A Woman's Heart (13 page)

“Well, of course you have.” She plucked the bottle from his hand once more. “You'll thank me in the morning for this,” she assured him before returning to the original topic. “We've always used each other.” Her sigh caused her breasts to rise and fall in a way that had Quinn telling himself he had to be either a lunatic or a fool to turn down what this woman was offering. “Now I'm afraid we won't be able to do that anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's not our little sex game anymore, silly,” she said with the trademark pout the cameras—and her legion of male fans—adored. “I have this horrible feeling I'm about to do something really stupid.”

“What's that?” Quinn figured that after tonight
he
probably owned the world title for stupid human tricks.

“I'm going to tell you how to seduce your little Irish farmer's daughter.”

“What?” Quinn stared at her. “How the hell…”

“It's common knowledge, darling. Ever since you went out of your way to practically adopt the woman's son.”

“I don't believe this!” He raked a hand through his hair. “The kid's into sea creatures, like a lot of those dinosaur-loving kids that made
Jurassic Park
such a hit. So I let him hang around while we shot some of the Lady scenes. What's the big deal?”

“How about the fact that you're going on a father-and-son trek with him?”

Damn. Quinn decided he'd have to kill Jeremy Converse. All he'd done was inform the director he was going to be away for a weekend, and the next thing he knew, his life was fodder for location gossip. Hell, next he'd find himself on the front page of the damn tabloids. Undoubtedly with a photo of the mechanical monster accompanying a headline that the Lady of the Lake was pregnant with his love-creature.

“It's just a camping trip,” he grumbled. The Guinness buzz was beginning to wear off, the gin had made his stomach roil and he could feel the distant twinges of a hangover beginning to build like a thunderhead behind his eyes.

“Well, I for one think it's very sweet of you. But if you think sleeping on the wet ground with a bunch of first-graders is going to get you an invitation into the boy's mother's bed, you've miscalculated.”

“I didn't volunteer to go on any bloody trek to seduce anyone's mother, dammit!” It was the same thing he'd told Nora. It was also the truth.

“You've no idea how relieved I am to hear that, Quinn.
Because I'd really begun to fear you were slipping.” She returned the miniature bottle of liquor to the bar, closed the door and locked it, slipping the key into the pocket of her robe for safekeeping.

“Nora Fitzpatrick might be different from the women you're used to. But believe me, darling, there's not a female in the world who can resist the Prince Charming treatment.”

“Prince Charming?” He had to laugh at that. The one thing no one had ever called him was charming.

“I'm talking grand romantic gestures.”

“Aw, Christ…”

“Don't scoff. They work. The problem with you is that sex has always come so easily you've never had to work at it like a normal guy. Since you're a screenwriter these days, it shouldn't be that big a leap to think of Bogie and Bacall. Bogie and Bergman. Bogie and Hepburn—”

“Don't look now, sweetheart, but you seem to be stuck in a rut.”

“I happen to think Bogart was the sexiest man God ever plunked down on the planet. And believe me, darling, I'm not alone, which, since the two of you are so much alike, has always worked in your favor.”

“I've never seen myself as Humphrey Bogart.”

“I'm not surprised, since men seldom see themselves clearly. It's one of your sex's most endearing little flaws. And if you can't imagine Bogie, then I suppose Gable will always do in a pinch. Just the thought of Rhett and Scarlett is guaranteed to make any female's heart go pitter-pat.”

She gave him a small smile. “Sweep Nora Fitzpatrick off her feet, Quinn, then once you've got her in your arms, carrying her off to your bed will be a cakewalk.”

Quinn hated to admit it, but the idea of carrying Nora up a curving antebellum staircase, then spending a long lusty night ravishing her held more than a little appeal.

“I'll think about it.”

“Of course you will, sugar.” Her voice had turned magnolia sweet, revealing the Confederate roots that had won her the Miss Georgia tiara before she'd packed her Gucci bags and decided to try her luck in Hollywood. “Tomorrow, at Tara.”

She patted his cheek again, this time in the fond way a mother might a child. “Meanwhile, since we're friends now, and everyone knows friends don't let friends drive drunk, you might as well spend the night here. On the couch,” she said pointedly.

That was probably the best damn idea she'd come up with yet. Quinn felt on the verge of crashing. “Maybe just a nap.”

“You'll spend the night,” she repeated. “And don't worry about the widow Fitzpatrick. Even an Irish convent-bred girl isn't immune to the green-eyed monster. You staying away the night is bound to pique her interest.”

Quinn wondered if she could possibly be right. Then again, he reminded himself, despite Laura's claims to the contrary, Nora wasn't like other women.

And there he was, he thought later as he lay on his back on the too-short couch and wished like hell his head would stop spinning, right back where he'd started when he'd dropped into The Rose with the stupid cockeyed plan to hide out from Nora Fitzpatrick.

What the hell was the woman doing to his mind?

In Search of a Heart

H
e hadn't come home. Hadn't been lured by the leg of lamb. Or her. After reading
The Lady of the Lake
last night, Nora realized she'd been foolish to believe he might. Kate had been right when she'd insisted that beneath his horror stories Quinn had, indeed, been writing about families. The problem was, of course, it was also more than a little obvious that his view of a family unit was not a reassuring one.

He'd warned her not to try to get inside his barriers, that she wouldn't like what she'd see. Well, hadn't it turned out that he was right? She'd gotten a glimpse of the man behind the stony facade, but rather than frighten her away, as he'd undoubtedly expected, it had only made her heart ache for anyone forced to go through life so alone.

Quinn was not an easy man to know. He would be an even harder man to love. And in truth Nora still wasn't certain she was falling in love with him. But she did know that if she didn't take the risk—if she didn't reach out to
him—she'd spend the rest of her life regretting her fearfulness. For her own sake. And for his.

She was at work pouring grain into individual troughs, thinking that if the roof repairs didn't prove too dear, she'd be able to use the rest of Quinn's rental money to buy that automatic feeder she'd seen at Murphy's Grain and Supply, when Brady entered the milking barn.

“Well, isn't this a surprise,” she said. “Good evening.”

“And a lovely evening to you, daughter.” Brady gave her a peck on the cheek. “I thought I'd drop by to offer my help.”

“With the milking?” This was a first. Nora couldn't remember the last time her father had been anywhere near the milking barn.

“Oh, you seem to have that in hand well enough,” he said. “Besides, I never have understood these newfangled machines. Now, if you needed someone to milk the old-fashioned way—”

“I'd still have to go out and find John.” Her smile took any sting from her playful accusation. “As Kate always says, the gods gave us all our own talents, Da. Yours isn't farming.”

“And isn't that the gods' own truth?” He sighed. “I'm afraid I've been as bad at parenting my children as I've been a farmer.”

“No, that's not true at all! You've been a wonderful father.”

“I wanted to be.” He sighed again, tipped over an empty milk can and perched atop it. “But things got difficult after your dear mother passed on.”

“It was a hard time for everyone.”

“Aye. But hardest on you. Because I wasn't pulling my weight.”

“You were grieving.” Nora had almost forgotten how
silent he'd gone, barely saying more than two words at a stretch for months.

“My children were grieving, as well. And I was too blind to see it.”

Nora wondered what had brought on this uncharacteristic introspection. “It's all in the past now,” she said. “We all survived.”

“Thanks to you.” He took out his pipe, looked around the pristine barn, then, seeming to realize smoking wasn't in order, returned it to his shirt pocket. “I don't believe I ever told you how much I appreciated the way you took charge of the house. And the children have grown up to become a credit to your mothering talents.”

“Thank you. But they were good children to begin with. I just gave them a little direction.”

Her father had always been lavish with compliments. But they'd been only surface statements, meant to charm. Never had any of them made her eyes grow moist as they did now. She wondered again what had brought all this on, then felt her blood turn to ice as a possible answer came into her mind.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Me?” He put a hand against his chest. “Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Because it's not like you to be so serious. And because Dr. Flannery—”

“Don't you go paying him any mind. What does he know? He's still wet behind the ears, Nora. Why, the last time I was in there for that examination you insisted on, I took a close look at that fancy Latin medical degree hanging in that fine oak frame on his wall, and do you know what I discovered?”

“What?”

“That the ink was still wet.”

She laughed as she was meant to. Then immediately sobered. “I worry about you.”

“You worry about the entire world, Nora, darling. It's one of your finest traits. It's also your curse. Because sometimes you care too much.”

“I'd like to know what's wrong with not wanting my father to drop dead some morning of a heart attack.”

“Now, that's not going to happen.”

“Dr. Flannery—”

“Jaysus, don't I wish old Doc Walsh hadn't retired? Ever since that pup Flannery took over his practice, things have gotten depressingly grim down at the surgery.”

Nora pounced on his muttered complaint like a barn cat might pounce on a fat field mouse. “So, he
has
told you something.”

“Only a bunch of fancy medical words that boil down to the simple fact that while I've always done my best to avoid growing up, I'm not getting any younger. Then he charged me ten pounds to tell me what I already knew.” Brady took out the pipe again, but resisted filling it. Instead, he turned it over and over in his hands, as if choosing his words carefully.

“But I don't want to ruin a lovely spring evening talking about Dr. Flannery. Fact is, I've been doing some thinking.”

Realizing that she wasn't going to learn anything more about the state of her father's health, Nora decided that since he'd obviously had some important reason for tracking her down, she should at least hear him out.

“Oh?” she responded noncommittally.

“About you.”

“I see,” she said, not seeing anything at all.

“I was wondering if you ever think about what you've missed, giving up your vocation.”

The question came as such a surprise, she couldn't stop
the laugh from escaping. “Oh, Da.” She went over to where he was sitting, crouched and twined her arms around his shoulders. “I never truly had a vocation. I suspected that was the case even before Mam died. And I was certain when I agreed to marry Conor. And when the midwife placed Rory in my arms, not a single doubt remained that I'd done exactly the right thing in leaving the convent.”

“You're a natural-born mother, 'tis true,” he agreed, his eyes going bright with unshed tears. “You should have more children.”

“I'd like that. Especially now that John and Mary will be leaving home soon. But perhaps it might be best if I were to find myself a husband first.”

“Father O'Malley would undoubtedly prefer that order.” He gave a quick grin that reminded Nora more of the father that could be both charming and exasperating at the same time. The father she adored. “Did I ever tell you how your mam and I met?”

“Of course. At the horse fair in Ballinasloe. You were there to tell your stories. And she was the horse trader's daughter.”

“The horse trader's beautiful daughter.” He gave her a long perusal. “You have the look of your mother. The coloring's different, of course, since you inherited your grandmother Fionna's bright hair and Eleanor's was jet-black. But you favor her around the eyes. And your mouth's just the same…

“There are times, when you smile, that my foolish heart skips a beat because it gets confused and believes Elly's come back to me.”

“There are times when Rory reminds me of Conor in that same way,” Nora admittedly quietly. A cow mooed impatiently, reminding her that if she wanted it to stand still for the milking, she'd best be hurrying up with the feeding.

“Aye.” He fell silent for a time. Understanding that this conversation was far more personal—and thus more difficult—than any of the stories that tripped so easily off his tongue, Nora waited him out again. “Your grandfather Noonan didn't want your mother marrying me.”

“Really?” Her only memory of her mother's father, who'd died when she was younger than Rory, was the scent of horse and leather clinging to his clothes, and the peppermints he always carried in his shirt pocket for her.

“They were from Dublin. City folk, from south of the Liffey. Oh, he wasn't about to let his only daughter take off to the west with some poor farmer who was scarcely more secure than a traveler. A man who'd never be able to buy her all the knickknacks and doodads women like.”

“Mam was never interested in possessions,” Nora assured him. “She cared about people. About family.”

“Aye. That's what she tried to tell her father when I asked for her hand, but he was a hard and stubborn man, and not one given to compromise.”

“Yet you were married.”

“Only because of the kidnapping.”

“What?” Nora stared at this man she thought she knew so well. “You actually dared kidnap my mother?”

“Well, she wasn't your mother at the time, mind you,” he said. “And besides, 'twas her own idea. So her father would have to permit the marriage.”

“I don't understand.”

“Well, of course, things are different now, what with young people living together right out in the open without even bothering to stop by the church to exchange vows along the way. But in those days, if a young woman spent the night with a man, no matter how innocent the occasion…”

“Her reputation would be ruined if they didn't get mar
ried,” Nora guessed. Despite Mary's accusations about Jack's new girlfriend supposedly sleeping around, it wasn't that different even these days out here in the country.

“Aye.” He chuckled a bit at the long-ago time. “Your grandda Noonan couldn't get Elly to the altar fast enough. He even tried to bribe the priest into forgoing the usual posting of the bans, because he was fearful she was pregnant and he didn't want people gossiping about his short-term grandchild.”

“But she wasn't. Pregnant.” Nora couldn't believe she was having this conversation with her father. “Wait.” She held up her hand. “Forget I asked that.” Nora didn't want to think about her parents' sex life.

“Finn was born nine months to the day of our wedding night. And then Michael. And as much as I love both your older brothers, I have to confess that I wept like a baby the stormy day you came into the world.” He rubbed his chin and his eyes took on a faraway look, as if remembering the event in detail. “A man always wants sons. I suppose you could say we even expect them.

“But ah, Nora, when I looked down at you, with that fuzz of me own mam's brilliant hair atop your wee pink head and your wide blue eyes that hadn't yet turned to emerald, I told your mother that no man had ever been so blessed. To have such a perfect wife. And equally perfect daughter.”

Nora's eyes filled at the obviously heartfelt revelation. “Now look what you've gone and done,” she complained, sniffling back her tears. “You've made me all weepy.”

“You should never apologize for weeping, Nora. Didn't God give us tears to help us keep our emotions from getting all bottled up? Even if there are some who won't be understanding that it's better to let those feelings out and fresh air in?”

“Ah.” Nora nodded, finally understanding her father's unexpected appearance in the milking barn. “I was wondering if you were going to ask me about Quinn.”

“I've seen the way you look at him, daughter—with your heart on your sleeve and shining bright in your eyes. It's the way I remember your mother looking at me.”

“And the way you looked back at her?”

“Later on. In the beginning I suspect I had more of the look of how Gallagher looks at you, when he thinks no one is watching.” Brady began fiddling with the pipe again. “Men aren't the same as women, Nora. My da once told me that a woman has to be in love with a man to want to make love to him. But a man just has to be in the room.”

Even though she was growing nearly as embarrassed as Brady obviously was by the turn the unusually intimate conversation had taken, Nora laughed again. “Is it always that way, do you think?”

“Most cases I know of, aye.” He pulled off his cap and dragged his fingers through his curly gray hair. “Jaysus, I wish your mam was here to have this talk with you! It's a mother's duty, after all, to discuss such things with her daughter.”

“But I've already been married.”

“You were a child. You loved Conor the way a young girl loves an older man who sweeps her off her feet. You were blinded by a bright dazzling sun, Nora, which worried me at the time, but in truth, I was so relieved you were going to marry and take the burden of the younger children from my shoulders that I refused to admit to myself that the marriage wasn't in your best interests.”

“I loved Conor. I would have made it work.”

“You would have tried,” Brady allowed. “And had your heart shattered in the trying. You weren't the first woman
in Conor Fitzpatrick's life, Nora. And although it pains me to say it, darling, you weren't the last.”

Oh, God. She'd known that of course. Even as innocent as she'd been, she'd sensed the fact of Conor's infidelity with a wife's intuition of such things. But until now, she'd never so much as allowed herself to state that terrible fear out loud. And if others in Castlelough had known about his other women, which she realized now they undoubtedly had, none, not even Kate, had ever dared say it to her face.

She swallowed, trying to push the words past the lump in her throat. “If it pains you so to tell me this, how do you think it makes
me
feel?”

“I'm sure it's far from easy. But I also notice you're not arguing the point.”

Nora turned away and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. It hurt. Heaven help her, it hurt horribly! She didn't want to deal with this. Not now. Not when she was so confused about her feelings for Quinn.