A Woman's Heart

by JoAnn Ross

  “Believe me, honey, he’ll be back,” Laura assured her. “Quinn can be a son of a bitch, but he’s smart enough to know when he’s hit the jackpot.” Her judicious gaze measured Nora from head to foot. “And although I would have bet the farm against it when we first hit this place, you turned out to be the treasure at the end of the guy’s rainbow.”

  That said, she flashed a smile that never failed to bedazzle her fans and left the farmhouse, then climbed into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes.

  Nora stood in the doorway as the car drove away, watching until it turned the corner and disappeared behind the stone wall separating her farm from Kate’s.

  He’d said he was leaving to keep from hurting her. The ragged pained sound that escaped her tightly set lips was half laugh, half sob. Didn’t he realize he’d done exactly that? Couldn’t he understand that he couldn’t have wounded her heart more if he’d taken down one of those antique swords from the wall of The Rose and slashed her heart to ribbons?

  Covering her face with her hands, Nora finally gave in to the tears that had been threatening since she’d arrived at the hospital and discovered that the man she loved had retreated into his dark and icy shell. She had no way of knowing that as Laura drove toward Castlelough, Quinn couldn’t stop himself from believing that he was leaving the best part of his life behind.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Find a Way Home

  Quinn was gone. Back to America. Rory sat in his secret wishing place and related the sad news to his best friend, who, now that the movie people had left Ireland, was free to stop hiding beneath the water.

  “I thought he was going to be my da,” he told her. He sighed. “He seemed to like me well enough. At least he let me in his tent with him on the father-and-son trek. And he bought me Splendid Mane.”

  Rory did not have to explain to the Lady that he’d named the horse after the one that had belonged to Manannan mac Lir, the ancient Gaelic god. The original Splendid Mane was said to be swifter than the spring wind and, as was befitting the patron of sailors, traveled equally fast over the waves of the sea as he did over land.

  “I wouldn’t think a man would be buying a pony for a boy he didn’t love. But Jamie says perhaps he had so much money it didn’t seem like such a special thing.”

  Rory sighed again, drew his knees up to his chest, wrapped his thin arms around them and looked out over the darkening blue water. Beside him, Maeve whimpered. Rory could tell that she missed the American almost as much as he did.

  A pony is a very special thing, the Lady assured him.

  Rory wasn’t as surprised as he’d been the first time she’d spoken to him. But this time her words didn’t ease the worry that had been heavy on his heart.

  “I wish he hadn’t left,” he said again. And sighed yet again. “Mam’s been crying a lot. Just like she did before the Americans came. But I don’t think she’s worried about moving away from the farm anymore. I think she misses Quinn, too.”

  He looked up at the Lady, lines of concern etched into his freckled forehead. “I’ve been worrying that perhaps I did something to make him go away.”

  He couldn’t think of what that might have been, but hadn’t Tommy Doyle’s da left when Tommy had gotten the cancer? Rory had heard his grandfather Brady remark that Brian Doyle just couldn’t deal with so much trouble, but after Tommy had come back from Dublin, bald, but cured, his da still hadn’t returned.

  “Perhaps some men aren’t made to have families,” he said, repeating what his grandfather had told him about Mr. Doyle. “Perhaps, if it weren’t for me, Quinn would have married Mam. And she’d be happy. Like she was before he left to go back to California.”

  The American leaving had nothing to you with you, Rory Fitzpatrick. The Lady’s golden eyes rested on him reassuringly. Doesn’t he have some of his own ghosts to calm before he can be making a family? You must be patient. He’ll be back.

  That said, she turned and disappeared beneath the water without so much as a ripple, returning to her kingdom beneath the waves.

  “Quinn will be back.” Rory poured milk from the pitcher into the glasses that Celia had set on the table.

  “Oh, darling.” Nora turned from the stove, trying to decide whether it was kinder to let her son continue to believe this or to dash his hopes with cold reality so he could move on with his young life. So they could all move on. “I wouldn’t be counting on that,” she said gently.

  “He’ll be back.” Rory’s expression was, as it had been for the past two weeks, confident. “The Lady told me he just had some ghosts to get rid of first. Before he could be part of the family.”

  Nora’s first thought was that it wasn’t so strange that a boy who talked to a lough beastie could so readily accept the idea of ghosts. Her second thought was to wonder how Rory could understand so well that the man he kept insisting would be his father could have been so haunted.

  “I don’t know what to say to that,” she said honestly. Having never lied to her child, she wasn’t about to start now.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Mam.” He finished pouring the milk and put the pitcher back in the refrigerator. Then he flashed a grin. “We just have to be patient. The Lady promised.”

  Half a world away Quinn sat on the deck of his rented house, looking out over the ocean. The white-capped water reminded him too much of Nora. But then, he thought grimly, everything reminded him of the woman he’d left behind in Ireland.

  “You realize, of course, that this is getting boring.”

  He glanced over at Laura, who was sitting beside him, her bare feet up on the railing, long tanned legs displayed to advantage in a pair of brief white shorts. “Sorry I’m not a better host.”

  “Oh, don’t apologize.” She took a sip of the fumé blanc and smiled sweetly over the rim of her glass. “I’ve always admired your overachieving spirit, darling. And the way you’ve been behaving ever since we left the ‘auld sod’ is by far the best example of a pity party I’ve ever seen.”

  His only answer to that was a succinct curse. He took a long drink of the iced tea he’d made himself stick to the past two weeks, fearing that if he started drinking he might never stop.

  “Why the hell don’t you just go to her?” Laura asked, not for the first time. “Instead of continuing to make the two of you miserable. Not to mention that poor kid—he’s got to feel deserted.”

  Quinn didn’t want to think about Rory. It was bad enough picturing the boy every night while he was trying to sleep, the image of that open freckled face flashing with all the others he’d betrayed in some kind of bizarre slide show in his mind.

  “I explained all that.” It hadn’t been easy to open up to her, to share that story of his life yet again. But he’d needed someone to talk to. And amazingly Laura was turning out to be a good friend.

  “I know.” She sighed and shook her head. “And I think it’s about the most ridiculous excuse for walking out on a woman I’ve ever heard.”

  “That’s your opinion.”

  “True enough.” She put her feet back onto the deck and stood. Figuring she was going into the house to refill her empty glass, Quinn turned back toward the view of the sun-spangled water, which while admittedly magnificent, was the wrong damn ocean. He let his eyes drift closed.

  Suddenly he heard a loud smack and felt a sharp sting on his cheek. He brought his hand to the burning skin and looked up at Laura.

  “What was that for?” he asked without rancor.

  “It was a test.” Smiling, she raised her hand and delivered a slap to his other cheek. “You might call it a kind of scientific experiment. Of nurture against nature, so to speak.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Although on some distant level he thought he might.

  “I hit you,” she pointed out unnecessarily. “And you didn’t hit me back.”

  “Hell, of course I didn’t.” Oh yes, Quinn considered grimly, he could definitely see where she was headed with t
his little bit of amateur psychology.

  “Isn’t that interesting?” Again she slapped him, this time with enough force to turn his head. “You’d think a man with such violent genetic tendencies would feel the need to strike back.”

  “Laura, this isn’t going to work.”

  “Oh?” She arched one perfect blond brow. “And why not? I thought you told me that you couldn’t stop yourself from beating up that thuggish wife-abusing Irishman?”

  “That was different.”

  “How exactly?”

  “You’re nothing like O’Sullivan.”

  “Now there’s a news flash.” She folded her arms. “Neither, would I venture a guess, is Nora Fitzpatrick. Or her son. Or, for that matter, any of the other children.”

  When Quinn didn’t—couldn’t—answer, she put her hand on his arm. “You’d never hurt them, Quinn. Not in a million years. I know it. And I know that deep down inside, you know it, too.”

  “Then you know a helluva lot more about me than I know about myself.”

  “Your instincts weren’t even there. Your hand didn’t even make a fist. I watched,” she said when he glanced down at his hand, as if to check out the assertion firsthand for himself. “You allowed your sadistic son-of-a-bitch father to control the first thirty-five years of your life. You’re too damn smart—and Nora is too special—for you to allow him to control the next thirty-five.”

  The idea of spending those years with Nora was admittedly appealing. Terrifyingly wonderfully appealing.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She smiled, patted his cheek, which still bore the imprint of her fingers, then kissed him. “Why don’t you do that, darling?”

  Quinn Gallagher was a remarkably intelligent man. Which was why it was such a surprise to Nora that he could be so stupid about something so basic. So important.

  She’d tried to be patient, tried to give him time to realize the mistake he’d made, but with each passing day, she feared that the walls that had begun to crumble during his time in Castlelough would begin going up again. Higher, this time. And thicker. Until there’d be no way to breach them. Which was why, three weeks after he’d left Ireland, as she lay alone in her bed—the bed that now seemed heartbreakingly empty—wearing the T-shirt Quinn had left in the laundry, she realized what she had to do.

  She was going to have to go to America and convince him that they were perfect together. And then, she considered, she’d tell him that she was willing to leave Ireland and live in California with him.

  “I understand it won’t be easy,” she told her family as they sat around the table after Sunday mass. “John, I understand that you’ll not be wanting to change your plans to go to university. Nor should you.”

  “He’ll be all right,” Fionna assured her. “I’ll be watching out for him. And he can always come and visit you and the rest of the family in California. It’s not as if your new husband won’t be able to afford the airfare,” she said dryly.

  Nora turned to her grandmother, refilling her teacup. “Are you certain you don’t want to come?”

  “I’ve lived more than eighty years on this farm, darling. My roots are sunk too deep into the peat to transplant. And then, of course, I’d not be wanting to give up my Bernadette campaign just when I’ve finally piqued the Vatican’s interest.”

  The letter from the Congregation for the Cause of Saints had arrived in yesterday morning’s post. By evening Elizabeth Murphy, who considered her postmistress job to be akin to town crier, had spread the word throughout not only Castlelough, but also the entire county. Even Bishop McCarthy had been seen on the nightly news agreeing with the lissome blond interviewer from News One that this was, indeed, a red-letter day for the parish.

  The newscast had also featured an interview with a beaming Fionna, who’d been videotaped standing beside the Mercedes that had arrived at the farm a week after Quinn’s departure. The same Mercedes Quinn had driven during his visit to Castlelough. The one he’d somehow arranged to have painted with bright murals depicting the life and times of Sister Bernadette.

  “But you can be sure I’ll be coming to America for the baptism of all those beautiful babies I expect you and Quinn to make together,” Fionna promised.

  Although just the thought of leaving her beloved grandmother made her heart heavy, Nora couldn’t help smiling.

  “And you, Mary?” she asked her sister. “I realize you might find it difficult to be leaving your friends in your last year of school. If you’d like to stay—”

  “No.” Mary shook her head. “Though it’s true I’d rather stay here, in Castlelough, there’s something to be said for going to California, too. Perhaps Quinn can help me find movie work.”

  That was not Nora’s favorite subject. But she was also relieved that she wouldn’t be leaving Fionna to deal with Mary’s teenage angst.

  “What about Splendid Mane?” Rory asked. There was no doubt he was willing to go to California if that was what it took for them all to be a family. But he hated the thought of leaving his horse behind.

  “Kate says we can get papers for your pony to join us in California. And I’m certain there will be some stables somewhere nearby where we can board her.”

  It wouldn’t be like having her right outside the door, where he could walk out whenever he wanted and give her a carrot or lump of sugar. But, Rory figured, weren’t the nuns always saying that God appreciated sacrifice?

  “I think that will be just fine, Mam,” he assured his mother, who was looking at him with obvious concern. She hadn’t quite gone back to the laughing smiling woman she’d been when Quinn had been living in the house. But at least he didn’t hear her crying anymore when he got up in the night.

  “I promised Peggy I’d send her a Malibu Barbie from California,” Celia piped up.

  Knowing how close the two girls were and understanding that the move might prove difficult for her youngest sister at first, Nora laughed. “I think that’s a lovely idea. So long as she can resist any more stake burnings.”

  It was the night before she was to leave for California. The plan Nora had come up with called for her to go first, then send for the rest of the family once she’d settled into Quinn’s house. And his life.

  And now, although it wasn’t easy, she was saying the farewells she’d been putting off to last.

  “You tell that Yank of yours,” Michael said, his voice unusually gruff as he hugged her goodbye outside his farmhouse, “that if he doesn’t make an honest woman of you, he’ll have me to answer to.”

  She laughed as she was meant to. “I’ll tell him.” Her voice cracked and tears welled up in her eyes as she clung to her older brother. “I love you, Michael. And I’ll miss you something terrible.”

  “We’ll have our visits.”

  “Aye.” Her voice didn’t sound any more enthusiastic than his. Why was it, Nora wondered, that life always seemed to demand a person make such hard choices? “We’ll come home for Christmas.”

  “Now that will give me something to look forward to,” he promised.

  They shared another hug. Then, dashing away the tears she couldn’t keep from trailing down her cheeks, Nora drove to Kate’s.

  “I’ll miss you,” Kate said as she handed her a cup of tea. She’d taken down the Beleek, which was usually only used for special guests and celebrations.

  Since her separation from Cadel, Kate had begun to bloom like a parched Burren wildflower whose roots had just tapped into an underground stream.

  “No more than I’ll be missing you.” Nora’s eyes welled up again and she knew she’d never be able to get away without another flood of hot tears. She took a drink of tea, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “But I promised Michael we’d be back for Christmas.”

  “We’ll take a day shopping in Galway,” Kate said. “Think of the fun we’ll have seeing how much of your rich husband’s money we can spend.”

  Even as Nora laughed, she felt the first tear escape and begin t
railing down her cheek. “And it’s not as if we’re living in the nineteenth century,” she insisted. “There are phones, after all. We’ll be able to talk almost as often as we do now.”

  “Of course we will.” Neither woman mentioned that the vagaries of the Irish phone system—especially out here in the west—made that proposed scenario highly unlikely.

  “I’m so happy for you.” Now it was Kate’s eyes that had turned suspiciously shiny. “Quinn’s a wonderful man, Nora.”

  “Aye.”

  Neither brought up Quinn’s fistfight in the pub. The fight that had brought Cadel O’Sullivan’s abusive behavior into the open, exposing it to the bright light of day in a way the villagers could no longer ignore. As if realizing that to stay in Castlelough would result in a lifelong shunning, Cadel had returned to Dungarven. The letter Kate’s lawyer had sent him had suggested strongly that he not think about returning unless he wanted criminal charges pressed against him. So far the ploy seemed to be working.

  They talked some more. Cried some more.

  “You’re going to have such a glorious family,” Kate said as they exchanged hugs.

  “I know.” Nora gave her sister-in-law a watery grin. “I just wish you could meet a wonderful man like Quinn.”

  “Perhaps someday I will. But in the meantime I think I’m going to enjoy having my little brood to myself.”

  As she walked to the car, after having exchanged one last hug, Nora realized that finally Kate would be all right.

  Kate stood in the driveway, watching the taillights disappear around the stone wall. She dashed at her tears with the back of her hands. Then smiled as she thought of something even her sister-in-law didn’t yet know. Nora was carrying Quinn’s child.

  After a sleepless night, during which Nora felt like a young girl anticipating Christmas, she was pacing the parlor, waiting for her brother to arrive to take her to the airport. Her suitcase, which had been packed for two days, was sitting beside the front door.