One Tiny Miracle: Branded with his Baby / The Baby Bump / An Accidental Family. Jennifer Greene
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what happened with the couple, but she’d heard nasty rumors. But then, Maura knew all too well that most breakups were ugly.
“I’m hardly saying your grandfather is scared,” she said quietly. “I think—well, I think you should ask him yourself why he believes he needs a nurse. As for me, I’m very happy to be here. Abe is—” She broke off with a fond smile. “He’s quite a character, and I’ll be honest, I’ve already fallen a little in love with him.”
His lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval, but Maura told herself she didn’t care what this man was thinking. Let him think what he wanted. Her relationship with Abe was between the old man and her.
“I didn’t think nurses were supposed to become emotionally involved with their patients,” he said.
Turning back to the cabinet counter, she poured water into the coffeemaker, then shoved the carafe in place. “That’s right. But I have a heart in my chest, not a rock. And it has a mind of its own.”
He didn’t make any sort of reply and after a few moments, the air in the kitchen felt so tense that she had to turn and face him. Yet the sardonic expression she expected to see wasn’t there. Instead, she was jolted by his sober blue gaze honing in on her like a microscope.
“Abe tells me that you’ve been developing more of your family land,” she said as casually as she could.
“Gramps purchased the property over near Capitan more than twenty years ago and since then has done little with it. For some reason, he thinks I can make something out of the place.”
He didn’t go on to tell her that the property was the only Cantrell land that belonged solely to Quint. Along with that, it possessed some of the finest grazing land in southern New Mexico. Unlike the other two family ranches, the Golden Spur, named after the old gold mine on the property, was being built with Quint’s own two hands and from his own ideas and dreams. And that made it all very special to him.
“I heard about your father dying—what was it—two years ago?”
His gaze turned uncomfortably away from her. “Over two years now.”
“I was very sorry to hear about Lewis’s passing. I met him a couple of times. He was a warm, perfect gentleman.”
She saw him swallow and realized that the hurt of losing his father was still a raw wound in him. The vulnerable side of the man touched Maura in a way she’d not expected. She would have liked to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but to do such a thing would only rouse his suspicions of her. And he did have suspicions, she thought wryly. She’d spotted them in his eyes the moment she’d told him she was living with Abe.
“Yeah. Everyone liked Dad.”
Clearing her throat, she replied, “So who’s managing the Chaparral now? Obviously, not you.”
“Laramie Jones. But I still keep a hand in things there. That’s where Mom still makes her home.” Eventually, the Chaparral would go to his sister Alexa, and Apache Wells would be split equally between the two siblings. As of now, it was Quint’s job to keep an eye on both properties. Not an easy task for Quint, especially since he had his own place to deal with, too. But ranching was his life and he considered the extra work a labor of love.
“I see.”
Behind her the coffeemaker gurgled its last drop. Maura walked to the end of the cabinet where the cups were located. “Would you like coffee?” she asked.
“Sure. Thanks.”
She gathered up two cups and proceeded to fill both of them. After she’d carried them over to the table and took a seat across from him, she reached for a small pitcher of cream.
As he stirred sugar into his own cup, he said, “This may sound insensitive, but I thought you were married.”
Maura tried not to cringe. Being divorced wasn’t like she’d committed some sort of shameful crime, but for some reason it bothered her to think this man might be viewing her as a failure. Especially at being a wife, a woman, a lover.
“I was married for five years,” she replied. “But it ended more than a year ago. That’s when I moved back to Lincoln County.”
“Oh.”
She pushed a hand through her hair and the thought suddenly struck her that her face was bare of makeup, her hair mussed. But her appearance hardly mattered. This man was at least six years younger. He’d never look at her in a romantic way. Which was more than okay with her. She wasn’t ready to tangle herself up in any sort of emotional commitment again. And if she did ever get ready, she would hardly take her chances on a young man who was still in his twenties and apparently not looking to settle down.
“No children?” he asked.
Gripping her cup, she tried to push away the empty ache that always seemed to be lingering near her heart. “No. My ex-husband’s job required him to travel all the time. I kept waiting for that to change. It didn’t.”
She could feel his blue eyes upon her, but she didn’t have the courage to lift her gaze to his. “What about you, Mr. Cantrell? You’ve not married yet?”
He took his time sipping his coffee and as tense moments begin to tick away, Maura decided he was going to ignore her question entirely. Which was embarrassing. Especially since she’d talked about her personal life.
“No,” he said finally. “I haven’t been looking for a wife. Can’t see that I need one.”
And why would he? she asked herself. The man had everything. Cattle, horses, thousands of acres of prime ranch land at his disposal, anything that money could buy. And that probably included women; the sort that he could take or leave at his convenience. A young hunk like him probably didn’t want to be saddled with a wife.
“And I wish you wouldn’t call me Mr. Cantrell,” he went on. “That was my father’s name. I’m just Quint to everyone.”
Calling him Mr. Cantrell helped keep him at an emotional distance. But it looked as though he meant to tear down even that flimsy barrier. Feeling even tenser, she drained her cup and rose to her feet. “Okay, Quint. Will you be staying for supper? There’ll be plenty.”
He got to his feet and Maura unconsciously stepped backward to put plenty of space between them. He was a big man. In size and presence. Strength and masculinity were stamped all over his rough features, broad shoulders and long, hard legs. Just being near him left her feeling cornered.
“I don’t know yet. Right now I’m going to go find my grandfather.” He placed his cup in the sink, then went out the back door, the screen banging behind him.
Maura stared after him and wondered why meeting Quint Cantrell had felt like going through an earthquake. Even her hands were still shaking.
Because Jenna Cantrell had wanted the dust and commotion of a ranch yard well away from her home, Abe had built the working part of Apache Wells two miles west of the house. Normally, he and Quint drove the distance, but there were times they chose to walk to the bunkhouse and work pens.
Down through the years, the outbuildings and barns had been built with no particular style or planning in mind, except durability and practical use. Some were made of wood, some corrugated iron, but one thing the buildings did have in common was their whitewashed walls and red tin roofs.
To one side of the network of buildings and connecting holding pens was a long arena where the hands gathered to train their horses to follow and cut cattle, and in quieter times, swap stories around a small campfire.
This late summer evening just happened to be cool enough to appreciate the warmth of a fire and, after Quint parked his truck, he found his grandfather with several of his hired hands squatting around the ring of rocks. The moment Abe spotted his approach, he left the circle of men and walked over to his grandson.
The older man was the same height as Quint and bony thin. He never went outdoors without