The moment Quint Cantrell walked through the door of his
grandfather's ranch house, he got the eerie feeling that
something was wrong.
At this time of the early evening Abe was usually watching
the news on the small television situated in a corner of the
cozy living room. Instead, the old man's leather recliner
was empty and the TV screen was black.
Uneasy, Quint started to call out, but stopped as he caught
the sound of a radio coming from the direction of the
kitchen. As he quickly strode toward the back of the house,
he realized with another start that the singer was Billie
Holiday.
What the heck was going on around this place? His
grandfather liked music, but certainly not that kind! And
the house held the peculiar scent of roses instead of pipe
tobacco and old boots.
Rounding the open doorway to the kitchen, he practically
skidded to a halt as he spotted a woman standing at the
cabinet counter. Yesterday, while he'd been eating lunch at
the Blue Mesa, a family acquaintance had stopped by his
table and mentioned that a rumor was going around about a
woman staying out at Apache Wells. Quint had laughingly
dismissed the idea as nothing more than a wild rumor. Since
his grandmother had passed away fifteen years ago, the only
females who ever stepped foot in this house were Quint's
mother or sister. Hell freezing over would be more likely to
happen than a woman living in Abe's house. Or so Quint had
believed.
Stunned by this turn of events, Quint stared.
Tall and slender with hair the color of a black cherry
hanging nearly to her waist, she was dressed casually in
blue jeans and a green Western shirt with darker green
flowers dotting the yokes and cuffs. If her face looked
anything like her backside, Quint decided, she was
definitely a pretty woman.
"Uh—excuse me, ma'am."
Obviously surprised by the sound of his voice, the woman
whirled around to stare at him. Her dark eyes were wide, and
her lips parted as she took a halting step in his direction.
"Oh! I didn't realize anyone had come in," she said
in a breathy voice. "You gave me a fright."
He stepped forward and even though his gaze was focused
solely on her, he knew his grandfather wasn't in the room.
He also realized his initial guess had been correct. The
woman was pretty—though quietly so. Like a violet
hidden beneath a clump of sagebrush, it might take a second
look to find the beauty, but it was there.
"I could say the same about you," he replied, his
eyes sliding over her face. She appeared vaguely familiar.
"It's not every day I walk into my grandfather's house
and find a woman. Who are you, anyway?"
Her lips, which were full and dusky pink, twisted ever so
slightly. "I'm sorry. I urged Abe to warn you about me,
but you know that he pretty much does things his own way. He
wanted me to be a surprise," she said with a mixture of
amusement and regret. "As to who I am, I thought you
might recognize me. But I suppose I've been away from
Lincoln County too long for you to remember."
So his earlier assumption had been right. He had met the
woman before. But where? he wondered, as his gaze scanned
her dark green eyes, high cheekbones and heart-shaped face.
She was definitely easy to look at, he realized, and then
his memory kicked in like a startled mule. Hellfire, she was
one of the Donovan bunch! A rich, rough and rowdy family
that owned a notable horse farm down in the Hondo Valley.
"I remember now," he said. "You're one of the
Donovan brood. A nurse. You were at the hospital when my
sister had her baby."
She inclined her head forward. "That's right. I'm
Maura—second oldest of six siblings. You've probably
seen us around from time to time."
Shrugging, he wondered why her suggestion made him feel like
a recluse. "I don't do much socializing anymore. But I
know your brothers and sisters. Bridget is my mother's
doctor."
She nodded. "Bridget is very good at her job. And very
busy."
Folding his arms against his chest, Quint glanced beyond her
shoulder to where a pot of something was simmering on the
stove. It was filling the whole room with the scent of
chicken and spices. Where was Jim, the old bunkhouse cook
who usually prepared his grandfather's meals? And why in the
world would a Donovan be here at his grandfather's ranch?
"Yesterday, when someone in town told me that a woman
was staying on the ranch, I practically called him a
liar." Quint shook his head as he tried to assemble the
questions running rampant in it. "I don't mean to sound
meddlesome, but why are you here? And where is Gramps?"
Her breasts rose and fell as she drew in a deep breath, then
blew it out. His questions appeared to make her
uncomfortable, which only roused his curiosity even more.
"Abe is down at the ranch yard visiting with the
hands," she answered. "And I'm here because I live
here now. With your grandfather, as his nurse."
If she'd whacked Quint's shins with an ax handle, the shock
couldn't have been any greater. He sputtered. "His
nurse!"
"That's right," she said smoothly, then quickly
added, "Excuse me, would you? I need to tend to the
soup."
Dazed by her revelation, Quint watched her turn to the
cookstove, where she stirred a bubbling pot with a wooden
spoon. Her movements seemed so casual, that he got the
feeling she'd been here long enough to feel at home.
Two weeks had passed since he'd taken the time to drive to
Apache Wells, but he'd talked on the phone to his
grandfather several times and nothing had been mentioned
about a nurse, or any need for one. She'd said that Abe had
wanted to surprise him. Well, the old man had done that and
more, Quint thought.
Walking farther into the room, Quint lifted the gray Stetson
from his head and raked a hand through his curly hair. He'd
had a day that would try a saint, and he wasn't in the mood
for beating around the bush.
"Okay, is this one of my grandfather's outlandish jokes?
Abe doesn't need a nurse. He's as healthy as a horse."
"Is that what you think?" she asked politely.
"Hell, yes!" he blurted out, then stabbed his
fingers through his hair again and added in a calmer tone,
"I mean of course, I do. Gramps went for a checkup about
three weeks ago. The man pronounced Abe as fit as a fiddle.
Or is there something I need to know?"
"I doubt that. Abe says you're aware of his vertigo
problem."
Putting down the spoon, she turned to face him and Quint was
knocked for a loop all over again. Of the three Donovan
sisters, he was least familiar with this one. If his
calculations were right, she'd finished high school a few
years ahead of him. Which would make her midthirties—
though she sure didn't look five or six years older than his
twenty-nine. He recalled hearing, a long time ago, that
she'd moved away and married some man from Albuquerque. But
from the look of her empty ring finger— Quint told
himself he didn't know why he had looked there
first—her marital status had changed along with her
residence.
"I'm aware that he has dizzy spells," Quint replied.
"But the way I understand it, the condition isn't
life-threatening and it only hits him occasionally."
"If a spell of vertigo caused him to suffer a bad fall,
it could be life-threatening."
"Sorry, Ms. Donovan, but I could suffer a fall walking
across the backyard. Any of us could."
"The likelihood of that happening skyrockets when a
person's head is spinning."
Quint couldn't argue that point. He'd been with his
grandfather when one of these spells hit him and the old man
had been unable to walk without someone to assist him.
"So? I'd rather see him die than to chain him to a
chair. And you can't go around holding onto his arm all day.
In fact, I doubt you could keep up with him," Quint added.
She sighed. "Abe isn't a young man anymore, you know."
Quint bristled. He didn't want anyone insinuating that Abe
was getting old and decrepit. He wasn't. And Quint refused
to let anyone make him believe otherwise.
"Eighty-four may sound old to you," Quint said to
her, "but trust me, Gramps has the mind and the body of
a man twenty years younger."
"I agree with that."
His expression turned incredulous. "If you know that,
then what the hell are you doing here?"
She walked forward and leaned a hip against the edge of a
chrome-and-Formica dining table. Quint couldn't help but
notice the sensual curve of her breasts and waist, the way
her dark red hair waved against her pale cheek. He didn't
recall Maura Donovan as being so sexy. But back before she'd
left the area, he'd only had eyes for Holly. Lovely, fickle
Holly.
"Are you angry because I'm living here?" she asked.
Was he? The question jarred him almost as much as the sight
of her. No. He wasn't angry. He was confused, shaken and a
bit hurt that Abe hadn't seen fit to consult him about
hiring Maura Donovan. But then, his grandfather had always
been a maverick. The only person he'd ever answered to was
his late wife, Jenna. There was no reason for Quint to think
Abe needed or wanted his grandson's opinion.
"I'm not angry. I'm confused. Abe isn't sick. And
there's no way you can protect him from a dizzy spell. So
why did he hire you?"
A faint smile tilted the corners of her lips and it suddenly
dawned on Quint that it was the first semblance of warmth
he'd seen on her face since he'd walked into the room. The
subtle expression softened her features and he found himself
looking at things about her that had nothing to do with
anything. Like her skin that was all smooth and pink and pearly.
Hell, what had she done to Abe? he wondered. Batted her long
lashes at him and smiled? He could see how a young man would
succumb to this woman's charms. Quint was feeling the
effects of her presence himself. But Abe? Sure, his
grandfather was still a man, but he'd always been so crazy
in love with his late wife that he'd never looked twice at
another woman. But maybe she did something to change that,
Quint thought.
"Your grandfather suffers from benign paroxysmal
positional vertigo. When it happens I can help him with the
exercises and head maneuvers he needs to do in order to get
over it. And see that he takes his medication, whenever it's
needed. Having a nurse close by makes him feel safe and
cared for. Surely you wouldn't want to deny the man that
much?"
Shaking his head with resignation, Quint pulled out one of
the dining chairs and flopped down on the seat. He'd been
building fences all day. Sweat and dirt stained his shirt
and jeans and he was tired enough to sleep for a week. He
wasn't in any shape to argue with Maura Donovan. And maybe
he shouldn't be arguing, he thought wearily. Maybe he should
just thank his lucky stars that Abe was being looked after
on a daily basis.
"I didn't realize nurses also cooked for their
patients," he said, his gaze straying to the simmering
pot on the stove, then back to her.
He watched faint color warm her cheeks and then his gaze
dropped to her lips. She didn't appear to wear lipstick. But
then, she didn't need to. Her lips were already dark and
moist and the idea of biting into them, kissing them,
flashed through his mind, shocking him with the totally
erotic thought.
"I understand that before I came Jim did all the cooking
around here, but I offered to take over because—"
Pausing, she wrinkled her nose. "Well, neither man was
eating a healthy diet. Red meat and potatoes was about all I
could find around here."
"That's what Gramps likes," Quint said automatically
while he pushed his mind to more pertinent issues. How long
was she planning on staying here and was she thinking to get
more out of his grandfather than just nurse's wages? The
Donovans were wealthy people. If Maura never worked a day in
her life, she could still live in luxury. So why would she
want to hide herself away here on Apache Wells? Abe's ranch
was remote, with the nearest neighbor—an old woman
everyone called Crazy Gertie— fifteen miles away.
Gertie was someone who'd been known to take potshots at
anyone who decided to come near the shack she lived in. As
for his grandfather, Abe could be charming whenever he chose
to be, but for the most part he was set in his ways and
didn't hesitate to speak his mind. A young, beautiful woman
like Maura wouldn't deliberately choose to spend her days
like this unless there was something in it for her, would she?
The questions were really none of Quint's business and
probably totally out of line. But damn it, Abe was his
grandfather! Someone had to look out for the old man's
security. Two years ago his sister had married a Texas
Ranger and moved to his ranch near San Antonio. A month ago,
Alexa had given birth to daughter Jessica. Add her to the
couple's toddler son, J.D., and his sister's life was
consumed with caring for her own family. That left only
Quint and his mother, Frankie, to keep an eye on their aging
relative.
"What we like and what's good for us aren't always the
same, Mr. Cantrell."
Amen to that, he thought drily. "My grandfather 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.