Bailey's Irish Dream

by Debby Conrad

  Quinn knitted his brows together. “How did you know Davenport had called off the wedding?” he asked, even as the pieces of the puzzle started to fit together. Then the truth hit him full force. “You paid him off, didn’t you?”

  Doyle looked away guiltily.

  “You paid Davenport not to marry your daughter?” Quinn asked, watching the man in utter disbelief. “What kind of man would do something like that?”

  “A man who cares about his daughter’s happiness. Those guys weren’t right for Bailey.”

  “You bought off the others too!” Quinn shook his head. “You’re incredible.”

  “Don’t look at me like I’m despicable after what you did. You’re certainly no saint.”

  “What are you talking about? I told Bailey last night I didn’t want her money. In fact,” he said, opening his desk drawer and finding the check Bailey had given him, “here’s the down payment she gave me.” Quinn tore the ten-thousand-dollar check in small pieces and tossed them in the trash can beside his desk.

  “How much did she offer you?” Doyle asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “It was supposed to be a loan.”

  “How much?” he persisted.

  Quinn’s voice dropped to a low volume. “One hundred thousand,” he said, feeling ashamed of himself.

  “One hundred thousand!” Doyle dropped his hands to his sides, clenched his fists and started pacing again. “Now, that makes me wonder what you’re up to. No man in his right mind is going to give up that kind of money.”

  “I’m not up to anything, and I don’t want her money. I’ll find another way to get the money I need.”

  “Yeah, and I believe in Santa Claus too.” Quinn didn’t bother to argue with the man. “Just tell me one thing, whatever the hell your name is. Were you lying about that girl Bambi and those four kids you got running around?”

  “What do you think?” How could anyone actually believe he’d married a sixteen-year-old girl? Or that he’d had four kids and had conveniently forgotten about them. Jesus. The thought made him sick inside. When he’d lied about those things last night, he’d felt sick too. But that hadn’t stopped him from trying to make the Maguires believe his lies.

  “I think you were pulling my leg. But right now all I care about is Bailey. And the baby.”

  “There is no baby,” he said with fearful clarity. “According to Bailey, Mrs. Maguire imagined it. And besides, Bailey already told her mother it wasn’t true.” Or had she? he wondered.

  “Don’t play stupid with me, mister. I know that’s what you two were arguing about last night in the drive.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But he was afraid he was going to find out.

  “Bailey’s definitely pregnant. And you’re the father. Now I want to know what you intend to do about that.”

  The news hit him in the gut as if he’d been shot with a cannonball. “Bailey’s pregnant?” He’d barely been able to say the words aloud. Quinn shook his head in denial. “You’re sure? Did she tell you that?”

  “Yeah, she told me. She told me and her mother right after you left last night.”

  Quinn held his hand out in front of him and stood. “Look, whatever she told you, I’m not the father. I’ve never even touched her.” Well, he’d touched her, but not like that.

  “I saw the way you kissed her last night.”

  “All right, so I kissed her, but that was all.”

  “Like I’m going to believe a liar like you.”

  “Maybe Bailey’s the one who’s lying.” Quinn rested his hands on the desk top. “Maybe she’s not pregnant at all.”

  “Bailey wouldn’t lie to us about something like that.”

  “Why not? She told you I was her fiancé, didn’t she?”

  “That was different. That was probably to protect our feelings, or maybe because she was embarrassed,” he said, defending his daughter. “But Bailey wouldn’t lie about something as serious as being pregnant.”

  Quinn rolled his eyes. What he knew of Bailey so far, he certainly wouldn’t put it past her. She’d said she hadn’t slept with Davenport, and he’d believed her at the time. Now, he wondered.

  Maybe she was pregnant.

  And maybe Davenport was the father.

  Maybe she’d lied to Quinn. “Look, I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. I’m telling you I never touched her. You’re just going to have to believe me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my life.”

  “You can’t walk out of my daughter’s life, just like that,” he said with a snap of his finger. “What am I supposed to tell Mimi?”

  “What?” Quinn stared at the man. “I don’t care what you tell her. Tell her I died. If I never see another Maguire again, it will be too soon for me.” The throbbing pain in his cheek and eye served as a reminder.

  He’d no sooner finished speaking when there was a knock on the door and Sean Rafferty stuck his head inside. “Excuse me, Quinn, but there’s a lady here to see you. Says her name is Bailey Maguire.”

  Doyle’s face turned a darker shade of red. “Don’t let her know I’m here,” he said in a panic.

  Quinn turned to Sean. “Give me five minutes and then you can send her in.”

  Sean’s eyes shifted between the two men. “Sure,” he said and closed the door behind him.

  “Is there a back way out of here?” Doyle asked, jerking his head around the room.

  “Yeah,” Quinn said and pointed to a door. “Through there.”

  Doyle started to bolt, then stopped short and spun around. “Quinn, huh?”

  Quinn nodded in response.

  “So, this place belongs to you, does it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look, I don’t want Bailey to know what I’ve done. Hell, she’d probably never forgive me. And Mimi would skin me alive if she knew.”

  “You should have thought about that,” Quinn said silently.

  “I’ll make it worth your while not to say anything.”

  “I don’t want your money, Maguire. I just want to be left alone.”

  “Deal,” he said, running for the door. “We’ll talk later.”

  Quinn didn’t want to talk later, but Doyle had closed the door before he got a chance to say anything. Shaking his head in dismay, he wondered what the hell Bailey wanted with him now? Walking to the office door, he yanked it open and found her waiting on the other side.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  “Omigod!” Bailey gasped, pushing her way into the office and shutting the door. “What happened?”

  You and your crazy mixed up family is what happened, he wanted to say, but didn’t. “An unhappy customer.”

  “Oh, how awful!” She laid a hand on his arm and looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “You need to be more careful. There are a lot of psychos out there.”

  Yeah, and I’m looking at one right now. “What do you want, Bailey? We said our good-byes last night.”

  “I came to apologize,” she said, licking her lips and wringing her hands together, two habits he’d noticed she did when she was nervous.

  “For what? Trying to ruin my life?” Unable to stop them, his eyes drifted on their own accord to her flat stomach. No sign of pregnancy yet. If she even were pregnant.

  She blinked her eyes several times, looking innocently at him. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so irritated, but damnit, his face felt like a whole had been shot through it. “I accept your apology, okay? Now I need to put some ice on my eye.”

  Quinn opened the door to the office and signaled to Sean. “Sean, I’ll be upstairs. Can you handle the bar for awhile without me?” When Sean said he could, Quinn turned to look at Bailey. “Well, I guess that’s it, then. You’ve apologized.”

  She looked around his office, ignoring the hint that he wanted her to leave. Sighing loudly he closed the door. Obviously something was on her mind, and he doubted she’d leave until she shared it with him.

  Bailey
smiled and said, “Why don’t we go upstairs together. I’ll put some ice on your eye, and then we can talk.”

  Not bothering to argue, he headed for the back door, Bailey at his heels.

  She followed him up the stairs and waited while he unlocked the door. Ducking under his arm she made her way into his apartment and went to the refrigerator. With the handle end of a butter knife, she chipped away at a large clump of ice, breaking it into small pieces and artfully arranging them in the center of a dishtowel.

  While she fooled with the ice, Quinn poured himself a hefty amount of bourbon and tossed back half of it in one gulp. With his drink in hand he sank into the sofa, threw his head back and closed his eyes.

  A few moments later, Bailey’s cool fingers touched his sore cheek. “Poor baby,” she soothed, almost purring. Quinn opened his eyes and looked at her. Her hair was swept away from her face and secured with a large barrette. Tiny curling tendrils had escaped the heavy mass and teased her cheekbones.

  She’d rested her butt on the arm of the sofa, her face too close to his for comfort. “Here,” she whispered. “Let me . . .” Leaning across him, her breast grazed his upper arm as she pressed the towel-wrapped ice chunks to his cheek and right eye. “There. Does that feel any better?” Her breath felt warm and moist against his face.

  “Much,” he mumbled, his good eye watching her closely, his pulse kicking up. What was he saying? He didn’t want her here, but he didn’t seem to have the strength to tell her so. His gaze fell to the creamy expanse of her neck, wishing she’d worn something more revealing than the prim, white, sleeveless blouse she’d chosen.

  “I suppose you want me to kiss it and make it all better too,” she purred, making Quinn lose his grip on the glass he’d been holding.

  “Damn,” he swore, nudging her away and getting to his feet.

  Bailey’s eyes settled on the wet crotch of his jeans, then promptly looked away, obviously embarrassed.

  “I spilled my drink,” he quickly explained before she jumped to any conclusions. But there was nothing he could do to hide the fact that he’d been aroused by her. Settling himself in the recliner he set his empty glass on the floor. “What’s this all about, Bailey? Are you trying to seduce me again?”

  Her mouth flew open. “In your dreams!” She averted her eyes and tightened the knot on the dishtowel.

  “Yeah? I’m starting to think you and I have been having the same erotic dreams.”

  Flushing at the enormity of his words she stood and heaved the ice at him. The cold hard bundle landed directly in his lap, making Quinn jump in his seat. “You trying to disable my manhood or what?” he yelled.

  “I was only trying to be sympathetic,” she said, folding her arms in front of her. “Sympathetic! Lady, you have a strange way of showing sympathy.”

  “Men are such babies when it comes to a little pain.”

  “When women start throwing things at my balls, I tend to get a little touchy.”

  She rolled her eyes and dropped her hands to her sides. “We’re talking about two entirely different things here. I was talking about your face, and you were talking about your . . .” Her eyes dropped to his crotch, then shot upward, her face and neck turning a pretty shade of pink.

  He’d be willing to bet she wouldn’t offer to kiss that and make it feel better. Sighing, he rose from the chair and pressed the ice to his eye. “What do you want, Bailey?” he asked again.

  “I came out of concern for you.”

  Quinn snorted. “Concern for me?”

  “Yes,” she said, her fingers twisting together. “I was worried my father would somehow find you and . . .”

  “And what?”

  Shrugging, she said, “Nothing. It was silly of me to worry.”

  “Why would your father want to find me? You told him the marriage was off, didn’t you?” he asked, testing her, knowing she’d lie to him.

  She averted her kaleidoscope eyes. “Well, not exactly.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing, really.”

  Quinn took a step forward and, with his free hand, tilted her chin toward him. “What does nothing really mean?” He waited, challenging her to go through with the lie.

  She met his accusing eyes without flinching. “He thinks I’m pregnant.”

  “He thinks? Why would he think something like that? Are you?” he asked, desperate to know the truth.

  Swallowing hard, she said, “No.”

  Quinn didn’t know why, but he felt relieved. He let his hand slip away from her chin. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t trust himself touching her.

  “So, where would your father get a crazy idea like that? And why didn’t you tell him the truth when you had the chance?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know--”

  “Cut the crap, Bailey!” He saw her flinch at the tone of his voice. “You lied to me. You told me last night that you’d told your mother you weren’t pregnant.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said, slapping her hands to her sides. “I guess I must have led them to believe that. I was going to tell my parents the truth last night, right after you left, but I just couldn’t. And then the next thing I knew, I’d told them I was pregnant. I couldn’t help it. The words just came out of my mouth, all by themselves.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I’ll bet.”

  “And then this morning, I tried to tell my mother the truth, but she wouldn’t believe me.” She crossed her arms again and rested her weight on one hip, drawing his attention to her bare shapely legs beneath the hem of her linen shorts. “This is partly your fault, you know.”

  “My fault?” he asked, incredulously. “How is any of it my fault?”

  “Well,” she said, “if you hadn’t kissed me last night, then maybe I would have been able to think straight after you’d left, but instead . . .” She bit her lip and looked away.

  “Don’t stop now,” he invited. “It’s just getting interesting.” Lifting her chin once again, he studied her face. “What did my kissing you have to do with telling your parents you were pregnant?” He’d spaced the words evenly.

  She licked her lips and blinked her eyes at the same time before smiling weakly. “After you kissed me . . . I sort of had this crazy fantasy that you and I--”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Stop right there!” Quinn said, dropping his hand and moving away from her. “I don’t think I want to hear this.” The lady never ceased to amaze him.

  “That’s a relief,” Bailey said convincingly. After a moment’s silence, she smiled. “I guess I should be going. You probably want to get back to your life.” She backed toward the door. “Anyway, thanks for what you did last night. Not that it helped matters any, but that’s not your problem, right?”

  Right! he thought.

  “So, I’m going to go home and make my parents listen to me. I’ll just tell them I’m a compulsive liar. I’m sure they’ll understand.” Her fingers twisted nervously against her thighs.

  “I’m sure they will,” he agreed, nodding his head. “You’re doing the right thing.”

  “Yes, well . . .” She lingered at the door, her hand resting on the knob. “I know you said you didn’t want the money I promised you, but I insist you at least keep the ten-thousand-dollar check I gave you.”

  “Too late,” Quinn said. “I’ve already torn it up.”

  Smiling, she said, “You’re just too honest.”

  “Yeah, you should try it sometime.”

  She laughed softly, then opened the door and disappeared. Quinn scrubbed his hands over his face and said on a sigh, “Good-bye, Bailey.”

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Downstairs at the bar, two men came in and sat on either side of Pete. The one to Pete’s left reeked of after-shave. Lemon-lime. Pete hated lemon-lime.

  They were big men, and they reminded him of Popeye and Brutus dressed in suits. Pete tried to decide which of them was the ugliest. Shrugging, he decided it was a toss-up.
>
  The man on his left spoke first. Popeye. “Any idea who owns that fancy Italian bike parked out front?” His voice was deep and gravelly. Just like Popeye’s.

  “Maybe,” Pete answered, unsure about this guy.

  “I’ve always wanted a bike like that,” the man on his right said. Brutus. “I’d pay top dollar if the owner was willing to sell.”

  Shaking his head, Pete said, “I don’t think the owner wants to sell the Ducati. That’s his baby.”

  “You know the owner?” Popeye asked.

  Uh, oh. “Maybe,” he answered in a non-committal tone. He’d already fingered Quinn once today. He was going to play this cool. Real cool.

  “I could have sworn my good buddy, Stanley Davenport, rode up on that bike, but I don’t see him around anywhere.”

  Stanley Davenport? How many people had Quinn told his name was Stanley? “You know Stanley?” Pete asked, dumbfoundedly.

  The man slapped his hand on the bar. “Don’t tell me he’s a friend of yours too!”

  “Well, yeah.” That is if Stanley, or Quinn rather, was still speaking to him.

  “Why, I haven’t seen old Stanley in years. Any idea where we could find him?”

  Pete took a drink from his mug, shifting his eyes between the two men. His mother didn’t raise no fool. These guys looked like thugs to him. Setting the mug down, he said, “You guys aren’t gonna beat him up or anything, are you?”

  Popeye and Brutus laughed. And then Pete laughed too. “Nah, we just want to talk to him. About the bike.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Pete wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “I guess I could tell you then. I think I heard the manager say he was in the upstairs apartment around back.”

  Popeye and Brutus slapped Pete on the back. “Thanks, buddy.” Popeye signaled the bartender and said, “Give this guy whatever he wants.” He slapped a twenty down on the bar and walked away with his ugly friend.

  This was turning out to be a profitable day, Pete thought, smiling.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Moments after Bailey had left, there was a knock at Quinn’s apartment door. Why should he think he could get rid of her that easily? Tugging the door open, he said, “Forget it. I’m not going to lie for you anymore.” To his chagrin, he saw two ugly guys without necks staring back at him.