Quinn's Deirdre

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  Nothing had changed. The aunts still focused on their own issues and engaged in constant rivalry. Next they would launch into a bragging contest about their children, she thought, but neither seemed too interested in her sudden resurrection. And the closeness and connection she’d once had with Kevin had evaporated away, probably long ago. She had failed to notice, before, but it was obvious now.

  Desmond’s steak pie turned out delicious, the crust flaky, the meat tender but although all of them scarfed up every scrap, no one offered compliments. By the time the meal ended, Deirdre knew more than she’d ever wanted about her cousin Tamara’s failed marriage, her teenage niece’s drug problems, and Kevin’s struggles with alcoholism. Quinn said little, but his steady presence kept Deirdre grounded. When her aunts rose to leave, she was glad.

  “Well, thank you for having us,” Aunt Frances said. “You’ll have to come over sometime and be sure to invite us to your wedding.”

  “I will,” Deirdre said. If I live long enough to be married, anyway.

  “Oh, yes, you do that,” Aunt Angela said.

  Kevin lingered long enough to kiss her on the cheek. Once, they’d been close but now he seemed a stranger. “Well, Deirdre, welcome back,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Let me show you out,” Quinn said but all three shook their heads.

  “Oh, we’ll find the way,” Kevin said. “Thanks again.”

  Their voices carried over the lunch time din of the pub and snatches of conversation floated back to Deirdre’s ears. “There’s more to it than that, I’m sure,” Frances said. “We’ll never know the whole story, you can count on it.”

  “I know we won’t,” Angela replied. “And such food! Why it was awful and I’m not sure how fresh it was, either. I know I’ll suffer for eating it later, but what else could I do?

  Their comments rankled, but Deirdre laughed when she heard the last bit from Kevin. “You go on, I’m going to have a drink before I go, just one.”

  They hadn’t changed, she noted. Her nearest kin carried their misery with them wherever they went. They chased away happiness in their ongoing disappointment with life. No one ever reached the high bar the aunties set or realized the right goals. They were omnipotent and knew everything. Like the Fates, they thought they could influence lives and change directions, but all they accomplished was driving people far away. Others, family or friends, either retreated at a fast pace or joined them in their self-imposed and never-ending suffering.

  “They just finished bragging how well he’s doing, going to AA,” she said with a laugh. “I fear he’s fallen down on it. I should be sad, but I don’t want to cry any more. I’d rather laugh.”

  Quinn laughed, too, the first time he had in days. “Aye, they make a person laugh or cry, and we might as well laugh while we can.”

  “They haven’t changed.”

  “Did ye think that they would?”

  “I guess I hoped maybe they might.”

  He stood and stretched. “I’m still stiff from the accident,” he said.

  “How’s your head today?”

  “Not bad at all, no more than a dull ache and that’s as much from being tired as anything,” Quinn said. “Ah, well, ye’ve my family as yers now so it’s not the worst of it.”

  “I’m glad I do,” she said. “I need to go help Uncle Des, I suppose. After that, what?”

  Quinn curled his lip. “I don’t have any idea. Wait, I suppose.”

  “So you still have your bad feeling?”

  “Aye, it’s never gone away and ‘tis just as strong as before the thing with the car.”

  The constant tension and strain were evident. Quinn remained paler than normal and the bags beneath his drooping eyes were puffy. Deirdre noticed how jumpy he was, startled by the slightest noise or unexpected event. “If you want to go upstairs and rest, I’ll watch things down here with Des,” she said. “You look so tired, Quinn.”

  “That would be because I’m dead on my feet, woman. But I won’t go without ye. I doubt I can sleep at all, and I know I wouldn’t relax with you down here alone.”

  “Des is here.”

  “I know, love, but I need to be with ye.”

  “We can’t both go,” Deirdre said.

  “Maybe we’ll close early tonight. The weather is calling for snow, I think. If there’s no business, we will. I’d like nothin’ better than to have you make me some supper for the two of us.”

  “I’d love that. What would you like?”

  “Could ye make the chicken and dumplings you used to fix?”

  “Of course. I might need to go to the store, though.”

  He frowned. “Why? I’m sure there’s chicken in the kitchen. What else do ye need?”

  “Flour, shortening, onions, salt, pepper, maybe some celery,” she said, imagining the recipe in her head. “Two eggs, too. And a hen would be nicer than a plain chicken. It makes a richer broth.”

  Quinn contemplated what she’d said for a moment. “Ask Des what he has,” he said. “If ye must go, I’ll take ye, but I’m none too happy about the prospect.”

  Although she understood, Deirdre sighed with irritation. “We can’t stay here and never go anywhere forever, Quinn.”

  His temper, until now restrained around her, exploded. “Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, don’t ye think I know it? Woman, yer car’s beyond fixing, I’ve got a knot on me head, and it’s far from over yet. I’ve the weight of the feckin’ world on my shoulders, and I’m balled up so tight I can’t even take a shite. I’ll take ye to the bloody market and hope nothing happens, but I’d like to keep ye alive, mo chroide, and meself as well. And now my head’s poundin’ like a drum on parade day.”

  Using his fingers, he rubbed his forehead, eyes closed. “Oh, Quinn,” Deirdre said. “I know. Waiting is hard on all of us and I know you’re worried. I’ll go ask Des now and if he has everything, we won’t need to go.”

  Desmond produced it all, everything but a hen. He offfered a nice, fat chicken instead. “I’ve got it all under control here if ye want to go upstairs and cook,” he said. “Take yer man with you, too. Gerry’s on the bar and we’ve enough servers for the moment. ‘Tis snowing already and I’ll put a notice on the door soon saying we’ll close by five.”

  He must have heard Quinn’s outburst. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll manage. Quinn can’t go on this way and neither can ye.”

  On impulse, she hugged the older man and after his astonished expression, he laughed. “Ye’re good to have around, Deirdre. And never fear, this ‘twill all end soon enough and we can go on with livin’.”

  God, she hoped so. “Was Quinn like this, after he thought me dead?”

  “This and worse,” he said. “In some ways, though, this is harder on him. He mourned ye and blamed himself amongst the grief, but now he must keep ye safe. He knows he can’t fail, so he frets. Go on, now, it’s almost two. I can manage till five. Take your chicken and things with ye.”

  “Thank you,” she said again.

  “Oh, Deirdre?” Des said, his voice too casual.

  She paused. “What is it?”

  “Ye used to be a reporter so ye should be right good at digging up information, eh?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I am.”

  The old man grinned but without joy. “Then I need ye to find the Achilles heel of yon fella who’s against ye.”

  Deirdre didn’t quite grasp what he meant. “I’m not sure what you mean, Des.”

  “Find out who matters to the leader, love,” he said. “And tell it to me.”

  Uncertain what difference it might make, she nodded. “Sure, I will.”

  Arms full, she headed to the rear dining room. Quinn sat at the table, a glass in his hand. He glanced up, bleary-eyed and sad. Deirdre smiled. “Des had everything I need, so we won’t need to go. Plus, it’s snowing and business is light. He said we can go upstairs and he’ll close early.”

  She thought he’d argue, but he didn’t.
“Glory be, then,” he said. “Let’s go.” He picked up bottle and glass, then they walked together up the narrow back stair.

  Deirdre closed the drapes and turned on a small lamp. She put classic Tommy Makem on the stereo and sat down beside Quinn. He draped his arm over her shoulders and she snuggled against him. “Want something for your headache?”

  Quinn filled his glass with whiskey and raised it. “’Tis all the medicine I need, this and ye.”

  “All right. Why don’t you kick back while I cook? It’ll be awhile.”

  “I will, then,” he said. “Give me a kiss, then.”

  “Gladly.” She turned to meet his kiss, his mouth warm and tender against hers. A rush of love surged through her. “Quinn, I love you so much.”

  His absent smile flickered to life for a moment. “Ta ghra agam do, mo chroide.”

  As she puttered about the kitchen, a task which she normally enjoyed and found contentment in, Deirdre’s uneasiness grew. A prickling sensation from the back of her neck down her spine reminded her of a Shakespeare quotation, by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.

  She lacked Quinn’s otherworldly perceptions, but Deirdre sensed approaching trouble, too. In her case, it was instinct not premonition, but a wariness crept over her. It drowned her positive outlook and caught her breath short. Focus, she told herself, focus and forget about it. She barely remembered her mother, but she did recall something her mother used to say, something her dad often quoted. “Don’t borrow trouble, sugar, it comes fast enough all by itself.”

  Once the chicken and dumplings simmered in the pot, she washed all the dishes and utensils used in preparation. She sat down at the kitchen table with her laptop and did a little research. It didn’t take long to find what Des wanted to know, so she made a mental note of it, to tell him later. Then Deirdre checked on Quinn. He slept, head cocked over on one shoulder in a parrot-like fashion while the soft yet powerful voice of Tommy Makem sang in the background. She tossed a blanket over Quinn and sat down beside him, allowing the music to pour over her, soothing and comforting, as a balm for her troubled spirits.

  The music worked and when Quinn woke in a much better mood, it helped Deirdre more. He ate two bowls of the dumplings with more appetite than he’d shown since before Thanksgiving, then praised her cooking skills.

  “Ye’ll make a fine wife,” he said, both serious and teasing. His eyes twinkled, something she loved to see.

  “I plan to do my best.”

  “Aye? Let’s see how ye kiss,” Quinn said. She came to him and he stood to take her into his arms. Their mouths fused together, hot and potent, and without bothering to clear the table, they headed into the bedroom. He made love to her, the first time since they had been run off the road, and it was so sweet, she wanted to cry. When she came, her body bucked against his until they shuddered together in the ultimate orgasm. Afterward, they lay twined together, talking and touching in the darkness.

  As beautiful as their loving had been, Deirdre suffered from a wild restlessness. This must be the way birds feel when it’s time to fly south. Or what it’s like to be in the certain path of a tornado or hurricane. I feel helpless and frozen in place, waiting for something dark and dreaded to devour me.

  Deirdre didn’t like it, not at all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By morning, enough snow had fallen to blanket the city with pristine white. Deirdre peered out the window and smiled with a childish delight. The weather would cut down on how many people trekked into the pub. Tuesdays were slower days anyway or so Quinn had told her.

  A gust of wind blew hard enough against the window to rattle the frame. Frigid air seeped around it as the glass fogged from the cold. On impulse, Deirdre traced a heart with one finger and wrote their names inside it. Kansas City born and raised, she was familiar with winter, although that didn’t mean she always liked it.

  Distracted, she failed to notice Quinn had crept behind her until his warm lips kissed the nape of her neck. She shivered and leaned back against him. “Does it snow in Ireland?” she asked. Funny, with her mostly Celtic heritage and love of most things Irish, there remained many things she didn’t know.

  Quinn chuckled, amused. “Aye, it does, some but not usually as much as here. It snows a bit more in the north, where I’m from, but it does. Most of the time, a usual Irish winter is more cold rain than anything else. There are a lot of long, gray days and cold winds from the north Atlantic.”

  Deirdre envisioned the misty days, the cool weather, the hot tea, and cuddling with Quinn. “I think I’d like Ireland.”

  “Ye’d like County Tyrone,” he said. “If we ever go home, ye will.”

  He had mentioned going back before, but something pensive in his tone filtered through to Deirdre. “You sound like you want to go back. Are you so homesick, Quinn?”

  “Sometimes I am, sometimes not.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her locked between them. “Deirdre, love, there’s a thing I need to tell ye.”

  Her inner alarm bells jangled. “Quinn? What’s wrong?”

  “Naught yet, but I think ‘twill be today, whatever happens. I feel it in my bones. They ache, deep within.

  “Maybe you’re just coming down with flu,” she quipped, knowing he wasn’t.

  “I could well be,” he said and surprised her. “I don’t feel good at all, but it isn’t just my body, it’s in my soul. The bad feeling’s stronger than it’s ever been.”

  Almost anything had to be an improvement over the gnawing, terrible tension and the waiting, but Deirdre realized she wasn’t ready. From some innermost, secret place, she shared her feelings. “I wish I could run away until it’s over, whatever it is.”

  “If I had a place to send ye, ye’d be gone. I’ve thought, these past few days, I should’ve sent ye home with Eileen’s family, but it’s too late for it now. Whatever does happen, however it ends up, I want ye to remember how much I love ye. I’m glad ye came back, never think otherwise. None of it’s yer doing or fault. Ye can’t blame yerself for any of it. I’d rather die today if it should come to it than live thinking ye dead and buried.”

  Quinn sounded resigned, she thought, and yet somehow strong. His voice lacked uncertainty. She twisted around in his arms to see his face and when she did, Deirdre stared. His eyes gazed back at her, as placid as a summer lake, but his mouth was set hard with determination. The fear she’d seen in his eyes had vanished, replaced by something powerful and brave. His face had become a warrior’s, Cuchulain or Finn McCool or Roddy McCorley. Awe filled her heart to overflowing, but it mingled with fear.

  “Don’t talk like that,” she said, voice sharper than she intended. “Nobody dies today.”

  “Ye can’t say it and mean it. Ye must know better, love. The baddies might, I might, ye or Desmond could. Stay close, woman, and whatever I tell ye to do, will ye do it without question?”

  Deirdre cupped her hand against his cheek. “I don’t like the sound of that, Quinn.”

  His large hand covered hers. “I don’t care if ye like it. I just want ye to do it. Promise me ye will.”

  Maybe she would, maybe not. “I’ll try, Quinn.”

  “Ah, mo ghra, ye’ll have to do it.” Quinn sighed and then he kissed her, swift and fierce. His mouth took hers by right and claimed it. The kiss seared her lips with intense heat and a connection that burned all the way down to her toes. He wasn’t gentle but urgent and commanding. Deirdre hearkened to it and gave it back to him with the same power. They stood, mouths locked and souls fused, and she understood this meant more than a kiss. It stood as a promise and a vow, one to endure forever no matter what happened. When the kiss ended, they remained together, arms tight in an embrace for some minutes.

  “We’d best go face the day,” Quinn told her when he released her. “Business as usual, I suppose, until they make their move.”

  “You sound so calm,” she said, with admiration. “I’m a nervous wreck.”

  “I am ca
lm,” he said in a quiet, firm voice. “I suppose I’ve reached some kind of battle mode or some such. I’ve worried for weeks and now it’s time to face the danger, I’m ready. Or, at least I think I am.”

  Her life might lie in his hands and she accepted it. “I know you’ll take care of me, no matter what, Quinn.”

  “I’ll do me best. Let’s go down. I need to talk to Uncle Des, too.”

  Deirdre hesitated. He needed a private moment to share what he’d told her with Desmond. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I need to process and I think I’ll change clothes, too.”

  Quinn touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Are ye okay? I know ‘tis a lot to deal with, though we’ve been expecting it.”

  She wasn’t, not at all, but she pasted on a smile with bravado. “I will be, Quinn. I love you.”

  He grinned. “And ye know I love ye, too.”

  After he shut the door behind him and his descending footsteps faded away, she returned to the window. The snow had picked up until the falling flakes fell at blizzard rate. In the silence, she could hear the sound of the two men’s voices below although she couldn’t make out any words. Deirdre wished she could but more than that, she wished it was over. If Quinn was correct and she had no reason to doubt he was, then between now and nightfall, they would come after her. The weather seems wrong for it, but maybe they think they can use it to their advantage.

  Maybe she should pray, but the words refused to form. She stood, mind numb, almost paralyzed with fear at the window until she shivered from the cold. Deirdre shook out of her trance, changed into a warm sweater and headed downstairs. She found the kitchen empty so followed their voices into the bar where Quinn and his uncle sat at table with steaming mugs of tea.

  “There ye are,” Quinn said. “Do ye want some tea? Des baked brown bread this morning, too.”