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

by Peggy Jaeger

  Until the time had come when playing became an anxiety-producing task, culminating in her being sick and exhausted. She’d gotten through the last concerts before leaving the tour by shear force of will, taking no pleasure in a job well done. Her performances had been done by rote. She gave nothing of herself to them, as she had for her entire life. Pounding out the pieces she knew by heart and had played thousands of times gave her no joy, and had grown to mean nothing to her at the end.

  Moira pushed the thoughts from her head as she concentrated on a certain veterinarian she’d be seeing in a few short hours. How was she supposed to act around him, knowing now what he wanted from her? And, more importantly, knowing what she felt for him?

  During her restless night, Moira came to realize one truth: she was more than attracted to Quentin Stapleton and had been since she was a teenager. When she’d turned fifteen and some of her high school girlfriends at the time had talked and giggled about her brother and Quentin, she’d known both of them were considered hotties. She could look at her brother objectively even back then and knew he was destined to be a heartbreaker.

  But Quentin was different. He wasn’t as talkative or open as Pat, and never had a slew of girls hanging on his every word. He’d dated, but as far as she knew, never really fractured any hearts with torrid breakups the way her brother had. Moira had crushed badly on Quentin one summer, just when he was gaining on Pat in height and muscle. She remembered many a summer’s day spent in bathing suits at the lake where she’d surreptitiously studied his emerging physique from under her lashes. She’d wanted desperately for him to see her as some kind of teenage dream, but he’d treated her as close to a sister as could be imagined and not as an available, willing female desperate for his attention. She’d never dreamed he could see her as anything desirable.

  Boy, how wrong was I?

  The memory of last night’s kiss and how she’d lost the ability to think when in his arms was staggering. Her hands flew to her cheeks as they reddened with the memory of how her stomach had gone all fluttery and the pulse in her temple had started to pound when his mouth took hers hostage. If he could do that with one kiss, what more could he do if given the chance?

  Moira shook her head, rose from the bed, and headed into her shower.

  ****

  “Good God, Tiff, you’re huge,” Pat told the diminutive woman, taking her in his arms. He helped her alight from the SUV, placing one arm around her tiny shoulders as she stepped down from the car. “When are you due?”

  “Not soon enough,” she told him, pulling his face down for a kiss. “God, I swear you get more handsome every time I see you.”

  “That’s just your hormones talking,” her husband, Cole said. He came around the car to claim his wife from her cousin. “I’m still the handsomest guy you know,” he said with a wink and handshake to Pat.

  “And the most conceited. Thomas, help Liam carry those flowers,” she told her middle son as the youngest attempted to get out of the car holding a large floral bouquet.

  “Sorry we’re a little late,” Tiffany said while her husband escorted her around the porch to the backyard. “I can’t get around as fast these days.”

  “It’s a wonder you can move at all,” Serena told her niece. She came down the porch steps and kissed her cheek. “This one’s the biggest by far.”

  “I know,” Tiffany said, a tired smile gracing her lips. “I thought after Liam I’d hit the weight gain wall. This little bundle,” she rubbed her protruding abdomen, “tops his. I’m eight pounds heavier now than when I was with him at this time.”

  “Any idea on the sex?” Pat asked.

  “Yeah,” Cole answered, looking down at his wife. “It’s either a boy or a girl.”

  “Dad, that lame joke’s getting really old, really fast,” fourteen-year-old Michael said as he passed them on his way to join the football toss currently occurring in the backyard.

  “Well, it could still be an alien, like you,” his father shot back.

  Serena laughed. “Don’t you just love the teenage years?”

  “No,” Tiffany and Cole said together.

  They’d come to the backyard where the party was in full swing. The Cleary boys were throwing a football between them and the Stapleton boys, Michael Greer now joining, ten-year-old Thomas attempting to as well.

  “Here, Tiff,” Seamus said. After hugging his niece, he pulled out a comfortable chair for her. “Put your feet up,” he told her, placing a stool under them. “Serena thought you might want this.”

  “You’re the best, Aunt Rene.” Tiffany sighed as she settled down.

  “No, I just remember what it felt like at this stage. Comfortable?”

  “Much thanks. Where’s Mo?”

  “Here I am.” She bent down to kiss her cousin’s cheek. “I won’t state the obvious,” she added, kissing Cole as well.

  “Please don’t,” Tiffany said, her gaze raking up and down her cousin. “You look pretty. I like your dress.”

  “Got it today.” She felt a small tug on her hemline and looked down to see her godson, Liam, Tiffany’s youngest, trying to get her attention.

  “There’s the handsomest man I know.” She scooped him up in her arms, marveling at his heft. “Good Lord, Tiffany, you sure make big ones. I can’t believe how much you’ve grown,” she added with a kiss to the six year olds head.

  “You haven’t seen him since last year when we were all in Spain at the same time,” Cole said.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Liam said, his freckled face serious.

  “Anything.”

  “I got my piano book with me. Can you help me with sumthin’?”

  Moira stared into the eyes he’d inherited from his father, crystal blue with lashes any teenage girl would envy, and her heart did a little jig. The memory of her recent conversation with her mother jumped to the front of her mind and she could see Serena in the corner of her vision, watching them.

  “Please?” Liam said, his tiny hands splayed on her bare shoulders. “I need to figure sumthin’ out and it’s real hard.”

  Moira smiled. “Anything for my man. Want to come inside now?”

  His black haired head nodded so vigorously, Moira’s body jerked along to the tempo.

  “Excuse us, all,” she said, still holding him, “we serious musicians have work to do,” and took him inside. Over her shoulder, she winked at her smiling mother.

  After they’d gone through the kitchen door, Moira heard Tiffany ask Serena, “So, what’s new and why is she so skinny?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Quentin hurried through the last of his farm calls and had gotten home with just a few minutes to shower and shave before he needed to leave for the party. He hadn’t seen nor spoken to Moira all day, but she hadn’t been far from his mind. Between calls, he’d think of her, what she felt like in his arms: all submissive and soft. How she’d tasted like warm sunshine. The way her eyes had widened in wonder when he gave voice to his desire.

  The one thing he hadn’t seen on her face was fear. She might be a little confused and even fretful about what having a relationship would be like with him, but she hadn’t looked as if she would be afraid of it.

  He was so in love with her there were times he couldn’t see anything in front of him but her face. He wanted her to come home with him tonight, after the party, just the two of them. She knew now he wanted her in more than just a best friend way, and by the way she’d responded to him the night before, he could tell she felt the same. There was no denying it and no going back. He’d kissed her with the intention of making his feelings known and compelling her to acknowledge what was between them; what had always been between them, just waiting to be called out and given freedom.

  She’d thought her teenage crush on him had gone unnoticed, but it hadn’t. Quentin knew the moment she’d come to recognize him for a growing, maturing male, and not the adopted de facto brother he’d always been. Her eyes had followed him everywhere the sum
mer they’d each turned fifteen. Both of them, plus Pat, had worked daily at the vet clinic, mucking stalls, tending to the boarded animals, and helping their fathers in any way they could. It hadn’t missed his attention Moira always found a way to be wherever he was. Pat had even remarked on it a few times, teasingly calling her Quentin’s shadow. Quentin had been kinder. She was just blossoming into herself as a pianist and he could tell, even then, she was made for bigger things than staying in Carvan. With a maturity that surprised him, he realized he wanted her to go out into the world and make a name for herself, so he ignored the teen worship she graced him with and carried on as he’d always done with her.

  Now, though, was a different story. Now, she’d traveled the world and accomplished her goal. It was their time to be together.

  And he was going to make sure it happened.

  He was forced to park the truck back a ways from the house, the driveway filled with vehicles, and walked up to the porch, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hands. When he entered through the front door, he heard the piano and like a moth drawn to light, wandered toward the sound, knowing he’d find her there. No one ever played that piano but Moira.

  From the doorway, he spied Liam and his godmother seated side by side on the bench, Liam to Moira’s right, as she held his hand open over the keys.

  “Practice this everyday and in no time you’ll have the span you need. You just need to train these little hands to spread.”

  “It’s hard,” Liam said with just enough whine for Quentin’s lips to twitch.

  “Of course it is,” Moira told him with a laugh. “If it was easy then everyone would be as good as you and me.”

  “We’re the best,” Liam said, shooting his body up straight.

  “Not yet, Mozart, but you’re getting there.” She ruffled his hair and ran a quick hand down his back. “Now, play the second part for me like I showed you.”

  Quentin listened and was impressed he could put a name to the piece. As Liam diligently moved his fingers across the keys, he took the opportunity to study Moira’s profile. Her head was moving up and down to the sound of the beat and he knew she never had to look at the sheet music opened in front of them. He could remember many times during their childhood coming to this house to get Pat for a game of catch or a horse ride, and hear Moira practicing. Pat had always derided the music, calling it crap, a description that irritated him, but he’d gone along, as any loyal best friend would. But in reality, listening to Moira even just practice had always been a memory he treasured. She looked so alive when she played, so enraptured with the music and her ability to convey even the subtlest nuances in a piece to the listener.

  When Liam finished, Quentin clapped, and both of them turned to him. “We have an audience,” Moira told the boy.

  “You sounded really good, Liam.” Quentin came into the room.

  Moira whispered something into the boy’s ear and he rose from the bench, placed one arm across his waist, and bowed with a theatrical flair. The clapping grew louder. Liam sprinted and Quentin caught him mid-air with one arm and swung him around, causing a giggle to burst from the boy.

  “Did you really like it?” he asked.

  “Yup. You keep practicing and you’ll be as good as your cousin.”

  Liam turned back toward Moira, a look of absolute adoration in his eyes, and said, “She’s the best.”

  “She is,” Quentin agreed.

  A blush spread up her cheeks under their scrutiny and charmed him.

  “I’m gonna go get sumthin’ to eat,” Liam announced and jumped down from Quentin’s grip. “You coming?” he asked them.

  “In a minute,” Quentin said. “I need to talk to Moira first.”

  “‘K.” He ran out the front door, the screen banging shut.

  Quentin took Liam’s empty place beside her, facing the opposite way.

  “It was sweet of you to tell him that,” she said.

  “I meant it. I even recognized the piece so you know he must have been playing well.”

  She smiled and he felt as if the light had suddenly been turned on in the room.

  “Nice flowers,” she said, eyeing the bouquet he’d placed across the top of the piano.

  “They’re for your mom. I know she loves wildflowers.”

  Moira cocked her head to one side. “You trying to make time with my mother?”

  His smile took its time growing. “Not if I want to live another day. Your father would seriously damage me. No, I just know she likes them, like my mom does. I bring them to her whenever I go home. Serena’s been like a second mother to me, so I figure, why not bring them to her as well.”

  Moira sighed. “You really are a nice guy.”

  He took one of her hands in his and brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. “So, did you dream about me?”

  Her blush grew as he took one of her fingers into his mouth and gently sucked at a knuckle. “Because I dreamed about you. All night long.”

  She nodded and watched him open her hand and place a kiss across her palm, gently swiping her skin with his tongue. He placed her hand, open palmed, against his own, matching them together. “I’ve always been amazed by the power your hands have when you play,” he said, staring at them. “They look delicate and soft, but I’ve heard you pound out symphony pieces that should make them bleed with pain.” Once again, he slid his mouth along her palm, his hot tongue lazily tracing across it. “Moira,” he whispered. “I missed you so much today. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The Center seemed so empty without you. At every call, I’d wonder what you were doing, how you were feeling, if you were thinking of me.”

  When she cocked an eyebrow, his grin spread again. “Did you think about me?” He shimmied closer to her on the bench, their thighs merely an inch apart, and her hand still captive in his. “I thought about how good you felt in my arms last night. How good, how really good, it felt to kiss you.”

  His head came down to hers, as she lifted up to meet him. When he was a breath away from their lips touching, he added, “I want to feel that way again. Do you?”

  Moira stared into his eyes. “I do.”

  “Hey Mo, your lady doc is here,” Alastair announced, running through the room and out the front door.

  Moira pulled back, blinked several times, and said, “Clarissa. I’d…better…go.”

  She tried to pull her hand from his, but Quentin held on, saying, “Come home with me later. I want some time with you. Alone, just the two of us.”

  She nodded. “Later. We’ll talk later. I promise. The party—”

  “I know,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on her forehead. He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to look into his. “We’re going to continue this,” he told her.

  “I want to, Q. I really do.”

  “Good.” With a swift peck to her lips, he rose, extended his hand, and helped her up. “Let’s go have a party.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “So I’d say you’re about due any minute,” Clarissa, seated next to Tiffany, told her.

  “Pretty much,” Tiffany said, taking a sip of her water. “When Aunt Serena invited us, I told Cole barring the arrival of the baby, we were coming. I haven’t been out of the city in two months and I wanted to see everyone, especially Moira. It’s been so long.”

  “Longer for us,” Delilah said, seated across from her. “You got to see her last year when you were touring.”

  “By the way,” Clarissa said, a dry smile on her lips, “at the risk of sounding like an obsessed wacko, I’m a huge fan. I’ve been to your last two ice shows and each one is better than the last. You’re an amazing skater. But you know that.”

  Tiffany’s smile was warm. “Thanks. I think I’ve had a pretty good run of it since my first Olympics, but after this one comes,” she pointed to her belly, “it’s official. I’m done with touring. Four professional ice shows in twelve years are enough, especially when you have to tug kids along.”

  �
��But I’m sure it’s been a great experience for them,” Delilah said. “They’ve been world travelers since they were each in diapers.”

  “That’s true, but I know it’s a strain on them,” Tiffany replied with a sigh. She rubbed a hand across her side and added, “Michael’s been at the point for a while where he only wants to be with friends, stay in the same school and just hang out. Thomas is the same way. Sure, they like to travel, but you can only see so many museums and attractions before it all starts to blend together. I think they like a home base more. They don’t get to see their friends a lot, and kids just like continuity. Traveling’s fun, but after a while you want your own bed. You agree, Mo?”

  “I do. In the beginning, it’s a rush to be in a different city every couple of days, try new foods, tour beautiful places. But after a while, the constant packing and unpacking, time zone changes, and different foods do tend to wear you down. I’ve logged more flyer miles in the past four years than most people do in two lifetimes. And what good is having them if you can’t enjoy them and travel someplace just for a vacation? It’s nice to be in one place. It’s nicer still to be home,” she added, her gaze traveling to where the men and boys were engaged in a game of tag football.

  “You’ll never get an argument from me about the value of home,” Serena said, running a hand down her daughter’s hair. “I like nothing more than when all my babies are close.”

  “We haven’t been babies for a long time, mom.” Moira rolled her eyes and grinned.

  “You’ll always be my babies,” she said, kissing the top of her daughter’s head.

  “Speaking of,” Delilah said to Tiffany. “Any news on what you’re having?”

  “Don’t ask Cole or you’ll get the same dumb joke he always gives about it being either a boy or a girl. But no,” she added, when the women laughed. “It’ll be a surprise just like the other three.”