Read Online Dreams of Gold by Linda Carroll-Bradd - Free Book Online

with the town’s money, declaring he had to travel east to order the equipment, but never returned.”
    A thief? A knot formed in her stomach. No, surely Mama would have warned her if her father were such a man. A dull pain ached in her temples. “Perhaps he met with delays. As one who has just traveled across the country, I can vouch for—”
    “I don’t need you to vouch for anything,” he snapped, and then held up a hand at her interruption. “He’s been gone twice longer than he said. The townspeople feel foolish about being duped, and angry this man stole their money through this phony mining company.”
    The memory of her grandfather sitting in his study with similar papers strewn across his desk flashed in her mind. He’d brooded over them for days, weeks, until finally he’d told them the truth. She raised the paper in her hand and pointed to the buyer’s signature. “Is this man your father? The one whose name appears on this certificate?”
    The sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a short nod. “Pa used most of his savings to buy in. He’s not a young man and may never replace the money.”
    “I am sorry to hear that, and for all of the people involved.” The disparaging tone of his voice indicated his blame extended to her. Ciara’s chest tightened. The situation was so similar to Grandpa Morrissey’s. “But this is not my father’s signature. He writes with a left-handed slant.”
    “Signatures can be easily changed.”
    She’d known the sheriff would not take her word. “If the man were running a scam, why would he use his real name?”
    Pushing away from the desk, he walked with a stiff-legged stride to the back of the office. “You’re avoiding the point.”
    She followed his movements, noting how his strong legs pulled at the fabric of his trousers. Why did this particular man make her heart race? Especially at the most inopportune times. “Excuse me. I don’t see what point you’re making.”
    He paced the short distance between the back wall and the desk. “You show up in town seemingly with no other purpose than to look for a man by the name of Shamus Mulcahy. You insist on keeping your intentions secret. This document—” he flung a hand in the direction of the paper she held “—is signed by that very person. Once you started traipsing around town, asking about the man and how you could find him, you opened the floodgates on a lot of anger. I’m being hit by the results of your actions. And I want some answers.”
    Ciara gripped her hands into fists and started counting. What was this man saying about her character? Were all travelers who rode into town subjected to a battery of questions similar to what she’d endured? She doubted that was the case. He dared to insinuate she was somehow involved in the mining company scheme. If he implied the people of Bull City blamed her, then she’d set him straight.
    “Did Miss Fairchild have to endure an interview about her intentions in Bull City?” The dull ache sharpened, and she fought back a wince.
    “What?” He leaned his palms flat on the desk. “You’re clouding the issue.”
    She stiffened at the flash of anger in his eyes. And fought her body’s reaction. “I do not believe I am. On two separate occasions since my arrival, you have interrogated me. The first time was about the robbery which seemed logical, the second was about my personal business. Was Miss Fairchild put through a similar set of questions? Did her character come through the interview more intact than mine?”
    He stared at the tips of his boots for so long she thought he might ignore her question.
    “Miss Fairchild had no information about the robbery.”
    His words were flat. Maybe she’d made her point. “Is that so? You interviewed her and discovered she had no details to add?”
    With restrained moves, he crossed both arms over his chest. “You told me she fainted.”
    “That did not occur until the robbers had stopped the