. She fixed her face into an iron mask, refusing to flinch. “And what did you do about it?”
“Oh, the usual. We arrested him a couple of times, tried to talk her into pressing charges. She was too afraid of him to do it, though. And we couldn’t blame her. We all knew he wouldn’t serve enough time to do him any good.”
“So he’s still here in Quinn, beating the hell out of his wife?”
Garrett shook his head slowly. “We don’t take to that kind of thing around here, Chelsea.”
“Right. But your hands are tied, isn’t that it?”
“Not by a long shot. I warned the worthless fool to stop…or else. He hurt her again. So my brothers and I went over there and…had a little talk with him.”
Chelsea tilted her head, staring at him in disbelief.
“We made him see that the best thing for all
“New York.”
Silvery brows went up. “And which of the Brands is it you’ve come to…see?”
Chelsea frowned. “I’m not sure what—”
“None of them, Marisella,” Garrett interrupted. “She’s a friend. That’s all. Now listen, I’ll bring Jessi by this evening to have a look at that old cat of yours, all right? Maybe we can doctor him up for you.”
“It will be a relief to me if you do! When Pedro is not well, I feel as bad as he does.”
“We’ll be there.”
She reached up to pat Garrett’s cheek: “You do your papa proud,
hombre.
Never a time anyone in Quinn has trouble, but that you offer a hand. I do believe the woman who captures your heart will have her hands on a diamond.” After the last pointed statement, she aimed a wink in Chelsea’s direction, then turned to go.
Garrett hurried to grip her elbow and ease her down the steps, his hands touching her as if she might break.
He really did
seem
gentle.
As he stepped outside with Marisella, a breeze wafted in through the door, lifting the papers from the desk and scattering them. And then it died, leaving the air as still and muggy as before. Chelsea automatically went to pick the papers up, gathering them into a stack, one by one. But she paused with one sheet in hand because the date across the top caught her eye. April 1.
She froze, then hurriedly scanned the sheet, certain she was about to find a record of a return trip from N.Y. detailed there somewhere. But instead, she found the opposite.
Each sheet in the stack was a typewritten record of the day’s events. Only they didn’t read like dry, technical police reports. More like a journal or a diary. This particular page began with a single paragraph that took all the wind out of her sails.
Nine a.m.—Career Day at Quinn Elementary. Talked until 10:00 and answered questions till 10:40. Lord, but we have some characters in this town! Almost made me wish I had my own little brood at home.
Below that, marked with two stars, a postscript: “Note—check in on Brian Muldoon’s mamma.”
“Those are personal notes you’re reading, Chelsea, not official records.”
She looked up with a start to see Garrett lounging in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, looking at her. She swallowed hard, shook her head, added the sheet to the top of the stack and crossed the room to hand it to him.
He took the papers, glancing down at what she’d been reading, and nodded. “Career Day,” he said. “How could I have forgotten that one?”
Chelsea tried to drag her gaze away from him, but couldn’t. Had she been all wrong about him? She cleared her throat, searching for something to say, before latching onto the first thing that came to mind. “What was wrong with Brian Muldoon’s mother?”
Garrett frowned down at the paper, then lifted his head and focused his big, soft brown eyes on her face. His voice more gentle than she’d heard up to now, he said, “Brian’s daddy liked to hit her.”
Pain sparked to life, though she slammed the door on her emotions before they could show. She fixed her face into an iron mask, refusing to flinch. “And what did you do about it?”
“Oh, the usual. We arrested him a couple of times, tried to talk her into pressing charges. She was too afraid of him to do it, though. And we couldn’t blame her. We all knew he wouldn’t serve enough time to do him any good.”
“So he’s still here in Quinn, beating the hell out of his wife?”
Garrett shook his head slowly. “We don’t take to that kind of thing around here, Chelsea.”
“Right. But your hands are tied, isn’t that it?”
“Not by a long shot. I warned the worthless fool to stop…or else. He hurt her again. So my brothers and I went over there and…had a little talk with him.”
Chelsea tilted her head, staring at him in disbelief.
“We made him see that the best thing for all
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