The Mighty Quinns: Cameron

Praise for Kate Hoffmann from RT Book Reviews …

“Hoffmann’s deeply felt, emotional story is riveting. It’s impossible to put down.”

— on The Charmer

“Fully developed characters and perfect pacing make this story feel completely right.”

— on Your Bed or Mine?

“Sexy and wildly romantic.”

— on Doing Ireland!

“A very hot story mixes with great characters to make every page a delight.”

— on The Mighty Quinns: Ian

“Romantic, sexy and heartwarming.”

— on Who Needs Mistletoe?

“Sexy, heartwarming and romantic … a story to settle down with and enjoy—and then re-read.”

— on The Mighty Quinns: Teague

Dear Reader,

The Traveling Quinn Saga continues this month, with Cameron Quinn hopping on a bus that will take him to Vulture Creek, New Mexico. What kind of new life will he find there, do you suppose? His two brothers, Dermot and Kieran, have already found love in Wisconsin and Kentucky. And next, Ronan, the youngest Quinn, will end up in over his head in Maine.

This series has been a lot of fun to write, especially since I’ve been able to explore four different settings. Choosing the place my characters come to life is one of my favorite parts of writing. Researching a new location and then weaving the details into my hero and heroine’s journey is always a challenge, but it’s one I love to take on.

After writing almost seventy books, I really should go back and see how many states I’ve visited in my stories. Too bad I can’t deduct literary mileage on my tax returns!

All the best,

Kate Hoffmann

KATE HOFFMANN has written more than seventy books for Mills & Boon. She spent time as a music teacher, a retail assistant buyer and an advertising exec before she settled into a career as a full-time writer. She continues to pursue her interests in music, theatre and musical theatre, working with local schools in various productions. She lives in south-eastern Wisconsin with her cat, Chloe.

The

Mighty Quinns:

Cameron

Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Prologue

A DAMP WIND BUFFETED the mourners standing around the grave site. Cameron Quinn stared up into the slate-gray sky, then closed his eyes against the tears that threatened. He couldn’t remember the last time the sun had shone. It had been a year of dark, gloomy days strung together with nights of strange and disturbing dreams.

Cameron held tight to the umbrella as it was buffeted by the wind. His younger twin brothers, Dermot and Kieran, stood on one side of him, huddling close more for comfort than for protection from the coming rain. Ronan, his youngest brother, stood in front of him, his posture stiff, his hands shoved in his coat pockets.

After a year of searching and waiting and wondering, it was finally over. Jamie and Suzanne Quinn had been declared dead. Cameron’s parents had been due to arrive in Vanuatu in the South Pacific a little more than a year ago, ferrying a sailing yacht across the Pacific for a wealthy buyer.

The trip was originally meant to be a summer vacation for the whole family, but when the owner pushed up the delivery date, Cameron and his three brothers had been forced to stay behind for school. The trip was to take just over a month.

Cameron and the younger Quinns had marked off the calendar on their grandfather’s kitchen wall as each day passed. Every few days, they’d heard from their parents via satellite phone, but then their parents missed a night and then another. A week passed and the boys could sense the worry in their grand father’s demeanor. And yet Suzanne and Jamie weren’t officially missing. And then they were.

“Why are we burying a—a box?” Kieran asked.

“Coffin,” Cameron murmured. “It’s called a coffin.”

Dermot drew a ragged breath. “What if they come home? Will we dig it up again and get our stuff back?”

Cameron glanced down at his brother and shook his head. “They’re not going to come home.” Though he wanted to believe differently, Cameron knew the reality of their situation.

A week after the planned arrival date, the search for his parents had begun. Two weeks later, there was still no word, no sign, no explanation. And after his parents were a month overdue, a harsh truth began to creep into the boys’ lives. Their parents might be lost. Perhaps they were adrift in a life raft, or captured by pirates, or marooned on some tropical island. No one could say for sure, not even Cameron’s grandfather. And he always had answers for the questions his four grandsons asked.

It was not knowing the truth that bothered Cameron the most. That tiny flicker of hope that refused to fade. For a year, he’d believed, along with his brothers, that this would all turn out to be a very bad dream. But as he watched the empty casket being lowered into the dark hole in the earth, that flicker of hope faded, then extinguished.

“I’m scared,” Ronan said, turning to face Cameron, his eyes swimming with tears.

Cameron wrapped his free arm around Ronan’s shoulders. “Don’t be scared. We’re going to be all right. I promise.”

Dermot brushed a tear from his cheek. “I want Ma and Da back. I know they’re coming back. I know it.”

“Me, too,” Kieran said. “They’re coming back.”

“Maybe,” Cameron said. He wanted more than anything to believe. Maybe he shouldn’t give up quite yet. There was always a chance, wasn’t there? For now, he’d let his little brothers believe. They’d come to their own realizations in time.

The memories of their parents would fade, life would go on, and they’d accept the truth. Nothing would ever be easy or simple or silly again. It was Cameron’s job to hold the family together, to be mother and father to his younger brothers. He wasn’t sure he was up to the job, but he’d do his best. He owed his parents that much.

1

THE BUS STOPPED in front of a worn-down café, a neon beer sign in the window flickering with the only color Cameron Quinn had seen in the past two hundred miles. “Home-cooked meals,” he murmured as he stared at the sign. At least Vulture Creek, New Mexico, had one thing going for it. From what he’d seen so far, the place was a dusty crossroad, somewhere on the way to Albuquerque.

He grabbed his leather duffel from the rack above his head and walked to the front of the bus, the aisle clear. None of the other passengers had chosen this destination, and after seeing the town out the window, he figured they could count themselves lucky. They were obviously on their way to more glamorous locations, like Santa Fe and Amarillo and Tulsa. A few passengers were even headed to Roswell to take in the “alien” experience.

Cameron knew exactly how those aliens felt, dropping down into a barren, almost lifeless world. He’d come from Seattle, where it rained almost every day of the year and where green, not brown, was the predominant color. He stepped off the bus and squinted up at the turquoise sky, shading his eyes with his hand. It was the only sight that assured him he was still on planet Earth.

Moments later, the bus pulled away in a cloud of dust and diesel fumes. This would be home for the next six weeks, this desolate spot that looked more like the surface of the moon than a habitable location.

Why had his grandfather picked Vulture Creek? The name alone was enough to scare away most people. The challenge had been simple—in theory. His grandfather had sent his four grandsons to strange corners of the country on a quest of sorts—a quest to find out who they really were and where they belonged. Dermot was somewhere in Wisconsin, Kieran in Tennessee, Ronan in Maine, and Cameron, the eldest of the four, was banished to the middle of nowhere.

For six weeks, they were supposed carve out an existence for themselves, away from the family business and familiar surroundings. In theory, he understood his grandfather’s motives. He and his brothers had worked for the family business, Quinn Yachtworks, since shortly after their parents went missing, pitching in to do anything to make the business succeed. There hadn’t really been a choice in the matter; they’d just done it to repay their grandfather for taking them in and to stave off the grief that hung over the family like a dark cloud.

But now it was time to decide the fate of the successful company they’d helped build. An attractive offer to buy the business had come along from an interested party, and Martin Quinn had a decision to make—leave the business to his grandsons or sell and retire in luxury.

Cameron had never really thought twice about what he did for a living. He’d felt obligated to work at the family business, and he enjoyed his position as head of the design team. It suited his artistic inclinations and paid well—and it was interesting work.

It also suited his personality. He liked the solitary pursuit of the perfect design. He was in control; he made the decisions. It was a quiet life, a controlled life and one that he’d grown quite accustomed to. There were never any surprises.

So it wasn’t any wonder he thought this “vacation” was an exercise in futility. Cameron knew exactly where he belonged and what he was meant to do. He knew it from the moment he became head of his family, from the day his parents had officially been proclaimed dead. It had been his responsibility to watch over his younger brothers, to make their life with their grandfather work.

Sure, he’d had other dreams. When he was a kid, he’d wanted to become a paleontologist, like the hero in Jurassic Park. He’d fantasized about exotic locations and complicated digs, of discoveries that would turn history upside down. But he put those dreams aside for the greater good of his family.

According to their grandfather’s plan, after six weeks, he and his brothers were to return home. If they wanted to make a commitment to the company, they could. If they wanted to carve out a new life somewhere else, then all would be well. If they all chose a different life, then they’d share in the profits from the sale and build something new for themselves.

He crossed the street to the diner. He’d have a decent meal, check out the town and then buy a bus ticket for the nearest civilized city. After all, Vulture Creek was neither a hotbed of employment opportunities nor a glamorous vacation destination. Surely his grandfather didn’t expect him to live here for six weeks. He’d bide his time someplace more comfortable.

As he opened the door of the diner, a pickup truck slowly passed by. From beneath the brim of a battered cowboy hat, the driver watched Cameron with a suspicious glare. Cameron gave him a nod, but the man didn’t acknowledge the greeting. “Hospitable place,” he muttered to himself.

A bell above the door rang as Cameron entered the café. Fans hung from the high ceilings, turning slowly yet doing nothing to freshen the air. A small crowd of people was gathered around tables near the window, the remains of their breakfast still scattered in front of them. They were laughing and arguing, but Cameron ignored them and sat down at the empty counter. He glanced to the back of the diner and saw a woman sitting in a booth near the door to the kitchen, talking on her cell phone.

He relaxed on the stool and grabbed a menu, studying the prices. He had about six dollars left in cash and a pocketful of change. But his grandfather had given them all a company credit card to use, as well. He’d pull that out for lunch and then find a cheap motel room with a hot shower and a soft bed.

A middle-aged woman stepped through the swinging door, a coffeepot in her hand. She strolled up to him and set a cup in front of him. Her blue blouse was embroidered with her name—Millie. “Coffee?”

Cameron shook his head. It was too hot to drink coffee. “Ice water,” he said. “The biggest glass you have.”

“Breakfast specials are Denver omelet, blueberry waffles, and steak and eggs,” she said, observing him with a keen eye. “Lunch specials are pork enchiladas and a meat-loaf plate. We also have chicken-dumpling soup and grasshopper pie made fresh this morning. What can I get you?”

Cameron glanced at the clock above the counter. Though it was only eleven, he really didn’t feel much like breakfast. “I’ll have the meat loaf,” Cameron said. “With fries. And the soup. Do you have beer on tap?”

“Just bottles.”

“Give me a bottle of your best. And you take credit cards?”

“MasterCard and Visa,” she said.

She returned with his beer and poured it into a glass mug that looked like a cowboy boot. Cameron took a long, slow sip of it. He glanced over at the booth and silently observed the woman he’d noticed earlier. His breath caught in his throat as she turned slightly, and he coughed, the beer going down his windpipe.

Her battered straw cowboy hat had hidden her features, but she’d tipped her chin up to reveal a stunning profile. He found himself staring at her mouth as she spoke. She was younger than he’d originally thought, in her mid-twenties. And there was something different about her, something slightly exotic. His mind drifted as he thought about that mouth, the lush lips, wondering if the rest of her body was as tantalizingly sexy.

When she hung up the phone, he turned his attention back to his beer, watching her in the reflection of the mirror behind the counter. He held his breath, waiting for her to move. But when he noticed a distinct limp in her gait, he glanced back down at his beer, uneasy with his reaction to her handicap.

Though he felt sorry for her, nothing as insignificant as a limp could erase the image of perfection he found when he considered her beautiful features and her slender body. To his surprise, she sat down a few seats away and dropped her cowboy hat on the counter.

“Millie, I’m gonna grab myself a coffee,” she called toward the kitchen door, tucking a strand of raven hair behind her ear. She circled around the end of the counter and picked up a cup, then filled it from the pot.

God, she was beautiful, Cameron mused. This was the last place on earth he expected to find an interesting woman, and this one elicited more curiosity in him than any woman he’d seen in the past five years. She was clad in faded jeans and a baggy chambray shirt, not the typical fashions for the women he usually lusted after. Dusty cowboy boots completed the look.

She took a sip of her coffee, staring straight ahead. Cameron grabbed the opportunity to take in the details of her face. High cheekbones and dark eyes betrayed a Native American heritage, but there was something else there, something that softened her stunning features just a bit.

“Is it considered polite to stare at people where you come from?” she asked, her gaze still fixed on the coffeepot. She slowly turned and gave him a cool look, her raven eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Sorry,” Cameron murmured. “I’ve just been stuck on a bus for the past few days with nothing interesting to look at.” He chuckled softly. “And you’re the absolute last thing I thought I’d see in this place.”

“And what exactly am I?”

“Interesting,” he murmured. Cameron took another sip of his beer. “Sorry. I’ll keep my eyes to myself.”

She turned away, as if embarrassed by the compliment. “You have been on a bus too long,” she said.

“I have.”

A long silence grew between them as they both stared straight ahead, enjoying their drinks.

“What are you doing in Vulture Creek?” she asked.

“It’s a long story.”

“Where are you from?”

“Seattle,” he said. “Washington.”

“I know where Seattle is,” she said with a smile.

“Of course you do,” he said. For someone who didn’t want to be noticed, she sure was trying awfully hard to strike up a conversation. Cameron had never been an expert at small talk, but just this once, it might be nice to make an effort. “Do you live around here?”

She seemed to be understandably suspicious of him. “Around,” she replied.

“That’s a little vague,” he said. “Around here? Around New Mexico? Around the Southwest?”

“Albuquerque,” she said.

“And what are you doing in Vulture Creek?” he asked.

She smiled. “It’s a long story.”

Cameron chuckled softly. “Well, that does it, then. I’ve found someone who is worse at small talk than I am. Maybe we should just stop talking altogether before we bore each other to death.”

She shrugged. “Fine by me. You’re the one who started the conversation.”

“Actually, you were the first one to speak, as I recall. I was just staring.”

“Well, I’m done speaking. Starting now.”

Millie appeared a few minutes later with Cameron’s lunch. She set the plate in front of him, then nodded toward his empty mug. “Another beer?”

“Sure,” Cameron said as he dug into his meal.

Millie turned to the woman sitting next to him. “What can I get for you, Sofie? Breakfast or lunch?”

“The meat loaf is good,” Cameron said between bites. Sofie. Was that short for Sofia? The name suited her, he thought to himself. Sofia, the dark, exotic beauty with the lush mouth and the sparkling eyes.

“I’ll have a grilled-cheese and a cup of soup,” Sofie said.

“Can I get you anything else?” Millie asked Cameron.

“A job. Do you know of anyone who’s looking to hire? I need work. And a place to stay.”

She nodded toward the group sitting at the tables near the front of the diner. “You could talk to the professor over there,” she said. “He has a dinosaur dig out in the desert. They’re always looking for help.”

Cameron gasped. “Really. A dig?” He shook his head in disbelief. Was this why his grand father had sent him to Vulture Creek? Did he know about the dig?

“They don’t pay,” Sofie said. “Other than meals. They’re looking for volunteers.”

“Aren’t you looking for someone, Sofie?” Millie asked.

“No,” Sofie said.

“Sure you are. You mentioned it yesterday. I distinctly remember you saying you didn’t have enough eyes or ears to cover all the ground you needed to. I do believe those were your words.”

“What kind of work do you do?” Cameron asked.

“She’s a private investigator,” Millie said. “Working on a big case.” The waitress wandered back to the kitchen, leaving Sofie and Cameron with another uncomfortable silence.

Cameron sighed softly. Though the dinosaur dig was intriguing, he’d have to find a way to make some real money. And if Sofie, the private investigator, had a job, then he ought to explore that option. Who knew if there would even be other opportunities in Vulture Creek?

“So do you or don’t you have a job you’re looking to fill?”

Millie set a cup of soup in front of Sofie. “Maybe you ought to interview him. He looks like a clever young man.” She winked at Cameron. “Careful, now. If you have any secrets, she’ll find a way to get them out of you.”

Cameron stifled a smile. Actually, that sounded like a lot of fun. Though he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, he was enjoying the back-and-forth with Sofie. Beneath that cool, composed exterior, Cameron suspected there was a fiery, passionate woman. He was curious to catch a glimpse of that side of her.

“Why are you here?” Sofie asked.

Cameron wiped his hands with his napkin and swallowed the mouthful of meat loaf. “I’m here because my grandfather sent me here. I’m supposed to take the next six weeks to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

“Why would you need to do that?”

“My grandfather owns the family business. I work there. He needs to make some decisions about the future of that business. He wants us all to be sure of where we want to be.”

“All?”

“Me and my three brothers. We all work for the company.”

“What do you do? I mean, for a job?” she replied.

“I design sailing yachts,” he said.

Sofie laughed and nodded to Millie. “Well, we have a lot of sailing yachts here in the desert,” she said. “I really don’t think I have—”

“Sofie,” Cameron said.

She stopped talking and watched him warily. “Yes?”

“I’m a smart guy. I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever you send my way. Why don’t you give me a chance? If it doesn’t work out, you can fire me.”

“What’s your name?” she finally asked.

He held out his hand. “Cameron Quinn. Most people call me Cam.”

Reluctantly, she shook his hand. “Sofia Reyes,” she said softly. “Most people call me Sofie.”

The moment he touched her, the sensation of her skin against his sent a flood of warmth racing through his veins. He didn’t want to let her hand go, but forced himself. “Now that we’ve met, you have to let me buy you lunch,” Cameron said. “You can tell me all about the virtues of Vulture Creek.”

“That would be a very short lunch. More like a snack.”

“Go ahead,” Millie urged. “Let the man buy you lunch.”

He felt a small measure of satisfaction when she nodded in agreement. Though he hadn’t held out much hope of finding anything of interest in Vulture Creek when he stepped off the bus, his prospects were getting better with every minute that passed. Sofie Reyes. Even her name was sexy.

SOFIE SIGHED SOFTLY as she took her first bite of Millie’s banana-cream pie. She’d been hanging around Vulture Creek for the past few weeks, and a slice of Millie’s homemade pie had become a daily ritual for her.

“I think pie is just about the perfect food,” Sofie said, emphasizing her statement with her fork. “You can eat it for breakfast, lunch or dinner. And it’s good for a snack, too.”

“I think you might be right,” Cameron replied, digging into the apple pie he’d ordered after his own meal.

The conversation was easy between them, which Sofie found odd. She usually wasn’t very comfortable around charming men, especially men she didn’t know. Her instincts usually tended to have her second-guessing everything that was said, looking for ulterior motives and hidden meanings. It was the side effects of working as a private investigator, she knew. Everyone she met was guilty of something.

But this man, this Cameron Quinn, should have set off all her alarms. His reasons for being in Vulture Creek were cloudy at best. His wardrobe was more suited to a man who drove an expensive European sports car than a guy who took the Greyhound. And yet she couldn’t help but be attracted.

In truth, she did need help. It had become almost impossible to cover all her bases with the case she was working, especially when she had to provide round-the-clock surveillance. And as a woman, she was more conspicuous in a small town like Vulture Creek. For whatever reason, people noticed her and they remembered her.

The sooner she wrapped up this case, the better, and if Cameron Quinn could help, who was she to refuse? She’d been chasing cheating husbands and deadbeat dads for almost six months, and it was wearing on her nerves. As soon as she was physically able, she’d be back on the job with the Albuquerque Police Department, back doing the job she was meant to do.

Sofie drew a deep breath. It had been two years since the accident, two years of recovery that seemed to progress an inch at a time. As much as she didn’t want to face it, she knew the reality of her situation.

She might not make it back. She might never be able to pass the physical again. All she’d be left with was a hip that ached in the cold and a limp that made her the object of either pity or curiosity. Though she might be considered attractive, she was still damaged.