A Woman's Heart (31 page)

“I'll miss you,” Kate said as she handed her a cup of tea. She'd taken down the Beleek, which was usually only used for special guests and celebrations.

Since her separation from Cadel, Kate had begun to bloom like a parched Burren wildflower whose roots had just tapped into an underground stream.

“No more than I'll be missing you.” Nora's eyes welled up again and she knew she'd never be able to get away without another flood of hot tears. She took a drink of tea, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “But I promised Michael we'd be back for Christmas.”

“We'll take a day shopping in Galway,” Kate said. “Think of the fun we'll have seeing how much of your rich husband's money we can spend.”

Even as Nora laughed, she felt the first tear escape and begin trailing down her cheek. “And it's not as if we're living in the nineteenth century,” she insisted. “There are phones, after all. We'll be able to talk almost as often as we do now.”

“Of course we will.” Neither woman mentioned that the vagaries of the Irish phone system—especially out here in the west—made that proposed scenario highly unlikely.

“I'm so happy for you.” Now it was Kate's eyes that had turned suspiciously shiny. “Quinn's a wonderful man, Nora.”

“Aye.”

Neither brought up Quinn's fistfight in the pub. The fight that had brought Cadel O'Sullivan's abusive behavior into
the open, exposing it to the bright light of day in a way the villagers could no longer ignore. As if realizing that to stay in Castlelough would result in a lifelong shunning, Cadel had returned to Dungarven. The letter Kate's lawyer had sent him had suggested strongly that he not think about returning unless he wanted criminal charges pressed against him. So far the ploy seemed to be working.

They talked some more. Cried some more.

“You're going to have such a glorious family,” Kate said as they exchanged hugs.

“I know.” Nora gave her sister-in-law a watery grin. “I just wish you could meet a wonderful man like Quinn.”

“Perhaps someday I will. But in the meantime I think I'm going to enjoy having my little brood to myself.”

As she walked to the car, after having exchanged one last hug, Nora realized that finally Kate would be all right.

Kate stood in the driveway, watching the taillights disappear around the stone wall. She dashed at her tears with the back of her hands. Then smiled as she thought of something even her sister-in-law didn't yet know. Nora was carrying Quinn's child.

 

After a sleepless night, during which Nora felt like a young girl anticipating Christmas, she was pacing the parlor, waiting for her brother to arrive to take her to the airport. Her suitcase, which had been packed for two days, was sitting beside the front door.

“Where is he?” she asked for the umpteenth time. “If he doesn't hurry, I'll be missing my flight.”

“Now, darling,” Fionna soothed as she looked up from her knitting. She'd found a pattern for an infant's Aran Isle sweater that would be the perfect gift for Quinn and Nora's first child. “It's not that late yet. You still have plenty of time to get to the airport.”

Nora glared at her watch, wondering if it was broken. She'd swear the hands hadn't moved since she'd last looked
at it. “That's the trouble with the Irish,” she muttered. “We have no sense of punctuality.”

Much to her annoyance, her family's only reaction to her was laughter.

“If he doesn't arrive in the next two minutes, I'm going to call Dennis Murphy to come with his taxi and take me to Shannon.”

“And wouldn't that cost a pretty penny,” Fionna observed.

“It doesn't matter how much it might cost,” Mary said. “Because our Nora's going to be rich after she marries Quinn.”

Her nerves horribly on edge, Nora turned on her sister. “That's not the reason I'm marrying the man.” Hadn't she heard Eileen Donovan mutter just that very same accusation to Nancy McCarthy while the two women had been comparing hair coloring in the cosmetics aisle at Monohan's Mercantile?

“Of course it's not, darling,” Fionna agreed. “Why, anyone can see that you and your Quinn are soul mates.”

“Aye,” Mary said quickly, as if not wanting to part on an unhappy note. “I hope if I'm still unmarried when I'm your age, I'll be lucky enough to find a man like your Quinn, Nora.”

“Thank you.” Understanding that her sister was trying to make amends for her incautious words, Nora decided not to take offense at the way she'd made her sound positively ancient. “That does it. I'm going to call Dennis and—

“Oh, here he comes! Finally!” At the sight of the car turning into the driveway, she grabbed her suitcase and flung open the front door.

“It's not Michael,” John said. The entire family stood in a little group by the door, watching the dark gold sedan, which was a long way from Michael Joyce's battered old Fiat.

“Oh my.” Fionna lifted her hand to her throat and met Nora's gaze over the top of Rory's dark head.

“Do you think…?” Nora couldn't get the rest of the words out. It was too much to hope for.

“It's Quinn!” Rory shouted as they all watched the man climb out of the driver's seat.

Nora felt suddenly warm all over. As if she she'd just flown too close to the sun. She ran toward Quinn, who lifted her off her feet and spun her around, kissing her as if it had been a lifetime and not just three weeks that they'd been apart.

“I was coming to you!” she said between kisses.

“I know. Michael told me when I called him late last night from New York.” His lips blazed a trail of fire up her smiling face as Maeve bounded around them like a crazed puppy, yipping a canine welcome. “He promised not to let you get on the plane.”

“I was ready to kill him.”

“Why don't you kiss me again, instead?”

“Oh, aye!” The kiss sent streamers of dazzling sunshine through Nora. But it was his next words that caused her glowing heart to take wings.

“I've come home.”

T
he marriage was held in the circle of stones overlooking the sea. Nora's brother Finn returned again from Australia to perform the ceremony and, just as at Brady's funeral, it seemed as if the entire village had turned out. Even Maeve was in attendance, sporting the shamrock collar Quinn had bought her in Derry and a wreath of spring flowers Celia, Rory and Jamie had woven around her furry neck.

And that wasn't all. As Nora walked toward Quinn, following Mary—whose fresh-faced beauty drew appreciative murmurs from the congregation—and Kate, looking resplendent as her matron of honor, down the path of blazing pink fuchsia petals Celia had strewn, she felt a soft caress against her cheek. Nora knew that, although some might claim it was only the breeze blowing through the spring leaves of the oak trees, her mother and father had joined the family gathered together at her wedding.

“They're all here,” he murmured, revealing that Nora was not alone in her thinking. “The Joyces, the Fitzpatricks, even the Gallaghers. And all the ancients, going back as far as time. They've all shown up to celebrate this day with us, my love.”

“Aye,” she whispered back, her eyes glistening with tears of joy.

And although Nora knew medical science would insist it to be physically impossible yet, as she repeated the age-old vows to love, honor and cherish, she felt the child she and Quinn had made together—the first of a new generation—stir in her womb.

Quinn slipped the gold Claddagh wedding band depicting two hands joined over a heart, the same ring that had belonged to her mother, onto Nora's finger.

“You may kiss the bride,” Father Joyce announced with obvious brotherly pleasure.

“Now there's an idea,” Quinn said, earning a laugh from those standing close by.

As the sun set over the water in a glorious blaze of ruby light, he lowered his head. An audible sigh of pleasure could be heard rippling through the gathered throng as their lips touched for the first time as husband and wife. Then, hands linked, Nora and Quinn Gallagher walked out of the magical circle of stones into the arms of their family.

 

It was twilight, that mystical time when the world seems suspended between day and night.

Patrick Driscoll and Peter Collins had been fishing for the past hour with little luck, when suddenly, right in front of their boat—close enough that they could have reached out and touched her emerald green scales, they were to say later that night in The Rose—the magnificent lough beastie had risen from the glassy cobalt blue depths.

And if that t'weren't amazing enough, Peter Collins told the eager audience, they could have sworn that the Lady was smiling.