There's No Place Like Home (The MacQuire Women Book 2)

by Peggy Jaeger

  “What happened with your calls?” Serena asked, sitting back and cradling Moira in her arms like a small child.

  “Nothing good,” Moira told her. “I may have to drive into New York next week. Meet with the tour manager of the company. And my agent.”

  “Are you in trouble for leaving?”

  “Not in trouble, no. But apparently, they have no one to replace me and I’m getting some push to join them at least until the Asian tour is over.”

  “If you want my opinion, I don’t think it’s a good idea. You don’t look strong or healthy enough right now to complete another grueling six months. That’s how long they usually last, right?”

  “Pretty much.” Moira pulled out of her mother’s arms and scooted her back up against the headboard. A quick swipe of her hand across her cheeks dried her tears. “But it’s not just that I left.”

  “What else? What else has been troubling you so much?”

  Moira stared at her mother’s face wanting to tell her everything, but terrified of doing so. Serena was like a lioness when one of her children had been hurt. If she knew the major cause of why her daughter had come home sick, thin, and overwhelmed, Serena’s wrath would know no equal. So instead of telling her the whole truth, Moira said instead, “My agent has been fielding queries about me doing a solo album.” Not a lie, but not the real reason for her anguish.

  “Baby, that’s wonderful news. Why doesn’t it please you? You’ve always wanted to do your own album, put your own spin on the classics. You talked about nothing else when you were in college.”

  “It’s not that I’m not pleased by the idea of it,” Moira said, her breath catching on a sigh. “It’s just I don’t think I could do a good job to such an important project right now.”

  “Why not? It’s not as if you’d have to learn new music.”

  For the first time in a few minutes, the tense knot in Moira’s stomach uncoiled, her mood lifting at her mother’s comical, yet accurate statement.

  “No, not new music anyway. But an album, especially a solo one, is a ton of work. And a huge time commitment. I’m not sure right now this is what I want to do.”

  Serena’s gaze ran over her daughter’s face. “What do you want to do, Baby, now that you’re here? Do you think you’ll go back to the symphony after the Asian leg is done? Start up again with them wherever they wind up next?”

  Moira’s stomach cramped at just the thought. There was no way she could go back, not as things stood now. No way. But if she admitted this to Serena, she’d have to tell her why, something she just couldn’t bring herself to do yet.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s a ways off, anyway. I just want to rest and recoup for a while.”

  “Well, you know what’s best for you. Or you used to,” Serena said causing her daughter’s own eyebrow to lift. “For now, let’s find out what’s causing the stomach pains. Once you do, everything else will fall into place the way it should.”

  “I hope so,” Moira said.

  She reached out again as she had in the kitchen and hugged her mother tightly. “Want some help with tonight’s preparations? I heard from Q the Stapleton’s are descending on us. Uncle David and those boys eat as much as our men do.”

  “More. And I won’t say no to help since I so rarely get it around here from my own boys.”

  “Let me wash my face and hands.” Moira rose from the bed and crossed to her bathroom. “I’ll be down in ten.”

  She closed the bathroom door behind her, took a good look at herself in the mirror, and frowned. Leaning against the bathroom sink, she told the image staring back at her, “Just get through this one day at a time.”

  Chapter Five

  “Serena, as always, you’ve missed your true calling in life.” Delilah Stapleton leaned back from the table, patted her stomach, and sighed. “If I wasn’t your art agent I would be pushing you to open a restaurant.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” Alastair added, shoving in the last of his meat. “We get to eat your food for free, but I know lots of guys who’d pay.”

  With a smile, Serena rose from the table to refill empty water glasses. Her husband grabbed her free hand and placed a kiss to her palm, saying, “You’ve outdone yourself again, Rene.”

  “Let’s have dessert on the porch,” Serena said, with a smile. “Moira, will you help me?”

  When she stood and started collecting the dishes around her, Quentin rose as well, grabbed his plate and his brother’s next to him, and brought them into the kitchen. Serena was putting the coffee on as Moira scraped the dishes into the compost can.

  “Here,” Quentin said. “Let me.”

  Serena glanced over her shoulder and saw him take the dishes from her daughter’s hands. “You have better manners then my sons do, Q. They should be doing this. You’re a guest.”

  Pat came into the room, his own plate in his hand and said, “Since when is he a guest? He spent half his childhood in this house and I spent the other half at Aunt Delilah’s.”

  Serena laughed and admitted her son was right.

  Pat ran a hand down his sister’s back. “You gonna play for us tonight, sis?”

  Moira tossed her brother a puzzled look. “Since when do you ask me to play for you? If I remember correctly you and this one here,” she pointed at Quentin, “used to always want to get out of listening to me play after dinner. You’ve said more than once you didn’t want to suffer through hearing any more of my ‘classical crap.’”

  Quentin laughed out loud. “She’s got you there, P.”

  “Yes, and yet you were always compelled to stay and listen, weren’t you?” Serena tossed over her shoulder.

  Moira smiled at her mother’s words. “That’s the truth,” she said. “Well you’re in luck tonight, Pat,” she added. “I’m not in the mood to play.”

  Movement in the kitchen stopped. Three pair of dumbfounded eyes zeroed in on her face.

  “Stop staring at me like I have five heads,” she said, a nervous laugh bubbling up and out of her. “I’ve been playing straight without a break for years. I think I deserve a night off.”

  No one said a word. Moira clasped her hands in front of her and looked, Quentin thought, nervous and anxious as her gaze ping ponged from her brother, to her mother and then settled on his face. He knew right then whatever had caused her to come home had something to do with her piano playing. Because if there was one thing everyone knew, Moira Cleary never refused to play.

  Never.

  In an instant, he came to her rescue. “I do, too,” he said. He added with a grin, “besides, I need you fresh and bright for all the hard work I’m going to wrangle out of you tomorrow.”

  “About that,” she said. Her teeth caught her bottom lip.

  “Don’t even try to get out of it, M.” He pointed his finger at her, wagged it back and forth as he spoke. “You’re mine for at least the next three weeks until the summer internships start. You promised.”

  Moira frowned, sighed, and placed the dish in her hand into the dishwasher. She closed it and turned to him. “I know I did, but Mom’s made an appointment for me tomorrow morning I have to keep. I can’t miss it. There’ll be hell to pay around here if I do,” she added, slanting a look at her mother’s back. “I’ll try to make it there by lunchtime, but I can’t make any promises right now. I don’t know how long this is going to take. Understand? Please?”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what was so important, but he refrained. She followed her mother out of the room, a tray of cookies in her hand.

  Quentin turned to his oldest friend. “Care to tell me what that’s all about?”

  “Mom made her an appointment to see Clarissa Rogers. Try to find out what’s causing the stomach pains.”

  “Okay. Well that’s a valid excuse.” He leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms.

  “How did she seem to you today? Was she sick, or in pain? Did she mention anything?” Pat asked.

  “No,
but she was popping antacids like they were M&Ms. Something’s definitely wrong with her stomach. No one doubles over in pain without a physical reason. But I think it’s more than just the cramps and pain.”

  Quentin told him about the phone call Moira’d had at the lake. “She seemed upset when she ended it. Not crying or anything, but she turned quiet and wouldn’t talk about it. It almost felt like she was defeated somehow.”

  “Defeated? What do you mean?”

  With a shake of his head Quentin said, “I don’t know, Pat, but she looked like she fought with a lion and the lion won.”

  Pat dropped his hands into his pockets. “This sucks. The whole thing. She never keeps stuff hidden. Not from me. Never. You know that.”

  Quentin nodded.

  “And she always used to tell me everything.”

  “Not everything,” Quentin said with a grin.

  Pat slanted him a speaking glance. “Well, let’s hope Rogers can find out what’s physically wrong with her. At least if we have a diagnosis to work with we can help her.”

  Quentin waited a beat before asking, “You making any progress there?”

  Pat stared hard at him. “Still working on it.”

  “Well, well, well,” Quentin said, unable to keep the huge grin from tugging at his lips. “It seems there’s a female on the planet who can actually resist the Pat Cleary charm.”

  “Bite me, Q. She just doesn’t know me yet. But believe me, when she does, you’ll eat those words like you ate Mom’s roast beef.”

  “I hope I live to see the day.”

  Laughing, both friends walked out onto the porch.

  Quentin’s gaze was immediately drawn to Moira. She was leaning against the porch rail, engaged in conversation with his mother and Serena.

  Not for the first time Quentin appreciated how all the women in his life were gorgeous, each in their own distinct way. His mother, all five foot nine of her, was stunning to look at. Blonde haired Nordic looks framed a perfect heart-shaped face centered with holly green eyes that mimicked fresh moss. At sixty, she still looked no older than forty-five. Serena was her foil in every way. Waist length hair the color of midnight, fell free and framed a perfectly oval face with eyes as blue as her daughter’s, although Serena’s were a shade or two darker, more like vine-ripened blueberries. She also looked ten to fifteen years younger than her actual age.

  But it was to the youngest of the three women Quentin’s gaze traveled to and lingered. Moira’s features were as perfect as any he could have dreamed up. She favored her mother with her long ebony hair, pulled back off her face tonight in a braid dancing down her back. Her eyes were so bright a blue when the light hit them just right they looked more purple, a thought he’d had more than once growing up. He knew with a few days rest the subtle smudges underneath them would be gone, and the happy light he’d always known would return to them.

  And he was determined to help put the light back in them.

  He leaned against the door jam, accepted a cup of after dinner coffee from Seamus, and listened to the conversation going on between his father and his partner. But his eyes never left Moira’s face for long.

  Was it really possible to fall in love at thirteen and know then there would never be any one else for you?

  Sure, he dated. He liked women and knew they liked him. But he’d given his heart away at a tender age and had never wanted it back. He’d loved her all through their teenage years, watching her date friends of his, knowing when her heart was broken, knowing when she had a new crush. When she’d gone off to college, not one week had gone by where they didn’t email or talk, telling each other of all the new people they’d met, all the new things they learned. Quentin was with her family when they said goodbye at the airport as she left for her first world tour. He’d read the reviews, pride puffing his chest, when they mentioned her talent and rising star. The few times they’d all been together in the past few years had been made all the more special because they’d each dropped everything just to be with the other for the short amount of time they had.

  To see her now after such a long time and to know something was weighing heavy on her soul all but destroyed him. He wanted to get her alone, tell her his true feelings, let her know what was in his heart. And, most importantly, make her stay with him forever.

  But he knew Moira.

  He knew how quietly and determinedly stubborn she was. Declaring his feelings would confuse and possibly even scare her. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her when she already appeared so distressed and fragile. But he had to make her see staying home in Carvan, with him, was her destiny. It was where she belonged.

  His thoughts were interrupted when Moira’s gaze turned to him. He saw those blue orbs widen and knew she must be able to read what was in his eyes. He was usually an expert at banking his feelings, but he’d slipped, lost in just looking at her. Her cheeks were flushed and he could see her chest rise a little more rapidly than it had. When she turned back to answer a question from her mother, throwing him one last confused look before doing so, Quentin knew he had to take better care about hiding his emotions until the time was right to give them a voice.

  As the evening stretched longer, the group grew tired, everyone knowing they had work to do in the morning. The Stapleton seniors said their goodnights, taking their younger sons home with them.

  Before leaving, Delilah cornered Moira and said, “You, your mom, and me are going to have a girl’s day soon. Mani’s, pedi’s, and facials. I’ll call your mom and we’ll set it up. You are not allowed to say no. It’s been far too long since we’ve had a spa day. We three are the only females in this testosterone cloud and we deserve to be pampered.”

  Moira’s laugh was loud and free and when it reached Quentin’s ears, the shot he took to his midsection threw him off balance. He kissed Serena goodbye, thanking her for the delicious meal, shook Seamus’s hand, and told Pat he’d see him in the morning.

  Moira was the last one he sought out. She was leaning against the porch rail, staring up into the night sky. He came up behind her and rubbed a hand down her back, surprised and troubled when he felt her stiffen.

  “It’s just me,” he said softly, and gently kneaded her shoulders.

  She kept her back to him, but he could see the redness run up her neck. “Sorry,” she told him. “I’m a little jumpy and tired.”

  He kept silent but continued his massage. After a moment, he felt her relax under his touch.

  “It’s always so peaceful here,” she said on a wistful sigh. “No noise, just the crickets. It’s so good to be home.”

  He stared down at the back of her head. “At the risk of making you conceited,” he said, a small smile in his voice, “it’s good to have you home, M. Like I told you this afternoon, you’ve been missed. By everyone.”

  Moira turned and looked up at his face. “I’ve missed everyone too. I didn’t realize how much until I got here. Touring may be exciting, but it’s not an easy life. The good things to come from it are I can pretty much sleep in any kind of bed on the planet, and I can wake up and go to sleep on a whim. Most of the time, anyway.”

  “And the bad things?”

  She sighed, long and deeply. The sound bothered him right down to his core. Her voice was tinged with sadness and something odd he couldn’t put a name to.

  “The food sucks most of the time, the hours are grueling, and I never feel like I belong anywhere, like I’m just passing through. A footnote.”

  “Well, you’re not a footnote here. This is your home. This is where you belong.”

  “I know.” With a wry, tired grin she said, “Dorothy was right, there really is no place like—”

  “Home,” they said together and then laughed; the memory of their favorite childhood movie as bright as if it had been watched yesterday. Because the need to touch her was overwhelming, Quentin pulled her into his arms, rubbed his hands down her back, and kissed her temple. When she didn’t stiffen again or hesit
ate at his touch, an inward wave of contentment sailed through him.

  “If you come free tomorrow,” he said, “I’ll be at the clinic until around six. Drop by and give me a few hours if you’re up to it, okay?”

  Moira nodded. “I promise I will. Thanks, Q, for understanding.”

  “Understanding has nothing to do with it. You’re a warm, able body. Right now you’re a commodity around here, and I’m going to take advantage of you anyway I can. I’m a lot more selfish than I used to be.”

  She pulled back, one dainty eyebrow shooting dangerously upwards and he wanted nothing more than to kiss it, as she replied, “and just as arrogant as always.”

  He laughed out loud, gave her another quick hug, and was off.

  Chapter Six

  “Well, the good news is I’m pretty confident from your symptoms you don’t have an ulcer,” Clarissa Rogers told Moira the next morning. “But your white count is elevated which tells me there’s something cooking inside. I need to do two more tests to figure out what the infection may be.”

  Moira and Serena were seated across from the young doctor in her office. After a surprisingly good night’s sleep, Moira had awoken to the smell of pancakes and bacon frying. She’d waited for the nausea and pain to come, and was silently thrilled when she felt nothing grumbling in her stomach. Rising, she made her way down to the kitchen, sat with her brothers and her father and was able to enjoy the toast and tea her mother prepared for her. After a quick shower, mother and daughter had driven to the family clinic in town.

  In the car, Serena told her Clarissa Rogers had arrived in Carvan a few months earlier to take over retiring Doc William’s practice. In the short amount of time she’d been in town, Serena had heard many good things about the young doctor from several of her friends. She had a reputation for being thorough and firm. If she told a patient something she wanted them to do, they had better do it, and exactly the way she told them, or they would answer to her. She was known to text her patients, wanting to know how they were faring and getting updates at any time. To Serena, any doctor who followed through with a patient such as she did was worth knowing.