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?”
