Bailey's Irish Dream (6 page)

Mark reached for the pager at his hip.  That was the second time it had gone off during dinner.  After reading the display, he said, “Excuse me, everyone.  I need to make a phone call.”

Kaitlyn didn’t look pleased.  “Mark, can’t it wait until after dinner?”

Glancing at the display again, Mark said, “I’ll just be a minute.”  Standing, he kissed his wife on the cheek and left the room.

Doyle looked pointedly at Quinn.  “Didn’t you get it?  Fred said, Thank goodness I don’t have cancer.”

Quinn looked as if he were trying to figure it out.  Shaking his head, he said, “No, I don’t get it.”

Maguire pushed his plate away.  “I’ve had enough,” he said.  Quinn wondered if it was meant as a double entendre.

Dillon stuck his bottom lip out and turned to his mother.  “I thought Dad wasn’t going to work while we’re here.  I thought this was supposed to be a vacation.”

Forcing a smile to her lips, Kaitlyn looked at her oldest son.  “Daddy will be right back.  Finish your plate.” 

The boy looked at his plate and scowled.  Picking up his fork, he jabbed at the salmon and moved several bites discreetly beneath his beans.  He obviously didn’t like fish.  Or beans. 

“You’ve told that joke a dozen times.  Twice in the car on the drive here,” Mimi reminded her husband, then looked at Kaitlyn.  “Mark sure makes an awful lot of phone calls.  On the drive here, he must have made a dozen.  And while you and Bailey were telling secrets in the bedroom, he made several more calls.”  She lifted her wineglass to her lips and drank, then resumed eating.

Kaitlyn stabbed a bean with her fork.  “We weren’t telling secrets, Mom.  We were discussing Bailey and
Stanley’s
wedding plans.”  She gave Quinn a look. 

“Well, since I’m the mother of the bride, perhaps I should have been included in the discussion.”  Looking offended she laid her fork to rest on her plate and dabbed her lips with a white linen napkin.  “No one’s asked me for help, or advice, or anything.”  She looked at Bailey and said, “And why aren’t you having any wine?”

Quinn didn’t like the implication of that question.  Quickly his eyes cut across to Bailey. 

Bailey ignored the question about the wine.  “Of course we want your help, Mom.”  She tapped Quinn’s thigh.  “Don’t we, Stanley?”

“Uh, sure.  We need someone to clean up after the reception.”  Everyone stared at him, open mouthed.  He was getting so used to insulting people; it was starting to come naturally. 

Mark returned to the dining room.  “What did I miss?” he asked, looking directly at Quinn as he took his seat.  “Who did you insult this time?”

Quinn felt like crap.  This wasn’t his idea of a good time.  “Anyone ready for dessert?  Key lime pie.”

Dillon grabbed his half-eaten plate and stood.  “I’ll have some.  Do you have whipped cream?”

Mimi pushed her chair back.  “I’ll help clear the dishes.  I can certainly use the practice before the reception,” she said icily, her nostrils flaring with fury. 

Quinn grinned at her and winked for effect.  “That’s a good sport.”

After dinner, Quinn, Bailey and her parents retreated to the formal living room while Kaitlyn and Mark took the children for a walk on the beach.   

“Can I get anyone anything?” Bailey asked, wringing her hands together, clearly growing more uncomfortable as the evening wore on.  “Coffee?  An after dinner drink?”

“I’d like an Irish whiskey,” Doyle said.  “How about you, Stanley?  You like a toot once in awhile?  Or do you just sip on sissy wines?”

It was a direct challenge, Quinn thought.  “I’ll have a toot with you, old man.”

“I’ll get it,” Bailey offered.

Doyle lifted a hand to stop her.  “No, allow me.  You go sit down with your fiancé,” he said, stressing the word fiancé as if it were a dirty word. 

While Quinn had been cleaning the kitchen mess, Kaitlyn had dragged Bailey off to have another private chat.  When they were through, Bailey had dragged Quinn off to relay what Kaitlyn had told her.  Apparently Mrs. Maguire decided Bailey must be pregnant, otherwise her daughter would never agree to marry someone as awful as him, or Stanley rather.  She and Mr. Maguire had also decided not to voice their disapproval of their daughter’s fiancé for fear it would only encourage Bailey to defend him.

“Let Bailey wait on us,” Quinn said, giving her butt a pat.  “She needs the exercise.”

Bailey shot him a look over her shoulder as she made her way to the bar.  A look that said she was embarrassed by his outward display of affection.  Hadn’t she been the one who’d said they should kiss and touch beforehand so they’d look comfortable with one another?

“Yep,” Quinn said, carrying on the charade.  “That’s what happened to old Bambi.  Too much sitting around.  She got the middle-age spread when she was only seventeen.  That’s one of the reasons I insisted she should work.  The other was so that she didn’t become a leech.  I hate when women think that men should support them.”

“
Seventeen?
  You married a
seventeen-year-old
?” Bailey asked, looking furiously at him.  If Quinn didn’t know better, he’d swear she was jealous.

“Well, not really.  Bambi was
sixteen
when I married her.  We got divorced when she was seventeen.”

“How old were
you
?” she asked. 

“Well, that was a year ago so I was . . . thirty-three,” he said wiggling his fingers and pretending to subtract. 

“That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, that’s what her mom said.  In fact, it should have been Bambi’s mom and me tying the knot, but I took a liking to the kid.”  Quinn looked at Doyle and winked.  “You know what I mean?”

Mimi fell into a Queen Anne chair and fanned her crimson face with her hand.  “I think I’ll have a whiskey too, dear.” 

Doyle helped Bailey distribute the drinks and came to stand next to Quinn by the piano.  Holding up his glass, he clinked the edge against Quinn’s glass and said, “Here’s to you and Bailey.”  He lifted his glass and took a good belt, watching Quinn over the top of his glass, assessing him.  “Do you golf?”

Golf?
  Quinn stared at the man.  What the hell was wrong with this guy?  Why didn’t Doyle Maguire just punch him in the nose and throw him out?  How much of Quinn’s insolence was this guy going to take?  Didn’t he have any respect for his daughter? 

“No, I don’t golf,” he lied.  Well, it wasn’t a total lie.  He hadn’t golfed in over two years.  Who had time?

“Hmmm.  I thought Bailey said you golfed.  My mistake.  Why don’t you play something for us?” Doyle suggested, nodding at the white baby grand.

Uh, oh.  Now he was in trouble.  He hadn’t touched a piano since he was ten years old.  “Maybe later.” 
After a few more drinks, or at gunpoint.

“I’m sure my wife would like to hear something
now
, before she passes out.”  Doyle looked at Mimi who had already downed her whiskey.  To Quinn, he said, “I’ll hold your drink while you play.”

Quinn tried again to dissuade the man.  “I’m kind of shy in small crowds.”

“Shy?”
  Doyle laughed.  “Stanley, you’re about as shy as Lady Godiva.  Why don’t you play
Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony
?”

Snorting, Quinn said, “Everyone plays that.  How about something more original?”

“Sure.  Whatever.”

Bailey gave him the eye as if to say
,
‘Are you out of your mind?’
Quinn met her look with one of his own.  His said,
‘I must be.  I’m here, aren’t I?’

Taking a seat on the white bench, Quinn stretched his fingers, stalling.  Then, with his index fingers, he struck the keys two at a time. 
Chopsticks
was one of the only two songs he knew how to play.  The other was
Happy Birthday
.

Doyle nodded, his lips tilting slightly upward in a snarl, as if he knew some secret.  “You certainly have talent,
Stanley
.”

“I try.”

“Yes, you certainly do.”

“Bravo!” Mimi shouted and clapped her hands together, her empty glass lying on its side on the floor by her feet.  “Did you write that song, Stanley?” 

“No, ma’am.  I’m afraid not.”  The Maguire women certainly couldn’t hold their liquor, Quinn thought, remembering Bailey the night before.  “Do you need some help getting Mrs. Maguire upstairs?” he whispered to Doyle, forgetting to act like Stanley the Jerk.

“Nah.”  Doyle returned Quinn’s glass.  “I don’t want to spoil her fun.  This is the happiest I’ve seen her in months.  How about another drink, Mimi?”

“I’d love one.”  She looked at Quinn and smiled sweetly.  “You know, Stanley, I’m starting to see why Bailey finds you so attractive.”

Jesus.  Quinn shook his head, stealing a look at Bailey.  She’d tried to warn him at the bar last night that she was crazy.  But she’d failed to mention that her parents were shy a few bricks as well.  Unless this was Mrs. Maguire’s way of using psychology on her daughter.

What did he have to do to make these two hate him?  Well, whatever it was would have to wait.  If he spent another minute pretending to be
Stanley
, he was going to shoot himself.  Now there was a good excuse to call off the wedding.  Why didn’t he think of that earlier?  If he’d shot himself then he could have avoided this bad dream gone worse.

Mimi pointed a finger at him.  “I think you did the right thing insisting that Bambi work.”  Her words were slightly slurred.  “I wish now that I’d had a job when I was younger.”

“Uh, huh.”  Quinn glanced at his watch.  Ten after ten.  He wondered how much more of this he could take.

“Mimi, what are you saying?” Doyle went to stand by his wife.  “I would never have allowed you to work.  You had plenty to do raising the girls and taking care of me.”

“Well,” Quinn said, standing, anxious to avoid a domestic squabble.  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m going to call it a night.  I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Oh, poo-poo.”  Mimi thrust her bottom lip out.  “We were just starting to have fun.”

Poo-poo? 
That was a new expression.  “You stole the word right out of my mouth,” he lied.

* * * * * * * * * *

“I’ll walk you out,” Bailey offered, rushing to catch up to Quinn in the foyer.  Quinn kept walking, ignoring her.  He was certainly in a hurry to leave for some reason.  Opening the door he stepped out onto the porch and into the night, heading toward the drive.  At least he hadn’t slammed the door in her face.  “Would you please wait a minute?”

He stopped then, but didn’t turn around.  “This isn’t working, Bailey.  And please don’t ask me to do it again.  Just keep your money.”

So that was it.  “But we had a deal.”

He spun around to face her.  “Our deal was for one night.”  Running his hands through his hair, he sighed loudly.  “One night.  Tonight.  And now it’s over.” 

The moonlight played on his face, showing off the muscle quivering at his jaw and the age lines along his brows and around his eyes.  He didn’t look happy. 

“I’ve lied to them,” he went on, “insulted them, and practically admitted I was a pedophile.  Plus your mother seems to think I’ve gotten you . . .” he paused, glancing at her abdomen, “knocked up, and still they haven’t said a word about calling off the wedding.  By the way, you
did
tell your mother that you’re not pregnant, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” she lied.  Or at least she planned to tell her, as soon as got the chance.

“They must be desperate to see you married,” he said, shaking his head.  “I don’t know how you ever talked me into this in the first place.”

“Oh, go ahead and blame me,” she sputtered, slapping her hands to her sides.  He stared back at her like she was some kind of crazy woman.  “Why don’t you just admit you did it for the money?”

“Well, of course I did it for the money!” he yelled, his eyes blazing with sudden anger.  “Did you actually think I’d go around playing a jerk for the fun of it?  This was one of the worst nights of my life.  And I have you to thank.”

Bailey took a step back and spoke quietly.  “I think the kids adore you.”

“What did you expect?  They’re kids,” he said as if that explained everything.

After a moment’s silence she tried to reach him again.  “My mother’s been seeing a doctor, although, I don’t know what’s wrong with her.  I
do
know that I don’t want her upset.”

“That doesn’t concern me.” 

Swallowing hard, she stared up at him.  Why didn’t she just tell him to go ahead and leave?  Then she’d have no choice but to tell her parents the truth. 

“And stop looking at me like that,” he said, pointing a finger her way.  “I’m not going to change my mind.  This is your problem.  Deal with it.” 

He turned and started to leave, then stopped suddenly.  Before she knew what had happened he’d pivoted around, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled her to him.  His kiss was rough, almost punishing, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to curl.  Quinn’s kisses were unlike any other man’s.  Thorough, demanding, seductive.  She was shocked at her eager response and sense of powerlessness in his arms.  Her emotions had whirled and nearly skidded out of control by the time Quinn released her. 

“Have a nice life,” he said, then headed down the driveway where his motorcycle was parked. 

Bailey stood, watching him go, her mouth burning with fire.  Quinn settled a helmet on his head, kick-started the bike, and roared through the gates and off into the distance without a single look back. 

The lake waves lapped noisily at the shore line behind her, bringing with them a mist of damp air.  Wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill, she took a long deep breath and let it out slowly. 

It was over.  Quinn was gone, and she should feel relieved.  But she didn’t.  Instead, she found herself thinking about those kisses again, and wondered what it would be like to make love to him.  She couldn’t deny the spark of excitement at the prospect.  None of the men she’d been engaged to had ever made her feel like that.  When she’d thought of them it was always with a fondness for companionship, someone to spend the rest of her life with.  But with Quinn, it was different.  He made her feel wanton and shameless. 
Okay, so maybe he’d light her fire, but what would he be like as a companion, husband, and father
? she wondered, disappointed that she’d never know.

Enough about Quinn, she decided, feeling empty inside.  She’d already written off men.  Marriage and babies just weren’t for her.  How could she have forgotten that so quickly?  This was the beginning of her life in a way.  Tomorrow she’d call Gwen and see if she’d found a storefront yet.  Then she’d tell her family about the business she intended to open.   

Bailey turned around slowly and saw the blinds wiggle and then close.  With her head hung low, she made her way up the walk, and let herself into the house. 

“Let me guess,” her father said as soon as she’d shut the door.  “Stanley no longer wants to marry you.  Right?” 

“Doyle, how could you say such a thing?” her mother scolded, touching Bailey’s hand.  “Tell your father it isn’t true, dear.  Tell him you and Stanley just had a teensy little fight, and in the morning everything will be all right.”  Mimi looked Bailey in the eyes.  “Tell him, dear, so he doesn’t worry.”

She didn’t want her father to worry, or her mother either.  But she had to tell them the truth.  She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the wrong something popped out.  “We were arguing about . . .”  She paused. 
Tell them.
  “We were arguing about . . . what to name our baby.  I’m sure you’ve probably guessed by now, but I’m pregnant.”

Doyle caught his wife in his arms as she fainted.  Looking at his daughter, he said, “I want to talk to you, young lady.”

Bailey swallowed hard.  What on earth was wrong with her?  When had she become such a liar?  “Let’s get Mom upstairs.  We can talk about this in the morning.”

“You’re damn right we’re going to talk about it.  And we’re going to talk about that no-good Stanley too.”