The Mighty Quinns: Callum. Kate Hoffmann
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it back, then David would have to acknowledge her as his daughter.
She’d completed her research in six months and was armed with a list of leads, all of which led her to Australia and the descendants of Crevan Quinn. One didn’t possess a jewel like that without either selling it or passing it down as an heirloom. And since an emerald that size would have caused some notice had it been sold, it was probably still in the Quinn’s possession.
“Can you hold these?”
Gemma brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, startled back to reality by the stranger’s voice. He handed her the nuts. “That was quick. I don’t think I’d ever have been able to get those off on my own. I—I hope I’m not keeping you from anything,” she said.
“Nothing important.” He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans, then walked to the tailgate to retrieve the spare. “You should get the tire repaired straight away. You don’t want to get stranded out here again without a spare.” He shoved the spare onto the bolts and she handed him the nuts, one by one.
“Good advice,” she murmured.
“You’re from Ireland.” He looked at her again, this time with a rather odd expression. “Are you here for a visit?”
It was the closest they’d come to a two-sided conversation and Gemma jumped at the chance. She was known to be quite charming, with a ready wit. But she hadn’t had a chance to prove herself with this man. “I am. I’m staying out at Kerry Creek Station. Do you know it?”
She saw his shoulders stiffen. “Is that where you’re headed now?”
She nodded. “And you? Do you live out here or in town?”
He pointed off toward the west. “Right out there, beyond the black stump. In the back of nowhere.”
Well, if she wanted to find him, it wasn’t going to be easy with those directions. Was the black stump a local landmark, or just another Aussie saying? For such a gorgeous man, he was impossible to flirt with.
Gemma stared down at his back as he let the car down with the jack, fascinated by the way his dark hair curled around his collar and his muscles flexed beneath the fabric of his shirt. Her fingers twitched as she fought the urge to touch him again. She held her breath in an effort to focus her mind.
When he’d finished, he bolted the flat to the rack on the tailgate and tossed the jack inside. “There you go,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Good as new. Or almost.”
“You must let me pay you,” Gemma insisted. “Or let me treat you to lunch. There’s a lovely coffee shop in town. They make the best meat pies.”
“No, thank you,” he said. “I’m happy to oblige, miss.” He hesitated and she was certain he was about to change his mind, but then he moved toward his truck. “G’day, miss. Drive safe.” He gave her a quick tip of his hat and walked away. She watched as he hopped inside, then slowly backed the truck out of the gully and onto the road. As he drove off toward town, Gemma stared after him.
She pressed her hand to her chest, her heart beating furiously beneath her fingertips. “Idiot,” she muttered. She’d made a botch of that. All the other men she’d met here in Australia had seemed to like her. He was probably involved, or married. Or not attracted to her in the least. Maybe Australian men didn’t fancy pale Irish girls with red hair and small breasts.
Besides, not all white knights were supposed to fall in love with their damsels in distress. It was a historical fact. Once she got back to Dublin, she’d research it thoroughly and write a paper. Gemma smiled to herself. Whenever she found herself faced with a dilemma, it always helped to put it in historical context.
“I SAID I WAS SORRY.”
Cal stared at the toes of his boots as his brother apologized. Though he knew he ought to kick Brody’s arse for his behavior, he was tired of being his brother’s keeper. If Brody wanted to stuff up his life, then that was his choice. Cal was much more interested in thinking about the woman he’d met on the road.
Gemma Moynihan. When Mary had mentioned her, he’d assumed the genealogist would be older, a granny sort with gray hair and glasses. Instead, she was stunningly beautiful, with flawless skin and a riot of auburn hair that fell in waves around her face. Though she looked quite young, Cal guessed she was probably about his age, give or take a few years on either side.
From the moment he heard her speak, in that lilting Irish accent, Cal had wondered if she was the one. And when he learned her name, he thought of introducing himself right then and there. But she’d already left him tongue-tied and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself right off. He needed time to gather his wits about him.
It had taken him the entire ride into town to calm his racing pulse and consider what their encounter had meant. Though he’d maintained his calm while speaking to her, it had taken a tremendous effort not to stare at her, to analyze her every word and to fantasize about what she’d look like naked.
He rubbed his hands together, remembering the feel of her silken skin beneath his fingertips. Would he have another chance with her? Or would things change when she found out who he really was? Suddenly, he wanted to get out of Bilbarra and return to the station to find out.
“You’re turning into a fair wanker, you are,” Cal muttered. “You could find something better to do with yourself. Like lending a hand on the station. We could use your help mustering now that Teague’s practice is starting to take off. He’s been taking calls almost every day. And when he’s home, he spends his time doing paperwork.”
“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do,” Brody replied. “But it bloody well doesn’t include stockman’s work. Now, can I have my keys? I’ve got some place to go.”
Cal reached in his jacket pocket for the spare key to his brother’s Land Rover. “Buddy doesn’t want you back at the Spotted Dog. You’re going to have to find yourself another place to get pissed. Or you could give up the coldies. It would save you some money.” Cal patted his brother on the shoulder. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you wanted them to. Sometimes life is just crap. But you pick yourself up and you get on with it. And you stop being such a dickhead.”
Brody gave his brother a shove, then stood up. “Give it a rest. If I needed a mother, I’d move back to Sydney and live with the one I already have.”
Brody snatched his keys from Cal’s hand, then jogged down the front steps and out into the dusty street. “I’ll catch you later.”
Cal watched him stride toward the Spotted Dog. He heard the screen door of the police station creak and Angus Embley, the town police chief, stepped outside.
“How much trouble did he make?” Cal asked.
“Nothing too serious. Just a broken mirror.”
“Well, if he can’t drink at the Spotted Dog, he’s going to have to drive halfway to Brisbane to find another pub.”
“Give the boy a break, Cal,” Angus said. “It’s got to be an adjustment coming back here after all that time away.”
Cal slowly stood and adjusted the brim of his hat. “Thanks for taking him in, Angus. I don’t like the thought of him driving back to the station when he’s pissed. It’s good to know he has a place to sleep it off.”
“No worries,” Angus said with a nod.
Cal walked back to his ute and jumped inside. Though he had Mary’s grocery list in his pocket and orders to stop for the mail and her library books, he was tempted to head right back to Kerry Creek.
It felt odd to be preoccupied with thoughts of a woman. Running a successful cattle station usually consumed all his attention. But there were times when Cal worried needlessly over business because there was nothing else in his life to think about. The genealogist was worth additional consideration.
He steered the ute towards the post office. Many