Dr. Lewis was a slight, fair-haired man who was an inch or two under six feet. He was thirty—or thereabouts—had kind brown eyes and a reassuring smile. The physician’s examination revealed Quin had suffered a mild concussion. She figured his hardheadedness was the reason he wasn’t comatose. If any other man had endured repetitive blows, he probably would have been dead. Dr. Lewis prescribed plenty of rest for Quin, then questioned her about the dead man they had found last night by the springs. As Quin had cautioned, Adrianna didn’t volunteer any information other than she had gone looking for Quin when he didn’t return home promptly. The young doctor left the house in his buggy, promising to notify the city marshal as Adrianna had re quested. Surprisingly, Tobias Hobbs, the city marshal, arrived twenty minutes later. Hobbs was mid-thirties, six foot tall with dark hair and a mustache. He was an attractive man who wore a stylish bowler hat, vest and suit. Of course, he didn’t compare to Quin Cahill in size and stature, but then Adrianna had developed a sentimental attachment to cowboys—one in particular.
