Kitabı oku: «One Tiny Miracle»

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.”

“If a spell of vertigo caused him to suffer a bad fall, it could be life-threatening.”

“Sorry, Ms. Donovan, but I could suffer a fall walking across the backyard. Any of us could.”

“The likelihood of that happening skyrockets when a person’s head is spinning.”

Quint couldn’t argue that point. He’d been with his grandfather when one of these spells hit him and the old man had been unable to walk without someone to assist him.

“So? I’d rather see him die than to chain him to a chair. And you can’t go around holding onto his arm all day. In fact, I doubt you could keep up with him,” Quint added.

She sighed. “Abe isn’t a young man anymore, you know.”

Quint bristled. He didn’t want anyone insinuating that Abe was getting old and decrepit. He wasn’t. And Quint refused to let anyone make him believe otherwise.

“Eighty-four may sound old to you,” Quint said to her, “but trust me, Gramps has the mind and the body of a man twenty years younger.”

“I agree with that.”

His expression turned incredulous. “If you know that, then what the hell are you doing here?”

She walked forward and leaned a hip against the edge of a chrome-and-Formica dining table. Quint couldn’t help but notice the sensual curve of her breasts and waist, the way her dark red hair waved against her pale cheek. He didn’t recall Maura Donovan as being so sexy. But back before she’d left the area, he’d only had eyes for Holly. Lovely, fickle Holly.

“Are you angry because I’m living here?” she asked.

Was he? The question jarred him almost as much as the sight of her. No. He wasn’t angry. He was confused, shaken and a bit hurt that Abe hadn’t seen fit to consult him about hiring Maura Donovan. But then, his grandfather had always been a maverick. The only person he’d ever answered to was his late wife, Jenna. There was no reason for Quint to think Abe needed or wanted his grandson’s opinion.

“I’m not angry. I’m confused. Abe isn’t sick. And there’s no way you can protect him from a dizzy spell. So why did he hire you?”

A faint smile tilted the corners of her lips and it suddenly dawned on Quint that it was the first semblance of warmth he’d seen on her face since he’d walked into the room. The subtle expression softened her features and he found himself looking at things about her that had nothing to do with anything. Like her skin that was all smooth and pink and pearly.

Hell, what had she done to Abe? he wondered. Batted her long lashes at him and smiled? He could see how a young man would succumb to this woman’s charms. Quint was feeling the effects of her presence himself. But Abe? Sure, his grandfather was still a man, but he’d always been so crazy in love with his late wife that he’d never looked twice at another woman. But maybe she did something to change that, Quint thought.

“Your grandfather suffers from benign paroxysmal positional vertigo. When it happens I can help him with the exercises and head maneuvers he needs to do in order to get over it. And see that he takes his medication, whenever it’s needed. Having a nurse close by makes him feel safe and cared for. Surely you wouldn’t want to deny the man that much?”

Shaking his head with resignation, Quint pulled out one of the dining chairs and flopped down on the seat. He’d been building fences all day. Sweat and dirt stained his shirt and jeans and he was tired enough to sleep for a week. He wasn’t in any shape to argue with Maura Donovan. And maybe he shouldn’t be arguing, he thought wearily. Maybe he should just thank his lucky stars that Abe was being looked after on a daily basis.

“I didn’t realize nurses also cooked for their patients,” he said, his gaze straying to the simmering pot on the stove, then back to her.

He watched faint color warm her cheeks and then his gaze dropped to her lips. She didn’t appear to wear lipstick. But then, she didn’t need to. Her lips were already dark and moist and the idea of biting into them, kissing them, flashed through his mind, shocking him with the totally erotic thought.

“I understand that before I came Jim did all the cooking around here, but I offered to take over because—” Pausing, she wrinkled her nose. “Well, neither man was eating a healthy diet. Red meat and potatoes was about all I could find around here.”

“That’s what Gramps likes,” Quint said automatically while he pushed his mind to more pertinent issues. How long was she planning on staying here and was she thinking to get more out of his grandfather than just nurse’s wages? The Donovans were wealthy people. If Maura never worked a day in her life, she could still live in luxury. So why would she want to hide herself away here on Apache Wells? Abe’s ranch was remote, with the nearest neighbor—an old woman everyone called Crazy Gertie—fifteen miles away. Gertie was someone who’d been known to take potshots at anyone who decided to come near the shack she lived in. As for his grandfather, Abe could be charming whenever he chose to be, but for the most part he was set in his ways and didn’t hesitate to speak his mind. A young, beautiful woman like Maura wouldn’t deliberately choose to spend her days like this unless there was something in it for her, would she?

The questions were really none of Quint’s business and probably totally out of line. But damn it, Abe was his grandfather! Someone had to look out for the old man’s security. Two years ago his sister had married a Texas Ranger and moved to his ranch near San Antonio. A month ago, Alexa had given birth to daughter Jessica. Add her to the couple’s toddler son, J.D., and his sister’s life was consumed with caring for her own family. That left only Quint and his mother, Frankie, to keep an eye on their aging relative.

“What we like and what’s good for us aren’t always the same, Mr. Cantrell.”

Amen to that, he thought drily. “My grandfather never was one to follow rules—good or bad.”

And Maura figured the man sitting at the small dining table wasn’t much of a rule follower, either. He’d said he wasn’t angry about her being here, yet she could see doubts and questions unfolding like a picture show across his rough-hewn face.

Well, she couldn’t blame the man. She’d had her own doubts about taking this job. But Abe had been persistent. He’d also come along with the proposition at just the right time. She’d loved her job at Sierra General Hospital. Helping ailing patients get back on their feet was something she’d always wanted and needed to do since she’d become a nurse nearly fourteen years ago. But recently Dr. Weston’s uninvited pursuit of her had turned the job she’d once cherished into a walking nightmare. On the whole he was a nice man and an excellent doctor, but he’d refused to believe she didn’t want to see him romantically. His attention hadn’t quite crossed over to harassment, but it was making her a bit uncomfortable. So she’d spent the past two months running around the hospital trying to dodge the man.

Turning back to the cabinet counter, she began to gather makings for a fresh pot of coffee while she attempted to convince herself that Quint Cantrell wasn’t making her heart beat fast, her mouth go dry. She’d not expected him to look so raw and sexy, so much a man. Even with her back to him, she could easily visualize the rusty-brown color of his hair, the sky-blue of his eyes and the strong, stubborn square of his jaw.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “When Abe approached me a few weeks ago, he was going through tests to find the cause of his vertigo. He told me then that he was afraid of falling and breaking a bone.”

Quint snorted. “What a bunch of bull. Gramps has never been afraid of falling. Why, only a few weeks ago, he rode a green broke horse on roundup. The thing reared up and fell over backward with him. Do you think that scared him? Hell, no. He climbed back on and rode the animal that day and the rest of the week.”

Pausing in the middle of her task, Maura glanced over her shoulder at him and as her eyes settled on his face, some subtle thing fluttered in the pit of her stomach. She’d never been properly introduced to Quint Cantrell, but their families had often traveled in the same circles and she recalled seeing him a few times oh so many years ago. He’d been a handsome young guy then, one that as a teenager, her younger sister Bridget had swooned over. But according to Bridget, he’d never given her the time of day. Instead he’d steadily dated Holly Johnson and everyone in Lincoln and Ortero Counties had believed the two would eventually get married. Maura had never heard 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 his black hat and he always wore the legs of his jeans stuffed deep into his knee-high cowboy boots. This particular pair had lime-green tops with fancy yellow stitching and the leather was as scarred and worn as his grandfather’s face. Tonight he was wearing a brown quilted vest to ward away the chill and the puffy garment camouflaged his wiry torso.

Stroking his thick white mustache, he said to Quint, “So I see you finally managed to come check on your grandfather.”

Not allowing the old man any slack, Quint said, “I had to work at it. But I’m here.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Abe rocked back on his high heels. “Well, it’s about time.” He jerked his head toward the men behind him. “Jim’s makin’ some camp coffee. Come have a cup with us.”

“I just had coffee—with your nurse,” Quint added pointedly.

Abe grinned that goofy sort of grin that men got on their faces when they talked about women. “So you met the little filly, did ya? What’d you think about her?”

If Quint hadn’t been so shocked at his grandfather’s ribald questions, he would have rolled his eyes and cursed a blue streak.

“Forget about that,” he muttered. “What the hell are you doing, Gramps? You’re not sick! You’re using that vertigo problem of yours as an excuse to have her here. Aren’t you?”

“S-s-shh! Don’t be raising your voice so, damn it! She might hear you.”

“She’s in the house—two miles from here,” Quint reasoned.

His head tilting one way and then the other, Abe chuckled. “Well, she thinks I’m needy—and I am. At times. You know, Quint, I always had it in my mind that nurses were hard-hearted women. They sure seem like it when a man is sick. But Maura ain’t. She’s as sweet as a summer peach.”

“Since when did you need a summer peach?” Quint countered.

Abe shrugged. “Well—since I got dizzy.”

Quint snorted. “Looks to me like you’ve gotten more than dizzy.”

“That’s right,” Abe retorted. “I got the notion that I was tired of living alone.”

Shaking his head, Quint looked out at the ranch yard. The dipping sun was lengthening the shadows of the buildings. A pen of horses munched on alfalfa while around their feet several dominickers pecked at the morsels of oats and corn that had fallen from the feed troughs. Apache Wells had always felt more like home to Quint than any of the other Cantrell properties in Lincoln County.

As a young child he’d spent many days and nights here with his grandparents and those memories were more than special to him. His time here had influenced his life. The endless days he’d spent with his grandfather working in and out of the saddle had set Quint’s goals and visions for the future.