The Mighty Quinns: Devin (11 page)

Did she really belong here? Was this the life she wanted? If she made the decision to stay, she had to be fully committed. The townspeople had been disappointed by the Winchester family in the past, and she wasn't going to do that to them again.

But what if this affair with Dev fizzled out? How could she live in Winchester if their relationship soured? And even if their passion lasted, it would be a long time before the town forgave her. They would punish him for her family's mistakes.

The solution was simple, Elodie realized. If she stayed, she'd have to end her affair with Dev.

 

6

E
LODIE
CHECKED
THE
address on the slip of paper, then drew a deep breath and knocked on the screen door. “Hello? Anyone home?”

A few seconds later an elderly woman appeared, her floral dress covered with an old-fashioned apron. “Hello there. You must be Elodie Winchester.”

“I am. Are you Mrs. Clarkson?”

“I am. Come in, come in. I'm just taking some scones out of the oven and we'll have tea. How does that sound?”

“Lovely,” Elodie said as she stepped through the door.

The tiny Cape Cod was awash with chintz and vintage bric-a-brac, so cozy and inviting. They walked through to the back patio where Mrs. Clarkson settled Elodie on a comfortable wicker chair on the back patio, then excused herself to fetch the tea.

Much as she feared that digging into the past could make things infinitely worse, Elodie had spent the past few days sorting through the clip file for the Winchester Mill. If she was going to make things right in Winchester, she had to know what had been done wrong.

In the file, she had come across the name Jack Clarkson over and over again. Clarkson had been the attorney who had handled all the legal matters for the mill until 1990. She suspected he was one of the few remaining people who could shed some light on the fight between Dev's grandfather Lochlan Quinn and her grandfather. Had the Winchesters really cheated the man out of millions?

Her parents had always considered Mary and her son as part of the help, there to serve them. But had there once been a chance that Dev's family might have achieved the American dream, only to have it stolen away from them by her grandfather?

She needed to know the truth, though Elodie wasn't sure what she'd do with the truth once she had it. Was she ready to tell Dev that his mother might never have had to work as a maid? Or that he might have had the funds to go to a good college and find a life outside Winchester? Would he blame her, even though she hadn't even been born when it all happened?

Mrs. Clarkson returned a few minutes later with an old tea table and set it down in front of Elodie. She poured tea for them both, then placed a freshly baked scone on a plate and handed it to Elodie.

“Milk and lemon here,” she said. “And butter and jam. My homemade peach preserves. Remind me to give you a jar before you leave.”

“Is Mr. Clarkson going to join us?”

“Oh, dear. I guess I forgot to mention that Jack is not very good with remembering things. He had a stroke a few years back and his long-term memory has never been the same. But I was his assistant for all the years he worked for the Winchesters. And I remember just fine.”

“Do you remember Lochlan Quinn?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. Quite well.”

“Tell me about him,” she said.

“He came to Winchester after the war. He'd had some experience in textile mills in Ireland and England and he helped to install a new loom. He was a clever man and he helped your grandfather modernize the equipment in the mill.”

“I was curious about the lawsuit,” Elodie said.

“Oh, yes. As I remember, he developed some new system for threading the looms, some gadget that made the job quicker. He left it to your grandfather to take care of the patent, but when other mills wanted to buy the technology, he was frozen out of the profits. When he confronted your grandfather, he produced an agreement that any patents filed by Quinn while in the employ of Winchester Mills would belong to the mill.”

“Had he signed that agreement?”

“Quinn claimed he never signed it. Never even saw the document. But the Winchesters were a powerful family. Quinn was a foreigner, an uneducated Irishman.” She leaned close. “If you ask me, I believed him. So did my husband.” She paused and sighed. “He and his wife, Frannie, fought that lawsuit for years. It bankrupted them. Lochlan disappeared in 1959. A lot of folks around here believed the Winchesters had something to do with his disappearance. Frannie died in 1970, leaving poor Mary an orphan at fifteen. The Winchesters took her in and she started working as a housekeeper for them a few years later. She married when she was in her midthirties, but her husband ran out on her shortly after Dev was born.”

“Does Dev know all of this?”

“I'm not sure. Mary doesn't talk much about the past. I think she prefers to forget all the pain and heartache. I'm not even sure if she's aware of all the details. She's always been very beholden to the Winchesters for giving her a job and a place to live.”

Elodie had never thought about the circumstances of Mary Cassidy's life and what had brought her to work in the Winchester household. But now that she did, the truth caused an uneasy ache in her stomach. Mary had been the one to suffer the most in all this, and the best her family could do was offer her a low-paying job as a domestic servant.

Elodie fought back a surge of tears. She really wanted to admire her father and her grandfather, but the more she learned about their practices, the less she wanted to claim them as blood relatives.

She chatted for another half hour with Mrs. Clarkson just to be polite, but Elodie needed to get away and process everything she'd learned. She made her excuses and thanked Mrs. Clarkson for the tea, then started toward the door. But the elderly woman stopped her.

“I can't believe I nearly forgot this,” she said. “It came last month and I've been meaning to get it to Mary Cassidy. Someone looking for information about Lochlan Quinn.”

“I can give it to her,” Elodie said. “She works at the house four days a week.”

“Oh, that's lovely. Please say hello to her for me. I hope she's doing well.”

Elodie tucked the letter in her bag, then said her goodbyes. As she strolled down the sidewalk to the street, she drew a ragged breath and fought back another wave of tears. It was all so tragic—and unfair. Good fortune in life had nothing to do with luck or fate. It had to do with money and power.

Lochlan Quinn had had the chance to build a comfortable future for his family because of his clever mind. But the Winchesters had stolen that away from him, had denied him the wealth that could have changed the lives of his family, and instead they had continued to struggle.

Over the past few weeks, Elodie had been forced to examine her own feelings about her family's wealth. Though she'd had no hand in acquiring it, the effects of that wealth seemed to pervade her life. Maybe it was karma that her father had lost it all. Beyond paying his workers a wage, he'd never been a charitable or generous man. But Elodie had been unfazed by greed.

Here she was, trying to turn that old house into something wonderful and doing it on a dime. She'd been confident of her plans, but there was one thing that bothered her. The moment she made a success of something, her brothers would want a share. Though the house was technically hers, she knew that if they wanted it back, they'd find a way to snatch it out from under her.

Elodie got into her car and put the key into the ignition, then pulled the letter out of her bag. She shouldn't open it; it wasn't addressed to her. But what if the contents meant only more heartache for Dev and his family? They didn't deserve that. She couldn't change the past, but at least she could protect him from any future pain.

She unfolded it and scanned the text, then stopped and read more carefully. It was signed by a man named Ian Stephens who had been retained to find the family of Aileen Quinn. He was searching for information on Aileen's brother Lochlan, and had found the name in reference to a lawsuit filed in Winchester, North Carolina.

“Aileen Quinn,” she murmured. “I know that name. How do I know that name?” She pulled her cell phone out of her bag and typed
Aileen Quinn
into a search engine, then waited for the results.

“‘Aileen Quinn,'” she read. “‘Born 1916, Cork, Ireland. Irish novelist.'”

Elodie skipped back to the search screen and read the next result. “Irish Author Seeks Missing Heirs. Gives Away Her Millions.”

Now she remembered. She'd read a story in the
Times
literary section about this. The details were foggy in her mind, though, and when Elodie tried to find the article, she realized that her phone battery was nearly dead. She had her computer with her. A stop at the café for an iced tea and internet access was next on the agenda.

What were the chances that Dev Cassidy was one of Aileen Quinn's missing heirs? A hundred to one? A thousand to one? Though Lochlan Quinn wasn't a common name in the United States, there were probably plenty by that name living in Ireland. And even if Dev was a descendant of the long-lost Lochlan, how would they prove it? The man had disappeared over fifty years ago.

Mary might know. But she still had to be cautious. She didn't want to give Mary and Dev false hope. She'd find out as much as she could on her own and then talk to Mary. Elodie drew a deep breath. Her family had taken away so much from the Quinns and the Cassidys. If she could make this happen for them, maybe she might be able to give something back.

* * *

D
EV
HADN
'
T
BEEN
sure he was going to make it through his shift. It wasn't difficult when he was busy, but on the days that he cruised around in his patrol car, he had plenty of time to think. And all he thought about was Elodie.

She'd become the center of his universe and though it felt wonderful to have her in his life, he also felt a measure of fear. How would he ever do without her if she left? Would he be able to resume his life as if nothing had happened? Or would he resign himself to being miserable for the rest of his days?

There was another option—leaving Winchester and following her wherever she went. But the thought of walking away from all the work that had to be done here was beyond impossible. He'd just have to enjoy what they had while they had it.

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face, taking in the sheer pleasure etched across her features as she moved above him. The dinner she'd been making was half-finished in the kitchen and the wine he'd brought along was sitting on the stairs, dropped there in their hasty charge toward her bedroom. There was only one hunger that needed to be sated at the end of the day and that was their desire for each other.

Dev smoothed his hands around her hips, slowing her pace for a moment. He'd become as familiar with
her body as he was with his own. Dev knew how to touch her, how to make her writhe with pleasure before letting her surrender to her release. He'd explored every inch of her body with his fingertips, with his mouth. He'd caressed each curve, each angle, reveling in the scent of her flesh.

Now he leaned back, bracing himself with his hands as she sank down on top of him, wrapping her legs around his waist. Reaching out, he brushed a tangle of hair from her eyes and cupped her cheek with his palm. “I've been thinking about this all day long.”

“All day?” she asked with a sleepy grin. “Every second of the day?”

“Almost,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. “I'd be driving around in my cruiser and I'd start imagining us, like this. I can't seem to stop myself. Will it ever stop?”

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” she murmured. Elodie dropped a kiss on his lips, then traced a path from his chin to the middle of his chest.

She shifted above him, and Dev held his breath. He was buried deep inside her, and every tiny movement pushed him closer to the edge. It didn't take much, especially when he was with her like this, talking to her and touching her, staring into her eyes and memorizing her beautiful features.

He'd grown accustomed to all this. They spent every night together, their naked bodies tangled in damp sheets. And though he knew it could come to an end at any moment, Dev had refused to devote any thought to that possibility.

She hadn't talked about going back to New York, but then, she hadn't really committed to staying in Winchester, either. She'd said she was working on something, but had refused to tell him more until all the details were finalized. So Dev continued as he'd begun, happy just to have her in his life and unwilling to believe she'd ever leave.

Elodie leaned back and rolled her hips, her hair brushing against his thighs. A rush of sensation coursed through him, and Dev struggled to hold on to his control. “Don't move,” he murmured.

She smiled seductively. “What do you want me to do then?” she asked.

“Touch yourself,” he said.

“Is that all it will take?” she asked, her eyebrow rising quizzically.

“Tonight that's all it will take,” he assured her.

She reached between them and began to stroke the damp slit with her fingertips. He watched as she began to lose herself to the pleasure. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, her lips parted slightly as her breathing grew shallow and quick.

He felt her body tighten around him, and she moaned softly. Dev reached out and cupped her breast with his palm, teasing at her nipple with his thumb. Elodie opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a passion-glazed look.

He'd already been on the edge, and when her first spasm hit, Dev let her powerful release drive him into a deep and shattering orgasm, one that seemed to last forever.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “That was nice,” she murmured.

“Now I have something new to dream about while patrolling the streets of Winchester,” he teased.

“If people knew what you were really thinking about, the criminals would run amok.”

“Hey, now, let's not go there. I've still manage to get the important things done. I finally convinced Jimmy Joe to testify against his brother.”

“So he'll avoid a federal charge?”

“He should avoid all charges as long as he testifies.”