Bailey's Irish Dream

by Debby Conrad

  “Thanks,” Doyle murmured.

  Quinn headed down the hall, then stopped to look back at Doyle. “Why did your wife throw you out?”

  Doyle raised his shoulders. “Hell if I know. Sometimes women are puzzles. You know what I mean?”

  Yeah, Quinn knew exactly what he meant. Women were puzzles all right. Especially Maguire women.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Quinn went to the bar early the next morning. He’d been awake the whole night anyway. Doyle Maguire had snored so loudly, Quinn thought a chain saw had been powered up in the next room. He could hear him even after he’d closed the bedroom door and buried his head beneath a pillow. Needless to say, he wasn’t in a very good mood today.

  He’d made a pot of cream of spinach soup for today’s special, and then he’d barricaded himself in his office to go through the bills. Again. He didn’t know why he put himself through this misery. No matter how many times he added them up, he was still short. Way short. Bailey’s hundred grand would have come in handy. But he’d be damned if he wanted to be indebted to her. Especially after last night.

  Quinn leaned back in the desk chair, wondering what she was thinking this morning. Had she regretted what happened last night? Was she trying to put it out of her mind forever? Or was she blushing, remembering?

  Tossing his pencil across the room, Quinn sat straight up and sighed. What did it matter what she was thinking? Nothing like that would ever happen between them again. Not if he could help it. Yeah, Quinn, but how much self control do you have? Apparently not very much when it comes to Bailey.

  Sean knocked twice and opened the door. “I just need to grab some paper towels for the men’s room,” he announced. Tearing open a cardboard box sitting against the far wall, he took out a package of tri-folded towels to load in the dispenser. “Oh, by the way . . . I hired a new bartender this morning. He’s catching on pretty fast too.”

  “Great,” Quinn said, lacking enthusiasm. “What’s his name?”

  “Doyle. Doyle Maguire. You know, your friend who was here yesterday. The one who sucker punched you.”

  “What?” Quinn got to his feet. “Why the hell would you hire him without checking with me first?”

  “Because I thought I was in charge of the hiring around here. Or, has that changed? Besides, I thought you said this guy was an old friend.”

  “Yeah, he’s an old friend, all right.”

  “He said he was sorry for causing a scene yesterday. Said he didn’t mean to hit you that hard--that he was just playing, you know.”

  “Yeah, he was playing all right.”

  “And he told me you’re marrying his daughter. I didn’t even know you were dating anyone.”

  “Unbelievable.” Quinn shook his head. “I am not marrying his daughter. Tell Maguire,” he started. “Never mind, I’ll tell him myself.” He stormed out of the office and went in search of the lying sack of shit.

  “What the hell are you trying to pull, Maguire?” Quinn shouted, rounding on him. “First you invade my home, and now my business.”

  “Can’t this wait?” Doyle asked. “I’ve got customers.”

  Quinn scanned the bar and dining room. He hadn’t realized it was lunch time already. “Look,” he said, lowering his voice. “I don’t know what your game is, but whatever it is, it won’t work.”

  Doyle shrugged, filling a mug from the tap. “It’s not a game. I’m just trying to pay you back for your hospitality,” he said. “And since you’re going to be my son-in-law, I figured you could use some help here once in awhile. I’ve always wanted to own a bar.”

  “I am not marrying Bailey. Did you hear me?” Quinn said, standing face to face with the man.

  “I heard you,” Doyle sneered. “So, you think it’s all right to play sneak-between-the-houses-in-your-p.j.s, but you don’t want to marry her?” He nodded. “I think I’m beginning to get the picture.”

  Quinn didn’t answer, nor did he stop Doyle when he moved past him. “Here you go, Pete,” Quinn heard Doyle say. “I got a joke. A skeleton walks into a bar and sits down. Bartender yells, What will you have? The skeleton said, A beer and a mop.” Doyle laughed. “Get it?”

  Pete howled. “That’s pretty good.”

  Doyle looked at Quinn expectantly. “Did you get it?”

  “No,” Quinn lied, turning away and heading back toward his office.

  “Hey, Quinn!” Pete yelled. “Did Popeye and Brutus ever find you yesterday?”

  Quinn turned around slowly and scowled at Pete.

  Pete took one look at Quinn’s bruised face and winced. “Never mind,” he said. “I didn’t even see those guys.” He quickly went back to stuffing his face with food.

  Fuming, Quinn went back to his office and slammed the door. “Damn Maguires,” he mumbled. “They’re like a bunch of pesky mosquitoes.” What he needed was a way to get rid of them. Once and for all.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  “What do you mean you threw Dad out?” Bailey asked her mother the next morning at the kitchen table. Reaching for Mimi’s hand, she clasped it tightly. “What happened, Mom?”

  Mimi smiled sadly. “Your father is just too set in his ways. And I have my own life to live.” Retracting her hand, she got up from the kitchen table and gathered the dirty breakfast dishes. The kids had rushed through their cereal and juice, then raced for the beach a few moments ago.

  “But . . . ” Bailey hesitated, blinking with astonishment.

  “Don’t try to change my mind. I’m not going to take him back.”

  Bailey’s mind refused to register the significance of her mother’s words. “But you and Dad never fight or argue. I don’t understand.”

  Mimi turned on the water at the kitchen sink and began rinsing the dishes. Turning to face her daughter, she said, “That’s because I always gave in. Well, not anymore. I refuse to be pushed around and bullied by that thickheaded Irishman. From now on, I’m taking charge of my own life. I’m going to stay in Erie, and I’m going to get a job.” With that she turned back to the sink.

  “A job?” Bailey asked, staring at her mother’s back. “But what will you do?” Other than taking care of her home and family, Mimi had never worked a day in her life.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Mimi said, “Anything I darn well please,” and went back to rinsing the dishes and loading them in the dishwasher.

  Bailey couldn’t believe it. Her mother wanted a job. Well, her father would certainly understand her mother’s need for independence. And surely once her parents had talked things out they’d soon get back to normal. Getting up from the table she moved to the counter next to her mother. “Mom, is this why you’ve been seeing a psychiatrist? Because you want a job?”

  “Allison has been helping me discover who I am.”

  “Who’s Allison?”

  “Dr. Allison Lindstrom. I’ll miss her.”

  “What about your home in Ireland? I thought you liked living there.”

  Mimi shot her daughter a scornful look. “That was your father’s idea. He never even asked me if I wanted to move. He just made all the arrangements, and off we went. Well, poo-poo on him.”

  Wavering, Bailey tried to comprehend what she was hearing. Her parents had left for Ireland three years ago, and this was the first she’d heard that her mother was unhappy about the decision. “Why don’t you talk to Dad and tell him that--”

  Mimi cut her off. “You don’t just talk to your father. He’s stubborn. And he needs some time to think about what his stubbornness might cost him. In the meantime, he’s living next door with Stanley.”

  “What?” Oh, brother. “He moved in with Stanley?” Bailey gnawed on her bottom lip, trying to think. She needed to call Quinn and apologize for the intrusion.

  No! No, she was not calling Quinn. She couldn’t. Not after last night. She was too humiliated to call him. In fact she never wanted to see him again. Reaching for the coffee pot, she poured herself a cup of the hot steaming liquid, her mind burning
with the memory of what had happened between them.

  Adding cream and sugar, she returned to the table and fell into her seat. Her lips tingled in remembrance of his touch. And suddenly other places on her body tingled as well.

  Taking a sip from her mug, Bailey felt her cheeks flush as a dull ache of desire rushed through her body. Why had she kissed him last night? And why had she let him do those erotic things to her? Had she really fallen in love with him, or had she just been satisfying her curiosity? Maybe Gwen was right. Maybe she should have bought a vibrator instead. Then, she wouldn’t be in this mess.

  Looking up, she saw her mother standing over her, hands on hips, a stern expression on her face. “I told you caffeine is bad for you when you’re pregnant.”

  “Mom,” Bailey said, feeling guilty. “I think I made a mistake. I’m not really pregnant after all.” She forced a smile and quickly took another sip of coffee.

  Her mother’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Positively sure. Virgins didn’t get pregnant. Although, after last night, she wondered if calling herself a virgin was rather hypocritical. Technically, she’d never slept with Quinn, but theoretically she felt as if . . . “I got a visit from Aunt Flo,” she lied.

  Her mother still watched over her, her brow etched with concern. “Are you all right? Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I’m fine. And no, I’d rather not talk about it.” There was nothing to talk about. There wasn’t any baby, and there might never be a baby. That thought saddened Bailey as she tried to hide her feelings from her mother.

  “How is Stanley taking the news? I’ll bet he’s awfully disappointed.”

  “Yes, he is,” she lied, sighing.

  “Well, you two have plenty of time to plan a family. But let’s get you married first. Shall we?”

  Bailey didn’t know how to respond to that. Her mother had just accepted the news that there wasn’t any baby. Maybe by tomorrow Bailey could spring the broken engagement on her.

  Just then, Kaitlyn burst through the back door and into the kitchen. “I can’t believe him!” she said loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Opening the cupboard under the kitchen sink, she tossed what looked like Mark’s pager inside the trash basket and slammed the cupboard door.

  “We’re supposed to be on vacation, for heaven’s sake. You’d think he could forget about work until after the wedding. But, no . . .”

  Mimi rushed to Kaitlyn’s side. “Sit down, dear, before you get yourself all worked up.”

  “I’m already worked up.” Kaitlyn flopped into the chair across from Bailey. “He promised,” she wailed, burying her face in her hands.

  Trying to offer comfort, Bailey said, “I’m sure everything’s going to be fine.”

  Kaitlyn uncovered her face and shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. Ever since he went to work for that big firm, he’s changed. It’s like his job is the only thing that’s important to him now.”

  “That’s not true. Mark loves you and the kids.”

  “Well, it’s too late. I’m not going to sit around, waiting for him to come to his senses. I have a life too, you know.”

  “Well, of course, you do,” Bailey said, thinking this conversation reminded her of the one she’d just had with her mother.

  “I told him he should move in with Stanley while we’re here.”

  “You did what?” Bailey asked, getting to her feet. What was wrong with everyone? Her mother and father had a perfect marriage. So did Mark and Kaitlyn. So what if Mark had been a little preoccupied with his job lately. Couldn’t Kaitlyn and her mother see that the men in their lives loved and worshipped them? Bailey would give anything if Quinn loved her like that. Oh, dear God. What was she saying?

  “Men,” Kaitlyn groaned.

  “They’re all the same,” Mimi said, patting Kaitlyn on the back and consoling her.

  Bailey had to get out of there. She had to think. Maybe if she talked to Gwen. Yes, that was it. Gwen would understand. Looking at her sister and mother, she said, “Promise me you two won’t do anything stupid, like shoot them, before I get back.” Mimi and Kaitlyn looked at her like they hadn’t thought of that. Yet.

  “I was kidding,” Bailey said, grabbing her car keys.

  “Where are you going?” Kaitlyn asked.

  “To get a vibrator.”

  Kaitlyn’s and Mimi’s eyes shot up before exchanging a look. “Maybe we should come along,” Mimi said, grinning.

  Oh, brother. Had she actually said that? And in front of her mother? “I was kidding. Honest,” she added when it looked as though her mother didn’t believe her.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  “Why did we have to meet here?” Bailey asked as Gwen climbed from the black SUV and shut the door. The last place in the world Bailey wanted to meet was at Quinn’s. For obvious reasons.

  “I told you why. I have to show a house nearby in an hour,” Gwen said, glancing at her watch. “I have just enough time to grab a quick sandwich.” She draped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and started for the door.

  Bailey hesitated. When she’d called Gwen from her cell phone and asked if they could meet, Gwen had been with clients. She’d simply said “Meet me at Quinn’s in twenty minutes” and hung up. Bailey had been sitting in her car in the parking lot, waiting for Gwen to pull in. “Maybe we could talk out here.”

  Gwen glanced over her shoulder and laughed. “Don’t be silly. It’s ninety degrees in the shade, and I’m liable to melt. Come on.”

  Reluctantly, Bailey followed Gwen inside. It was early enough that they should be able to get a table, rather than sit at the bar, like last time. And maybe Quinn would stay behind the bar, and it wouldn’t be so bad. Or so she tried to convince herself.

  The big man with Woody Woodpecker hair seated them in a corner booth. There was no sign of Quinn. Thank God.

  “What are you so nervous about?” Gwen asked. “And why are you hiding behind your menu?”

  “I’m not,” Bailey insisted. “I’m just trying to decide what I’m going to order.” One small white lie between friends wasn’t so bad. Was it?

  “What can I get you ladies?”

  Bailey dropped the menu to her lap at the sound of the familiar voice. “Dad?”

  “Bailey!” He seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  After a quick hello to Gwen, he said, “I work here.”

  It felt as if there was a golf ball stuck in her throat. “You work here?” she managed to croak out.

  “Yeah. This place is hopping. And Stanley can sure use the help. It’s okay. I know Stanley moonlights here between gigs.”

  Gigs? Concert pianists didn’t do gigs. “You do?” she asked, confused and wondering what in the world Quinn had told her father. “Did Stanley hire you?”

  “Actually, Sean Rafferty, the general manager, hired me,” he said, pointing to the man who had seated them. “I’m mostly going to be tending bar, but Sean thought it might be a good idea for me to learn the tables while I’m in training.” He glanced quickly around the dining room. “As you can see, we’re starting to get busy. So, if you could hurry and decide what you want . . .”

  “I’ll take the tuna melt and an iced tea with lemon, Mr. Maguire,” Gwen said, closing her menu and placing it on the edge of the table. She seemed totally unaffected by the fact that Bailey’s father was working as a waiter slash soon-to-be-bartender at Bailey’s pretend fiancé’s restaurant and bar.

  Blinking, Bailey said, “I’m not really hungry. Surprise me.”

  “Cream of spinach soup today. Stanley made it,” he said with a wink.

  “Fine. And, Dad, bring me a glass of Chardonnay, please.” She needed something to calm her nerves. This was all too bizarre.

  When Doyle disappeared, Gwen smiled and said, “This would make a good book. The life and times of Bailey Maguire.”

  “Stop it.
This isn’t funny.” Bailey caught a glimpse of Quinn as he waited on a customer at the bar. Slouching in her seat, she played with her hair, hoping her hand would cover most of her face. She wished she’d kept her menu so she could hide behind it. By moving a fraction of an inch to the right, Gwen’s head made a good camouflage.

  “What’s wrong?” Gwen turned around in her seat to look in the direction Bailey had.

  “Nothing. Turn around, before he sees you.”

  “Who? Quinn?” Gwen pivoted back around. “Don’t I wish!” she said, fanning herself. “That man is one fine specimen.”

  “Yes, well, looks aren’t everything,” Bailey said. “And I thought you were only interested in men for sex?”

  “I am.” She grinned. “And Quinn looks like he’s got all the right equipment, and then some.”

  Bailey felt the heat rise on the back of her neck. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “So, tell me, how’s it going? Your dad sure seems to have bought your story.”

  “They all bought it,” Bailey said, not feeling very proud of herself. “But I spilled the beans to Kaitlyn.”

  “Kaitlyn? Why? Your sister has never been able to keep a secret.”

  “Well, she’s kept this one so far.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  Bailey brought a finger to her lips to silence Gwen when she saw her father heading their way, drinks in hand.

  “Here you go,” he said, setting them down. “Your lunch order will be up in just a few minutes.” He hurried off to another table.

  “So, fill me in on all the details. And don’t leave anything out.”

  Bailey started with the night Quinn had first come for dinner. She told her about the men who had beat up Quinn thinking he was Stanley, and finished up with telling her that her parents were sort of separated. She’d deliberately neglected to mention last night’s episode in Stanley’s guest room. That was much too personal to share. Even with her best friend.

  “Oh my! I can’t believe it! To think that Stanley is a diamond smuggler . . . well, I knew there was a reason I never cared for him. I was serious, Bailey. You really should consider writing a book.”