Read the book: «The Mighty Quinns: Brody»

Chapter 1

Queensland, Australia—June, 2009

HIS BODY ACHED, from the throbbing in his head to the deep, dull pain in his knee. The various twinges in between—his back, his right elbow, the fingers of his left hand—felt worse than usual. Brody Quinn wondered if he’d always wake up with a reminder of the motorcycle accident that had ruined his future or, if someday, all the pain would magically be gone.

Hell, he’d just turned twenty-six and he felt like an old man. Reaching up, he rubbed his forehead, certain of only one thing—he’d spent the previous night sitting on his arse at the Spotted Dog getting himself drunk.

The sound of an Elvis Presley tune drifted through the air and Brody knew exactly where he’d slept it off—the Bilbarra jail. The town’s police chief, Angus Embley, was a huge fan of Presley, willing to debate the King’s singular place in the world of music with any bloke who dared to argue the point. Right now, Elvis was only exacerbating Brody’s headache.

“Angus!” he shouted. “Can you turn down the music?”

Since he’d returned home to his family’s cattle station in Queensland, he’d grown rather fond of the accommodations at the local jail. Though he usually ended up behind bars for some silly reason, it saved him the long drive home or sleeping it off in his SUV. “Angus!”

“He’s not here. He went out to get some breakfast.”

Brody rolled over to look into the adjoining cell, startled to hear a female voice. As he rubbed his bleary eyes, he focused on a slender woman standing just a few feet away, dressed in a pretty, flowered blouse and blue jeans. Her delicate fingers were wrapped around the bars that separated them, her dark eyes intently fixed on his.

“Christ,” he muttered, flopping back onto the bed. Now he’d really hit bottom, Brody mused, throwing his arm over his eyes. Getting royally pissed was one thing, but hallucinating a female prisoner was another. He was still drunk.

He closed his eyes, but the image of her swirled in his brain. Odd that he’d conjured up this particular apparition. She didn’t really fit his standard of beauty. He usually preferred blue-eyed blondes with large breasts and shapely backsides and long, long legs.

This woman was slim, with deep mahogany hair that fell in a riot of curls around her face and shoulders. By his calculations, she might come up to his chin at best. And her features were…odd. Her lips were almost too lush and her cheekbones too high. And her skin was so pale and perfect that he had to wonder if she ever spent a day in the sun.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. A lot of people talk in their sleep.”

Brody sat up. She had an American accent. His fantasy women never had American accents. “What?”

She stared at him from across the cell. “It was mostly just mumbling. And some snoring. And you did mention someone named Nessa.”

“Vanessa,” he murmured, scanning her features again. She wasn’t wearing a bit of makeup, yet she looked as if she’d just stepped out of the pages of one of those fashion magazines Vanessa always had on hand. She had that fresh-scrubbed, innocent, girl-next-door look about her. Natural. Clean. He wondered if she smelled as good as she looked.

Since returning home, there hadn’t been a single woman who’d piqued his interest—until now. Though she could be anywhere between sixteen and thirty, Brody reckoned if she was younger than eighteen, she wouldn’t be sitting in a jail cell. It was probably safe to lust after her.

“You definitely said Nessa,” she insisted. “I remember. I thought it was an odd name.”

“It’s short for Vanessa. She’s a model and that’s what they call her.” Nessa was so famous, she didn’t need a last name, kind of like Madonna or Sting.

“She’s your girlfriend?”

“Yes.” He drew a sharp breath, then cleared his throat. “No. Ex-girlfriend.”

“Sorry,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories.”

“No bad memories,” Brody replied, noting the hint of defensiveness in his voice. What the hell did he care what this woman thought of him—or the girls he’d dated? He swung his legs off the edge of the bed, then raked his hands through his hair. “I know why I’m here. What are you doing in a cell?”

“Just a small misunderstanding,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Angus doesn’t lock people up for small misunderstandings,” Brody countered, pushing to his feet. “Especially not women.” He crossed to stand in front of her, wrapping his fingers around the bars just above hers. “What did you do?”

“Dine and dash,” she said.

“What?”

Her eyes dropped and a pretty blush stained her cheeks. “I—I skipped out on my bill at the diner down the street. And a few other meals in a few other towns. I guess my life of crime finally caught up with me. The owner called the cops and I’m in here until I find a way to work it off.”

He pressed his forehead into the bars, hoping the cool iron would soothe the ache in his head. “Why don’t you just pay for what you ate?”

“I would have, but I didn’t have any cash. I left an IOU. And I said I’d come back and pay as soon as I found work. I guess that wasn’t good enough.”

Brody let his hands slide down until he was touching her, if only to prove that she was real and that he wasn’t dreaming. “What happened to all your money?” he asked, fixing his attention on her face as he ran his fingers over hers. It seemed natural to touch her, even though she was a complete stranger. Oddly, she didn’t seem to mind.

Her breath caught and then she sighed. “It’s all gone. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m not a dishonest person. I was just really, really hungry.”

She had the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen, her lips soft and full…perfect for—He fought the urge to pull her closer and take a quick taste, just to see if she’d be…different. “What’s your name?”

“Payton,” she murmured.

“Payton,” he repeated, leaning back to take in details of her body. “Is that your last name or your first?”

“Payton Harwell,” she said.

“And you’re American?”

“I am.”

“And you’re in jail,” he said, stating the obvious.

She laughed softly and nodded as she glanced around. “It appears I am. At least for a while. Angus told me as soon as he finds a way for me to work off my debt, he’ll let me out. I told him I could wash dishes at the diner, but the owner doesn’t want me back there. I guess jobs are in short supply around here.”

Brody’s gaze drifted back to her face—he was oddly fascinated by her features. Had he seen her at a party or in a nightclub in Fremantle, he probably wouldn’t have given her a second glance. But given time to appreciate her attributes, he couldn’t seem to find a single flaw worth mentioning.

“Quinn!”

Brody glanced over his shoulder and watched as Angus strolled in, his freshly pressed uniform already rumpled after just a few hours of work. “Are you sober yet?”

“You didn’t have to lock me up,” Brody said, letting go of the bars.

“Brody Quinn, you started a brawl, you broke a mirror and you threw a bleedin’ drink in my face, after insulting my taste in music. You didn’t give me a choice.” Angus braced his hands on his hips. “There’ll be a fine. I figure a couple hundred should do it. And you’re gonna have to pay for Buddy’s mirror.” Angus scratched his chin. “And I want a promise you’re gonna behave yourself from now on and respect the law. Your brother’s here, so pay the fine and you can go.”

“Teague is here?” Brody asked.

“No, Callum is waiting. He’s not so chuffed he had to make a trip into town.”

“I could have driven myself home,” Brody said.

“Your buddy Billy tried to take your keys last night. That’s what started the fight. He flushed the keys, so Callum brought your spare.” Angus reached down and unlocked the cell. “Next time you kick up a stink, I’m holding you for a week. That’s a promise.”

Brody turned back and looked at Payton. “You can let her out. I’ll pay her fine, too.”

“First you have to settle up with Miss Shelly over at the coffeeshop and then you have to find this young lady a job. Then, I’ll let you pay her fine. Until you do all that, she’s gonna be a guest for a bit longer.”

“It’s all right,” Payton said in a cheerful voice. “I’m okay here. I’ve got a nice place to sleep and regular meals.”

Brody frowned as he shook his head. It just didn’t feel right leaving her locked up, even if she did want to stay. “Suit yourself,” he said, rubbing at the ache in his head.

Payton gave him a little wave, but it didn’t ease his qualms. Who was she? And what had brought her to Bilbarra? There were a lot of questions running through his mind without any reasonable answers.

He walked with Angus through the front office toward the door. “Let her out, Angus,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll fix any mess she’s made.”

“I think she wants to stay for a while. I’m not sure she has anywhere else to go. I figure, I’ll find her a job and at least she’ll eat.” He cleared his throat. “Besides, she doesn’t complain about my music. She actually likes Elvis. Smart girl.”

When they reached the front porch of the police station, Brody found his eldest brother, Callum, sitting in an old wooden chair, his feet propped up on the porch railing, his felt stockman’s hat pulled low over his eyes.

Brody sat down next to him, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Go ahead. Get it over with. Chuck a spaz and we’ll call it a day.”

Callum shoved his hat back and glanced at his little brother. “Jaysus, Brody, this is the third time this month. You keep this up, you might as well live here and save yourself the trouble driving the two hours into town every weekend. At least I wouldn’t worry about how you’re getting home.”

“It won’t happen again,” Brody mumbled.

“I can’t spare the time. And petrol doesn’t come cheap. And it’s not like I don’t have enough on my mind with this whole land mess boiling up again.”

Callum had been a grouch for the past month, ever since Harry Fraser had filed papers in court to contest what had to be the longest-running land dispute in the history of Australia. Harry ran the neighboring station and the Frasers and the Quinns had been feuding for close to a hundred years, mostly over a strip of land that lay between the stations—land with the most productive water bore within a couple hundred kilometers. Ownership of the property had passed back and forth over the years, dependant on the judge who heard the case. It was now the Quinns’ property to lose.

“He’s lost the last three times he tried. He hasn’t been able to find any decent proof of his claim. What makes you think that will change now?”

“I’m still going to have to hire a bloody solicitor and they don’t come cheap.” Callum sighed. “And then this genealogy woman just shows up on the doorstep yesterday morning and expects me to spend all my time telling stories about our family history.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“You’re turning into a fair wanker, you are. You could find something better to do with yourself. Like lending a hand on the station. We could use your help mustering now that Teague’s practice is starting to take off. He’s been taking calls almost every day. And when he’s home, he spends his time doing paperwork.”

“I haven’t decided on a plan,” Brody muttered. “But it bloody well doesn’t include stockman’s work. Now, can I have my keys? I’ve got some things to do.”

“Buddy doesn’t want you back at the Spotted Dog. You’re going to have to find yourself another place to get pissed—” Callum paused “—or you could give up the coldies. It would save you some money.”

Brody’s brother Teague had been back on Kerry Creek for about a year after working as an equine vet near Brisbane. He’d taken up with Doc Daley’s practice in Bilbarra, planning to buy him out so that the old man could retire. He’d saved enough in Brisbane to purchase a plane, making it possible to move about the outback quickly and efficiently.

Callum’s income came directly from working Kerry Creek, the Quinn family’s fifty-thousand-acre cattle station. Part of the profits went to their parents, now living in Sydney, where their mother taught school and their father had started a small landscaping business in his retirement.

And Brody, who’d once boasted a rather impressive bank account, was now unemployed, his million-dollar contract gone, many of his investments liquidated and his savings dwindling every day. He could survive another three or four years, if he lived frugally. But after that, he needed to find a decent job. Something that didn’t involve kicking a football between two goalposts.

When Brody had left the station as a teenager, there’d been no other choice. He’d hated station life almost as much as his mother had. And though he’d wanted to stay with his brothers, his mother needed someone to go with her, to watch out for her. It had been a way to realize his dream of a pro-football career and he’d grabbed the chance. If it hadn’t been for the accident, he’d still be living in Fremantle, enjoying his life and breaking every last scoring record for his team.

One stupid mistake and it had ended. He’d torn up his knee and spent the last year in rehab, trying to get back to form. He’d played in three games earlier in the season before the club dropped him. No new contract, no second chance, just a polite fare-thee-well.

“I’m sorry you’re not doing what you want to do,” Callum said, reaching out and putting his hand on Brody’s shoulder. “Sometimes life is just crap. But you pick yourself up and you get on with it. And you stop being such a dickhead.”

Brody gave his brother a shove, then stood up. “Give it a rest. If I needed a mother, I’d move back to Sydney and live with the one I already have.” Brody grabbed his keys from Callum’s hand then jogged down the front steps and out into the dusty street. “I’ll catch you later.”

As he walked down the main street of Bilbarra, his thoughts returned to the woman sitting in Angus’s cell. “Payton,” he whispered. He hadn’t been attracted to any woman since Vanessa had walked out on him a year ago, frustrated by his dark moods and eager to find a bloke with a better future and a bigger bank account.

But Payton Harwell didn’t know him, or football. All she cared about was a place to sleep and her next meal. And he certainly had the means to provide that.

PAYTON SIPPED at the bottle of orange juice that Angus had brought for her breakfast. She’d finished the egg sandwich first, then gobbled down the beans and bacon, enough nutrition to last her the entire day. Sooner or later, Angus would let her out and then she’d be back to scraping by for her meals. It was best to eat while she could.

She glanced over at the adjoining cell. It had been pleasant to have some company for a time, she mused. Actually, more than pleasant when the fellow prisoner was as handsome and fascinating as Brody Quinn. Payton rubbed the spot where their hands had touched, remembering the sensation that had raced through her at the contact.

She’d been in Australia for a month now and this had been the first real conversation she’d allowed herself. She’d told him her name, but not much else. In truth, since her arrival, Payton had spent most of her time trying to figure out exactly who she was, now that she wasn’t what she was supposed to be.

Until a month ago, her life had always been neatly laid out in front of her—the best schools, carefully chosen activities, the right friends, exotic vacations. As she grew older, a top-notch education and a careful search for an appropriate husband. Finally, a wonderful wedding to a successful man that her parents adored. It had been exactly the path her mother had followed, a step-by-step guide to happiness.

Payton had taken on the role of the dutiful daughter, doing all she could to please her parents and never once rebelling against their authority. Even when they’d insisted she stop riding at age seventeen after breaking her arm in a fall, Payton had agreed. She’d loved her horse, and riding had given her a wonderful sense of freedom. But she’d simply assumed that her parents knew best. If she’d had a rebellious streak, it hadn’t shown itself—until a month ago. And then, it had erupted like a dormant volcano.

When it came to the moment to say “I do,” Payton had turned and run. For the first time in her life, she’d made a decision for herself. Though she was twenty-five years old, her perfect life up to that point had never prepared her to deal with self-doubt. Running had been her only option.

She’d met Sam her first day at Columbia. He was the man her mother had always told her about, the man who could give her everything she’d ever want or need. He was handsome and smart, four years older, and from a wealthy East Coast family. Her father, the scion of a banking empire, approved of his finances, and her mother, a third-generation socialite, approved of his bloodlines. And it wasn’t as if there hadn’t been an attraction between them. There had been…in the beginning.

An image flashed in her mind. How easily she’d forgotten Sam. All she wanted to think about now was this stranger who had touched her, this man with the penetrating gaze and the dangerous smile. A tiny thrill raced through her at the memory of his eyes raking the length of her body.

Payton leaned her head back against the concrete wall of the cell. Brody Quinn was incredibly sexy. Any woman would be attracted to a man like that. She allowed herself to speculate. Shirt on, shirt off. Completely naked and—without the bars between them, she wondered just how far she would have gone. A kiss, a quick grope, maybe more?

Payton sighed. Maybe her attraction to Brody wasn’t an early midlife crisis. Maybe she was experiencing some sort of sexual schizophrenia caused by all the stress she’d been under. She’d never thought a whole lot about sex until recently. It had never been that important.

But suddenly, she found herself thinking about passion and desire, about what it truly meant to connect on a physical level with a man. Wasn’t it normal for her to worry if Sam was the last man she’d ever sleep with? Shouldn’t he want to touch her and make her moan with pleasure? Shouldn’t sexual attraction be just as important as love and mutual respect?

There hadn’t been that many men in her life—a grand total of four—so she hadn’t much experience on which to rely. Two boys in high school, one in college after she and Sam had broken up for a time, and then Sam. She knew sex was supposed to be exciting and it had been, up until Sam had started working twelve—to fourteen-hour days. Suddenly, intimacy had become just another job for him, an obligation, like the bouquet of flowers he brought her every Friday evening.

In the weeks before the wedding, her mother had assured her it would all even out over time. There were meant to be highs and lows in a marriage. It kept things interesting. And heaven knows, she’d said, sex wasn’t everything. She and Payton’s father kept separate bedrooms and they got along just fine.

Until that moment, Payton had always assumed the arrangement was because her father snored, but once she realized her parents no longer needed each other in that way, she began to question her assumptions about a happy marriage. She wondered if her own marriage might end up more a convenient arrangement than a lifelong passion.

From that point on, Payton began to look at Sam in a different way. Every touch, every kiss, was more evidence that the passion between them was waning. Worse, she began to doubt herself. Perhaps she was just incapable of keeping a man sexually interested. Maybe it was genetic.

But that crazy attraction hadn’t been missing with Brody Quinn. There had been an excitement between them, a delicious anticipation that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Her heart beat faster at the thought of him, and her breathing suddenly grew shallow. He’d been attracted to her, too, that much was obvious.

She thought back to the night before her wedding, a night spent pacing her room at the resort in Fiji. Every instinct told her to call it all off—or at least delay until she had her head on straight. But she knew what an embarrassment it would be to her parents, how upset they’d be. As an only child, so much had always been expected of her, and she’d done her best to make her parents proud. But wasn’t there a point in life where she had to think about herself first?