Quinn's Deirdre (25 page)

“Aye.”
Quinn’s voice faded into no more than a breath.
“But thirsty, too.”

Deirdre
poured water from the carafe on the nightstand and opened a straw. “Here, take
a drink. Then Des is right—you need to rest.
 
I’ll be here, I promise.”

He drank
most of what the cup contained and nodded.
 
His eyes drooped with fatigue. “I love
ye
,
acushla.”

She kissed
him again. “I love you, too.”

Within
minutes, he
slept,
his face slack and easy in repose.
 
Deirdre couldn’t keep from smiling, but when
she glanced across the bed at Desmond, she saw the single tear tracking down
his cheek.
 
He still held his nephew’s
hand, but when he noticed her gaze, Des released it.

“You were
worried, too,” she said in a gentle tone.

Des
brushed the tear from his face. “Aye, I was.
 
Ye know how much I care for Quinn. I couldn’t love me own son more, if I
but had one.
 
He’ll do, now, and be
fine.”

“I know he
will.” Hunger, something absent for the past few days, rumbled her tummy.
“Let’s go down to the cafeteria and eat breakfast.
 
He’ll sleep for awhile.”

By noon,
Quinn sat up in bed and stirred a bowl of murky beef broth with disgust.
 
He lacked enthusiasm for the applesauce or
the cup of yellow gelatin. “I’m hungry,” he said. “But I can’t eat this. Won’t
ye bring me something from the pub, Des?”

Deirdre
and Desmond exchanged a glance.
 
They
agreed it wasn’t the time to tell him about the damaged kitchen. “They wouldn’t
let you have it if he did,” Deirdre said. “The nurse said you might get real
food at supper.
 
I’ll sneak you in a
container of orange sherbet if you’d like.”

“I’d
rather bangers and mash,” Quinn said. “But I’ll take it,
acushla
. ‘
Tis better than nothing at all.”

His
petulance pleased her because it indicated he was on the mend, and although he
fussed something fierce, she
spoonfed
him the
sherbet.

His
evening tray featured a grilled chicken breast, rice, and a vegetable
blend.
 
Although he ate it, he griped and
managed to sweet talk the nurse into bringing him a cup of tea with sugar.
 
The biggest struggle had been to convince her
he wanted it hot, not iced, but he savored it.
 
Quinn took his few first tottering steps with the physical therapy aide.
After, he walked with Deirdre up and down the hall six times.
 
He did everything the staff wanted so he
could leave, and on Thursday, one week and a day since Quinn was hurt, the
hospital released him.

As he
dressed in the clothes Deirdre had brought from home, he buttoned the shirt and
glanced up at her. “So ye might as well tell me now whatever ‘tis ye’ve been
holding back about the pub,” he said. “I’d rather know now than walk into
something I’m not expecting. I’m aware ye shared the tale of what happened
after I went down and how Des saved the day with old-fashioned bravado, but I
know there’s more. So tell me and be done with it.”

Across the
room, Des grunted. “So are
ye
to be fey all the time
now, Quinn?”

Quinn
snorted. “It doesn’t take a gift to read
ye
two.
 
A blind man could tell ye’re not telling me
something so get it over with.
 
I’m not
an invalid any longer.”

“That’s
open to debate,” Deirdre said as she straightened his collar. “I’m going to
pamper you, sweetheart, and you can’t go back to a regular routine until you’re
fully recovered.”

He waved
his hand in dismissal. “Get on with it, one of
ye
before I get cross.”

Desmond
cleared his throat. “Aye, then I’ll do it.
 
‘Tis my fault anyhow.
 
After all the fight with yon idiots who tried
to harm Deirdre, I had Big Johnny’s grandson in the kitchen, the others who
were still standing, too.
 
And he came to
bargain with me, as ye know.”

“Aye, and then what?”

“Ah,
didn’t a burner on the stove get turned on but without a flame,” Desmond said.
“And after all was said and done, Big Johnny struck a match to light his cigar,
and we had a wee bit of an explosion which made a small fire.”

Quinn
frowned. “So are ye tellin’ me I don’t have a pub or home left?”

“Nay, not
at all,” Desmond replied with some irritation. “I put it out, damn ye, and it
can be cleaned, then fixed back the way it was.
 
But with ye laid up in hospital, I’ve not have time nor energy to do
anything about it.
 
Other than the faint
smell of smoke in the air, ye won’t notice a thing.”

He lifted
one eyebrow in a quirky expression.
“Aye?
And so we’re
not serving food these days?”

“The pub’s
not been open since ye were hurt, Quinn.
 
The desperate men broke the glass, as ye might remember, and did other
damage, too.”

Deirdre
put her hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “We’ll get it back open soon and things will
go back to normal.”

She
watched as he shut his eyes and kept silent.
 
Give him time to process it.
 
It’ll be hard. County Tyrone’s been his
mainstay since he came to Kansas City.
 
If
he minds much, I’ll make it up to him somehow.

“I might
be bored with normal,” Quinn said after a long pause. “Maybe it’s time to take
a break from the pub.
 
If it burned to
the ground but I still had ye and Uncle Des was fine, I don’t know that I’d
mind too much.
 
I’ve got the important
things and I’ve got insurance.”

Laughter
bubbled up and she giggled. “That’s exactly what Des said when he first told me
about it.
 
You think alike.”

Quinn met
his uncle’s eyes and nodded. “There could be far worse things,” he said with a
smile, an Irish backhanded compliment at its finest.

“Aye, there
could indeed,” Desmond replied. “Let’s get
ye
out of
here before they decide to keep ye another night.”

“God
forbid.” Quinn shuddered.

His good
spirits endured the short trip home in the van and although he made no
complaints, Deirdre noticed the lines cut deep with pain in his face.
 
The stairs presented a challenge, but he
managed, with her help.
 
Once there,
despite his earlier bravado, he didn’t fuss when she suggested he lie down for
awhile.
 
“Aye, I think I will,” he said.
“I suppose it might be too much to ask if ye’d let me lay my head in
yer
lap?”

“Of course not.”

Once he
settled into position, he sighed, contented. “Ah, this is grand, woman.
 
I feel better already.”

“Good,”
she said.
 
From the kitchen, the
tell-tale rattle of pans echoed. “Des is cooking up here so you can have your
bangers and mash.
 
I imagine he’d fix
anything you want.”

“Bangers
and mash is good,” he said. “Maybe an apple tart if it’s not too much trouble.”

Deirdre
thought he’d fallen asleep until he said, “Later, we’ll look at a calendar, too
and pick a date.
 
I’m not inclined to
wait very long, love.”

“We can do
that,” she said. “Neither am I.”

A slow,
sweet smile flirted with his lips. “Good,” he whispered as he drifted asleep.

In the
evening, the three gathered around the small kitchen table and shared the
meal.
 
Deirdre ached to make love with
Quinn, but she steeled herself to have patience.
 
He needed plenty of tender, loving care and
time to heal.
 
Even so, she couldn’t stop
touching him.
 
Throughout the meal, she
held his hand, stroked his cheek, rested her hand on his thigh, and sat so
close their bodies were connected.
 
Quinn
caressed her, too, and oblivious of his uncle’s presence, he leaned over. “If
ye promised to be gentle,
acushla,
I’ve no doubt I could give ye what ye seem to need.”

Heat
flushed her cheeks. “Is it so obvious?”

Quinn
moved her hand to rest on his crotch. “As much as this,” he said with a wicked
grin and sparkle in his eyes.

At the
sink, where he had stacked their dishes, Desmond clicked his tongue in apparent
disapproval. “Ye’re reckless, the both of ye,” he said.
“Reckless
in love and reckless in life.
 
The
man’s scarcely out of the hospital, and yet he’s wanting to take ye to
bed.
 
And ye seem willing enough.
 
God help ye if ye tear his stitches out or rupture
his bloody spleen again. It’s a bloody miracle either one of ye is alive.”

Amused,
Deirdre managed not to laugh.
 
Des meant
what he said and she realized he spoke out of concern.
 

Quinn
shook his head. “We’re not reckless.
 
How
do ye think we are?”

The old
man whipped around to face them. “She let ye think her dead for three years,
then one day she can’t stand being apart any more so she comes back and drops
into yer life out of bloody nowhere.
 
Then there’s mortal danger for the both of ye and for me, too.
 
Ye get hurt in a car chase, then the
feckin
’
gobshites
turn up here,
smash up your pub, and put
ye
in the hospital.
 
Ye spend a bloody week on the critical list,
have surgery, and now ye want to love yer woman.
 
God damn, lad, while I understand the want,
ye’re not using yer good sense.
 
Ye’re
reckless, I tell
ye
, reckless in love.
 
Ye let it blind
ye
to all else.”

Deirdre
opened her mouth, but Quinn touched her lips in warning.
 
He stood up. “Ah, ye’ve got a point and ‘tis
taken, uncle.
 
I’ve no wish to end up
back flat on me back in the hospital. I’ll heed yer advice and wait a bit.
 
But wanting to love Deirdre and
she
wanting the same isn’t reckless at all.
 
It’s the way it should be between a man and a
woman.
 
I know ye worried for me and I’m
glad of it.
 
But, I’m on the mend
now.
 
Lovin’ her gives me sight, not
turns me blind. And no matter what’s happened
,
I’m
glad we’re together, Deirdre and me, and we’ll stay so forever.
 
Now if ye’re done, I think I’ll rest awhile
and listen to Tommy Makem take me back to Ireland if only in
song.
”

Des glared
at Quinn. “Ah, well, it takes bloody courage to be reckless, I suppose and
ye’ve got that, both of
ye
.”

“Aye?
Then I learned it from
ye
, Uncle Des.”

Desmond
smiled. “I suppose ye did, at that.
 
Go take
your rest, lad, and I’ll do the same.
 
I’ll be up in the morning to make breakfast if ye want.”

“I’d like
it,” Quinn said. “Good night, Uncle.”

Sprawled
on the sofa, Deirdre cross-legged on the floor, they let the beautiful voice of
the late Irish bard flow over them, enriching their spirits and touching their
souls.
 
Quinn stroked her hair in an
absent-minded way as Deirdre flipped through the pages of the calendar.

“I guess
we can get married next year,” she said. “Do you want a spring wedding or me as
a June bride?”

“Neither,”
Quinn replied.
“How about next week?”

The idea
appealed and brought a smile to her face. “Will you be able so soon?”

He sat up
and offered her his hand.
 
“I will if I
have to be carried into the church,” he said with a sideways grin. “Aye, I will
be if it’s time enough for
ye
.”

“It’s fine
with me, but will your family have time to come over? I’d like them to be at
the wedding.”

“We’ll
have another when we get home,” Quinn said.
“Or at least a
hooley
.
 
Would
ye, Deirdre?”

“Have a party
with your family? Yes, of course.”

Those
sapphire blue eyes met hers with passion, their fire banked with love. “Would
ye marry me next week and come home with me?” he asked. “I don’t mean to visit,
love, I mean to stay.
 
I’d like to go
back to Ireland and live.”

She
considered it and weighed the notion.
 
Here, she had no job, little family, and nothing which mattered except
Quinn.
 
There, she’d have Quinn and a
huge family.
 
“Yes,” she said.
“Yes, Quinn, to all of it.
What about the pub?”