A Woman's Heart (23 page)

“I wonder what Kate wanted.”

Nora's sister-in-law had actually paled when she'd seen what he'd done and had hurriedly told him that, after she'd seen to the selling of her own stallion, it was imperative they talk. But when he'd gone to look for her later, he couldn't locate her in the teeming crowd.

“She undoubtedly wanted to congratulate you,” Brady said quickly. A bit too quickly, Quinn thought with a little niggling of suspicion. “But whatever it was, it will surely keep until tomorrow.”

“I suppose that's true.” Quinn remembered what Nora had told him about God making plenty of time. Then smiled at the thought of how she was going to react when he arrived home with Rory's horse in tow.

Treat Me Daughter Kindly

N
ora came out the kitchen door when she heard the Mercedes pull into the driveway. “What is that?” she asked, staring in seeming disbelief at the trailer hitched behind the car. Her expression was far from pleased.

“A present for Rory,” Quinn said, another tinge of suspicion dulling the self-satisfaction he'd felt earlier when he'd slapped hands with the robust Clare farmer who'd sold him the mare. “I know it's a little early for his birthday, but—”

“A horse?” Her voice rose. Hectic color stained cheeks as white as rice paper. “You bought my son a horse?”

The others had gathered in the driveway behind her, their expressions ranging from Fionna's regretful one to Rory's wide-eyed disbelief. Maeve, who had run out of the kitchen behind Nora to greet him, began barking loudly in the direction of the trailer, even as she hovered behind Quinn.

Ignoring the wolfhound, Quinn decided this was simply a repeat of her reaction to his giving John a computer. Ob
viously Nora was uneasy accepting such an expensive gift. “Brady mentioned that Rory's been wanting a pony, and I realize you're going to feel the need to complain—”

“You're damn right I'm going to complain,” she cut him off with a furious wave of a hand that was visibly trembling. She turned on her father, fists at her hips. “How could you do this, Da? Knowing how I feel? How I've always felt?”

“Now, Nora,” Brady began cajolingly. “You know I love you with all my heart, daughter. And I truly appreciate all you've done over these past years to keep our little family together. But you're wrong about this.”

“Wrong about what?” Quinn asked, feeling as if he'd just walked into a movie during the second reel. Obviously he was missing an important part of this latest story.

“Mam won't let me have a pony,” Rory offered on a voice thick with building tears. “Because of how my da died.”

Hell. That was what he got for giving in to impulse, Quinn blasted himself. He should have thought of that. And even though the idea hadn't occurred to him, Brady damn well should have warned him.

“Nora, believe me, I didn't know. If I had—”

“I'll be hearing no ifs.” Her face had hardened to stone. Her eyes were frost. “Nor will I be putting my son at risk. The horse goes back.”

“Now, Nora,” Brady said again, “you know that a Castlelough's man's handshake is as good as an oath.”

“Quinn is not a Castlelough man.”

“True enough. But I was the one who introduced him to Johnny Keane in the first place.”

“Then you're the one who can take the horse back.”

“I'll not be doing that.” Brady raised himself up to his full height. “I understand the fear that struck your heart the day your husband died. But you're not being fair to your
son. The lad's Irish. Irish boys need horses. It's as simple as that.”

Nora lifted her chin and folded her arms. “Now there's where you're wrong.” She turned to Quinn. “I realize you didn't mean any harm, Quinn. But Rory's my son, and I'll do what's best for him. And for now I'd appreciate it if you'd take the horse to Kate's until I can arrange to have it returned to Mr. Keane at first light tomorrow.”

“Mam!” It was a wail. Quinn looked at mother and son, one's eyes brimming with tears, the other's as hard as the stone walls separating the Irish fields, and damned himself for having created such an impossible situation.

She turned to her distraught son, crouched and stroked a hand over his dark hair. “You know my feelings on this, Rory, darling. And although I don't expect you to understand now, someday, when you have a boy or girl of your own—”

“I don't want a boy or girl of my own.” He jerked away, his freckles dark against a face as pale as his mother's. “I want a horse. And if you won't let me keep this one, I'll never be speaking to you again!” With that threat hanging in the air, Rory spun on his heel and ran back into the house, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

Quinn decided to try once more. “Nora, I'm truly sorry.”

“I believe you.” Her voice was as flat as her gaze. “But the damage has already been done. Now I'd appreciate it if you'd just get that beast out of here.”

“It's not a beast,” Brady insisted. “Didn't Devlin say she was a fine and gentle mare?”

“Devlin?” Obviously this betrayal cut deepest of all. “Devlin was in on this, as well?”

“I asked his professional opinion,” Quinn explained. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“And wasn't that something, all the men in my life de
ciding they knew what was best for my son.” Her voice clogged. “I swear, Da, I've half a mind to take the children and move to Galway.”

“Now, darling, you wouldn't want to be doing that,” Brady cajoled.

“Please, because I don't want to say things we both might always regret, I don't want you to say another word. Not now.” As if afraid she'd break down in front of her family, she turned away and began walking toward her car. “I'll be taking a drive. And when I get back, I'll not be wanting to see any sign of a horse on this farm.”

With that she was gone. Leaving Quinn feeling like the Grinch who'd stolen Nora's happy family.

“I guess I'd better take the mare over to Kate's,” he said to no one in particular.

“I think that might be the thing to do for now,” Fionna agreed. “Nora's always been a strict mother, but fair. But she does have a sore spot when it comes to horses.”

“It's one she needs to get over,” Brady continued to insist doggedly. “It's not right for the boy to be denied a horse just because of his mother's unreasonable fear.”

“Not that unreasonable,” Fionna told her son. “And you had no business using Quinn to get round her that way.”

“True.” He turned toward Quinn, regret etched into every line in his face. “And I'm sorry for my little intrigue. But I truly thought that once Nora actually saw how happy your gift made her son, she'd relent.”

Since the older man's usually ruddy complexion was an unhealthy shade of gray, revealing his own stress with this situation, Quinn decided that no good would come from backing Nora and Fionna. He also realized that, contrary to conventional wisdom, the widow Fitzpatrick could hold a grudge, after all.

“She'll calm down,” he said, wanting to offer some
words of assurance to this man who looked every year of his age. He looked even worse, Quinn thought, than he had outside the Derry hospital where his mother had been taken.

“Aye.” Brady nodded, a bit more strength in his voice and his spirit. “And when she does, I'm grateful she'll have you to turn to. You're a good man, Quinn Gallagher. I only hope you'll be able to forgive me for today's little scheme.”

“You're Rory's grandfather. You did what you thought was in the boy's best interests. Nora will understand that once she has time to think about it.” Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn saw Fionna shepherding the other children back into the house. “Would you like a drive to The Rose?”

“No.” Brady shook his head and managed a smile. “'Tis a lovely evening. I think I'll just sit here and enjoy the sound of the crickets for a time.”

Quinn was torn between staying with the man he'd grown fond of and getting rid of the mare before Nora returned from her drive. “If you're sure you'll be okay…”

“Don't you be worrying about me, lad. I'll be as fit as a fiddle. The day an Irishman can't handle a redheaded female's temper is a sorry day, indeed.”

Deciding that he'd only insult Nora's father by pressing, Quinn climbed into the Mercedes, started the engine and began to drive away, trying to ignore the small desolate face he saw looking out from an upstairs window.

 

As he watched the car and trailer drive off down the road, Brady decided that after the day he'd had, a drink and some convivial company was definitely in order. Unfortunately his mam's car had been blown to smithereens in Derry, and Nora had the other.

“I should have taken Quinn up on his offer,” he muttered up at the star-spangled sky. On the other hand, perhaps an
evening walk was just what he needed to lift his spirits the rest of the way.

Wisps of fog rolled in from the sea like silent ghosts, wrapping him in a cool mist. Although the village seemed a bit farther away than the last time he'd walked from the farm, which was, he realized, probably five years earlier, he managed to keep up a brisk pace, proving to himself yet again exactly how wrong that pup Flannery was. Why, his heart was as strong as ever. Probably as strong as the fool doctor's himself, Brady decided as he approached the stone bridge crossing the river into Castlelough.

“What the feck?” The bridge, dating back to the time when the town was first founded, had stood in the same spot for centuries. But no more. Strangely, it had disappeared. “Now how is a man expected to get to his favorite pub?”

“I'll be giving you a ride—for a gold piece,” a voice hidden deep in the thickening fog, offered.

Brady peered into the mist and thought he saw the faint glow of a lantern from somewhere on the water. “And what would the likes of a poor farmer such as meself be doing with a piece of gold?” he asked.

“Check your pocket,” the voice suggested helpfully in Irish.

Thinking the man was obviously daft, Brady nevertheless did so—only to humor him, he told himself—and was surprised when his fingers closed around the coin. “Where in the divil did that come from?” he asked.

“Magic,” the man said on a rusty cackle.

He held the lantern aloft, allowing Brady to get a good look at the boatman sitting in the old-fashioned canvas curragh favored by traditional west Irish fishermen. His grizzled face looked older than the Joyce family fields; the stump of a pipe disappeared into a beard as white as the snow that occasionally muffled the island.

“Is your curragh sound?”

“And hasn't it been taking passengers across this river since before you were a twinkle in your da's eye, Brady Joyce?”

Brady was not all that surprised the man knew who he was. After all, he'd acquired a bit of fame in his lifetime. The strange thing was that Brady didn't recognize the boatman. He would have bet a year's worth of pints he knew every man in the county.

That thought in turn gave birth to another—he was thirsty. And he certainly wasn't going to be getting a pint standing here on the bank of the river talking.

He handed over the coin and climbed into the small shallow boat. A moment later he found himself engulfed in fog so thick he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. The cold dampness seemed to be seeping its way through his wool jacket and trousers, all the way to the marrow of his bones. He saw a light from what he took to be the far bank and assumed the welcoming glow was coming from The Rose's windows. Perhaps, he thought, as the chill deepened, he'd forgo the Guinness tonight for the warming comfort of some whiskey-laced coffee.

“It won't be long now,” the boatman assured him from somewhere in the swirling gray mist as he rowed toward the light.

“Jaysus!” Brady exclaimed when he saw the figure standing on the bank, surrounded by a light as bright as the gilded halos painted over the heads of all those saints on the curved ceiling of the Immaculate Heart Church.

“Not quite,” a blessedly familiar voice said with the hint of humor he'd always adored. “And not yet.”

While he was accustomed to talking with his wife on a daily basis, Brady had not seen her since they'd lowered her casket into the rich loamy earth. Amazingly she appeared
as she had the day they'd married, her hair as black and shiny as a raven's wing, her cheeks blooming like roses in the snowfield of her flawless complexion, her white dress enhancing curves he still caressed nightly in his dreams.

She held out a slender hand as the boatman docked. Rising slowly to his feet, Brady held out his own. When their fingers touched and he felt the spark shoot through him like summer lightning, Brady realized this was no dream.

Although he would not have thought it possible, the shimmering light surrounding her glowed even brighter, engulfing him as he gathered her into his arms.

“Ah, my love.” Eleanor sighed as she twined her slender arms around his neck in exactly the same way she had on their wedding night so many years ago. “I've missed you so.”

And as her lips touched his, warming him in a blissfully familiar way that Irish coffee never could, Brady realized he wouldn't be going to The Rose tonight. Because after all these years of loneliness, he'd finally rediscovered heaven. With the one true love of his life. His beloved Eleanor.

 

Alone in her bed in the upstairs of the farmhouse where she'd been raised, Kate was jerked out of yet another restless sleep by the feeling that something was wrong. At first she thought Cadel might have returned from his cousin's in Dungarven, which couldn't mean anything good. She lay in the shadowed darkness, willing her startled heart to be quiet, and listened, as she had night after night ever since the misty dreams had begun.

But all she could hear was the scrape of a tree branch against her window, the sigh of the wind in the chimney, the distant unceasing murmur of the sea and the creaking sounds of her house.

When she failed to hear the painfully familiar noise her
drunkard husband made stumbling into furniture or clomping up the stairs, she began to breathe a wee bit easier. Climbing out of the hand-carved tester bed she'd been born in, she drew on her robe and went across the hall and checked on her daughter.

Brigid's hair gleamed like wildfire in the starshine streaming in the window, and her rosebud mouth was curved in a smile, suggesting happy dreams. The sight of such childish innocence brought a smile to Kate's own lips as she bent down and brushed the top of the toddler's bright head with a kiss.