Page 9 of Quinn

A year or so ago, he probably would have said not likely; now, he felt the Farraday roots as strong as that of a two-hundred-year-old live oak tree—he and his brothers weren’t going anywhere. “My family has been in Texas since before Texas was Texas.”

“Must be nice.” She still sported a smile, but a hint of sadness showed through.

If he could think of a way to ask more without prying, he would have. Normally, he could not care less what people’s stories were, but today he really wanted to know why her tone was so sad. Actually, even more surprising, he sort of wanted to fix it too.

“Well, if you’re okay with everyone in your space and your business, it’s just peachy.”

“So, you don’t like it?”

Did he? His face spread with what might have been his first smile of the day. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I think I knew you were going to say that.”

Before he could respond, he slowed as they approached the ranch entrance. “Your welcoming committee awaits.” Uncle Sean and his cousin Connor stood talking on the front porch. From the number of cars and trucks parked nearby, Quinn was pretty sure that Aunt Eileen had called in the troops for a family dinner even if it wasn’t Sunday.

“More family?” Something in Eloise’s voice made Quinn glance over. He couldn’t testify to it in a court of law, but he felt sure he saw longing in her eyes, quickly hidden behind that sunny smile.

“Anywhere near Tuckers Bluff, you can’t turn around without tripping over a Farraday.”

“Sadieville too?” Her voice sounded a bit more timid than it had earlier in the day. He suspected the number of Farradays coming onto the porch to greet them was making her a bit nervous.

“Getting that way.”

Someone opened the screen door just enough for Gray to run out, making a beeline for Connor’s young son playing in front. The boy’s delighted laughter echoed across the yard.

“And the chaos begins.” Quinn helped Eloise down from the truck. The scent of his aunt’s famous pot roast drifted from the house, along with the sound of multiple conversations and what seemed to be a heated debate about baseball.

“Quinn!” Connor called from the porch. “Aunt Eileen said you were bringing our new chef. Come on up—Dad’s about to tell the story about the ghost horse again.”

“Ghost horse?” Eloise whispered.

“Family legend. It’s why the first Farraday in the new country decided to propose to an American bride.”

“He needed a ghost horse to propose?”

Quinn shrugged. “From what I remember, my however many greats ago grandfather left Ireland to earn money to send for his bride. Before he could do that, she got sick and died. He felt guilty for years. He swore the ghost horse was the spirit of his first wife telling him to keep living without her, so he proposed and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“That’s sweet.” Eloise heaved a sigh, straightened her shoulders, and marched to the porch steps.

Quinn watched his family’s easy embrace of their house guest. Connor’s wife was already pulling Eloise into a conversation about Chicago restaurants, while Aunt Eileen explained about her having Grace’s old room and how much she was going to love it. Already he could see the tension in Eloise’s shoulders easing. Maybe everything would work out just fine, even if there was no way in hell that apartment was getting done any time soon.

Chapter Five

The aroma of fresh coffee filled the ranch kitchen as dawn painted the horizon in watercolor hues. Eloise had expected a basic country kitchen, not this massive space with top-of-the-line appliances, quartz countertops, and enough room to feed an army. Which, given the number of Farradays she’d met last night and how many were still left to meet, probably wasn’t far off.

She glanced around in search of the dog who had been her shadow most of last evening. Allowing her to scratch behind his ears had been as soothing for Eloise as for the dog. The other dog that was clearly Gray’s favorite companion, came over from time to time for a little scratch or sniff, but the big gray dog was the one who remained mostly at her side, or comfortably in a corner, his tail thumping against the hardwood floor each time she passed.

“Good morning.” Aunt Eileen stood at the sink, smiling over her shoulder. “Did you sleep well?”

After the best night’s sleep she’d had in months—courtesy of the cloud-soft bed in what Aunt Eileen called “Grace’s old room”—Eloise felt energized. “Very well, thank you. The room is just lovely. And the view.”

The bedroom itself had been a revelation. Soft blues and creams, a window seat perfect for reading, and a view that stretched forever across the Texas landscape.

“Wait till you see the sunset.” Aunt Eileen reached for another dirty dish. “Best view of the setting sun, other than the back porch.”

She’d caught the hues of a rising sun when she passed through the living room, and she could hardly wait to catch sunset.

“I’m just about to fix the second round of breakfast.”

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