To my sissy, Thelma Foster.

      To have a sister like you is to be truly blessed.

      I love you.

Chapter One

      The moment Quint Cantrell walked through the door of his grandfather’s ranch house, he got the eerie feeling that something was wrong.

      At this time of the early evening Abe was usually watching the news on the small television situated in a corner of the cozy living room. Instead, the old man’s leather recliner was empty and the TV screen was black.

      Uneasy, Quint started to call out, but stopped as he caught the sound of a radio coming from the direction of the kitchen. As he quickly strode toward the back of the house, he realized with another start that the singer was Billie Holiday.

      What the heck was going on around this place? His grandfather liked music, but certainly not that kind! And the house held the peculiar scent of roses instead of pipe tobacco and old boots.

      Rounding the open doorway to the kitchen, he practically skidded to a halt as he spotted a woman standing at the cabinet counter. Yesterday, while he’d been eating lunch at the Blue Mesa, a family acquaintance had stopped by his table and mentioned that a rumor was going around about a woman staying out at Apache Wells. Quint had laughingly dismissed the idea as nothing more than a wild rumor. Since his grandmother had passed away fifteen years ago, the only females who ever stepped foot in this house were Quint’s mother or sister. Hell freezing over would be more likely to happen than a woman living in Abe’s house. Or so Quint had believed.

      Stunned by this turn of events, Quint stared.

      Tall and slender with hair the color of a black cherry hanging nearly to her waist, she was dressed casually in blue jeans and a green Western shirt with darker green flowers dotting the yokes and cuffs. If her face looked anything like her backside, Quint decided, she was definitely a pretty woman.

      “Uh—excuse me, ma’am.”

      Obviously surprised by the sound of his voice, the woman whirled around to stare at him. Her dark eyes were wide, and her lips parted as she took a halting step in his direction.

      “Oh! I didn’t realize anyone had come in,” she said in a breathy voice. “You gave me a fright.”

      He stepped forward and even though his gaze was focused solely on her, he knew his grandfather wasn’t in the room. He also realized his initial guess had been correct. The woman was pretty—though quietly so. Like a violet hidden beneath a clump of sagebrush, it might take a second look to find the beauty, but it was there.

      “I could say the same about you,” he replied, his eyes sliding over her face. She appeared vaguely familiar. “It’s not every day I walk into my grandfather’s house and find a woman. Who are you, anyway?”

      Her lips, which were full and dusky pink, twisted ever so slightly. “I’m sorry. I urged Abe to warn you about me, but you know that he pretty much does things his own way. He wanted me to be a surprise,” she said with a mixture of amusement and regret. “As to who I am, I thought you might recognize me. But I suppose I’ve been away from Lincoln County too long for you to remember.”

      So his earlier assumption had been right. He had met the woman before. But where? he wondered, as his gaze scanned her dark green eyes, high cheekbones and heart-shaped face. She was definitely easy to look at, he realized, and then his memory kicked in like a startled mule. Hellfire, she was one of the Donovan bunch! A rich, rough and rowdy family that owned a notable horse farm down in the Hondo Valley.

      “I remember now,” he said. “You’re one of the Donovan brood. A nurse. You were at the hospital when my sister had her baby.”

      She inclined her head forward. “That’s right. I’m Maura—second oldest of six siblings. You’ve probably seen us around from time to time.”

      Shrugging, he wondered why her suggestion made him feel like a recluse. “I don’t do much socializing anymore. But I know your brothers and sisters. Bridget is my mother’s doctor.”

      She nodded. “Bridget is very good at her job. And very busy.”

      Folding his arms against his chest, Quint glanced beyond her shoulder to where a pot of something was simmering on the stove. It was filling the whole room with the scent of chicken and spices. Where was Jim, the old bunkhouse cook who usually prepared his grandfather’s meals? And why in the world would a Donovan be here at his grandfather’s ranch?

      “Yesterday, when someone in town told me that a woman was staying on the ranch, I practically called him a liar.” Quint shook his head as he tried to assemble the questions running rampant in it. “I don’t mean to sound meddlesome, but why are you here? And where is Gramps?”

      Her breasts rose and fell as she drew in a deep breath, then blew it out. His questions appeared to make her uncomfortable, which only roused his curiosity even more.

      “Abe is down at the ranch yard visiting with the hands,” she answered. “And I’m here because I live here now. With your grandfather, as his nurse.”

      If she’d whacked Quint’s shins with an ax handle, the shock couldn’t have been any greater. He sputtered. “His nurse!”

      “That’s right,” she said smoothly, then quickly added, “Excuse me, would you? I need to tend to the soup.”

      Dazed by her revelation, Quint watched her turn to the cookstove, where she stirred a bubbling pot with a wooden spoon. Her movements seemed so casual, that he got the feeling she’d been here long enough to feel at home.

      Two weeks had passed since he’d taken the time to drive to Apache Wells, but he’d talked on the phone to his grandfather several times and nothing had been mentioned about a nurse, or any need for one. She’d said that Abe had wanted to surprise him. Well, the old man had done that and more, Quint thought.

      Walking farther into the room, Quint lifted the gray Stetson from his head and raked a hand through his curly hair. He’d had a day that would try a saint, and he wasn’t in the mood for beating around the bush.

      “Okay, is this one of my grandfather’s outlandish jokes? Abe doesn’t need a nurse. He’s as healthy as a horse.”

      “Is that what you think?” she asked politely.

      “Hell, yes!” he blurted out, then stabbed his fingers through his hair again and added in a calmer tone, “I mean of course, I do. Gramps went for a checkup about three weeks ago. The man pronounced Abe as fit as a fiddle. Or is there something I need to know?”

      “I doubt that. Abe says you’re aware of his vertigo problem.”

      Putting down the spoon, she turned to face him and Quint was knocked for a loop all over again. Of the three Donovan sisters, he was least familiar with this one. If his calculations were right, she’d finished high school a few years ahead of him. Which would make her midthirties—though she sure didn’t look five or six years older than his twenty-nine. He recalled hearing, a long time ago, that she’d moved away and married some man from Albuquerque. But from the look of her empty ring finger—Quint told himself he didn’t know why he had looked there first—her marital status had changed along with her residence.

      “I’m aware that he has dizzy spells,” Quint replied. “But the way I understand it, the condition isn’t life-threatening and it only hits him occasionally.”