A Woman's Heart

by JoAnn Ross

  But instead, she saw Quinn standing in the shadows. When, as if somehow sensing her presence, he glanced up at the window, Nora jumped back, realizing a moment later that with the bedroom light off, he wouldn’t be able to see her.

  Knowing that, and feeling free to observe him undetected, she watched as his presence obviously startled Mary. They talked for a while—about what, Nora couldn’t imagine—but from time to time each seemed fascinated by the starry night sky.

  Then Mary returned to the house. As she heard her sister coming back upstairs, Nora guessed that somehow Quinn had succeeded in deterring the teenager from her original romantic tryst.

  And when later she looked back on this night, Nora would realize that this was the exact moment she’d fallen in love with Quinn Gallagher.

  Her first instinct was to wait until tomorrow morning to confront her sister. But the usual rush to school allowed scant time for conversation of any kind, let alone the intimate kind Nora knew she and Mary should have.

  Coward, she thought as she paced the floor, listening to the footfalls outside her bedroom door. A moment later she heard Mary’s door close.

  It would be so easy just to go to bed, pull the covers over her head and ignore the problem, but that was like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand. Nora knew that problems ignored had a way of escalating, and she hated to think that her own cowardice might put her sister at risk.

  Sighing, she pulled on her quilted flannel wrapper and left the room. The few feet down the hall to Mary’s door seemed like a hundred kilometers.

  Mary opened the door at Nora’s first light rap. Guilt rose hotly in the girl’s cheeks like a sunset before a storm. “Nora?” she asked with an innocent air that was in direct contrast to the guilt in her eyes. “Is something wrong?”

  “Not really,” Nora said, hoping it was true. “I was just having trouble sleeping and thought I heard you up, as well. So I wondered if you might want to join me in a cup of tea.”

  “It’s not like you to be up so late.”

  “True enough. Which is why I’d like some company in the kitchen. If you don’t mind?” It was more order than request, and both sisters knew it.

  Mary gave her another long look, then shrugged. “I suppose a cup of tea might be nice,” she said with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

  Neither spoke until Nora was pouring the tea into two of the everyday cups.

  “So,” Nora asked as she placed a basket of dark bread on the table, as well, “how are things going with the May Day celebrations?”

  “All right, I suppose.” Mary busied herself by adding sugar and milk to her tea. “Sister Mary Augustine says I’m under consideration to be May queen.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful!” Nora didn’t have to feign her enthusiasm at this news. She hadn’t been expecting to be able to begin the conversation on such a positive note.

  “It’s not wonderful at all.” Mary’s eyes glistened with moisture. “Because if I am selected, I’ll probably be the only May queen in the history of Castlelough who didn’t have a date for the dance.”

  “I doubt that,” Nora murmured, dearly hoping her sister wouldn’t burst into tears before they could get to the meat of the subject.

  “That’s easy enough for you to say. Since you were going out with Devlin when the sisters chose you to be queen.”

  “Aye.” Nora had to fight against the smile that threatened at the memory of dancing in Devlin’s strong arms. And the kisses they’d shared after the dance. “But it’s better to be without a man than to be with the wrong man.”

  Mary frowned. “Now you’re speaking of Jack.”

  “I suppose I am.” Nora dragged her hand through her hair. “I don’t want to interfere in your life, Mary darlin’—”

  “Then don’t.”

  If only it were that easy, Nora thought with an inner sigh. She paused again, selecting her words with care. “I know you feel as if you’re all grown-up, but—”

  “I’m nearly as old as you were when you married Conor.”

  “I didn’t realize Jack was talking marriage.”

  “He’s not.” Mary’s shoulders slumped. She looked absolutely wretched. Nora would have given anything to save her sister the heartache she knew she must be suffering. “At least, he hasn’t yet. But I know that if only…” Her words drifted off.

  “You’re thinking if you go to bed with him, he might become more marriage-minded.”

  Mary didn’t answer, but her silence spoke volumes. Feeling a rush of affection for the miserable girl who was trying to feel her way over that rocky ground between the world of a child and adulthood, Nora reached out and covered her sister’s hand with her own.

  “I’m going to be frank. I think going to bed with Jack would be a horrible mistake. But I also realize that there’s little I can do to stop you, if it’s what you truly want to do. But there is one thing I’d like you to keep in mind while you’re making your decision.

  “When a man sincerely loves a woman, the forever-after kind of love we all hope for, the kind I wish for you, Mary, he puts her feelings before his own. He wants to protect her. And he’d never ask her to do anything she wasn’t ready to do.”

  Another silence settled over them. Mary finished off the rest of her tea, then stared down at the bottom of her now-empty cup as if trying to read her future in the dark leaves that had settled there.

  “John’s offered to take me to the dance,” she said at length.

  Knowing how shy her studious brother was in social situations, Nora made a mental note to thank him first thing in the morning. “There’re worse things than being seen in public with your older brother.”

  “Aye. And the girls all think he’s good-looking.”

  “Really?”

  “Denise Brennan has had a crush on him forever,” Mary surprised Nora by revealing. “And Kathleen Ryan is always trying to sit next to him on the bus to school, but his head is always so buried in his stupid schoolbooks, he never notices.” She sighed. “He’s a terrible dancer, though.”

  That was one point Nora wasn’t even going to try to argue. Their brother had many talents, but dancing definitely wasn’t one of them.

  “That shouldn’t prove a problem since, once you arrive, you’ll undoubtedly have all the unattached boys standing in line for the privilege. More than you would if you’d had Jack hovering over you all night.”

  Feminine speculation rose in Mary’s previously bleak eyes. “Jack was the jealous sort, even though he felt free enough to look at other girls.”

  “Like Sharon.”

  “Aye.” Nora knew they’d turned a corner when her sister didn’t burst into tears at her rival’s name. “Can we afford a new dress?”

  “Absolutely.” Even if the income from the room rental hadn’t filled the family coffers and Brady had spent a good chunk of it on a headstone, if a new dress would lift Mary from the doldrums and keep her from Jack’s clutches, it was well worth it. “And shoes, as well. Foolishly impractical ones with high heels that will show off your lovely long legs.”

  “Quinn says that I’m model material.”

  “He should know. Being a man of the world and all.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  With the crisis seemingly over, they went back upstairs. A while later Nora heard Quinn return to his room, too.

  And as the farmhouse finally settled down for the night, Nora lay alone in the dark, wondering how many glamorous long-legged supermodels her rich American boarder was personally acquainted with.

  Chapter Ten

  The Rising of the Lark

  Pleasure was like a lark, singing its sweet morning song in Nora’s heart when Quinn entered the kitchen the following morning.

  “Well, if it isn’t our mystery boarder,” Fionna said, lifting her teacup in welcome. “And hadn’t I just begun to think you were a figment of my imagination?”

  “And a good day to you, too, Mrs. Joyce.” He glanced past the
lace curtains to the gray drizzle streaming down the window glass. “I decided there wasn’t any point in leaving too early. Since we can’t shoot until the rain stops.”

  Not a single soul in the room mentioned the salient fact that it had rained during the early hours nearly every morning since Quinn’s arrival.

  “It’s a soft rain.” Nora placed the steaming mug of coffee she’d brewed, just in case, in front of him. “It should clear in time for you to get in a good day’s work.”

  “One can always hope. The director told me yesterday we’re already in danger of running over budget.”

  He neglected to mention that Jeremy’s explosion of temper had come after Quinn’s suggestion that they might consider changing the looks of the creature—making it more the benevolent sea-horse Lady than the smoke-breathing dragon that had cost the studio a small fortune.

  Forgoing the cream and sugar already on the table, Quinn took a drink of the black coffee and felt the welcome jolt of caffeine. “This is terrific.”

  “Oh, our Nora’s a wonderful cook,” Fionna said with a meaningful look toward her granddaughter. “You should try her scones. They’re sweet enough to make a host of angels sing.” She pushed an ivy-sprigged plate piled with golden-topped biscuits toward him.

  “Gran,” Nora warned softly.

  “And isn’t the man paying for two meals a day?” Fionna asked with exaggerated innocence. “He might as well be getting his money’s worth, after all.”

  Steam burst forth in a fragrant cloud as Quinn cut the top off the currant-studded scone. One bite was all it took to convince him that, matchmaking aside, Fionna wasn’t exaggerating her granddaughter’s culinary talents.

  “Delicious.”

  “And didn’t I tell you?” Fionna nodded her head.

  Feeling the now-familiar matchmaking noose tighten ever so slightly around his neck, Quinn turned toward John, who was seated across the table, nose buried in a thick textbook.

  “That doesn’t exactly look like light reading.”

  Serious blue eyes lifted from the pages. “It’s advanced biology. We’re having a test today on the skeletal system. It’s in preparation for our Leaving Examination.”

  “Our John’s the top student in the class,” Celia informed Quinn with the pride of an adoring younger sister. “When one of the barn cats died last winter during a snow, he wired its skeleton together. After boiling the flesh off the bones first of course. Brother James, who’s taught the sciences practically forever, said it was the best senior project he’s ever seen.”

  “Certainly the least acceptable to discuss at breakfast,” Fionna warned sharply.

  “The university admissions committee was also very impressed,” Nora said as she refilled Quinn’s cup. Obviously Celia was not the only proud sister in the family.

  “So, you’ll be headed off to college in the fall?”

  “Yes, sir. Trinity.”

  “There was a time when a Catholic boy wouldn’t have been allowed to walk those hallowed Protestant halls,” Fionna said huffily before taking a long drink of bark brown tea.

  Quinn saw John stiffen, then watched Nora lay a calming hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Times change,” she said mildly.

  “And isn’t the university at Galway good enough?”

  “It’s a fine university, Gran.” John’s tone remained measured. Respectful. And definitely at odds with the frustration in his eyes. “But Trinity’s medical school is one of the best in the world.”

  “You want to be a doctor?” Quinn asked.

  “I intend to be a doctor,” John corrected politely, but firmly. He stood up. “I’d best be getting down to the crossroads before I miss the bus.”

  “You haven’t eaten,” Nora said worriedly.

  “I’ll take a scone with me.” He grabbed one from the plate. “Wish me luck.”

  As Nora reached up and brushed a shock of dark hair from his forehead, Quinn caught the pair’s familial resemblance. “You don’t need luck,” she said fondly to her brother. “But I’ll be wishing it, anyway. Since you asked.”

  Watching the grin brighten the usually serious thin face, Quinn was impressed by the way she’d soothed the teenager’s rising frustration with merely a touch. Even the obviously strong-minded Fionna appeared to acquiesce to Nora. He understood that while she may no longer carry the Joyce name, Nora Fitzpatrick was the heart of this family. Which was, of course, one more reason to keep his distance.

  His relationships with women had always remained un-complicated, based mostly on sex, with mutual respect and sometimes, as with Laura, even a bit of humor thrown in. But never had they involved more than the two people who found enjoyment, if only for a brief time, in bed together.

  Nora Fitzpatrick, Quinn warned himself, came with more baggage than he cared to deal with. From what he’d been able to tell during his brief time in Castlelough, her life was just one big complication after another.

  Celia pulled on a tomato-hued slicker and followed her brother out the door. Quinn heard the clatter of shoes on the stairs, and a moment later Mary rushed through the kitchen, calling out a goodbye as she grabbed up a slicker and umbrella from the row of hooks by the door. For a girl who’d been considering surrendering her virginity only a few hours earlier, she looked remarkably prim and conservative in her schoolgirl uniform—starched white blouse and plaid skirt.

  Quinn watched as she joined the others, including Rory, who’d run from the barn, the hood of his jacket flapping down around his shoulders. When Mary bent to tug the hood up, tying the cord beneath his chin, Quinn found himself wishing he had a camera so he could freeze the Hallmark-commercial family scene he’d never believed in on film.

  “Would you be liking some bacon and eggs, Mr. Gallagher?”

  Last night, alone in his room, she’d called him Quinn. Now apparently they were back to formalities. “Thanks, but the scones are fine.”

  “If you’re certain.”

  “Positive.” She’d gotten that now-familiar concerned look in her eyes again. Quinn wasn’t accustomed to anyone taking care of him and wasn’t sure he liked the idea. “Your brother’s a bit on the serious side.”

  She sighed, poured herself a cup of tea, stirred in some sugar and, as if deciding to abandon her role of innkeeper, sat down in the abandoned chair across the table from him.

  “He wasn’t when he was a child. Of all of us, John was probably the most like our father. But our mother’s death changed him.”

  “Death changes a lot of things.” Quinn’s mother’s death had sure as hell changed his life. Which hadn’t been any great shakes before Angie had been murdered by a violent man she’d made the mistake of bringing home from a honky-tonk one fatal night, he reminded himself grimly.

  “Doesn’t it just,” she agreed, making Quinn think about what Mary had told him about Nora giving up the convent life to return to Castlelough to take care of her family.

  They fell silent. Lost in their own thoughts, neither noticed Fionna leave the kitchen, a satisfied smile on her face.

  Quinn could have stayed in the cozy kitchen with Nora all day. Which, of course, made it imperative that he leave. He was almost to his rented Mercedes when the kitchen door opened and Nora dashed out into the rain that had, as she’d predicted, softened to mist.

  “I thought you might be liking some biscuits for your afternoon tea,” she said, holding the brown paper bag toward him. “Or, as you Americans say, cookies. I hope you like oatmeal raisin.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Never, in his entire life, had a woman ever baked him cookies.

  “They’re Rory’s favorite. And Celia’s, as well.” She hesitated. “Mary prefers chocolate.”

  “I’ve found most women do. Not that she’s quite a woman yet, but—”

  “No,” Nora interrupted on a little rush of breath. “And I believe I may have you to thank for that.”

  So she had been watching him last night. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

&nb
sp; “Perhaps not to you. But it would have been to Mary if she’d gotten herself pregnant.”

  “It takes two,” Quinn reminded her.

  “Aye. And I worry that Jack’s far too willing to do his part.” Her eyes momentarily darkened with that professed worry. Fascinated by the way her face revealed her every thought, Quinn watched the clouds of concern get chased away by the sunny warmth of her smile.

  “Someday, hopefully a very long time from now, when she does make love with a husband who adores her, she may look back on last night and remember another man who cared enough to take the time to talk to a confused young girl.”

  Appearing to act on impulse, she went up on her toes, intending to brush his cheek with a quick kiss. But Quinn proved faster, turning his head and capturing her mouth.

  Oh, Lord! The taste of her was as potent as Irish whiskey, slamming into him like a fist in the gut, then hitting his bloodstream with a force that sent his head reeling and nearly buckled his knees.

  He tangled one hand in her hair while the other skimmed down her back, cupped her bottom, clad again in those snug blue jeans, and lifted her off her feet.

  As he deepened the kiss, Quinn heard a faint ragged moan and wondered if it had escaped her throat or his; he felt trembling and wasn’t certain which of them it was. It had to be her, he told himself as he nipped at her satiny lower lip and drew a sound remarkably like a purr.

  Women had made him ache; they’d made him burn. But no woman had ever made his body pulse and vibrate with a need so strong it made him feel as weak and powerless as the “before” guys in those bodybuilding ads in the back of the comic books he’d filched when he was a kid.

  Her hands were in his hair. Beneath the onslaught of his mouth her lips opened like pink rosebuds to the sun. Her breasts were crushed against his chest so tightly there was no way a single raindrop could slip between them.

  Quinn couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. When he realized he was actually considering ripping the car door open and taking her on the leather seat, where anyone—her father, her grandmother, a passing neighbor—could see them, he knew it was time to back away.