Reunited. Kate Hoffmann
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Keely glanced down at the picture, the color images washed out by time. This time Fiona and Seamus were surrounded by five young boys of various ages and sizes. “Are these your children?” Keely asked.
Maeve laughed as she pulled the photo from the album. “Then you don’t recognize them? Why, these would be your brothers. Let me see if I remember correctly. The eldest was Conor. And then there was Brendan and Dylan, though I can’t remember which of those two comes first. I suppose they’re all grown and married now, with families of their own. And the twins. Now what were their names?” She turned the photo over. “I do believe your mother was pregnant.” She pointed to the swell beneath Fiona’s windblown dress. “That was probably you.”
Keely quickly pushed to her feet. This couldn’t be right. This wasn’t her family. This wasn’t her story. She didn’t have brothers. She was an only child! “I really should go,” she murmured. “I’ve already taken too much of your time.”
“But you haven’t touched your tea. Please stay and visit with me.”
“Perhaps I’ll come again tomorrow,” Keely said, desperate to find a moment to herself, a moment to think about what Maeve had told her.
“Well, here, then. Take this with you.” She handed Keely the photo, who reluctantly took it and tucked it in her purse before she hurried to the door.
“Tomorrow,” she said as she stepped outside into the soft rain that had begun to fall.
By the time she reached the car, her mind was spinning with confusion. She wanted to believe Maeve Quinn was a crazy old lady who couldn’t keep her facts straight. But every instinct told her that Maeve was in full possession of her faculties and she was the one who didn’t have the story right.
Keely numbly started the car and steered it down the road. But her head pounded and her stomach roiled. A wave of nausea overtook her and she slammed on the brakes and stumbled out of the car. Bracing her hands on the front bumper, she retched, her emotions overtaking her body. When her stomach finally settled, she took a ragged breath and pressed her palm to her forehead.
Damn it, why did this always happen to her! This was what she got for acting so impulsively. Yet she couldn’t be sorry she’d come. Ireland had revealed a past she’d never known, a past her mother had hidden from her for years. And if this wasn’t the truth, then she’d be damn sure she’d get the truth, either here or back in the States. On wobbly legs, she slipped back into the car.
Keely withdrew the photo from the pocket of her purse and stared down at it. The faces of the five boys were undeniably familiar. If they weren’t her brothers, then they were most certainly related. Minutes passed, but Keely couldn’t take her eyes off the photo. A knock on the car window startled her out of her thoughts and she turned to find a grizzled old man staring at her with a toothless smile. A tiny scream burst from her lips.
“Are ye lost?” he asked.
Keely rolled the window down a few inches. “What?”
“Are ye lost?” he repeated.
“No,” Keely said.
“Ye looked lost,” he said. He rubbed his chest then hitched his thumbs in the straps of his tattered overalls and glanced up at the sky. “It’s a soft auld day, that it is. You sure you’re not lost?”
“I’m not,” she snapped.
The old man shrugged and started down the road. But before he got more than a few yards from the car, Keely jumped out and ran after him. “Wait!” she called.
He turned and waited for Keely, his hands now shoved in the pockets of his overalls.
“Have you lived in this village for a long time?” Keely asked.
“All me life,” the old man replied. “Not long. But long enough.”
“If I wanted to find out about a family that used to live here, who would I ask?”
“Well, Maeve Quinn would be the one. She’s lived here for—”
“Besides her,” Keely said.
The old man scratched his grizzled beard, then moved on to the top of his balding head. “Ye can try the church,” he suggested. “Father Mike has tended this flock for near forty years. He’s married sweethearts and buried old folk and christened every child in the village.”
“Thank you,” Keely said. “I’ll talk to him.” She turned and started back toward the car, but once she got back inside, she was hesitant to put the car back into gear.
Did she really want to know the truth? Or would it be better to just believe that Maeve Quinn was some crazy old lady? But if Maeve did have her facts straight, it would explain a few things. How many times had she walked in on her mother, only to find her lost in her thoughts, a quiet pain suffusing her expression? And why was Fiona so reluctant to speak of the past, unless that past was one big lie? Did Keely really have five brothers? And if she had, what possible reason could there be for Fiona walking away from five fatherless boys?
Keely’s heart froze. Could her father still be alive? Was the story about his accident at sea just part of one big deception? Another surge of nausea made her dizzy. So many questions and no answers.
There was only one thing to do. First, she’d have to prove that Maeve Quinn had spoken the truth. And if she had, then Keely would catch the next flight home. She had a few questions that needed answering. And only Fiona McClain—or was it Fiona Quinn?—could answer them.
SMOKE HUNG THICK in the air at Quinn’s Pub, adding to the disreputable atmosphere already cultivated by spilt beer, loud music and raucous arguments. Rafe Kendrick sat at the end of the bar, a warm Guinness in front of him. The spot gave Rafe enough privacy for his own thoughts, yet also offered him a decent view of the patrons—and the men behind the bar.
That’s why he’d come here to South Boston, to get a good look at the Quinns. By his count, there were seven of them, six sons and the old man, Seamus Quinn. Rafe had entire dossiers on each one of them, every detail of their lives outlined by his head of security at Kencor. But Rafe Kendrick always believed that it was better to study the enemy close up, to learn their faults and their weaknesses firsthand. All the better to exploit those weaknesses later.
Fortunately, all the Quinns spent plenty of time at the pub. Over the past few months and three visits to the bar, he’d had plenty of time to observe each of them. There was Conor, the vice cop, quiet and serious, a man who took his responsibilities seriously, yet didn’t always abide by the rules. Dylan, the fireman, was easygoing and gregarious, the kind of guy who laughed at danger and everything else in life. The third brother, Brendan Quinn, made his living as an adventure writer and seemed to be the most introspective of the trio. Rafe had read two of his books and found them quite riveting. He’d been surprised at the guy’s talents.
Their professional talents were nothing compared to their talents with the ladies. An unending parade of women strolled through the front door of the pub, their sights set on attracting the attention of one of the bachelor Quinn brothers. If one of the older boys wasn’t interested, they were left with three other eligible candidates—Sean, Brian and Liam Quinn.
Like their older brothers, they were awash in feminine attention, holding court with any number of beautiful females. Rafe had found the whole thing amusing to watch, the casual flirtation, the circling and advancing, and then the final denouement when one of the brothers would walk out the door of the bar with a woman at his side. And none of the brothers were seen with the same woman two nights in a row.
But then Rafe had never considered that particular trait a weakness, since he possessed the same. Rafe had been with his share of women in his life, though they came from a world very different from Quinn’s Pub. They were cool and sophisticated, not nearly so obvious with their desires and their physical attributes. They were women who enjoyed the company of wealthy men, appreciating what money could provide, knowing how to play the game to their fullest