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
