Lone Star Dad

The tuxedo face glared up at him as her body heaved. Two damp babies, half-naked, lay on the towels. More, apparently, were to come.

He set the milk down on the floor. “Guess you’re not interested in this right now.”

A third kitten slipped onto the towels. The first two had begun to squirm and make small mewing noises, their eyes tight and faces squinched. The mother gave each a nudge and then went back to tending the newest in her brood.

“Cool. She’s having kittens.”

At the unexpected voice, Quinn startled and bumped his head on the low doorway as he backed out of the shed. As soon as he saw the speaker, he frowned his meanest scowl.

“What are you doing over here? I told you—”

“I don’t have to do what you say. Her, either.” Derrick shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of a blue unzipped parka. Beneath, he wore a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his forehead. He looked like an inner-city gangster, which was probably his intent.

“I could call the sheriff and have you charged with trespassing.”

The threat had no effect on the dark-haired boy. “I know who you are.”

Quinn tensed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Some hotshot quarterback who got himself shot and ruined his chances at the NFL.”

The cold morning air chilled Quinn’s breath and set the pain into motion. He squeezed his upper arm. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Dude.” Derrick slouched his shoulders and gave off his best you’re-so-stupid attitude. “Don’t you know about the internet?”

“You looked me up?”

“So? I was bored.”

“You got a smart mouth, you know that?”

“I hate this place. She never should have brought me here.”

“Why did she?”

The kid went silent, his mouth broody.

Trouble. Derrick must have been in trouble. “Where did you live before?”

“Houston. It’s way better than this...” pale blue eyes gazed around at the vast woods and emptiness “...this squirrel-infested backwoods dump.”

Quinn arched an eyebrow, shooting back as much venom as Derrick had aimed at him. “Afraid of the woods? Scared of the dark? Nervous when a coyote howls?”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

No, he was terrified. Of life, of the new, unfamiliar environment, of looking soft. So many fears swam around in the kid’s head it was a wonder his ears didn’t flood. Quinn suffered an unwanted twinge of compassion. “We’re all scared of something.”

Derrick huddled deeper inside his hoodie. His ears and nose were red, his breath gray.

“Does she know you’re over here?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you should go home. Get off my land and quit giving her such a hard time.”

From inside the shed came a chorus of plaintive mews. Derrick straightened, his attention riveted on the dim interior. “She had another one.”

“You like cats?”

“Not much.”

“Me, either.”

“Look at ’em.” Derrick leaned inside. “They’re so little.”

Quinn sighed. “Yeah.”

“It’s cold out here.”

He wasn’t asking the kid inside. No way. He didn’t want people here. No one. Certainly not seventy-five pounds of trouble. “Get in the truck. I’ll drive you home.”

“Nah. I can walk. Nothing else to do out here.” But he made no motion to leave. With his eyes still on the kittens, he kicked his toe against the side of the shed. Ice chipped off. “Were you as good as they say you were?”

Quinn snorted and avoided the kid’s probing gaze. “Too long ago to remember.”

“A guy doesn’t forget stuff like that.”

He was right about that. Some things hurt forever. “Doesn’t matter now. I got work to do. Go home.”

Quinn spun away from the shed, the cats, the kid and the memories and stomped back to the house, ice cracking underfoot. His boots sounded like thunder on the hollow porch.

To his relief, Derrick didn’t follow. He didn’t even turn around. Instead he stepped inside the shed and shut the door.

Quinn blew out a hard sigh. The kid needed to learn two things: obedience and respect.

He went inside the house, warm now that the logs had caught and burned brightly, and tried to remember where he’d put his phone. After a five-minute search, he found it, battery dead, under a stack of blueprints. Most of the time, he left it turned off. Service was spotty anyway. If he wanted to speak to someone, he’d call them—a rare event.

The practice drove his family crazy.

He plugged in the charger and called Information for Gena Satterfield’s number and wasn’t surprised to discover she had a landline. Cell phones worked when they wanted to and in her profession, effective communication was probably requisite.

He punched in the number, and when she answered in her smooth-as-silk, professional voice, he ignored the quiver in his belly to say, “Derrick’s at my house again. Come get him before I call the sheriff.”

* * *

Gena fumed all the way down the twisty, bumpy trail that passed for sections of road between her house and the old hunting cabin on the river. She couldn’t decide who irritated her most, Derrick or Quinn.

Derrick had been curled up under his covers when she’d looked in earlier. At least, she’d thought he had been. She’d let him sleep late this Sunday morning, not in the mood to fight with him about going to church. She didn’t like to miss services but she had paperwork and dictation to catch up on anyway. The Lord knew and understood her schedule. She couldn’t always attend services, but she never forgot her faith.

At the corner, she slowed the red SUV and tried to remember exactly how to access the cabin. She hadn’t been there since the last time she and Renae had spent the summer with Nana and Papa. She and her sister had been into photography that summer. Somewhere she still had the pictures they’d taken, including shots of the abandoned hunter’s cabin. She couldn’t imagine anyone living in the ramshackle structure, but Quinn came from a construction family. He could fix whatever was broken.

This morning was a photographer’s dream, and a desire to revisit the old hobby curled upward in her thoughts. Though the roads were mostly clear and the puddles of ice easily cracked beneath her wheels, the grass and trees sparkled in the sun like diamonds. By midmorning, the beauty would be melted away.

She drove toward the river, invisible from here because of the thick trees, and spotted chimney smoke. In minutes, she funneled through a tunnel of trees that parted like the Red Sea in front of the cabin. The house didn’t look much better than it had when she was a teenager.

She slammed out of the now-dirty red Xterra and, careful on the ice-encrusted grass, made her way to Quinn’s door. He opened it before she could pound her fist on the wall in frustration.

Her breath caught. He looked tired or maybe ill, his hazel-green eyes circled with fatigue and his mouth pinched with lines of something that to her expert observation appeared to be pain. But he still took a woman’s breath. A foolish woman.

“Are you all right?” Her profession kicked in even when she didn’t want it to.

He blinked, clearly surprised at the question. “Why?”

This wasn’t her business. “Never mind. Where’s Derrick?”

Quinn motioned toward a small unpainted building to the left of the house.

“You locked him in a shed?” she asked, horrified.

Quinn snorted. His eyes, so tired before, lit with wry amusement. “I didn’t think of that or I would have. Maybe you should try it.”

He was joking. He had to be. “What’s he doing out there?”

“Go see for yourself.” He slammed the door in her face.

Gena stared at the peeling front door. The friendly, smiling young Quinn who could charm the spots off a leopard was now a snarly, moody recluse.

“Well, fine.”

She straightened her shoulders and started across the leaf-covered patch of yard. It was better this way. The less she saw of Quinn, the safer her secret. She refused to let him upset her. She wasn’t the shy, aching teenager anymore who thought he’d hung the moon.

The cabin door opened behind her. Gena heard footsteps. She tensed and glanced over one shoulder. Quinn was coming her way, shrugging into a coat.

“I’ll get him and go,” she said. “No need to come out.”

Quinn kept right on walking. Sun shot gold through his hair and haloed his head, though he’d never been choir boy material. An amicable guy, but hardly perfect. Except in the looks department. He was still broad shouldered and built like an inverted wedge, a man women noticed. Time might have changed his personality but not his good looks and charisma.

Gena jerked her attention away. No matter how pretty he was, pretty is as pretty does.

She grabbed the wobbly shed handle and yanked, relieved when it didn’t fall off in her hand. Derrick was so grounded.

“Derrick, get in the...” At the sight before her, the words died in her throat unspoken. Her cranky, surly nephew who didn’t seem to care about anything at all these days sat cross-legged on the bare floor while a mother cat licked milk from his fingertips. Nestled around the black-and-white cat was a wad of brand-new baby kittens.

Derrick raised a rapt face. “She had babies. I watched.”

Gena went to her haunches. “How many?”

“Four. She’s really tired now.” He sounded vulnerable and sweet like the loving little boy he’d once been.

“I expect so.” She stroked a finger across the mother cat’s head. The animal seemed friendly. The big surprise to her was that Quinn Buchanon would own a cat. An attack-trained Rottweiler, yes. But a cat?

She looked up at the bewildering man standing inside the door. Had she misjudged him?

He was watching her. Not Derrick or the cats but her. For ten seconds their eyes held. Gena suffered a dozen conflicting emotions—completely unwanted attraction and a desire to know the man behind the haggard face and bent, scarred arm. Remembrance of who he’d once been, of what he’d done. Fear that he would learn the truth and hurt Derrick more. The last thought tugged her focus back to the boy.

“We should go. I have work to catch up on and you have homework for tomorrow.”

The sweet expression disappeared so fast she thought she’d imagined it. “I hate school.”

Big news. He said those same words every day. “Derrick...”

Quinn squatted beside her; the scent of wood smoke and cold air circled around him. To Derrick he said, his voice almost gentle, “Don’t worry about the kittens. They’ll be okay.”

Derrick’s pale eyes flashed to Quinn. He tried to appear nonchalant but Gena saw what she’d missed, what Quinn had seen. The boy had always had a soft spot for animals, but she’d thought it had disappeared along with the rest of his sweet nature.

“The mother knows what to do,” she said. “She’ll care for them.”

“But they can’t see. Their eyes are glued shut. What if they get too far away from her?”

“She’ll bring them back.” To prove the point, Quinn reached into the box and gently lifted a tiny kitten by the scruff, moving it slightly away from the mama. It mewed. Instantly, the mother cat rose to bring the kitten back with the others and gave it a rough-tongued lick for good measure.

“Oh.” Derrick swiped a sleeve over his nose and sniffed. “Dumb cats.”

Gena felt a smile coming on. Without intending to, she glanced at Quinn and saw his eyes spark, too.

Suddenly afraid, she scrambled to her feet. “Let’s go. We promised Mr. Buchanon to stay away from here.”

“You promised. I didn’t.”

The mulish attitude was back.

“You don’t get a say in this, kid. I’m the boss around here.” Quinn’s voice was casual but made of steel as he rose to his full and impressive height. What was he? Like six-five or something?

“But if you behave yourself, you can come back another time to see the kittens. And I won’t call the sheriff.”

Derrick’s shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. “Yeah?”

“No!” Gena shoved the shed door open, pulse thrumming. The bare wood slammed against the wall, ripping the gray morning.

Derrick was giving her heart trouble. At this rate, she’d be in cardiac arrest before her next birthday. “You can’t come here again. I’ve already told you that, but if you don’t argue, I’ll ground you from the computer for only two days.”

“That’s stupid,” he groused, but exited the well house and stomped across the frozen ground toward the SUV.

Gena sighed, aware that she’d won one battle but lost another. Derrick seemed to slip further away all the time. No matter what she did, he resented it.

Quinn came up beside her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t trust herself to look into his weary face and feel things that weren’t allowed. He was the enemy of all she held dear, and she’d do well to remember it.

“Has he always been this belligerent?”

“No.” Gena stared at the frozen ground, saw the gleam of ice that would soon melt away. If only problems would do the same. “He used to be the sweetest boy, the happy, cuddly kid who adored me.”

Back when she hadn’t been the boss. Back when Renae— She shut the door on the useless thought. She’d chosen this life for Renae’s sake, and she refused to regret the decision.

Without another word or glance, she strode to the SUV and drove away. Derrick simply could not come back to this place. Ever.

Chapter Three

Two weeks passed, but Quinn knew he hadn’t seen the last of the troublesome neighbors. There was daily evidence that Derrick had snuck into the well house to see the kittens. He figured Gena didn’t know. Otherwise, why the secrecy?

This morning an opened but uneaten can of tuna was stashed in one dark corner of the shed. He’d smelled it the minute he’d opened the door.

Now at work inside the offices of Buchanon Construction, Quinn frowned at the sets of blueprints on his desk. His office was in the back of the warehouse, a quieter space than the front desks ruled by two of his sisters. Here he could work in peace and hang out with the coffeemaker. And wonder about his unexpected neighbors.

He refused to worry that the mother cat hadn’t been in the shed this morning. Or last night, for that matter. She came and went as she pleased. They weren’t his cats. He didn’t like cats.

But he wasn’t an ogre, either, contrary to popular opinion. He’d put a heating pad under the babies, turned to low like the internet said, to keep them warm. While he cleaned out the box and set up the heating pad, he’d put each kitten inside his zippered jacket, next to his warm skin. They were soft as down, and now that their eyes were squinted open, they were kind of cute.

“We missed you yesterday.” His brother Brady, the company’s manager and his closest sibling in age, propped a hip on the edge of his desk. As youths they’d been constant companions but after the accident that destroyed his throwing arm, Brady continued to play college football while Quinn was left behind to deal with surgeries and rehab and pain. Their lives had gone in separate directions, certainly not the direction he’d intended, and only in the last year had they intersected again. Brady didn’t know all he’d gone through in Dallas. Quinn didn’t want anybody to know.

He pretended to study the diagrams. “I was busy.”

“Yeah? Doing what?”

“Stuff.”

Brady barked a laugh. “You missed a good basketball game. The Mavericks beat the Thunder in OT.”

Yes, and his mother probably made chili or pot roast and the siblings stocked the kitchen with chips, dips and other snacks. Sunday afternoons were a tradition at the Buchanon house. Everyone came to watch a game. It didn’t matter what kind of game. Football was the favorite, but they watched basketball, baseball, anything that gave them an excuse to gather after church and yell at the TV—all in fun, of course. He missed those times with his family, but they didn’t understand how hard it was for him to be there.

He’d fallen off the proverbial wagon last night. Not as completely as he had in the past but enough to shame him.

He did all right at work. Rigidly, every day, he brought exactly two pain pills to the office. The prescribed amount. Two and only two to get him through the day.

Nights were murder. Last night the pain had won.

He rubbed his shoulder and swallowed the thick, nasty taste of failure. “Maybe next week.”

“That’s what you’ve said every week since last Christmas. We miss you, brother.” Brady’s voice softened. “I miss you.”

A lump rose in Quinn’s throat. “Yeah, well...” What could he say? He loved Brady. Loved his family. But he was lousy company, unfit to be part of the wholesome Buchanon clan until he defeated the monster living inside him.

“Want to talk about it?”

Startled, he glanced up. “About what?”

No way Brady could know the truth. Quinn had been too careful.

“Whatever it is that’s keeping you away.”

The air hummed with expectation. Brady wanted an answer. Quinn wasn’t giving him one.

Finding a smirk, he said, “You’re too busy romancing Abby to miss me.”

Brady got a besotted grin on his face. “I can’t wait to marry that woman. She’s something special.”

Quinn softened. His brother was happy. Regardless of the problems plaguing Buchanon Construction and a fire that had destroyed his Christmas home-makeover project, Brady had fallen in love with the recipient. Waitress Abby Webster and her little girl had filled the lonely spot in Brady and become as much a part of the family as if they’d always been there. “I’m happy for you, Brady.”

“You 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.