Bailey's Irish Dream

by Debby Conrad

  “I’d love one.” She looked at Quinn and smiled sweetly. “You know, Stanley, I’m starting to see why Bailey finds you so attractive.”

  Jesus. Quinn shook his head, stealing a look at Bailey. She’d tried to warn him at the bar last night that she was crazy. But she’d failed to mention that her parents were shy a few bricks as well. Unless this was Mrs. Maguire’s way of using psychology on her daughter.

  What did he have to do to make these two hate him? Well, whatever it was would have to wait. If he spent another minute pretending to be Stanley, he was going to shoot himself. Now there was a good excuse to call off the wedding. Why didn’t he think of that earlier? If he’d shot himself then he could have avoided this bad dream gone worse.

  Mimi pointed a finger at him. “I think you did the right thing insisting that Bambi work.” Her words were slightly slurred. “I wish now that I’d had a job when I was younger.”

  “Uh, huh.” Quinn glanced at his watch. Ten after ten. He wondered how much more of this he could take.

  “Mimi, what are you saying?” Doyle went to stand by his wife. “I would never have allowed you to work. You had plenty to do raising the girls and taking care of me.”

  “Well,” Quinn said, standing, anxious to avoid a domestic squabble. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m going to call it a night. I have to get up early tomorrow.”

  “Oh, poo-poo.” Mimi thrust her bottom lip out. “We were just starting to have fun.”

  Poo-poo? That was a new expression. “You stole the word right out of my mouth,” he lied.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  “I’ll walk you out,” Bailey offered, rushing to catch up to Quinn in the foyer. Quinn kept walking, ignoring her. He was certainly in a hurry to leave for some reason. Opening the door he stepped out onto the porch and into the night, heading toward the drive. At least he hadn’t slammed the door in her face. “Would you please wait a minute?”

  He stopped then, but didn’t turn around. “This isn’t working, Bailey. And please don’t ask me to do it again. Just keep your money.”

  So that was it. “But we had a deal.”

  He spun around to face her. “Our deal was for one night.” Running his hands through his hair, he sighed loudly. “One night. Tonight. And now it’s over.”

  The moonlight played on his face, showing off the muscle quivering at his jaw and the age lines along his brows and around his eyes. He didn’t look happy.

  “I’ve lied to them,” he went on, “insulted them, and practically admitted I was a pedophile. Plus your mother seems to think I’ve gotten you . . .” he paused, glancing at her abdomen, “knocked up, and still they haven’t said a word about calling off the wedding. By the way, you did tell your mother that you’re not pregnant, didn’t you?”

  “Of course,” she lied. Or at least she planned to tell her, as soon as got the chance.

  “They must be desperate to see you married,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you ever talked me into this in the first place.”

  “Oh, go ahead and blame me,” she sputtered, slapping her hands to her sides. He stared back at her like she was some kind of crazy woman. “Why don’t you just admit you did it for the money?”

  “Well, of course I did it for the money!” he yelled, his eyes blazing with sudden anger. “Did you actually think I’d go around playing a jerk for the fun of it? This was one of the worst nights of my life. And I have you to thank.”

  Bailey took a step back and spoke quietly. “I think the kids adore you.”

  “What did you expect? They’re kids,” he said as if that explained everything.

  After a moment’s silence she tried to reach him again. “My mother’s been seeing a doctor, although, I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I do know that I don’t want her upset.”

  “That doesn’t concern me.”

  Swallowing hard, she stared up at him. Why didn’t she just tell him to go ahead and leave? Then she’d have no choice but to tell her parents the truth.

  “And stop looking at me like that,” he said, pointing a finger her way. “I’m not going to change my mind. This is your problem. Deal with it.”

  He turned and started to leave, then stopped suddenly. Before she knew what had happened he’d pivoted around, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled her to him. His kiss was rough, almost punishing, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to curl. Quinn’s kisses were unlike any other man’s. Thorough, demanding, seductive. She was shocked at her eager response and sense of powerlessness in his arms. Her emotions had whirled and nearly skidded out of control by the time Quinn released her.

  “Have a nice life,” he said, then headed down the driveway where his motorcycle was parked.

  Bailey stood, watching him go, her mouth burning with fire. Quinn settled a helmet on his head, kick-started the bike, and roared through the gates and off into the distance without a single look back.

  The lake waves lapped noisily at the shore line behind her, bringing with them a mist of damp air. Wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill, she took a long deep breath and let it out slowly.

  It was over. Quinn was gone, and she should feel relieved. But she didn’t. Instead, she found herself thinking about those kisses again, and wondered what it would be like to make love to him. She couldn’t deny the spark of excitement at the prospect. None of the men she’d been engaged to had ever made her feel like that. When she’d thought of them it was always with a fondness for companionship, someone to spend the rest of her life with. But with Quinn, it was different. He made her feel wanton and shameless. Okay, so maybe he’d light her fire, but what would he be like as a companion, husband, and father? she wondered, disappointed that she’d never know.

  Enough about Quinn, she decided, feeling empty inside. She’d already written off men. Marriage and babies just weren’t for her. How could she have forgotten that so quickly? This was the beginning of her life in a way. Tomorrow she’d call Gwen and see if she’d found a storefront yet. Then she’d tell her family about the business she intended to open.

  Bailey turned around slowly and saw the blinds wiggle and then close. With her head hung low, she made her way up the walk, and let herself into the house.

  “Let me guess,” her father said as soon as she’d shut the door. “Stanley no longer wants to marry you. Right?”

  “Doyle, how could you say such a thing?” her mother scolded, touching Bailey’s hand. “Tell your father it isn’t true, dear. Tell him you and Stanley just had a teensy little fight, and in the morning everything will be all right.” Mimi looked Bailey in the eyes. “Tell him, dear, so he doesn’t worry.”

  She didn’t want her father to worry, or her mother either. But she had to tell them the truth. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the wrong something popped out. “We were arguing about . . .” She paused. Tell them. “We were arguing about . . . what to name our baby. I’m sure you’ve probably guessed by now, but I’m pregnant.”

  Doyle caught his wife in his arms as she fainted. Looking at his daughter, he said, “I want to talk to you, young lady.”

  Bailey swallowed hard. What on earth was wrong with her? When had she become such a liar? “Let’s get Mom upstairs. We can talk about this in the morning.”

  “You’re damn right we’re going to talk about it. And we’re going to talk about that no-good Stanley too.”

  Dear God, Bailey thought. What had she done now? “This isn’t Stanley’s fault, Dad.”

  “No? Then who’s fault is it? Don’t tell me. I already know.” He started up the stairs.

  What had he meant by that? she wondered.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Bailey had tossed and turned most of the night, thinking about the turmoil she’d created and how she could get out of it. Maybe if she told her parents she was a compulsive liar and couldn’t help herself, they’d forgive her. Or maybe she should tell them she was mentally ill. Tha
t might work. She should probably be locked up somewhere for a good long time.

  Finally, just before the sun rose, Bailey drifted off to sleep. It was close to eleven when she woke. “Omigod!” she screamed, charging out of bed. She couldn’t believe she’d slept so late. Some hostess she was. Grabbing a white terry robe from the back of her door, she flew down the hall and made her way to the kitchen.

  Kaitlyn and her mother sat at the kitchen table, talking quietly.

  “I’m so sorry I overslept,” Bailey said, reaching for the coffee pot. “Where is everyone?”

  It was Kaitlyn who answered. “Mark took the kids down to the beach. And I’m not sure where Dad went. He was gone when I got up at eight.”

  “How are you feeling, Mom?” Bailey asked, although Mimi looked perfectly fine with her hair pulled back neatly in a French twist, as usual. She’d dressed in a floral linen shift complete with stockings and pumps. She had an ethereal beauty that never ceased to amaze Bailey.

  “I’m fine, dear.”

  “Can I make you some breakfast?”

  Mimi looked up at Bailey and smiled. “No, thanks. Besides, you don’t cook.” Bailey had meant cereal, or toast. Something easy that she couldn’t ruin. “Kaitlyn and I toasted a couple bagels. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Fine,” she said, reaching for a mug.

  “Did you know you shouldn’t be drinking caffeine in your condition?”

  Kaitlyn’s head flew up just as Bailey turned around. “What condition?” Her eyes darted to Bailey’s stomach. “Oh! That condition,” she said with a wink and a smile, obviously playing along.

  Bailey looked helplessly at her sister, silently asking for her help. She didn’t know how to get out of the hole she’d dug for herself.

  “I knew you two were telling secrets last night,” Mimi said, frowning. “I put two and two together on my own. You could have told me, Bailey.”

  Bailey put the mug back in the cupboard. She’d have to do without her caffeine fix this morning. Maybe she could sneak a cup once her mother wasn’t around.

  “Katie, why don’t you come with me while I get dressed, and we can talk.” Bailey nodded her head toward her mother, trying to signal Kaitlyn again, but her sister didn’t seem to notice.

  “More secrets?” Mimi said, looking hurt, her eyes darting between her two daughters.

  “No. I don’t have any secrets from you, Mom,” Bailey lied.

  “Everyone keeps secrets from me. Including your father. He said he was going for a drive this morning, but I know what he was up to. He went to see if he could find Stanley.”

  Bailey’s mouth dropped open. “He what?”

  Mimi shook her head. “He sat up half the night watching the house next door. He was waiting for him to come home, but Stanley never showed.”

  “Omigod!”

  “You can lie all you want, but I know you and Stanley weren’t arguing about baby names last night when you were standing in the driveway. I know it was something more serious than that. A mother knows these things. She senses when something’s wrong with her children. Is Stanley unhappy that you’re going to have his child?”

  Bailey lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. Calm down, she told herself. There was no way her father would be able to find Stanley, or Quinn rather. Just play it cool. “No, Mom. I mean, never mind. It’s just so complicated.”

  “You just wait until your baby is born,” Mimi went on, shaking her finger at Bailey. “Then you’ll know how it feels to be shut out.”

  “Mom,” Bailey said, pulling a chair out and sitting down. “I’m not trying to shut you out. In fact, I have a confession.” She glanced at Kaitlyn and cleared her throat. “I’m not pregnant. And I’m not getting married. Stanley dumped me.” There, she’d said it.

  Kaitlyn stared at her wide-eyed, then grimaced.

  Mimi looked at her for a moment, then shook her head sadly. “Bailey, you’ve always had a problem telling the truth.”

  She had? So, maybe it was something she’d been born with.

  “I want you to promise me you’re going to stop telling lies.”

  “Okay. I promise. No more lies.” She felt better already, and her mother hadn’t even fainted when she’d told her the truth.

  “Next I want you to promise me that you’re going to start taking better care of yourself.” Bailey stared at her mother, not quite sure what she’d meant by that. “Pregnancy is a very serious thing. You need to eat right. And drink plenty of milk. Have you seen a doctor yet?”

  Bailey’s mouth dropped open. “But, Mom, I already told you. I’m not pregnant.”

  Mimi looked at her for a long time without speaking. There was a pensive shimmer in the shadow of her green eyes. Finally, she reached out and took Bailey’s hand. “You’re in denial. Maybe you should talk to a psychiatrist.”

  A psychiatrist? Maybe I should, Bailey thought, feeling desperate. She had no idea which she needed more at the moment; a psychiatrist, or a cup of coffee.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve been seeing one myself.”

  Bailey and Kaitlyn exchanged a look. Kaitlyn mouthed, “A shrink?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “You want a refill?” Quinn asked Pete, knowing it was a stupid question. Of course Pete would want a refill. He grabbed the empty beer mug from the bar.

  “Do bears shit in the woods?” Pete asked, laughing at his own words.

  Quinn filled Pete’s mug and set it in front of him. “You ready to order?”

  “Yeah, I’m ready. I want one of them double bacon cheeseburgers with the works, an order of fries, and an order of onion rings.”

  Quinn nodded, scribbling Pete’s order on the pad.

  “Oh, yeah. And a bowl of clam chowder.”

  Quinn added it to the list. It was a wonder Pete didn’t have a heart attack the way he ate. He was about to take the order to the kitchen when he saw Doyle Maguire walk in. Shit! “Hey, Pete. Do me a favor. There’s a guy looking for me.”

  Pete looked around the bar. “What guy?”

  “Never mind. Just tell him you haven’t seen me. He’ll probably call me Davenport. Stanley Davenport.”

  “Stanley Davenport? Isn’t that the guy who dumped Bailey?”

  “Yeah. Just tell him you haven’t seen me.”

  Pete’s mouth fell open. “You’re not pretending to be Bailey’s fiancé, are you? I thought you said you’d never do anything that stupid.”

  Quinn sighed in frustration. “Just help me out here. Free beer for a month,” he added.

  “You got it.” Pete gave him a thumbs-up as Quinn scooted toward the kitchen.

  From the window of the swinging door, Quinn saw Pete talking to Doyle Maguire. Pete laughed at something Doyle said. Then Doyle took out his wallet and pressed a wad of bills into Pete’s hand and came around the bar. Shit! He’d been sold out. Some friend Pete was.

  Well, he could hide behind the door like a scared little rabbit, or he could act like a man. He decided to act like a man and pushed the door open. “Hey, old man. What brings you here?”

  Doyle answered with a fist in Quinn’s face.

  When Quinn recovered from the blow he opened his eyes and saw two Petes and two Doyles standing over him. There was also a room full of customers--curious looks on their faces--milling around the bar, probably waiting to see what would happen next.

  “Hey, Quinn,” Pete said. “I mean Stanley. He didn’t ask for you by name.” The two Petes nodded toward the two Doyles. “He said he was looking for the owner of the Ducati parked outside. He gave me fifty bucks!” Pete grinned, as if he’d done a good deed.

  Quinn moaned but didn’t say anything as he got to his feet, his hand covering his throbbing cheek and eye.

  Sean Rafferty came around the corner, looking as if he were ready to throw a punch himself. At who, Quinn wasn’t sure. Fist drawn, he said, “You want me to call the police?”

  “No,” Quinn said, then nodded at Doyle. “This is just
an old friend who stopped by to say hello.”

  “Do I still get that free beer?” Pete asked.

  Quinn scowled at him before turning in Doyle’s direction. “I take it you’re not here for lunch.”

  “You’re a smart one, all right.”

  Nodding at Doyle to follow, Quinn headed for his office. “We can talk in here.” Once they’d entered the small room, Quinn closed the door and dropped into the chair behind the desk.

  “First, I want to know who the hell you are!” Doyle demanded, hands bunched into fists at his sides.

  Quinn stared up at the man with his good eye. Doyle’s face was a glowering mask of rage. “Didn’t Bailey tell you? I’m her loving fiancé,” he said, his voice full of sarcasm. His right eye hurt to beat the band. It felt as if the guy had hit him with a set of brass knuckles, which Quinn wouldn’t put past him.

  “Just drop the act. I know you’re not Stanley. Stanley Davenport is a spineless, skinny worm, with blond hair and blue eyes.”

  Great. “I thought you and your wife had never met the man.”

  “Mimi’s never met him. But I have. I made it a point to catch him while he was on tour in Belfast a few weeks ago. Mimi was visiting her sister in Florida at the time.”

  “Uh, huh. So you knew last night I wasn’t Davenport, and yet you let me make a fool of myself anyway.”

  “And you did a good job.” Doyle saluted him. “I just want to know why you’d go to all that trouble.”

  “I think you should ask your daughter.”

  Doyle kept his eyes trained on Quinn as he paced the room. “I’m asking you.”

  Sighing, Quinn looked out from beneath his hand, testing his right eye. He still saw double.

  Doyle stopped in front of the desk and scowled at Quinn. “She offered you money, didn’t she?”

  The way he’d said it made Quinn feel like the lowest of scumbags, so he chose not to answer.

  “I knew it! She didn’t want her mother and me to know that Stanley had called off the wedding. Right? I kept waiting for her to call and tell us. I should have known she’d try to spare our feelings somehow, but I never thought she’d go this far.”