Bailey's Irish Dream (14 page)

She’d cried, according to Mark.  Quinn didn’t want to believe that, but it was true.  And the harder he tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted. 

He cared about Bailey.  Was consumed with her.  And he didn’t have a clue what he was going to do about it.

They were different.  Bailey was an idealist.  She lived her life to please others, because she believed it was what was expected of her, while he’d chosen his path, because he believed that if he worked hard it would pay off in the end.  Not so much in a monetary sense, but in a way of making him feel whole.  Accomplished. 

They were different, all right.  She was worth a fortune, and he wasn’t.  So, it came down to that.  Was he that insecure that he’d let a little thing like money stand between him and Bailey? he wondered.  “You’re damn right,” he muttered.       

The smell of fresh brewed coffee floated around the room.  Almost hypnotized, he breathed in the aroma, and turned away from the window in search of a mug. 

Doyle stood in the doorway, watching him.  “I smelled coffee,” he said, flipping on the lights.  He wore bright red pajamas, with black and white panda bears sprinkled about.  His dark red hair stuck up at odd angles.  “Looks like you couldn’t sleep either.”

Quinn muttered a response, handed Doyle a mug, and added a generous amount of milk to his own mug.  After a few sips, he started feeling human again.  Tired, but human. 

“I thought about what you said last night.”

Quinn stared at Doyle, but didn’t comment.  Resting his hip against a counter he took another sip of hot liquid.

“It made sense.” 

“Yeah, well, what do I know?  Besides, it was none of my business.  You want to ruin your marriage, why the hell should I care?”  Quinn recognized the heavy irony in his own voice. 

“That’s right.  Why should you?”

“I don’t.”

Doyle nodded and brought the black coffee to his lips, taking a drink.  “Unless . . .” he said, pausing, “unless you feel some kind of connection to us Maguires.  Because of your relationship with Bailey.”

Quinn snorted.  “Well, Maguire, I’ve already told you that Bailey and I don’t have a relationship, so . . .”  What kind of cat and mouse game was he playing?

“I see.”

No, he didn’t see, Quinn thought.  Doyle was fishing, that’s all.  And Quinn refused to take the bait.  He drained his mug and set it in the sink. 

“The Irish are known for their stubbornness.  You’re Irish, aren’t you, Quinn?”

“Half.”

Doyle nodded.  “I remember the first time I realized I was in love with Mimi.  It was like getting knocked up along side the head with a baseball bat.  And I still refused to admit it.  You know what I mean?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea.”  He wasn’t in love with Bailey.  He cared about her, yes.  But that was it.  Okay, and he was attracted to her too.  But that wasn’t love.  Just because she’d wormed her way under his skin and had imbedded herself in his mind didn’t mean a thing.  And he didn’t like Doyle Maguire’s smug looks.  Moving past him, Quinn said, “I’m going to take a shower. 

“Love,” he mumbled to himself as he made his way toward the stairs.  Quinn had never heard anything so ridiculous in all his life. 

Bailey was surprised to find Quinn at her door the next morning.  She hadn’t seen him since he insisted on driving her home yesterday after her lunch with Gwen. 

“Hi,” he said, dragging his hands through his freshly showered hair.  Through the screen door, she smelled his clean soapy scent.  “Can I come in?”

She held the door open in answer. 

“Where is everyone?” he asked.

“You mean the half of my family that isn’t living with you?”

His lips tilted in a half smile.  “Yeah.”

“They’re still sleeping.  I’ve been up for hours.”  She tugged at the ties to her robe, and combed her fingers through her tangled hair.  Thank God she’d brushed her teeth and washed her face earlier.  “Would you like some coffee?”

“That sounds great.” 

Bailey filled a mug for him, added a heavy dose of cream, then freshened her own. 

“Thanks,” he said, taking the mug from her hands.  His fingers brushed hers, sending a warm shiver through her.

Cradling her mug in her hands, she sank into a chair, wondering why he was there.        “Did you find the diamonds yet?”

“No.  I’ve even checked all the files on Davenport’s computer, hoping a clue would turn up.  But there was nothing.  He obviously took them with him, wherever he went.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked.  As angry as she was with Quinn, she didn’t want to see him get hurt again. 

“I’m not sure,” he said on a sigh.  He brought his mug to his lips and took several swallows.  “But I’m working on a plan.” 

She knew Quinn well enough by now to know that he didn’t have a plan.  He’d said that for her benefit, so she wouldn’t worry.  “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” she reminded him.

“I know, I know,” he said, avoiding her eyes as he finished his coffee and set the mug aside. 

An awkward silence filled the room.  She felt his eyes on her, but she refused to acknowledge his gaze.  Her pulse raced, knowing he was only a short distance from her, and her face burned with the memory of their night of passion. 

A while later Bailey heard a shower turn on upstairs, which meant that everyone would be up shortly.  Wanting to put an end to her awkwardness, she spoke as if nothing were wrong.  “You’ll be happy to know that I told my mother I wasn’t pregnant.  I think she believed me this time.”  Glancing up at him, she brought the mug to her lips, the steam warming her face, and drank.

“That’s good.”

“I’m concerned about her.  This just isn’t like her, throwing my dad out and all.  I’ve never even heard them argue before.  I’m going to try to tell her the rest of the truth soon, so if you could just bare with me a little while longer . . .”

“Okay,” he said.  Bailey felt relieved that he hadn’t sounded angry with her or put out in the least.  “Any chance of them reconciling soon?”

Lifting one shoulder, she said, “I wish I knew.  I know you’re anxious to be rid of them.”

“They don’t bother me.”  She smiled tentatively while he seemed to be lost in thought.  “Why don’t you bring Mimi and Kaitlyn to the restaurant for dinner tonight?” he suggested.  “My treat.”

“You don’t have to--”

Raising a hand, he said, “Hear me out.  Your dad and brother-in-law want to play bartender, so they’ll already be there this evening.  If we can just get everyone to talk things out, I’m sure they’ll all realize how silly they’ve been behaving.”

Bailey liked the idea.  Only she didn’t feel the children should witness Kaitlyn and Mark fighting.  Or their grandparents.  “What about the kids?  Maybe I should stay here and watch them,” she said.  “But then, I’m not sure that Mom and Kaitlyn would go if--”

“What about Gwen?” he asked, interrupting her.  He leaned back, resting his elbows on the countertop, and crossed his legs at the ankles.

“What about her?”

“Can’t she baby-sit?”

“Gwen?”
  Bailey shook her head.  “I don’t know.  Gwen isn’t exactly the motherly type.”

“It’s just for a few hours.  Once you explain to her what’s going on, I’m sure she’ll be eager to help.”

“I don’t know,” she said again.  “Maybe it would be best if I stayed with the kids.”

“No, I need you there.” 

The way he’d said it made her jump slightly. 
He needed her there.
  Why? she wondered, telling herself not to get her hopes up.  It wasn’t the same thing as needing her.  That wasn’t the way he’d meant it.  “I’ll call Gwen.”

“Good,” he said, straightening to his full height and heading for the door.  “I’ll see you around seven?”

Bailey nodded as she stood.  “Quinn?” she called out, stopping him.  He turned around to look at her.  “Thanks for caring about my family.”

He smiled and shrugged.  “They’re starting to grow on me.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Gwen had surprised Bailey when she agreed--without hesitation--to baby-sit.  But rather than question her friend’s motives, Bailey had simply thanked her and hung up the phone.  Before she could change her mind. 

Gwen wouldn’t have any problems with Bailey’s niece and nephews.  They were extremely well behaved.  Since she had a babysitter arranged, all she had to do then was convince her mother and Kaitlyn that they needed a night out away from the kids.  That should be simple enough.  Particularly the way Kaitlyn had been acting lately.  Like she was ready to lose control. 

When she’d finally broached the subject of going out for dinner, Kaitlyn had practically jumped up and down.

She’d yet to mention that Mark, Doyle and Quinn, or Stanley, rather, would be working there tonight.  But as she pulled open the door to Quinn’s, she figured it was about time she warned them.  Draping her white cardigan sweater over her shoulders, she said, “Mom, I have something to tell you.  Stanley sort of has another job.”

“That’s nice, dear.  What does he do?”

“Well, he sort of moonlights . . . here,” she said once they were inside.

“Here?  You mean he--”

“He’s a bartender,” Bailey said quickly. 

“I see.”

“We have a reservation for seven o’clock,” Bailey told the big man who usually greeted her.  “The name’s Maguire.”

“Yes.  Here we are,” he said, scanning a list of names and grabbing three menus.  “Right this way, ladies.”

They followed him to a square table in the far corner of the room.  Once they were seated, Bailey said, “You’re probably going to laugh, but I heard a rumor that Dad and Mark were also working here with Stanley.”

Mimi and Kaitlyn looked at each other, their mouths slightly ajar.  Kaitlyn spoke first.  “Mark would never--”

“Bailey, if this is another one of your wild tales . . .”

“It’s not, Mom,” Bailey interjected.  “I swear.”  She hurriedly searched the room for her father and brother-in-law, but didn’t see them.  However, she spotted Quinn behind the bar, and he winked at her in acknowledgment.  Goosebumps formed on her bare arms, and she pulled her sweater tightly around her shoulders.  Maybe it was the air-conditioning.  At least she hoped so.  Because the thought of Quinn being able to disarm her that easily absolutely terrified her.  Breaking away from Quinn’s engaging smile she noticed her father, heading their way.

“Good heavens,” Mimi exclaimed, her vexation evident.  “Doyle, what on earth are you doing here?”

“I’m working,” he answered with a grin.  “And I would have told you, but since you’re not speaking to me . . .”

With a toss of her head, she said, “Well, I’ve found that over the years, it doesn’t matter what I say, because you don’t bother to listen.”

“Mimi, that’s not true.  If you have something to say to me, go ahead and say it.”

She jerked her head back toward him.  “Here?  Now?  So everyone can hear me?”

Doyle shook his head.  “Never mind.  How about if I get you a round of drinks,” he asked, looking at Bailey and Kaitlyn, “while your mother decides if she wants to end thirty-six years of marriage?”

He pulled a pad and pen from his apron pocket.  “Damn stubborn woman,” he mumbled to no one in particular.  “Won’t even tell me why she’s been seeing a doctor.”  He looked pointedly at his wife.  “That’s right, Mimi.  I know you haven’t been meeting your friends for lunch every Thursday.  That Doctor Lindstrom called about two weeks ago to confirm your appointment.”

Before Mimi could answer, off he went.

“See what I mean.  He doesn’t even stand still long enough to listen,” Mimi complained, then went into a tirade about how Doyle not only didn’t listen, but he obviously didn’t care about her happiness.  When she was through, she dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.

“Mom,” Bailey said quietly across the table.  “Dad has a point.  Do you really want to end your marriage after all these years?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then, tell him what’s bothering you.  You can start by telling him that you’re seeing a psychiatrist, and
why
.”

“A psychiatrist?”
Doyle, who stood over Mimi’s shoulder, nearly dropped the tray of drinks.  “Dr. Lindstrom’s a psychiatrist?  What on earth do you need a shrink for, Mimi?”

“None of your business.”  Mimi crossed her arms in front of her. 

“Tell him, Mom,” Kaitlyn chimed in.  

“Oh, all right,” she said.  “Dr. Lindstrom has been helping me get to know myself the last few months.” 

Doyle frowned as he distributed the drinks.  He set one in front of Kaitlyn, telling her it was non-alcoholic when she began to protest.  Bailey thought the drinks resembled the Bahama Mamas she’d had a few nights ago.  Taking a small sip, she confirmed her suspicion.  Hopefully hers was non-alcoholic as well, remembering how potent they were, but somehow she highly doubted it.

“So, you’ve been getting to know yourself,” Doyle said, looking at his wife intently.  “And what have you discovered?”

Mimi took a sip of her drink, raised her brows and cleared her throat.  Apparently it was stronger than what she was used to drinking.  “That I’m bored.”

“You’re bored?”

“Yes.  Maybe I should get a job.”

“A job?”

“Yes.  And stop repeating me,” she said.  Waiting a moment, she went on.  “Perhaps it was a mistake to devote all my time to the girls while they were growing up.  Now, I have nothing for me.”  She looked back and forth between her two daughters, an apologetic look on her face.  “I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t love taking care of you both, I’m just saying that maybe I wanted more.”

Bailey was shocked.  “You wanted a career, Mom?” 

“Maybe,” she answered, giving her husband a defiant look.

Doyle laid a hand on her shoulder.  “But I thought you were happy staying home with the girls.”

“I was.  But the girls are gone now.  And what is there for me to do?”

“You take care of me.”

“Hmmph,” she said, shrugging his hand off her shoulder.  “You call that fun?  Well, not me.  You dragged me off to Ireland where I can’t even see my grandchildren.”

“Mimi, why in God’s name haven’t you said something before now?”  Doyle’s voice rose an octave, and several diners turned to look in his direction.  “I thought you loved Ireland.”

“I do love Ireland, but I don’t want to live there.  In fact, I’ve decided to stay in Erie and find a job.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Fine with me.”

Mimi’s eyes grew wide, and her mouth fell open.  “Fine with you?” she asked.  “You’re just going to let me stay, without a fight.”

“Yep,” Doyle said.

Even Bailey couldn’t believe it.  Ignoring the staring diners, she said, “But, Dad.  You and Mom love each other.  Doesn’t thirty-six years of marriage mean anything?”

“Yes, it does.  That’s why I’m staying here with your mother.”

“Oh, Doyle,” Mimi shrieked, getting out of her seat.  “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course, I do,” he said, then kissed her briefly on the mouth.   

Bailey smiled and took another sip of her drink.  These things were starting to grow on her.

“And you won’t mind if I get a job?  Just something part time, maybe something in a gift shop,” Mimi added.

“If that’s what it will take to make you happy,” Doyle quickly agreed and kissed her again.  “But right now, I have to get back to my tables.”

“Did you hear that, girls?” Mimi beamed as she sat down.  “We’re going to move back to Erie.”

“I’m so happy for you.”  Bailey smiled at her mother and felt a warm glow flow through her veins.  Already her mind was working.  Maybe her mother would want to work for her in the stained glass shop she planned to open. 

“That’s great, Mom,” Kaitlyn said, looking glum, rather than happy.  “But you’re still going to be eight hours from me and the kids.”  She jabbed her paper umbrella on the table cloth as if she’d intended to poke a hole through the fabric.  “Sometimes I wish Mark had never accepted that job in Chicago.  I hate living so far from home.”  Kaitlyn and Mark had moved from Erie a little over a year ago.

“Well, if you hate living in Chicago, then say something to Mark,” Bailey suggested.