Page 17 of Quinn

One was already nearly finished. Sturdy, strong, the finish smooth and shiny. The other, held together by clamps, looked like it had sat in too many years of sun and rain. “I guess this one was in worse shape.”

He slowly shook his head. “No. The other was worse, that’s why I started with it.”

Running her fingers against the pristine antiquity and then the scratchy surface of the work in progress, she marveled at the woodwork in this room. A reflection of the man himself. Steady. Reliable. The kind of person who could take broken things and make them whole again. Useful. Beautiful.

“You’re close to your brother.” Quinn reached for a different grade of sandpaper.

“He’s always been there for me. Would always throw just enough of a fit so we wouldn’t be separated in the system.”

“System?”

“Foster care.” Still fingering more of his woodwork, she heard his slight intake of breath. “Danny’s probably the reason I made it through foster care. No matter what, he always looked out for me.” Somehow, finding the words, sharing the memories, the hurts, came easier in the quiet workshop. “When things got bad, he’d sneak into the kitchen, make me hot chocolate. Even if it was just powder and hot water, he always made it feel special.”

Quinn nodded, his hands moving steadily over the wood. “And now it’s your turn to take care of him.”

“I just hope I’m doing it right.” Back at his side, she traced a finger along the chair’s smooth arm. “The therapist in Chicago thinks the quiet will help. Says he needs space to breathe.”

“Plenty of that here.” Quinn looked up, meeting her eyes. “And plenty of people who understand about needing to heal.”

Something in his voice made her heart skip, her mind running through how supportive Hannah and Connor had been as well as his cousin Ethan. She watched his hands move over the wood, strong and gentle at the same time. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making me feel like maybe I’m not crazy for uprooting everything and coming halfway across the country to a ghost town to start a new life.”

The soft smile that stretched across his face seemed to hug her like a warm blanket. “Nothing crazy about wanting to help someone you love.”

So the gruff and quiet cowboy had a soft spot. Had she realized that before? Mentally nodding to herself, she knew she had. All the Farraday men were good and honorable, any idiot could see that. But Quinn, he was strong and honorable and gentle and sensitive, and someone she most definitely wanted to get to know better. She could only hope that Danny would take to Farraday country and give her that chance. There was one other thing she was sure of—she really wanted that chance.

Quinn sat perfectly still, watching Eloise’s fingers trail over the sanded arm of the rocker. Her touch was gentle, appreciative—the same way she handled ingredients in the kitchen. Like she understood the value of things others might overlook.

A longing to cover her hand with his and share his work more closely surprised him. He wanted to know so much more about her, about her past, her life, her dreams, but he had no idea where to start. “I guess your interest in antiques extends outside the kitchen?”

Her head bobbed as she pulled her hand away from the rocking chair. “Since the council mentioned a furnished apartment, I decided to sell most of my furniture.”

“I see,” he spoke softly.

“Danny found me a deal on a moving truck already coming to West Texas and had room for a small load. Extra clothes, some of my kitchenware, an old restored dresser.”

“You restore furniture?”

She chuckled. “Not me. Danny tried.”

“Tried?” Unless it was in pieces, he didn’t understand how the word tried came into play.

“He went through this phase of watching DIY videos. Bought this old dresser at a yard sale. Let’s just say it didn’t end quite the way he expected.”

“But you kept it anyway?” It wasn’t really a question.

She nodded. “I use it as a nightstand. The bottom drawer sticks and if I tug too hard the front falls off, so I leave it closed.”

“Hm,” he muttered, mostly so she knew he was listening.

“It’s a bit eclectic in its color scheme—”

“Color scheme? He didn’t stain it?”

“No. Like I said, it didn’t turn out the way he expected, but I loved it nonetheless.”

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