by Caleb Borne
Michael Quinn
Irish Billionaire Mafia Romance
Caleb Borne
Copyright © 2019 by Caleb Borne
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Also by Caleb Borne
The Virgin’s Choice
Fake for Him
Hard Boss
Contents
1. Michael - 1953
2. Kathleen – 1961
3. Michael
4. Kathleen
5. Michael
6. Kathleen
7. Michael
8. Kathleen
9. Michael
10. Kathleen
11. Michael
12. Kathleen
13. Michael
14. Kathleen
15. Michael
16. Kathleen
17. Michael
18. Kathleen
19. Michael
20. Kathleen
21. Michael
22. Kathleen
23. Michael
24. Kathleen
25. Michael
26. Kathleen
27. Michael
28. Kathleen
29. Michael
30. Kathleen
31. Michael
32. Kathleen
33. Michael
34. Kathleen
35. Michael
36. Michael
37. Kathleen
38. Kathleen
Thank You For Reading!
Michael - 1953
Michael
IRELAND - 1953
* * *
“How ‘bout you, mate? Ye want in this?” I needed money and he looked to have a few in his pocket.
The old man in the tweed argyle cap scowled at me. “None of that in here now, boy. Say, what’s yer name and who are ye with? Yer too big ta be a jock. What’s yer game?”
“Ah, don’t be frettin’. I’m here, right as I should be. If this ain’t yer game, move along now.” I tossed the dice between the knees of the gents around me, their hands clutchin’ their money.
“Don’t ya know who that is, mate?” Perry whispered at me.
I shrugged, unconcerned.
He leaned in close, lookin’ the other way as he muttered, “That’s Derwood Miliken. He be someone ya don’t want to find the bad side of, or ye’ll find yerself in that muck over there,” he pointed. “Knows his way around the barns and sits at the fancy Sunday dinner table of many the fine owner, I’ll have you know.”
“Agh! Not doin’ a thing to be shamed of, I’m not. Now, Perry, will ye be puttin’ in yer money er not? I’ve got me favorite picked for the fifth run, I have. I’m gonna win big, jus’ see if I don’t.”
“Ah, Mick, yer mother did raise a fool if I ever did see one. Ye’d be better off if ye kept that wee pile of coins in yer pocket for coals on Sunday, ye’d be. And maybe be savin’ just one fer the offerin’ dish. Ye could do with a bit of the good Lord’s help, ye know.”
“Nah, that’s where ye be wrong, Perry, me boy-o. I got meself a tip on this one.”
“And haven’t ye always?” Perry shot back, shaking his head but putting his money in the pile. “Have it yer way.”
I threw the dice one time more and pulled the coins into me pocket. I heard the call for the fifth race. That was the one. “I’m off, mates. This one be mine.”
I stood up and me spot was quickly filled by one of the boys standin’ o’er my shoulder. I had a sure thing tip on this one, I did. Got it from Gavin, the boy who walked fer Colonel O’Leary. ‘Number five,’ he told me. And what with the Colonel bein’ a right wealthy man, I knew my time had come. I’d said me goodbye to Mother just that mornin’. Her face was filled with tears, but her chest was heavin’ a sigh of relief there’d be one less at the table that night. I was bound for America and a life of me dreams, I was. A life of me dreams…
It bein’ a hot day and me in my wool pants, and with no ticket, I took up me watch beneath the stands. It came to be only a matter of accident that I stood directly beneath a fine lady; her long legs slidin’ from out of her skirt and danglin’ o’er me head. She stood at the call and I got me a look worth more than a night’s supper, what with her jumpin’ up and down. Then, the heavens answered me prayers and she dropped her ticket. It be flutterin’ down by her feet and then through the stands and fell right into me opened hand; like God gave it to me Hisself. I knew it fer sure when just a bit o’er a minute later, the horses cleared the finish and who do you think now had a ticket for the long shot who came runnin’ the quickest? Yers truly, I did, indeed.
I barely cleared the stands when I heard the people fussin’ behind me. The missin’ ticket was realized and the back o’ me head popped out from the stands just after. Didn’t take much to know what happened and me good luck ran out. Fer the fine lady’s husband turned out to be none other than himself, Derwood Miliken.
The saints be with me, I took to runnin’ and him took to runnin’ after, a screamin’ his lungs out at what would be me fate. I might not be a jock, but I’m a damned fast runner on me own and what with the crowd headin’ to the windows to cash their tickets runnin’ interference for me, my smooth-worn soles came ta be me savin’ that day. Not a bit o’ drag and me slidin’ in and between the folk, I was. I didn’t head for the barns, as Miliken mighta thought. I went straight to the window at the far end, cashed me ticket for the biggest fortune to ever find me pocket, I did. Then I ran straight for the gates and down to the docks.
The man sold me a ticket; a ticket to America. And so, that was how I came to find the beginnin’ o’ me fortune. The rest to come changed me to the man I am today.
* * *
LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY, USA – 1955
* * *
I kicked back from the desk and put my feet onto the pile of papers that I’d been ignoring for the last hour. My hands crossed behind my neck, I allowed myself to remember; and to ponder the custom new leather soles that gloved my feet. I hadn’t been back to Ireland in all those years. Mother died the year after I’d left and there didn’t seem to be any reason after that.
Odd, but when I remembered that day I’d won, I thought of it with the boy’s mind and way of speaking I’d had then. That was before I’d met Sarah, the girl I almost knocked overboard.
Although I could have afforded better, what with the track winnings, I took third-class just because that’s how I thought of myself. Our bunks rode low in the ship and the smell and coughing were hard to ignore. I spent daylight hours with a few of the other boys, on deck. Someone nicked a volleyball from first-class and we kicked it between us—a sort of butchered game of football.
The boy with red hair and freckles was setting up the ball for me; I could feel it coming. I was ready. Sure enough, he punched it with the flat side of his raggedy foot, and it went air born, headed for the rail. Nothing was impossible for The Mick, as people now call me. Bending my knees for spring, I timed the jump and must have been a full foot off the deck when I caught it and landed, right on top of Sarah. I knocked her onto the rail and as she screamed, I used my free arm to grab her, right around the chest. She fell back against me and passengers weren’t sure how to take what they’d seen. The men nodded their approval, but some ladies’ noses went into the air. Sarah, whose father was the chaplain aboard, was smiling with blushing cheeks. She was sweet sixteen and never been kissed; let alone felt up by a leaping Irishman in roughly-mended pants retrieving a ball. She seemed to take it surprisingly well.
I apologized, of course, and the two of us found deck chairs for he
r to recover and for me to get to know her better. I liked what I felt.
Sarah turned out to be a very sheltered, sweet girl whose passion lay in helping people. People like me could see people like her a mile away, and they always became our target.
“Oh, my,” she gushed, flustered. “I thought I was a goner.”
I’d assured her I had the intention of grabbing her the entire time, and for that moment, she was kind enough not to call me a liar—even if I was. Sarah and I spent the next five days of the crossing almost inseparably, except at night when she went to her quarters with the ship’s crew, and I crawled onto the blue-tick mattress of my upper bunk below deck.
In her very Sarah-style, she took pity on my story and made it her business to help me. “We need to work on your speech,” she began the first day. “You sound like you just got off the boat.”
“And I did,” I pointed out, but she meant it in a less admirable sense. She worked with me constantly, having me read aloud, talking non-stop and she never hesitated to correct my speech. As I said, nothing was impossible for The Mick and by the time we docked in New York, Sarah said I sounded somewhere between the phony, upper-class accent used by the old movie stars in Hollywood and a hillbilly. That’s because she was from Kentucky, she explained.
She and I talked a lot about Kentucky. It held a warm place in her heart and for me, it meant horses. Horses meant racing, money, and the closest thing to home I could think of. She asked her father, the pastor, to write me a letter of introduction to a wealthy man—a Mr. Tierney—who lived somewhere outside Louisville. Sarah’s father had pastored a small church there at one time and he and Mr. Tierney had covered up many a faux pas that seemed to follow Mr. Tierney around. As Sarah explained it, Mr. Tierney had a debt to her father, and it was time to collect.
Sarah and I hugged at the dock and I took advantage and sneaked my hand up to squeeze her small breasts. She blushed and kept coming back for more hugs, which told me a lot about my squeezing. I had plenty of money still on me. Sarah and her father saw me off at the bus station headed south. I waved good-bye and settled in for my future.
Kathleen – 1961
The end was near … and no matter what it cost, I was taking charge of my life.
The lawns of St. Elizabeth’s lay like carelessly-thrown, dark-green sheets over the gentle hills in central Kentucky. The Great Smoky Mountains began barely fifty miles to the south, yet their impact was felt as far north as where I lay on my throw, next to the fountain. My music history book lay before me, its pages ruffling in the stiff breeze. Droplets from the fountain were blowing over me, sprinkling the book, but I didn’t care. Graduation was in three weeks, and then St. Elizabeth’s Debutante Ball where I would be presented.
“I thought you were going to meet me in the cafeteria?” Della was standing over me, suddenly, be she was blocking the spray, so I let her.
“I wasn’t all that hungry.”
“Hmph.” She slapped her hands on her generous hips. “It would have been nice if you’d at least shown up. I’ve been waiting for a half-hour.”
“I’ve been right here all the time, Della. You just need to learn where to look.”
Della glowered, her dark hair whipping into her face. She pushed at it, and I noticed it was looking stringy from the fountain spray. Why doesn’t she move? I asked myself. Actually, I knew why. Della was beautiful, in an Elizabeth Taylor sort of way, but not very bright. She’d be at the ball, too, and I knew the men would be fighting over her. Men loved women who were too brainless to argue. “Grrr… sometimes, Katie, you can be so … so thoughtless!”
“I’m doing lots of thinking, honey. And has no one told you that thinking is best done without someone who is whining leaning over you?”
“You just wait, Miss Smarty Pants. The men who speak to you will want to talk about politics and football; not marriage or babies.”
“Good! Now, run along, will you? You’re blocking the breeze, and I like the feeling of the water droplets on my face. It’s warm today. Anyway, why must you be so immature? You act like we’re fourteen when we’re fully-grown women, both of us.”
Della made another rude noise before she disappeared. The word bossy flitted through my mind, and then I was on to other things. Della had used up more than her share of my attention for the time being.
Rolling onto my back, I studied the clouds and tried to pick out clusters that reminded me of movie stars. I loved movie stars, Hollywood—anything that wasn’t local and homegrown. I knew Daddy would have a fit if he could have read my mind, but that would have to be his problem. I was bound for bigger and better things than horses and silly girls like Della. Babies. Didn’t she realize by the time she got them raised, her life would be over and his, whoever he turned out to be, would just be getting started?
I felt like one of Daddy’s horses; in the gate and waiting for the bell. I’d jump ahead of the pack and be around the turn and out of sight before they even knew I’d left. I was plumb tired of bobby socks, pillow fights, and making prank phone calls. Somewhere out, there was a real man for me; someone who wouldn’t be afraid of Daddy and would stand up for what he believed in. He’d appreciate a girl like me; someone with some gumption and a future head of her.
That’s the man I wanted. Hollywood was the career I wanted. Anyone could tell you, I usually got what I wanted.
“What are you doin’ there?” I looked up to see Butch; his tall, broad form blocking the sun.
“Butch!” I gave him my sweetest smile. “What are you doing here? Didn’t anybody ever tell you St. Elizabeth’s is only for girls? They’ll catch you and then you’ll have to go see Sister June and believe me, you won’t like that.”
“I’m not here for learnin’, silly. I came for you.”
I rolled into a seated position, glad that I’d worn my favorite pink crop top that showed just the tiniest hint of a bosom. I blushed when I looked at the bulge that was so obviously right in front of my eyes. He’d probably been studying my fanny before I sat up. “Just what did you want with me?”
Butch’s face flushed and he looked around as if to make sure no one could hear him. “You know what I want, darlin’.”
“Well, wanting isn’t getting. Shame on you. I’m saving myself for my husband.”
Butch squatted, only making his manly display more obvious in the tight fabric between his thighs. “C’mon, Katie. You know it would be a real shame if you were to marry some man you hadn’t been with, only to find out you weren’t compatible, wouldn’t it? What if he was only two inches long? Why he might not even be able to give you babies!”
“Butch!” I slapped him in mock outrage. “Don’t want any babies right now anyway. That’s for girls with no prospects—and I’ve got plenty, I’ll have you know.” Girls discussed these things in privacy, but it wasn’t appropriate for me to let Butch know that. After all. I had to be presented before anything close to romance could be discussed.
He stood up. I think he was a little afraid I’d whack that place between his thighs if he got me riled. “Okay, okay, don’t get sore. So, you want a ride home?” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the brand-new red Corvette parked on the circular drive.
I whistled. “Whooeee, Butch. Did you steal it?”
“Heck, no. Daddy gave it to me. A graduation present. But it looks so empty, don’t you think? C’mon. Let me take you home and we’ll go for a ride along the way.”
“You and your rides. I know you. We’ll end up in some shady swamp at the back of one of these dirt roads. No, thank you, I have a way home.”
His face collapsed, and there went his smile. “You sure? I can wait if you’re not ready…” he offered.
“I’m sure.” My voice told him it was final. He looked so disappointed, I relented just a tiny bit. “It is a pretty car, though. Now don’t you go out there and tear it up racing Bobby or Chuck or one of the boys, you hear?”
“I’d win.”
I shook my head.
“Why are boys so competitive?”
He cocked his head and thinned his lips, both hands going to his hips. “And you’re not? You’re the wildest girl in the county.” He saw the dark cloud that came over my face. “Not in that way, silly. Just in a way that makes a man feel like he’s got competition and not a pretty girl on his arm.”
“Well, he can think what he wants, but being a pretty girl doesn’t hold any interest for me.”
“But darlin’, you’re already there.” Butch didn’t seem to get it, either. I knew he was definitely not marriage material, not for me, anyway. I’d talk him flat as a pancake on an iron griddle in no time.
I held out my hand. “Here, help me up, would you?”
The sun came out for him as he bowed at the waist and put his big, hot hand over mine, pulling me slowly upward. I think he thought he was being sexy, when in fact he was just making me hate sweaty hands. He bent to gather up my robe and book. “Here you go. Sure you won’t reconsider? I’m parked right here,” he indicated with a jerk of his head.
“I’m sure but thank you all the same. Here, I’ll take those. Now, you’d better scoot before Sister June catches you. I don’t want any part of that!”
“I haven’t gotten my invitation to your ball yet, Katie. I will be invited, won’t I?”