Lone Star Dad

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?”

Quinn barked a rusty laugh. “No.”

“I had an appointment with Dr. Ramos last week, routine stuff, and ran into Gena in the hallway.” Brady lifted an eyebrow. “Nice. Pretty, too.”

Yeah, he’d noticed. Maybe not the nice part but the pretty for certain.

He pretended to study the steam rising from his mug. “Want me to tell Abby about your sudden interest in the new nurse practitioner?”

“I’m talking about you, dunce cap.” Brady shook his head in dismay. “From what I hear, she’s still single, and obviously she’s smart and successful. Plus, she lives close enough for the two of you to get acquainted.”

Quinn offered a scowl. “I don’t like people in my space.”

“Suit yourself, bro.” Brady lifted a hand in dismissal.

“She doesn’t like me.”

Brady dropped his hand and frowned. “No vibes?”

“None.” At least not from her direction. His vibes had done a few calisthenics. Maybe a couple of wind sprints.

“The old Buchanon charm didn’t work?”

His charm had been in his right arm. Women didn’t care about the real Quinn. They cared about the prestige of being seen with the nation’s top college quarterback, destined for the big time and lots of money, not about a damaged man who struggled to get through every day and night without falling down the rabbit hole. Even now, his arm ached and he wished for the bottle of painkillers waiting on the counter at the cabin.

“Are you going to work today or harass me about my single status?”

“Both.” Brady plunked the half-empty mug on the long counter that ran behind Quinn’s desk. “I need some minor tweaks to the Robinson house.”