Lone Star Dad
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 gone for good?” Derrick looked as sad as if they were orphaned humans instead of stray cats.
“Whether she is or not, the fact remains, these kittens won’t survive without her much longer.”
“You got a computer?”
“Why?”
Derrick slumped and shook his head in disgust. “Dude. Haven’t you ever heard of research? Somebody knows what to do. Google it.”
The kid was likely right, but company in his cabin was not Quinn’s favorite thing.
He carefully replaced the crying kitten, sympathy tugging at him. They were pitiful little creatures. He weighed their struggle against his own and gave in. “My laptop’s on the table inside.”
Derrick didn’t hesitate. With a gentle hand that belied his don’t-care attitude, he settled the kittens onto the warm pad, murmured reassurances and rose. “Let’s go. They’re starving.”
“Maybe Gena would know what to do.”
As he shuffled to the doorway, Derrick glanced to one side, eyes avoiding Quinn’s. “I doubt it.”
“She doesn’t know you’re here, does she?”
The kid looked up and scoffed. “Are you kidding me? She’d ground me for years.”
“I must have made a great impression on her.” He’d been less than friendly, which he figured was justifiable. They’d trespassed. Not him. But Gena’s attitude rankled him. He didn’t want people hanging around, but he wasn’t Jack the Ripper, either.
“She gets all twitchy and weird when I mention your name.” The kid shoved his hands into the pouch of his hoodie. “Did you, like, know each other back in the old days or something?”
The old days. Right.
Quinn led the way out of the shed and took care to secure the rickety latch. Darkness blanketed the yard except for the pale light from a white moon. The kid shouldn’t be here this late. Home was a long walk in the cold and dark. “We both attended Gabriel’s Crossing High School but didn’t run in the same circles.”
“Yeah, you were Mr. Big Shot. She was nobody.”
Quinn cut the kid a sharp look. “Did Gena tell you that?”
“She didn’t have to. Your picture is plastered in the trophy cases and on all kinds of plaques. Hers isn’t.”
A hot pain slid up Quinn’s elbow and into his shoulder. “Still?”
“Yeah. Kind of weird.”
It sure was.
Quinn fell silent. Old memories made for long nights. Forget the past. Move on.
Inside the house, he turned his attention to the kittens. “Laptop’s there. Have at it.”
The boy lifted the lid and said in a reverent tone, “Touch screen. Sweet.”
“I’m an architect. High tech comes in handy.”
Derrick’s fingers raced over the keyboard. “You do graphics and stuff?”
“Yeah. Stuff. Lots and lots of stuff.”
“Plenty of sites about orphaned kittens.” The boy clicked on one of them.
Quinn leaned over his shoulder to watch. In minutes, they’d learned the rudiments of caring for the kittens. “Looks like we’ll need milk replacer from the vet. Too late for that tonight.”
“We can try this homemade stuff.” Derrick pointed at the screen and rattled off the list of ingredients.
“I have the eggs but not the condensed milk.”
“We could go to the store.” Derrick’s voice was hopeful, though his expression said he expected Quinn to turn him down.
“You need to go home.” His mom would be getting worried by now.
“And let the kittens die?” Derrick slammed out of the chair in a fury, fists tight at his side. “Creep. If you won’t take me to town, I’ll walk.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Calm down there, tiger. Call home for permission first. I don’t want her on my case.”
Derrick didn’t ease off. “That makes two of us.”
Quinn tried to remember where he’d left his cell. “Phone’s in the truck. Be right back.”
As he stepped outside, Gena’s SUV broke through his protective line of trees. She jerked to a stop next to his pickup and stormed out, slamming the door with vehemence.
“Is Derrick over here?”
No use getting testy with him. He hadn’t invited the little twerp. “In the house.”
She shot him a hard glance and marched to the front door. She waited there in her jaunty knitted cap with her arms crossed over a blue coat as if unsure whether to barge into his cabin or wait for his permission. Feeling obstinate, he didn’t give it. Instead he took his sweet time finding his cell phone, all the while watching her from the corner of his eye.
She was steamed, whether at him or Derrick or both, he couldn’t say and didn’t care. They were trouble. Pains in the neck. He didn’t need them or their intrusion on his peace and quiet.
He forced a leisurely stroll across his own front yard. The air seeped through his shirtsleeves, but he refused to rush. She made him want to get under her skin. “You know anything about feeding orphaned kittens?”
She uncrossed her arms, pursed pink lips easing open. “Did something happen to the mother?”
“Appears so.” He reached the porch and pushed open the door, motioning her inside. She crossed in front of him and he was surprised that she smelled nice, not like the antiseptic medical scent he’d expected. Something subtle, spicy and warm wrapped around his senses.
She was average height, reaching him about chin high. And beneath her coat she wore turquoise scrubs, a good color with her green eyes.
He gave an inner laugh. Stupid thought process. What did he care about the color of her eyes? He just wanted her and her little twerp out of his house.
Gena strode directly to Derrick. “You could have left a note.”
“You knew where to look.”
Derrick shrugged her off and turned back to the laptop. Gena shifted on her Crocs, uncertain. She wasn’t assertive enough with the kid. She let him get away with too much.
The room pulsed with silence, not that Quinn minded. He liked quiet. The woman and boy weren’t his concern.
He moved to the fireplace, crouching to add a log. Behind him Gena said something to Derrick about the kittens and they discussed the milk replacer.
He heard her say, “They’ll need to be fed at least every six hours.”
“I can do it. I’ll come before school and right after. I’ll even come in the middle of the night.”
Quinn pivoted around, quiet and watching.
Gena was shaking her blond head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Derrick, come on, be sensible. You have school and I have work.”
“It would only be for a little while.” His expression went from sullen to impassioned. “I can’t let them starve to death!”
She seemed to contemplate the determined, disobedient kid along with the problems inherent with feeding animals orphaned this young.
“I suppose we could take them home with us. That’s a better solution anyway. Then you won’t be over here bothering Quinn.”
“Can we?”
Quinn pushed up and away from the fireplace. “No.”
Both woman and boy turned to stare at him. “Why not?”
He hitched a shoulder, feeling obstinate. What right did she have to come into his house and dictate what became of the animals in his shed? “My cats.”
“You said they were strays.”
“They were until they took up residence in my shed.” What was he doing? Let her take them. Be rid of them. Be rid of her and her sulky kid. Get back to normal. Alone. The way he liked. “They stay.”
“Are you going to feed them?”
“We’ll work out a schedule.”
“I don’t want Derrick over here.”
“Why not?” That was what was bugging him most. Now that he’d offered the invitation, he didn’t appreciate her attitude. As if he was some kind of evil influence on children. He was the one making the sacrifice by letting Derrick invade his private sanctuary.
She parked a hand on one hip. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? First you threaten to call the sheriff if he steps foot on your land, and now you’re asking me to let him come here several times a day.”
She was really cute when she got fired up. Like a bunny rabbit on a rampage. He wanted to laugh. For the first time in a long time, he was sparring with a woman who attracted him. He even wanted to make her like him. But he was rusty in the charm department.
He knew he should give in and let her take the kittens. The last thing he needed was to have a troubled boy hanging around for two or three weeks. If the kid followed through. Which he probably wouldn’t.
“The responsibility would be good for him.”
“Come on, Gena,” Derrick wheedled. “It’ll only be for a week or two.”
Gena? Why would her kid call her by her first name? Disrespect?
The little twerp needed his head thumped.
She put her hand on the boy’s shoulder and massaged. “Honey, I know you’re worried about the kittens, but—”
Derrick yanked away, his face closed and his breath coming fast and short. “But what? You’re not going to let me do it because you don’t like Quinn?”
Quinn raised both eyebrows and pinned her with a stare. Her cheeks reddened.
“There are some things you have to trust me on. This is one of them.” She shot Quinn a snarky look. “The cats belong to Quinn. He can take care of them. Now get in the car and let’s go home.”
Derrick’s face darkened. His mouth was tight, his eyes laser hot. “I don’t have to do what you say. You’re not my mother. Stop trying to be.”
Gena’s face went whiter than wall plaster. Her pale green eyes flashed toward Quinn. “Derrick!”
Shocked, confused and feeling stupid, Quinn looked from woman to boy and back to the woman.
She wasn’t his mother? Then who was?
Chapter Four
Gena’s heart was pushing through her chest. Any minute now, she’d collapse dead on Quinn Buchanon’s rough wooden floor.
If she was fortunate. Which today she was not.
Quinn stared squint-eyed at her, the way he must have stared down offensive linemen back in the golden days. Looking angry and dangerous, he awaited an explanation.
“She’s my aunt,” Derrick said with a sneer. “Good for me.”
Quinn’s chilly gaze swung to the boy. “Your aunt.”
“Yeah. Are you deaf? What did you think? That she was my mom or something?”
Thanks for the vote of confidence, Derrick.
Mouth tight, Quinn pointed a warning at Derrick before those cold eyes swung back to her. She held them with her own green ones, fighting the rising panic, blustering her way through the awkward situation. She’d worked in trauma. She didn’t rattle easily.
“His mother died. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Quinn lifted both hands. “Right. Not my business at all.”
Gena waited for the flicker of recognition that never came. If he remembered Renae, he didn’t make the connection.
Derrick slumped to one hip. “So are you gonna let me take care of the kittens or not?”
“Not,” she managed. “And don’t give me any more nonsense. My patience is gone.”
Kittens or not, she was done here. Done.
Without waiting to see if her nephew would follow, Gena escaped Quinn’s dangerous stare before the world caved in.
* * *
Quinn squinted at the clock next to his bunk. Midnight. He’d slept two whole hours, as if his body wanted to wake and torment him for the remaining two. His arm ached, nothing new there, and sleep wouldn’t come again until after the medication. He shoved out of the bed and dressed in sweats. The kittens would be hungry soon and he didn’t expect Derrick to show, not after the fiasco this afternoon.
He felt misled and shouldn’t. He wasn’t exactly social, so he had no reason to know through the grapevine that Derrick was Gena’s nephew.
Which meant Renae was the little twerp’s mother.
It hit him then, like a gunshot. Renae was dead.
“Whoa.” Quinn scrubbed a hand over his scruffy jaw and stood stock-still for several seconds. Renae was dead. No wonder the kid was angry.
He padded on the cold wooden floor into the kitchen to prepare for the kittens’ feeding.
He wanted to ask Gena what had happened, but she would say it wasn’t his business.
It wasn’t. He didn’t want it to be. In fact, he hoped he never saw either of his problematic neighbors again. He didn’t want people infringing on his privacy and blundering around on his land. He’d bought three hundred acres of remote nothing for a reason. To be alone.
Alone was the only way to be until he got the monster off his back.
With the four tiny bottles of warmed milk replacer in his coat, Quinn stepped out into the cold night. Frost lay like a young snow over the grass and bushes, while the moon cast a white, ghostly hue over the shadowy trees and well house.
Winter was not a friend to scar tissue and damaged bone.
The surgical scars started their steady thrum of hot pain, and he whispered a thank-you to the heavens that the kittens would keep him occupied for a while. Anything to block the hunger for another painkiller.
A thin beam of yellow light slanted through the crack in the well-house door.
Quinn blew out a cloudy breath and shook his head.
Was the kid here?
Sure enough, Derrick sat on the floor inside, holding a kitten that sucked greedily at a milk bottle while the other three still in the box yowled in high-pitched desperation.
Quinn ignored the kindness of a boy traipsing through dark woods at midnight to feed motherless kittens. He scowled. “I told you to stay home. I got this one.”
“I was awake.”
Quinn grunted. So was he.
No point in asking if Gena had given permission. She hadn’t. But the kid was her problem, not his. If she let him get away with that kind of disobedience, she’d have to live with the consequences. He had his own problems.
Managing to squeeze his big body into the narrow space opposite Derrick, Quinn scooped two squirming, squalling babies into his left hand while balancing the pair of bottles between the fingers of his right one. Awkward but efficient.
Derrick watched for a second and then looked at his much smaller palm cradling a single baby. Quinn could tell he wanted to say something but the chip on his shoulder weighed him down.
“Big hands,” Quinn muttered, remembering the way a football fit perfectly and wondering why he bothered to make conversation with a pain-in-the-neck boy who should be home in bed.
Derrick’s defensive pose softened as curiosity got the better of him. “Can you palm a basketball?”
Quinn jerked a nod. “Haven’t in a while, but yeah.”
“I wish I could.”
“You’re still growing.” He was a good-sized boy for eleven, tall and lanky and on the verge of adolescence, when his jeans would be shorter every time he put them on. In the next couple of years, he’d grow even taller.
“I like football better anyway.”
“Me, too.”
The kid snorted. “Obviously.” And then surprisingly, “Do you miss playing?”
“Sometimes.” All the time.
“You still work out.” When Quinn’s glance questioned, he pretended to be cool. “I saw your weight set inside.”
Except for his arm, Quinn was in the best shape of his life. Rehab and running miles and miles with an addiction chasing you would do that. He punished his body because it had let him down.
When the kitten emptied the bottle, Derrick pressed the now-calm baby against his cheek and stroked its tiny belly with one gentle fingertip. Quinn watched, mesmerized by the boy’s tenderness with animals, a tenderness he hid from humans.
Derrick punished humans because they’d let him down. Or maybe he was punishing himself.
Quinn pondered the thought, not wanting this quiet, warm mood of empathetic companionship springing up in the well house over a box of cats nobody wanted.
But he had to admit a grudging admiration for a kid who would drag himself out of bed in the dark and cold to care for an animal. The action showed something caring and decent about the inner person.
The boy placed his now-fed runt of the litter, a tuxedo like her mother, into the box and gently lifted the final crying baby, a solid black. Quinn’s pair, one tuxedo and the other white, nursed contentedly, their tiny paws massaging the nipple as they would their mother.
He and the boy didn’t say anything more for a while. From the corner of his eye, Quinn watched the tired face across from him. Derrick was trying so hard to remain tough and aloof, he was about to implode.
“Why are you so mad at her?” he asked softly.
His face, smoothed by the kittens, went sullen again. “What do you care?”
“Just making conversation. She doesn’t seem so bad.”
A shoulder jerked. “You don’t know anything.”
“She beat on you?”
Surprised, Derrick’s eyes lit in an almost smile but he caught himself in time to scoff. “No.”
“Starve you?”
“She’s like a doctor or something, man. She wouldn’t do that.”
“So what’s your beef?”
Derrick stared down at the kitten and mumbled, “She shoulda told me.”
“Told you what?”
One beat passed. “Nothing.”
That’s what he got for asking. Nothing.
Quinn removed the bottles from the sated kittens and placed them on the heating pad. Derrick did the same. Neither spoke until they exited the building.
“Get in the truck. I’ll drive you home.”
“I walked here, didn’t I?”
“Suit yourself.” Quinn spun and started toward the house. As his foot thudded on the loose porch boards, Derrick said, “Uh, hey, uh.”
Quinn stopped but didn’t turn. “The name’s Quinn.”
“Uh, yeah, Quinn. I guess you can drive me home.”
A grin wiggled against Quinn’s lips. He headed for his Ram. Derrick hopped inside, slammed the door and slumped down in the seat, hood up and hands in his pockets.
They drove in silence down the bumpy trail to the gravel road, shivering deep in their coats until the heater grabbed hold.
The dash clock showed two o’clock. He’d made it, thanks to the cats and the kid. One small victory. One night without regrets.
“You have school tomorrow?”
“Like I can avoid it.”
“GC is a pretty good school.”
“Nobody likes new kids.”
Quinn flicked a glance at him. “Maybe because you have a mountain-sized chip on your shoulder.”
“So?” His glare said it all.
So? So plenty of guys could snap you like a number-two pencil, you little twerp.
All he said was, “Be careful or someone will knock it off.”
Derrick huffed. “Let ’em try.”
“You play sports?”
“Used to. I quit after—” He slid farther down in the seat. Pity welled in Quinn. The dash glow showed a sad kid, not a bad one.
He knew a little about being so sad that you wanted to disappear and the only emotion you could muster was anger.
The words pressed at the back of Quinn’s throat until they fell out in the dark silence. “Lousy, about your mother.”
Derrick didn’t answer. He turned toward the window and stared out at the black night.
Not your business, Buchanon. You don’t need this.
So he shut up. Making conversation with Derrick was like trying to pet a rabid porcupine anyway. What was the point?
At the corner leading to the rear of the Satterfield farm, the kid suddenly came to life. “You can let me out here.”
Quinn tapped the brake. “You think she won’t find out?”
“You gonna tattle?”
“I’ll think about it.”
The kid slid to the ground. “Thanks for the ride.”
Quinn jerked a nod. “Sleep in. I’ll feed them at six.”
“I’ll be there.” Derrick slammed the door and took off in a jog down the road.
Quinn watched the penlight bob across the field and into the backyard and finally disappear into the house before he turned the truck around and drove back to the cabin.
* * *
The next day, the Family Medical Clinic was jammed with sick people, and Gena’s brain vacillated between medical mode and stressing over Derrick and the untenable situation with her cranky neighbor.
Her sister had been right. Quinn was a player, a user. He didn’t even remember.
She ripped off a prescription and handed it to her latest patient, the owner of a local café, The Buttered Biscuit, who’d contracted a mean sinusitis complicated by otitis media.
“I’m prescribing some antibiotics for the infection, Jan. Three times a day for fourteen days. Take all of them, even if you think you feel better. Ear infections can be tricky to clear.”
Jan nodded her head miserably, then winced at the pain the movement generated. “I’d eat rocks for a month to get rid of this. I sure don’t want it to come back.”
Gena smiled. “Smart woman. You can take over-the-counter pain reliever if you need it. Which I’m guessing you do. The same with a decongestant or nasal spray. Call me if you don’t see improvement by Friday.”
“Thanks, Gena. You’re a blessing.”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to get some rest, let someone else run the café for a few days.”
“I feel so awful, I will. Abby can handle it.”
Abby. Fiancée to one of the Buchanon boys. As if she needed another reminder of that prominent family today.
Gena opened the exam room door and let the woman pass before going to the sink to wash her hands.
Moving back to Gabriel’s Crossing had seemed like the best solution when Derrick began acting out. Here was a familiar place where she knew people and had roots that she could share with him, a place where he could learn small-town values, a place with a mortgage-free home in the country and a medical practice that needed her. Now she wondered if she’d done the right thing.
Maybe she should move back to Houston, away from the danger of Quinn Buchanon.
She scrubbed harder, soaping her wrists, zoned out in thought. Houston didn’t have Quinn, but her parents’ city had plenty of other worries, especially concerning her nephew.
She loved it here in Gabriel’s Crossing, loved living in Nana and Papa’s house with its wonderful memories and quiet woods and pretty yard. Nana had planted something for every season, even winter, when the red berries against deep green holly fed the birds and the spirit. Spring would soon arrive and Nana’s lilacs and forsythias would brighten the world.
She didn’t want to move again.
Since she’d joined Dr. Ramos last September, her practice had grown rapidly. She loved knowing her patients on a personal basis, seeing them at church and in stores. People liked her personal involvement, her follow-up phone calls, the smart, concerned care she gave. She was a good certified registered nurse practitioner, and she wanted to practice in a rural town where doctors were in short supply. Gabriel’s Crossing was perfect. Almost.
Derrick was furious with her about the kittens and had locked himself in his room with his computer, refusing to come out until this morning. Oddly, he’d been up and dressed but his eyes were red rimmed and tired, as if he hadn’t slept much.
He worried her out of her mind. And she felt guilty about the baby kittens. Had Quinn fed them? Would he?
Quinn. The biggest problem of all.
Lord, what am I supposed to do? I can’t break my promise, but I can’t return to Houston. Derrick is better off here in a small town where I can keep a close eye on him. But what if—
Someone tapped on the exam room door. “Gena?”
“Come on in.” She glanced up.
Alabama Watts, both nurse and friend, poked her head around the door edge. “Mr. Chard in room three and little Clara Jameson in five are both ready. And Dr. Ramos wants you to take his patients for the next couple of hours. He had an emergency at the hospital.”
Gena shut off the water and reached for a paper towel.
She was needed here. Badly.