have any problems.”
He slapped the rear of the big animal and with a low moo she headed back toward the pasture. “I’d definitely do something about that barbed wire.”
Ralph frowned toward a stand of trees and brush. “I didn’t even know it was there, just tangled up in all the weeds, but I’ll get it out of here today.”
Together the two men walked toward the gate in the fence. Initially, coming out here and meeting up with Ralph had been awkward. Ralph had been one of the loudest, most critical ranchers when Quinn had been forced to put down Clay Colton’s prized stud.
It had been the second-darkest time in Quinn’s life. The darkest had been when he’d lost his wife, Sarah, to cancer.
Even though Quinn had been proven right in his diagnosis of the disease that had infected Clay’s stud, even thought his decision to put the horse down had probably saved the rest of the stock, Quinn had never quite gotten over how quickly some of the locals had turned on him.
The fact that Ralph had called him to come and check out the cow was an olive branch he had extended to Quinn. It had been a long time coming, but Quinn wasn’t a man to hold a grudge. Life was too damned short.
“Just let me know if the wounds begin to ooze or look infected and I’ll come back out,” Quinn said as he reached the door of his pickup truck.
“I appreciate it, Doc.” Ralph held out his hand and the two men shook.
Minutes later as Quinn drove away from the Smith ranch and back toward town, he thought about those dark days when many in the town had turned their backs on him, made darker because he was still grieving for his wife. At the time all he had was his work and when that took a hit, he considered packing up and leaving Esperanza.
Instead, with the support of the Coltons, Clay in particular, he’d stayed and held his head high. When his decision to put the stud down had been vindicated, he’d put the whole ordeal behind him and got on with his life.
As he drove down Main Street, he decided to stop for dinner at Miss Sue’s Café, where he took many of his evening meals. He told himself it was because he hated to cook, but the truth was he dreaded the evening hours spent alone.
An old-fashioned cowbell heralded his arrival as he entered the quaint café. “You’re a bit early today, Quinn,” Becky French, the owner of the establishment, greeted him with a warm smile.
He smiled at the short, plump woman. “It’s never too early for a good meal.” He walked over to one of the wooden tables by the window and sat in a chair where he could easily see out the window.
“Got some new pictures,” Becky said as she poured him a cup of coffee. There was nothing Becky loved more than to show off pictures of her grandchildren. She set the coffeepot down and dug into her apron pocket to withdraw a handful of photos.
Quinn took them from her and studied each of the smiling childish faces. “They’re beautiful,” he said.
Becky smiled and nodded. “They are.” She tucked the photos back in her apron. “I’ll just give you a few minutes. The special is smothered steak and mashed potatoes.”
“Then I don’t need a minute. That sounds good.” He returned the menu and leaned back in the chair to sip his coffee. She scurried away, the gray bun on top of her head bobbing with her brisk walk.
Kids. At one time Quinn had hoped to have a house full, but fate and cancer had stolen that dream from him. He and Sarah had never had a chance for children.
Even though it was early, there were already other diners in the café. Quinn had never been in the place when there weren’t at least a handful of people. Most mealtimes the place was packed.
He’d just finished his coffee when Georgie Sheffield, her husband, Nick, and her daughter, little Emmie, came through the door.
“I hear we just missed you this morning at Clay’s,” Georgie said to him. “We had a reunion. Ryder and Ana are back in town and we took them to Clay’s.” Georgie’s green eyes sparkled brightly. “It was wonderful.”
Emmie sidled up next to Quinn. At five years old, the little girl was the spitting image of her mother. Her red hair was cut pixielike to frame her face and she was dressed just like her mama in jeans, a Western-style shirt and cowboy boots.
Emmie was bright and precocious and had spent most of her young life on the rodeo circuit with her mother. The little girl considered Quinn a special friend because he fixed horses when they got sick and there were few things Emmie loved more than horses and cowboys.
“Excuse me, Mommy, but I want to talk to Mr. Quinn,” Emmie said. Georgie smiled with amusement and nodded. “Guess what happens next week?”
“I can’t imagine. What?” Quinn replied.
She leaned closer, bringing with her the scent of sunshine and childhood. “School begins.”
“Ah.” Quinn smiled at her. “And what are you, in the second grade, the third?”
“Maybe I should be because you know I can already read,” Emmie exclaimed. She leaned even closer. “But, truly it’s going to be my very first day of kindergarten.” A fierce look of determination crossed her petite features. “And I’m going to make one new friend, even if he or she isn’t a cowboy.”
“I think that sounds like a wonderful plan,” Quinn said.
Emmie turned to her mother and Nick. “And now I’ll go pick us out a table.”
As she left the adults behind, Georgie offered Quinn a weak smile. “I can’t believe she’s starting school. She’s so comfortable around adults. Her friends have always been rodeo cowboys. I just hope she fits in okay.” Her eyes clouded and sparkled with sudden tears of worry.
“I’m sure she’ll be just fine,” Quinn said.
“Of course she will,” Nick agreed, and placed an arm around Georgie’s shoulder. “She’s as strong as her mother and almost as pretty.”
Georgie laughed and leaned into Nick. He grinned at Quinn. “You just wait, maybe someday you’ll have to live through the trauma of the first day of school.”
As the two of them joined Emmie, who had chosen a table toward the back of the café, Quinn thought about what Nick had said.
He and Sarah had talked about having children one day, but before that dream had been realized she’d been diagnosed with the malignant aggressive brain tumor that had taken her in six short months. They’d had only nine months of marriage before her diagnosis.
Sarah had been a quiet, thoughtful woman and when she died, she did so as quietly and unassumingly as she had lived. He’d grieved deep and hard for a long time. Now when he thought of Sarah, the sharp despair was gone and he was left with a loneliness and a growing desire to get on with his life.
“Here we are,” Becky said as she delivered his meal. “Anything else I can do for you?” she asked as she poured him another cup of coffee.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“You’re not good,” Becky replied, her blue eyes sparkling with the liveliness that was her trademark. “You know I’m not happy unless I’m minding everyone’s business but my own. You need a woman, Quinn. You spend far too much time at this table all alone—no offense.”
He laughed. “None taken. I was just sitting here thinking the same thing.”
“We’ve got a lot of nice single women in this town who’d love to see you socially. You’re that strong, silent type. A little bit of that is quite romantic, but too much of it puts off the ladies.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Quinn replied. It was impossible to be offended by Becky’s advice because he knew how well intentioned it was.
As she left his table, his