Lone Star Dad. Линда Гуднайт
should think about finding a good woman for yourself.”
A pair of angry green eyes flashed through his head. Irritated, he said, “Don’t want one.”
“Who are you kidding? You love women. And they love you.”
“That was a long time ago. I’m not that guy anymore.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” Brady said quietly. “Mom said you had a run-in with the new nurse practitioner. What happened?”
“Long story. She’s got this kid. Pain in the neck. I caught the little twerp hunting on my property. And there’s this cat.”
“You have a cat?”
He scowled. “No, I don’t have a cat. I don’t like cats. But a pregnant mama had kittens in my well house a couple of weeks ago. What was I supposed to do? Toss them in the river?”
“What does this have to do with Gena Satterfield?”
“Nothing.” He ran an irritated hand through his hair. “Like I said, she’s got this kid. He’s infatuated with the kittens.”
“Didn’t you date her sister? Renae, wasn’t it?”
Quinn huffed. “Yeah.”
“I wonder where she is now.”
“A rhetorical question, I hope. I certainly don’t know.” But he’d wondered plenty of times.
Bothered, he crossed to the coffeemaker. One of the twins, Sawyer probably, had arrived early and filled the Bunn maker to capacity. Buchanons imbibed massive amounts of coffee.
Talk of Gena or Derrick or, heaven forbid, Renae, set his nerves on edge.
“Her kid’s named Derrick.” He didn’t know why he’d said that. Maybe because he’d been thinking about the Satterfields too much. Gena had a son but there was no man in her life. He’d figured that much out. He’d asked around. Carefully. Subtly. A man needed to know who his neighbors were, especially when they trespassed with regularity.
And yeah, he was curious about her and the guy she’d loved enough to have a son with. A jerk, apparently. Maybe his absence was the reason Derrick was so angry.
“Whose kid?” Brady asked. “Renae’s?”
“No, meathead, Gena’s.” He poured two cups and handed one to Brady.
“You didn’t date her, too, did you?”
Quinn barked a rusty laugh. “No.”
“I had an appointment with Dr. Ramos last week, routine stuff, and ran into Gena in the hallway.” Brady lifted an eyebrow. “Nice. Pretty, too.”
Yeah, he’d noticed. Maybe not the nice part but the pretty for certain.
He pretended to study the steam rising from his mug. “Want me to tell Abby about your sudden interest in the new nurse practitioner?”
“I’m talking about you, dunce cap.” Brady shook his head in dismay. “From what I hear, she’s still single, and obviously she’s smart and successful. Plus, she lives close enough for the two of you to get acquainted.”
Quinn offered a scowl. “I don’t like people in my space.”
“Suit yourself, bro.” Brady lifted a hand in dismissal.
“She doesn’t like me.”
Brady dropped his hand and frowned. “No vibes?”
“None.” At least not from her direction. His vibes had done a few calisthenics. Maybe a couple of wind sprints.
“The old Buchanon charm didn’t work?”
His charm had been in his right arm. Women didn’t care about the real Quinn. They cared about the prestige of being seen with the nation’s top college quarterback, destined for the big time and lots of money, not about a damaged man who struggled to get through every day and night without falling down the rabbit hole. Even now, his arm ached and he wished for the bottle of painkillers waiting on the counter at the cabin.
“Are you going to work today or harass me about my single status?”
“Both.” Brady plunked the half-empty mug on the long counter that ran behind Quinn’s desk. “I need some minor tweaks to the Robinson house.”
“Figures. Let me pull those up.” He rotated his computer screen and typed in the project name. “The mama was gone this morning.”
“Our mama? Where did she go? I thought she was helping Charity fluff the resale house on Hannah Street.”
Quinn poked his brother’s arm with the side of his fist. “Not our mama. The mama cat. She wasn’t there last night, either.”
“Kittens still there?”
“She didn’t move them, if that’s what you’re thinking. She’s gone. The kittens aren’t.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” Brady pinched his upper lip. “You’ve got coyotes out your way. What are you going to do if she doesn’t return?”
Quinn squeezed his aching biceps. If it wasn’t one problem, it was another.
“I have no idea.”
* * *
When he arrived home that evening, the sun was low in the west and shadowy tree fingers gripped the shed. He hoped the mother cat had returned. He’d even stopped at the IGA and picked up a few cans of cat food for her. Not that he wanted her sticking around once the kittens were old enough to travel, but she needed her strength to see them to adolescence.
He dumped the bag of groceries on the counter along with a foil-wrapped casserole his mother had brought to the office. He glanced at the bottle of painkillers sitting harmlessly next to the sugar bowl. He picked them up and read the warning label for the thousandth time.
“‘May be habit-forming.’” He spat a cheerless laugh. “No kidding.”
The crawly craving started up. Just one more. Just one extra pill and his arm would stop aching and he wouldn’t have to think so much about all he’d lost. His mind would slide away into that peaceful place where nothing hurt, not even his soul, and...
He slammed the plastic container onto the counter and, heart pounding, jogged out into the cold, across the yard and to the shed.
Derrick was already there. He held a baby kitten in each hand.
Quinn’s heart sunk lower than the setting sun. The mama was nowhere in sight. Four babies writhed and cried as if they hadn’t eaten all day.
“Something’s wrong with them,” Derrick said, his usually sullen face creased in worry.
“The mama wasn’t here this morning.”
“I know.”
Quinn shot him a quick look. “Last night, either.”
“I didn’t think she’d run off like that.”
“Something must have happened to her. She wouldn’t leave them on purpose. She’s a good mama. Like yours.”
Derrick’s expression turned belligerent. “What would you know about it?”
“Not a thing.” He didn’t know why he wanted to butt into the shaky relationship between Derrick and Gena. They were not his problem. These cats were. Sort of.
Quinn hunkered down beside the box and lifted one of the kittens, a solid white puffball. Her mouth opened in a display of pointed teeth, pink gums and desperation. She wailed, loud and strong.
Awkwardly, he stroked her head and back. “Shh. Don’t cry, little one. Shh.”
“You really think the mama’s