One Tiny Miracle. Jennifer Greene
As her sister shot questions at her, Maura slowly put the phone back in her handbag.
“It was Abe. He wanted to let me know that we’re going to have company tonight.”
“Is that all? From the look on your face I thought a tornado was about to hit. Who is this company anyway? Someone interesting?”
Maura did her best to wipe all expression from her face. “You might think so. It’s Quint Cantrell. Abe’s grandson.”
“Mmm. I saw him not too long ago in Ruidoso,” Bridget said thoughtfully. “I was pulling into a parking space on the street and he was coming out of the Blue Mesa. I have to admit he looks sexier now than he did when we were in high school.”
Like a jolt of loud, unexpected thunder, jealousy shook Maura. “Then maybe you should join us for dinner,” she quipped. “I’m sure you’d be more than welcome.”
Unaware of her sister’s reaction, Bridget playfully wrinkled her nose. “No thanks, sis. Quint obviously isn’t into redheads with freckles. Actually,” she added in a more serious tone, “I don’t think he’s into women. Period. Not after the wringer Holly put him through.”
For the past few days that was exactly what Maura had been telling herself. The man didn’t want a woman in his life. Yet during that short time she’d spent with him on the Golden Spur, he’d touched her, looked at her as though he’d actually wanted to be close to her. Or had that only been the twisted imaginings of a lonely divorcée?
One way or the other, Maura supposed she would find out tonight. And she wasn’t ready for the answer.
“Maura? Are you all right?”
As Bridget touched her arm, Maura’s thoughts jerked back to the present and she turned a strained look on her sister.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Her gaze shrewdly studying Maura’s face, Bridget shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me. Is something going on with Quint that you haven’t told me about?”
Setting her jaw, Maura quickly turned and started toward the door. “Don’t worry, little sister. If I see that Quint Cantrell is back into women you’ll be the first to know.”
An hour later, when Maura arrived back at Apache Wells, she was surprised to find Quint’s pickup already parked next to Abe’s old Ford. But once she entered the small ranch house, neither he nor Abe was anywhere to be found.
But before she could get to her room to change out of her revealing dress she heard voices on the porch, then footsteps entering the house.
“Maura! Where are you, girl?”
Abe’s yells had her groaning as she turned from her room. Quint would just have to see her like this and she’d have to appear as though she was comfortable with exposing plenty of skin to his sharp gaze.
“Here I am,” she announced as she stepped into the cozy living room.
Abe, who’d been reclining in his favorite leather chair, plopped his boots on the floor and let out a low whistle. Across from him, sitting at one end of a long couch, Quint stared at her. Maura found it much easier to focus her gaze on the elder Cantrell.
“Ooooeee! Don’t you look pretty!” The old man glanced over at Quint. “Look at her, boy. Have you ever seen anything so pretty around here?”
Quint’s shocked stare couldn’t decide if it wanted to settle on Maura or his grandfather. “Grandma wasn’t exactly ugly,” he reminded a grinning Abe.
Abe’s grin turned into an impatient frown for his grandson. “Been many a long year since your grandma was with us. It’s high time we had another pretty woman in the house.”
Across the room, Maura cleared her throat and like a magnet Quint felt his gaze drawn to her slender image outlined by the open doorway. The flowered dress she was wearing made her look all woman and then some. His male ego wanted to think she’d worn the sexy garment for his benefit, but he knew otherwise.
“You should have warned me earlier that Quint would be here for supper,” Maura said to Abe. “I would’ve gotten back sooner. It will take me a while to prepare something and—”
“Forget about cookin’, honey!” Abe interrupted. “I didn’t hire you as kitchen help! Jim has already fixed things. All we have to do is heat it up.”
She looked surprised and Quint got the feeling that his grandfather probably manipulated his nurse as much as he tried to maneuver him. He could only wonder how long Maura would be willing to put up with the old man and what it would do to him when she flew the coop.
Maura said, “Oh. Well, I usually prepare our meals. You—”
“Tonight you’re gettin’ a rest,” Abe interrupted again. “So don’t worry about it.”
A smile fluttered around her lips. “All right.”
Abe motioned for Quint to get to his feet. “Go find us some of that blackberry wine and pour us all a drink, Quint. I feel like celebrating tonight.”
Quint rose from the couch and ambled toward the doorway where Maura still stood. “What do you have to be celebrating?” he asked his grandfather.
“Bein’ alive. Ain’t that enough?”
Quint exchanged a pointed look with Maura and this time when she smiled the expression was genuine.
“I’ll help you find some glasses,” she told him.
He followed her down a short hallway and into the small kitchen. Along the way, he caught the rosy scent of her perfume as his eyes watched the folds of her dress move to the sway of her shapely hips.
Lord, it was no wonder Abe was behaving in such a goofy manner, Quint thought. Just looking at this woman was enough to send a man’s temperature skyrocketing.
“I think the wine is over there,” she said while pointing to a white metal cabinet situated at the far end of the room. “If you’ll look for it, I’ll find the wineglasses.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Quint tore his eyes off her backside and headed to the cabinet. “Gramps hardly ever drinks spirits. I don’t know what’s come over him—he’s acting strangely happy,” he mumbled as he pushed aside cans and jars on the jammed pantry shelf. “Is it okay for him to drink this stuff, anyway?”
He pulled out the bottle of blackberry wine and walked over to the cabinet where she was placing goblets on a silver tray.
“A small amount won’t hurt,” she said, then slanted a glance at him. “And why do you call Abe being happy strange? I’d think him being happy is a good thing.”
It would be a good thing, Quint thought, if his grandfather’s joy didn’t depend on a woman. He’d learned through the years that they were fickle creatures and more often than not slanted the truth to their own advantage. Before their breakup, he’d caught Holly in several lies, yet she’d insisted she’d kept the truth from him because she’d loved him. He’d heard the same excuse from his own mother when he’d discovered she’d been dishonest about her past. Women never separated right and wrong with a clear line. They always wanted to soften and blur the edges with emotions and reasons. As though that would keep a man from feeling hurt and betrayed.
“I just don’t want his bubble burst.”
After twisting off the cap, he offered the wine bottle to her. She took it and carefully began to fill each glass with a small amount of the dark liquid. Quint’s gaze fell to the shiny crown of her head and the dark red strands of hair lying on her bare shoulders.
“You think I’m going