by Peggy Jaeger
Table of Contents
Title Page
There’s No Place Like Home
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
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Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“Remember when your cousin Tiffany got married in the backyard here?”
Confused, Moira nodded. She licked her lips, running her tongue across his caressing finger. The hiss that blew from him made her thighs shake.
Quentin rubbed her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “When the Reverend told Cole ‘you may now kiss your bride,’ and he swooped her off the ground, spun her around, and kissed her silly? Remember what you said?”
Moira tried to conjure the scene. “I think I said it was the most romantic thing I’d ever seen.”
He nodded. “The exact quote was ‘I hope someone kisses me like that some day.’”
Her grin was quick at the memory. “Pat snorted and said I’d better be satisfied with licks from the horses and Rob Roy because no guy was ever going to kiss me like that.”
“He wasn’t known for tact back then,” he said, rubbing a hand down her back as he held her next to him in the soft lamplight from the porch. The soothing, rhythmic smoothing of his hand made every nerve on Moira’s body stand at attention.
“Later on that day, behind the barn, remember what happened then?”
Because she did, she couldn’t stop the heat from spreading up her face like wildfire. When she merely nodded, he traced a kiss across the area he’d just caressed, and said, “You wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed like that and since I was your best friend, you thought I should be the one to do it, because you—quote—felt safe with me—unquote.”
“What was I? Eleven?”
There’s No Place Like Home
by
Peggy Jaeger
The MacQuire Women, Book 2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
There’s No Place Like Home
COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Margaret-Mary Jaeger
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2015
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0130-3
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0131-0
The MacQuire Women, Book 2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For Jill Hart
People come into your life for a reason, a season, or
a lifetime. You and me kiddo, we’re a lifetime.
Chapter One
Moira Cleary paid the taxi driver and took her first full breath in over twenty-four hours. As she stood in front of the farmhouse she’d been born in, exhausted and emotionally drained, tears started at the corners of her eyes. Mentally chastising herself, she dried them with an impatient swipe of her hand.
There was no use crying. It did no good, didn’t solve anything. She’d been crying for weeks and all it had left her with was red eyes and hiccups.
She was home. That’s all that mattered.
Home.
“Moira.”
Serena Cleary came through the front door, a paintbrush in one hand and a towel in the other.
“Mom.” The two suitcases fell from her hands and Moira ran up the wooden porch steps.
“Why didn’t you call us? I would have come to the airport to pick you up.” Serena placed the brush and towel on the porch table.
“I was able to catch an earlier flight.” She folded herself into Serena’s arms. Her mother’s natural warmth engulfed Moira, chasing away the cold that had chronically settled into her system, and a familiar whiff of turpentine tickled her nose as she melted into the welcoming embrace. “I didn’t get a chance to call. I just wanted to get home as soon as I could.” She glanced down at Serena’s hands. “You were painting.”
Moira looked back up into eyes she saw everyday in her own mirror. Eyes that knew her better than anyone else. Concern stared back at her.
“I was up in the studio.” Serena cradled her daughter’s cheeks in her hands. With a fret-etched frown, she said, “Baby.”
Like a faucet opening, the tears that had started a few moments before were unleashed in full at the sound of heated worry in her mother’s voice. A sob broke from within her and Moira was helpless to stop it. She bit her bottom lip and lost the thin thread of control she’d been able to hold on to since yesterday.
Serena drew her back into her arms and rubbed a hand down her back, soothing; calming.
Moira hated being unable to control her emotions. She should have been able to get a grip on them now since she was home.
“Here comes your brother,” Serena said, when the sound of a car speeding up the drive touched the air.
The youngest Cleary parked and then shot out of the car like a bullet. He galloped up the porch steps two at a time and then stopped short in front of them.
“Hey.” He rubbed a hand down Moira’s back, as their mother was. “You’re way early.”
Moira turned to look at up him, forced to tilt her head back a little. “Good God, Steps. When did you become a giant?” She swiped at the tears again, her gaze trailing from the top of her brother’s black haired head, characteristically in need of a trim, down to his frayed sneakers.
Alastair grinned, bent and took his sister into his arms, giving her a fierce, full-bodied squeeze. “You haven’t been home in a while, Mo. I kinda stretched over the winter.”
“Kinda? You’re almost as tall as daddy. And where’d all this muscle come from?” she asked, pinching his bicep. “You feel like a tank.”
“I made varsity baseball.” Pride danced in a voice that changed from a squeak to a deep and jagged rumble with each new word. “Coach has us working out three hours a day.”
“It’s paid off.” She looked up into his face and saw the same anxious expression in his questioning blue eyes their mother had in hers. “By the way you’re both staring at me I can guess what I must look like.”
“What you look like is tired,” Serena said. She wrapped one of Moira’s hands in her own. “When was the last time you slept?” She gently tugged her into the house and slipped her other hand around her daughter’s slender waist, while her son retrieved the suitcases. “And more importantly, when was
the last time you ate?”
Moira glanced around the foyer and sighed. Nothing had changed since she’d been gone. Thankfully. The wooden floors in the entryway were polished and shiny, as was the balustrade shooting up the central main staircase. Family photographs lined the wallpapered hallway leading back to the kitchen, where the Cleary’s spent most of their time together. The music room, with Moira’s beloved Steinway, sat to the right, the bright and bold afternoon sunshine trickling through the bay window behind it. Roomy, cabbage rose slipcovered couches and chairs circled the room and the smell of fresh lavender lingered in the air. Memories of sliding down the banister on Christmas mornings and running to see presents stashed under the tree ran through Moira’s head. The echo of a thousand piano lessons and practices whispered in the room. Housed here was laughter, love, and family; consistency, reliability, and stability. Everything that had been missing in her life; everything she’d been pining for.
“I had something small before I left Budapest.” She mentally crossed her fingers against the fib. If she told her mother the actual last time she’d been able to eat and keep something down, Serena would have marched her right into the kitchen and prepared a feast. “And I tried to sleep on the flights, but I’ve never been a good plane sleeper.”
The chronic pain in her stomach reared up and, unconsciously, her hand flew to it. Serena squinted down at the movement. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really. My appetite’s been a little off lately.”
“More than a little,” Alastair said, squeezing by them on his way up the stairs, a suitcase in each hand. “You’re way too skinny, even for you.”
His offhand remark, made with what she knew was brotherly love and affection, caused Moira’s eyebrows to pull inward. “You try and eat well when you’re on the road all the time and we’ll see who’s skinny,” she called to his retreating back.
“I know that look,” she said when she turned back to her mother. She nibbled at her bottom lip again.
“You should.” Serena nodded as her elegantly sculptured eyebrows rose. “You’ve seen me use it enough times on your brothers. But never, as far as I can remember, on you. What’s wrong?”
Moira blew a long burst of frustrated air through her lips. “Oh, Mom.” She shook her head and rubbed her stomach. “I promise, everything will be fine. I just need some time. And I need some sleep,” she added, stifling a yawn.
“Baby, you’re home. You’ve got all the time in the world here, you know that.”
“I do. Which is why I couldn’t wait to get here.”
She moved back into Serena’s outstretched arms. Only she could give the love and comfort Moira so desperately needed.
Serena’s hand gently trailed up and down Moira’s back again. “Why don’t you go lie down for a while? Daddy isn’t due home for a few hours. It’s just the four of us, well five now, with you, for dinner. Paddy’s busy tonight. Since we didn’t expect you home until tomorrow, I don’t have anything special planned until then.”
“Mom, I don’t want a fuss.” She backed away from her mother’s hold. “Please. I just want you guys. No big Cleary shindig. I’m not up to it.”
Serena reached out and rubbed her hands down Moira’s arms. “No big shindig, Baby. Just us and the Stapletons for dinner. It’s been a long time since anyone has seen you. We’ve all missed you so much.”
Resigned to the fact she would have to face them all at one point, Moira nodded through another yawn.
“Go on up to your room and rest.” Serena kissed her temple. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
Moira nodded and climbed the stairs, her legs feeling as if they had no more strength to hold her upright a moment longer.
In the room she’d grown up in, Moira pulled back the comforter, dropped onto her bed and fell asleep before she could pull it back over herself.
****
Something warm, wet, and sticky gamboled across her fingers. Dragging back into consciousness, Moira immediately recognized what the wet was. And the cause. The rough texture of a long tongue licked her hand, moving back and forth in a rhythmic dance of branding.
Moira opened her eyes and saw pure love stare back at her.
“Rob Roy.”
The elderly black Labrador gave her hand one final swipe with his tongue, and then jumped onto the bed. A deep doggie groan escaped from his mouth at the effort, making Moira smile. His hot, moist breath blew over her face, followed by his tongue. Wrapping her arms around his massive neck, she noticed the circle of white that now ringed his eyes and colored his jaw. “I missed you, boy. So much.”
“Looks like the feeling’s mutual, sis.”
Moira turned to find her twin brother seated in the over-sized stuffed chair next to the fireplace.
“Pat.”
Moira appreciated—not for the first time—what a handsome man he was. She hadn’t seen him in over two years. At twenty-six then, he’d grown into his dashing good looks and maturity. Now, two years later, Padric Cleary had developed into a formidable and prosperous man, in addition, his twin thought with pride, to being a hunky-looking guy. Jet-black hair just like their mother’s was full and thick and ended just below his ears. If he let it get any longer, she knew it would start to curl at the ends. Those deep blue eyes, which could change from mirth to ice cold annoyance in a heartbeat, were clear and bright. Like their father, Pat’s shoulders were broad, his torso long, muscular yet lean, like his legs. Moira could guess at the number of broken female hearts strewn all over the town in his wake.
“How long have you been sitting there?” She pushed up on her elbows and Rob Roy took the opportunity to hunker down next to her. The length of his aging body stretched out next to hers, gave off comfort and warmth, as he’d done since she was a child. Moira ran a loving hand across his neck and behind his ears.
“A few minutes.” Pat rose to his full height and came to stand beside her bed.
“Why are all the men in this family suddenly giants?” she asked, leaning back to stare up at him. “Steps towers over me and I swear the last time I was home he barely came to my chin. And you. You’re huge.”
Pat’s grin came fast. With a quick shove to her legs, he sat down next to her on the bed. “Better?”
“At least I can look you in the eyes now,” she said, dryly.
He stared at her for a moment, the grin dying on his lips, his gaze deep and piercing while it traveled over her face.
“What?” she asked, hand above her stomach, her fingers splayed over the churning she felt going on within her.
He tilted his head to one side, a twin trait she knew mirrored her own, and said, “Since you can look me in the eyes now, why don’t you, and tell me just what the hell is going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“Mom called me at work and ordered me to come home for dinner. I had other plans she told me to break. Plans with a certain redhead I’ve been attempting to arrange for weeks.”
“Why did Mom make you cancel them?”
Pat took her hand away from her stomach and wound it into his. He stared down at her long fingers, rubbed her knuckles, and said, “My guess is she wanted a united family front tonight. United for you.”
As they’d begun doing with frustrating regularity, tears built in Moira’s eyes.
“What happened? What made you leave the tour early and come home?”
“I didn’t leave early,” she told him, trying to fight back the tears. “We were finished with the European leg and I didn’t want to go on to Asia.”
“Why not?”
She sighed. “I’m tired, Pat. Just plain tired. I’ve been touring for over four years with hardly any break.”
His clear eyes raked up and down her torso. “I can understand needing a vacation. But I think you’re more than just physically exhausted.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
She frowned at his h
arsh tone and turned her face away from him.
“Look at me.” When she did, he continued. “There’s tired Moira, and then there’s broken.”
Calling her by her given name proved just how concerned he was. Tears spilled down her sunken cheeks now, free and non-stop.
Pat pulled her up into his arms. “Tell me what happened,” he said, cradling her head against his shoulder, “because I know something did.”
She started to quake beneath his hands as the tears fashioned into sobs. They sat on the bed, Pat holding her and just letting her cry as their mother had. Rob Roy laid his head in her lap, his dark, rheumy eyes large and filled with emotion as he stared up at her.
After a few minutes, Moira quieted. “I’m sorry,” she said, with a swipe of her sleeve across her eyes and dripping nose. “I can’t seem to pull this in lately.”
Pat cupped her cheek in one hand and rubbed the tears. “Moira.”
The concern in his voice was cavernous.
“I’ll be okay,” she told him, trying to summon up a smile and failing. “I just need some rest and to figure out a few things. I promise, I’ll be fine.”
“Why won’t you tell me what happened?”
“I will. Just give me some time first. Please?”
He rubbed his hands up and down her arms and peered at her so intently she feared he wouldn’t give up. Pat was dogged when he wanted something and Moira didn’t have the strength to go head-to-head with him.
“Okay. I’ll back off,” he said at last, surprising her. “For now. But just as a warning, Mom is uber-worried. The fact that she ordered me to cancel my date and wouldn’t take no for an answer proves it.”
“I’m sorry. Will the redhead give you another chance?”
His grin was as quick as Alastair’s had been, and ten times more wicked. “I’m nothing if not persistent.” He rose from the bed and carefully pulled her up with him. Rob Roy’s head lifted and his low mumble of disapproval made them both smile.
“Come on.” Pat threw an arm around her shoulders. “Dad’s on his way and dinner’s almost ready.”
Moira’s hand drifted to her abdomen again. “I’m really not hungry.”
