A Woman's Heart (28 page)

“I'm afraid you do.” Another sigh. “Which makes me wonder what I'll be doing for warmth once winter comes.” She looked up at him through her lashes, in a blatantly flirtatious way that made him want to laugh and ravish her at the same time. “Perhaps you'd be having a suggestion about that?”

“One or two. Both of them having to do with us providing our own heat.”

She smiled at that. “Ah, and didn't I know you were a clever resourceful man, Quinn Gallagher?”

He'd feared it would be harder. Worried he'd have to struggle to get past the barriers he'd watched going up since they'd gotten the news of Brady's death. Now he realized
that it was Nora's own vast capacity for love that caused those walls to come down before they'd been completely erected.

Quinn wondered if his life would have been different if he'd met this woman when he was younger. Would her stunning ability to feel so strongly, to care so deeply, have saved him all those cold and lonely years? Probably not, he admitted, recalling some old lyrics his mother used to sing about not knowing what you had until you lost it. In his case, Quinn considered, he hadn't had a clue that anything was missing from his life until he'd discovered it. Discovered Nora.

He'd been like a man alone in the desert. A man who, having suffered through that arid time, could now fully appreciate the cool fresh taste of an icy spring bubbling up in the oasis.

And speaking of tastes, it had been far too long since he'd drunk from her lips.

“I don't want you to take this wrong.” He reached for her wrist, then lifted her hand to press a kiss to her palm. “But I want to make love with you.”

The touch of his mouth against her flesh was like a brand. “Why would you worry I'd be taking that idea wrong? I think that would be in order after a declaration such as you've just made.”

“It's not exactly been your usual day.”

“True enough. But I've already lost someone I love.” She turned their hands and kissed his knuckles. “I'm not about to risk letting you get away.”

She was the most incredible woman he'd ever known. And amazingly she was his.

“How did I ever get so lucky?” he murmured in honest wonder.

“Oh, now that's an easy one to answer,” Nora said on a
silvery breathless laugh that made him think of fairies singing. “Mam sent you to me.”

She was so wonderfully warm. So soft. So perfect.

“I love you.” He kissed her long and lingeringly as his fingers began working their magic on the pearl buttons that ran from her lace collar to her hem. “Love you.” He pressed his mouth to the pulse at her throat and felt her blood hum. “Love you.” The more he repeated them, the easier, the more enjoyable the words proved to be. “And now that you've shared that little bit of Irish magic with me, I've decided that I love your mother, as well.”

Her skin tasted like honey. Her lips were like a banquet after a long fast. Quinn knew he'd never get enough of her. Not if they were granted a thousand lifetimes together.

They knelt in the center of the blanket, undressing each other slowly, in unspoken agreement not to rush. Quinn reined in his impatience—for himself, as much as for her. Nora tested the limits of her weakening restraint—for herself as much as for him. It was a night of promises, of pledges both spoken and unspoken. A night to remember. To cherish.

Gradually, as the moon rose in the cloud-scudded sky, casting its mystical glow over the landscape, murmured words of love became shimmering sighs. Soft moans. Hands that had lingeringly explored warming flesh moved faster, harder, over curves and hollows. Lips that had tantalized earlier now tormented, capturing stuttering breaths from lungs.

“I want you.” Quinn's fingers dug into her hips, as his eyes locked on hers, which were huge and bright with a flame of hunger equal to his.

“Then take me. Now,” she gasped as she struggled to fill her lungs with air.

“Not just for now.” He slid into her so easily they could
have been created one for the other. “For eternity. Forever.”

“Aye.” Her lips skimmed over his face, her hands pulled him closer, deeper. “Forever.”

As the moon rose higher in the black velvet sky, passion soared, taking Nora and Quinn with it.

Much, much later, as he held her in his arms, luxuriating in the aftermath of passion, Quinn viewed a flash out on the glassy waters of the lake. He told himself that the fleeting glimmer of green was merely a trick of the moonlight.

Let Down the Blade

D
espite her lingering sorrow over her father's death, Nora discovered that Quinn's admission of love for her brought a whole new dimension to her life. For the first time in years she felt as young and giddy as a schoolgirl, yet the happiness brimming in her heart was definitely that of a woman.

The shooting for the movie was winding down, and although there seemed a never-ending list of chores to do on the farm—including getting the barn ready for Rory's mare—she spent those days at the lake, watching the filming, all too aware that Quinn looked decidedly in his element among those beautiful confident Americans. She also couldn't help noticing that he seemed terribly close to Laura Gideon, but was surprised when the stunning actress treated her with genuine warmth.

“Will you miss it?” she asked him softly as they lay together in bed. Although she still didn't want the children to know they were sharing a room, Nora no longer had the
willpower to spend the night alone when the man she loved was sleeping next door.

“Miss what?”

Where to begin? Despite his assurances, she worried about asking him to make so many major changes to his fast-paced American life-style. Would he honestly be happy living on a small farm in west Ireland? Away from the bright lights of the world he was accustomed to?

“Hollywood, for one thing.”

“Not in this lifetime.”

He'd already determined that the movie business wasn't for him. There were too many delays for what he found ridiculous reasons, too many compromises made on a daily basis, too much emphasis on marketing the story rather than worrying about the message of the tale. The only reason he'd agreed to write the screenplay in the first place was to maintain control over a story he cared a great deal about. Unfortunately control had proved to be an elusive thing in Hollywood.

“The only good thing about working on this film was meeting you.”

“What a lovely thing to say.”

“It's the truth.” He ran his hands over her bare shoulders and down her arms. “I love the idea of living here in Ireland with you. And the family.” He wasn't about to admit that every so often, when he wasn't looking, old fears would attack, like a skeletal hand reaching out from under the bed to grasp at an ankle. His life had changed, Quinn assured himself several times a day. He'd changed.

Nora's heart fluttered. He was doing it again. Heating her blood, melting her bones. “I love that idea, as well. Although it's a shame a famous man such as yourself is going to be writing his best-selling novels in a barn.”

He shrugged. He'd written his first stories during his stint
in the navy, scribbling away in his bunk, lost in the world of his characters while a noisy shipboard life went on around him. Quinn figured Rory's mare would undoubtedly prove a much quieter roommate than a bunch of sailors.

“I'm only going to be using the tack room until my office gets built.” They'd designed it together, a traditional cottage with a thatched roof situated on a piece of green meadow overlooking the standing stones between the Joyce and O'Sullivan land and the sea beyond. Quinn knew writers who'd kill for such an imagination-stimulating location.

“Oh, that reminds me. Robert Duggan brought by some paint samples today. I left them in the kitchen.”

“You can get them later.” He snagged her wrist as she went to climb out the bed.

“But you'll be wanting—”

“To hell with the paint. White's white. I don't want to waste the night trying to detect some imperceptible difference between Swiss Coffee, French Cream and China Mist. Let Duggan pick whatever he wants.” He paused. “Because what I want right now is you.”

Nora turned back into the arms of the man she loved. The man who, just as her father had predicted and her mother had promised, loved her back.

“I want you, too.” And as she lifted her face for his kiss, Nora's carefully planned argument for Swiss Coffee immediately fled her mind.

 

It was the day before May Day and the household was in an uproar. The postman had been bringing greeting cards all week for Celia, who was preparing to receive her First Holy Communion. And if that long-awaited occasion wasn't enough, Mary had, indeed, been chosen queen of the May Day dance, which raised the anxiety level of the sixteen-year-old girl several notches.

As she baked the cakes for the party that would be held after mass at The Rose, Nora assured Mary yet again that their mother's jade earrings were perfect with her new evening gown.

“Aye. Much more flattering than the gold hoops.” As Mary left the room to one more time try on the lovely dress Quinn had bought her in Derry, Nora heard a squabble break out in the parlor. “Celia, Rory, stop that bickering this minute!” she called out.

Celia had proven insufferable all week, lording the money that had come in all those first communion cards over her nephew. And Rory, who was growing impatient waiting for his horse to arrive, had been uncharacteristically short-tempered.

“The girl's certainly all puffed up with herself,” Fionna muttered from her seat at the kitchen table where she was staging her battle plan to confront the bishop on the steps of the church immediately after tomorrow's mass to celebrate the Virgin. “When I suggested she give some of her money to the missionary fund, she began rattling on about a Barbie playhouse.”

“I suppose when you're seven years old, dollhouses are more appealing than saving pagan souls,” Nora said mildly. She glanced at the stack of colorful flyers scattered over the top of the table. “Are you certain you want to confront the bishop in such a public place?”

“He won't answer my letters.” Fionna uncapped a black felt marker and began printing tall block letters on the placard she intended to take to the church. “And he's been stalling for months. This way he won't be able to duck the issue.”

Nora glanced over at Quinn, who was peeling potatoes for dinner. She still wasn't accustomed to a man in the house. Especially in her kitchen.

“If you intend to run out on me, today would definitely be the day to do it.”

“Not on a bet.” His grin was as warm as buttery summer sunshine and made her heart feel as light as the helium balloons she'd ordered from Monohan's Mercantile for Celia's communion celebration tomorrow.

She smiled back, so in love sometimes she thought her lips would freeze into the foolish grin she saw on her face whenever she passed a mirror. “Did you happen to have an opportunity to speak with John?” she asked quietly so as not to garner Fionna's attention.

“While we milked the cows. And he promises to behave in the future. But it's really not that big a deal, sweetheart.”

She'd gone into John's room to put away some laundry this morning and had discovered him downloading photographs from the Internet. The women, clad merely in the rosy flesh they'd been born with, were supposedly, according to the caption, Babes from Britain. Both Nora and John had momentarily frozen; as the suggestive photos flashed onto the screen, she hadn't known which of them was more embarrassed, her or her brother.

“I don't want him getting into trouble,” she said firmly. “He has his entire future ahead of him.” A scowl darkened her face and furrowed her brow. “A future that hopefully does not include any Knockers from Nottingham,” she muttered, remembering all too well the heading above one particularly well-endowed platinum blonde.

“It's not so different from a kid sneaking his first illicit look at
Playboy.
All boys do it, Nora.” The brown potato skins were flying into the sink. “Just like all teenage girls probably check out romance novels searching for the sex scenes.”

She felt the color rise in her cheeks as she thought back to those forbidden books so many of the postulates—herself
included—had nervously giggled over after the sisters had turned off the lights in the convent dormitory.

“Mary has a best friend, Deidre McMann, who's about to become a mother. The father is a college boy. Or was until he had to quit school to work on his parents' farm to support his new family.”

“John's a bright kid. And a responsible one. You did a good job raising him these past years. I think it's time to relax and let him take responsibility for his own life, let him make his own choices.”

“I know.” She sighed, thinking of the fateful choice Kate had made when she'd been John's age. “But I do worry.”

“Of course you do.” He leaned over and dropped a light kiss on her lips. “That's what I love about you.”

Love. It was, Nora thought, allowing him to ease her concerns, the most glorious word in any language.

The following day, as Nora watched the processional of little girls dressed up like brides of Christ in lacy white dresses and sheer pearl-studded veils, she thought Celia looked like an angel. Only the little girl's white knuckles, as she clutched the rosary from Fionna and the new white missal Quinn had surprised her with this morning, revealed her nervousness.

Later that evening, when Mary came downstairs dressed for the dance and looking as beautiful as a movie star, Nora thought once again how many things had changed. Some for the worse. She couldn't help wishing her da had been here to see his two daughters looking so lovely today. But then again, she considered, he probably had been watching. Along with her mam.

That thought, and the memory of their last conversation by the lake, comforted her.

As she watched Parker Kendall pin the orchid corsage on Mary and saw Quinn fix the young actor with a steely pro
tective warning gaze, she realized that most of the changes—and all of them having to do with this man—had definitely been for the better.

Much later, as she lay in Quinn's arms floating on the ebbing tide of spent passion, Nora said a silent prayer of thanksgiving to God, her mam and da, and even any of Kate's ancient Celtic gods and goddesses who might be listening, for bringing such a special, loving man into her life.

 

Nothing in Quinn's life had ever come easy. He was also Irish enough to feel superstitious about enjoying such uncommon domestic bliss. Which is why, despite his love for Nora, despite the way he was beginning to feel like a true member of her extended family, he couldn't help continuing to feel a lot like Sydney Carton's tragic character in
A Tale of Two Cities.
The question was not
if
the damn blade was going to drop. But
when.

It was the day after May Day, the day before he'd been scheduled to return to California. The day before he'd planned to leave Ireland—and Nora—forever. As he hooked up the horse trailer to the Mercedes, which he'd already arranged to buy, he was amazed at how much his life had changed in four short weeks. How much
he
had changed.

“Talk about magic,” he murmured as he drove to Kate's farm to pick up Rory's mare. The country, the family and most of all Nora had definitely done a number on him.

Thinking of how excited Rory was going to be when he returned from his trip to the village with Nora and discovered his pony in the stall, Quinn experienced a feeling of satisfaction that was downright paternal.

He moved on to thinking about having more children. Not that he wasn't already beginning to think of Rory as his own, but the idea of making babies with his beloved redhead was more than a little appealing.

Picturing Nora round and ripe with his child had Quinn smiling as he knocked on Kate's door. The grin instantly faded as he viewed the woman standing in front of him.

Her face looked as if someone had used it for a punching bag. The flesh was bruised and swollen, unattractive shades of blue and purple. One eye was shut, her upper lip split open. When he saw the purple marks on her neck—an unmistakable imprint of Cadel O'Sullivan's fingers—a cold fury swept through him.

“Where are the kids?”

She looked surprised by that question. “They went with Nora into the village. She promised them ice cream.”

“Then they weren't here when the son of a bitch did this to you?”

“No.” She closed her good eye for a brief moment. “Thank God.”

“I'll call Fionna,” he said. “And have her track down Nora and keep the kids while I take you to the hospital.”

“No!” Kate backed away and held up her hands as if warding him off. “I'll not be needing to go to any hospital.”

“I don't think you're in a position to judge that.” His eyes skimmed over her, noticing that she wasn't exactly standing upright. “There's a good chance you could have a cracked rib or—”

“I'd know if that were the case. I'll be fine, Quinn. Really, I just need a little lie-down and—”

“You need a helluva lot more than that, dammit.” Furious at Cadel O'Sullivan, frustrated by Kate's continuing denial and concerned for her safety, he dragged a hand through his hair and considered his options. Despite the fact that Kate handled thousand pound horses every day, she was a slender woman who barely came up to his shoulder. It would be a simple matter just to lift her and carry her out to the car.

The problem with that plan, dammit, was his reluctance to use bodily force. Especially since she'd already suffered too much at the hands of a her brutish husband.

“At least come with me to Nora's. Where the family can keep you safe.”

She seemed to consider that as she gave Quinn a long look. “All right. Let me just get my bankbook. It's upstairs.”

Although he didn't want her to stay here an instant longer than necessary, he nodded and came into the house, leaving the door open so he could keep an eye out for O'Sullivan. When she turned around to leave the room, the first thing that caught Quinn's attention was the gingerly way she was walking, which wasn't, he decided grimly, all that surprising. And then he saw the blood on the back of her flowered cotton skirt.