The Mighty Quinns: Callum

He hung his hat next to the door and rolled up his sleeves. “How long?” he asked.

“Look at the clock, Callum Quinn. Five minutes,” Mary said. “Wash your hands and take a seat.”

“I just thought I’d run up and catch a quick shower. Maybe you could hold off a bit?”

Mary turned, bracing her hands on her ample hips. “You can shower after dinner. The boys will want to eat and if you’re not here when I put the food down, there won’t be anything left.” She turned off the flame on the stove, then pulled the gravy jug from the shelf above the sink. “You look just fine. Don’t worry. You could be covered in mud and you’d still be a beaut.”

“I’m not worried,” Cal said. “What would I be worried about? Do you think I—?”

“Of course not. Sit.”

Cal reluctantly took his place at the head of the table and Mary set a beer in front of him. He took a long drink and then leaned back in his chair. After his surprising lunch with Gemma, he’d gone on to have a very strange day.

Brody had brought home a stray girl he’d found living at the jail and had offered her a job working in the stables. Though Payton Harwell didn’t look as though she’d done a hard day’s work in her life, the stables had been spotless when he walked through a few hours later. Either she was efficient and tireless, or she’d managed to convince one of the jackaroos to help her.

Teague had shown up shortly after Payton’s arrival, staying long enough to chat up both of the ladies. But then a call from Doc Daley had sent him off on an emergency visit in his SUV.

With his competition occupied, Cal was anxious to have Gemma to himself. But he had to get through dinner first. “Maybe I should let Gemma know that dinner’s ready,” he said, shoving his chair back.

“She knows. She spent the afternoon in the library and just went back to the bunkhouse a few minutes ago.” Mary handed him a basket full of sliced bread. “Make yourself useful. Make a pot of coffee.”

The six stockmen that worked Kerry Creek arrived at the back door, a boisterous group ready for a good meal and a few cold beers. “She’s a bit of alright, I’d say,” Skip Thompson said as he walked inside. He tossed his hat at the hooks on the wall, but it fell to the floor.

“That she is,” Jack commented. “I like long hair. And long legs. What do you think, Cal?”

“About what?” Cal filled the filter with ground coffee and closed it, then flipped the switch.

“The Yank or the Irish lass? Which do you fancy?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” he lied.

“Ha!” Davey Thompson cried. “A little slow off the mark there, boss? Jack here has already decided to marry the Irish girl. He wants to get to making babies straight off.”

Cal’s jaw clenched. “I’ll warn you yobbos to mind your manners. You’ll not treat these women like the girls you play with at the Spotted Dog.” A knock sounded on the door and he circled the table, pulling a serviette from out of Jack’s collar. “On your lap,” he muttered. “And no talking with your mouth full. No cursing. Or belching. Or farting.”

He found Gemma waiting on the porch, dressed in a pretty blouse and blue jeans. “There’s no need to knock,” he said as he opened the door for her. She’d tied her hair back in a scarf and as she passed, he fought the temptation to pull it off and let her hair fall free.

It had been a long while since he’d enjoyed the pleasures of a woman’s body and the scent of her was enough to make his blood warm. Now, presented with the perfect female form, he couldn’t decide how to proceed. He placed his hand at the small of her back, steering her toward his end of the table.

Cal forced himself to breathe as the warmth from her body seeped into his fingers. This was crazy. Women may have been a bit scarce lately, but he’d always been able to control his desires. Just touching her was enough to send his senses into overdrive.

“Hello,” she said, smiling at the boys seated at the table. Skip suddenly stood and the rest of the stockmen followed suit in a noisy clamor. “I’m Gemma.”

Cal cleared his throat. He should be making the introductions. After all, she was technically his guest. “Gemma, that’s Skip Thompson, and his younger brother, Davey. This is Jack Danbury. Over there is Mick Fermoy, Eddie Franklin and Pudge Bell. And you know Mary.”

He waved Pudge out of the seat next to his and pulled out the chair for Gemma. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said as she sat down, sending them all a dazzling smile.

The screen door slammed and Brody stepped inside, pulling his gloves off as he crossed the kitchen. He looked around the table at the boys, all still standing uncomfortably, before resting his sights on Gemma. A slow grin spread across his face as he approached.

“I’m Gemma Moynihan,” she said in a lilting Irish accent. “And you must be Brody. I can see the family resemblance.”

“Gemma,” Brody repeated. He glanced over at Cal, an amused expression on his face. Was it that evident, this attraction he had to Gemma? Cal felt as if he had a sign around his neck—I Fancy The Irish Girl. Well, stiff bickies. If Brody could have his fun with Payton Harwell, then Cal would enjoy Gemma’s visit, as well.

“Have you met Payton?” Brody asked, smiling warmly at Gemma.

“Yes, I did,” Gemma said.

“Is she coming in to eat?” he asked.

“I don’t know. She was lying in her bunk when I left. She looked knackered.”

“Maybe I should take her something,” Brody suggested, stepping away from the table. He grabbed a plate and loaded it with beef and potatoes, covering the entire meal with a portion of Mary’s gravy. After fetching a couple beers from the fridge, he headed back out the door.

“Oh, ho,” Mick said with a laugh. “If Brody doesn’t go back to footie, Miss Shelly might give him a job as a waitress. I reckon he’d look real fetching in the apron.”

The boys found the joke hilarious and they all sat back down and began passing around the platters and bowls that Mary set in front of them. Cal held the boiled potatoes out in front of Gemma. “If you want something else, I’m sure Mary could make it for you.”

Gemma met his gaze and for a moment, Cal felt as if he couldn’t move. Her eyes were the most incredible shade of green. And her lips were soft and lush, a perfect bow shape. If they’d been alone, he would have kissed her right then and there.

“This is fine,” she said, smiling. “In Ireland, we love our praities. And I’m so hungry, I’d eat them ten ways.”

She scooped a spoonful onto her plate, then took the bowl from his hands. Her fingers brushed his, but he didn’t pull away. Though it was silly to crave such innocent contact, for now it was as close as he’d get to her.

“So where did you come from in Ireland?” Mick asked.

“Dublin,” she said. “I teach at University College and my mother lives there. Though the Moynihans are originally from County Clare.” She paused. “And my father lives in Belfast.” The last she said so softly that only Cal could hear.

“My grandparents were from Ireland,” Mick commented. “They came here right after they married.”

“So you’re the full quid, eh?” Jack said. Cal shot him a look and Jack shrugged. “She must be smart if she teaches at university.”

“I hated history in school,” Skip said. “Could never remember all those dates.”

“It’s not just about dates,” Gemma said. “It’s about life. What our lives are built upon. My grandfather loved history and I’d stay with him during the summer months. He had a library full of books and I think I must have read them all. I loved the stories of the ancient Irish kings and queens.”

“I sure would have studied harder if my teacher looked like you,” Skip said.

Cal glanced around the table to find each of the stockmen watching Gemma intently. “You’re pretty enough to be a princess,” Pudge said. The rest of the boys agreed and Pudge blushed.

“The Quinns are descended from the ancient kings,” she said, glancing at Cal. “I’ve come here to trace the history of the Australian branch of the Quinn family. I’m hoping I can convince Cal to let me dig up all the family secrets.”

She was teasing him and Cal wasn’t sure how to react. He barely knew her. But he did know one thing about himself—he wasn’t considered a very comical fella. Among the Quinn brothers, Cal was the serious one, the guy everybody could depend upon. Brody and Teague led much more interesting lives and probably had a helluva lot more secrets to tell.

“Do you have any secrets I should know about?” Gemma asked, a coy smile playing at her lips.

“Oh, no,” Davey interrupted. “Cal’s life is an open book.”

“I think you saw all my secrets earlier,” Cal muttered. As soon as he made the comment he wanted to take it back. It was a feeble attempt at humor. It hadn’t been the most proper of introductions and he probably should have just let the memory fade.