The Mighty Quinns: Marcus, Ian & Declan: The Mighty Quinns: Marcus / The Mighty Quinns: Ian / The Mighty Quinns: Declan. Kate Hoffmann
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The forklift is busted.”
Though Marcus’s Irish accent had all but disappeared, his father’s brogue was still thick. Paddy had lived the first twenty-two years of his life in Ireland. Marcus’s mother, who’d been born in America, had adopted her accent from her own mother, Nana Callahan, the very same grandmother who had cared for the boys in Ireland.
“It’s Sunday, Da. Leave it for tomorrow.”
“It’s a holiday weekend. The store will be busy,” Paddy said. “By the way, your mam’s looking for you.”
“Is she in the store?”
“Nah, she walked over to the boathouse.”
“When?” Marcus asked, turning toward the loft.
Paddy frowned. “Might have been twenty minutes ago. She’s takin’ her sweet time about it. You’ll probably find her cleanin’ your kitchen.” He straightened and hitched his hands on his hips. “Can’t ever stop makin’ up for time lost, I fear. She needs to get her motherin’ in now while you boys’ll still have it. Give her a break, will ya?”
“I better go see what she wants,” Marcus said.
Marcus strode through the yard to the boathouse. He took the stairs two steps at a time and threw open the door to the loft. He stopped short when he saw his mother and Eden seated comfortably at the counter, both enjoying a cup of tea.
They both turned when he walked in, and Eden graced him with a delighted smile. “Hi,” she said. “Your mother stopped by.”
Emma Quinn pushed off the stool and stood, her hands clutched together in front of her. Even after her long battle with cancer she was a lovely woman, tiny and trim, her face unlined and her eyes bright. She wore her dark hair short and tucked behind her ears in a very proper way. Marcus had always remembered her smile, had seen it in his dreams when he was a boy, and it still warmed his heart. She smiled at him now.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Well, I must be going,” she said to Eden. “I’m sure you two have … things to do.” She held out her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, my dear. I hope we’ll see each other again. Perhaps you can come to the house tomorrow. We’re having a picnic to celebrate the Fourth, and I’d love it if you could join us.”
Eden took his mother’s hand, then thought better of it and wrapped her arms around Emma Quinn, giving her a fierce hug. “I’d like that,” she said.
Marcus gave them both a long look before he stepped up and took his mother’s elbow. “I’ll walk you out, Ma,” he murmured. His gaze caught Eden’s and she smiled again. What the hell was she so happy about?
He walked his mother down the stairs out to the boatyard. Emma Quinn had been silent along the way, but Marcus didn’t expect it to last. When they stepped outside, she turned and faced him. “She’s a lovely girl, Marcus.”
“She is,” he agreed.
“Though I can’t help but think that I’ve seen her before. Is she from here in town?” “No,” Marcus said.
“Hmm. Very pretty. But an odd name, that one, don’t you think?”
“She introduced herself?” Marcus asked.
“Liselotte Bunderstrassen.” Emma sighed and shook her head. “It’s not Irish, that’s for sure.”
“I think it’s German, Ma.”
His mother stared at him. “And that’s all you have to say? It’s German? You have a young lady wandering around your apartment in her knickers,” she said. “Would you care to explain?”
“Not right now, Ma,” Marcus said. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this between the two of us.”
“And who would I be telling?” she asked as if insulted by the notion.
“Oh, I don’t know. My sisters. My father. Your ladies down at St. Joe’s.”
She pushed up on her toes and gave Marcus a peck on the cheek. “I hope you’re practicing that safe sex they’re always talking about. If you’re having relations, use a condom. Not that I want to know if you’re having relations. It’s not something a mother needs to know. And considering it’s against the church, I’d rather not know so I don’t have to confess it.” She paused. “So have you been using a condom?”
“Ma, I’m not going to discuss my sex life with you.”
She patted Marcus on the shoulder. “Then you talk to your da. He knows the score on those things.”
“Tell Da I’ll be down in a minute to help him with those crates.”
His mother gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “He’ll be fine. It’s Sunday and he shouldn’t be working anyway. You go upstairs and tend to your guest and I’ll take care of your father. And I hope to see you both tomorrow.”
“We’ll see, Ma. I’ve got a lot of work to finish.” Marcus watched as she walked back through the boatyard, weaving around the timber cradles and wooden ladders. There were times when his mother still treated him like a teenager. She’d missed so much of his life and the lives of Ian and Declan that she was sometimes unable to accept they were grown men.
At least they’d managed to get beyond past hurts. When he’d returned from Ireland, his relationship with his mother had been in tatters. The anger had lasted years, and he’d kept his distance, afraid to allow her back into his life for fear that he’d lose her again. But over time Marcus had come to understand the choices she’d made.
He couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through while he and his brothers had been growing up in Ireland. His older siblings refused to speak of it, as did his father, but he’d heard from a family friend that the priest had been called for last rites five separate times.
Her illness had nearly destroyed Marcus’s family, and the specter still hung over them all. But his mother had taught them all that they must live each day and stop worrying about the future. She had an amazing outlook, considering what she’d been through, and she never wasted time feeling sorry for herself.
So why couldn’t he apply that theory to Eden? What would be, would be, and worrying over it wouldn’t change anything.
Marcus slowly climbed the stairs to the loft. Eden was waiting for him, perched on a stool, her mug of tea clutched in her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “She came in and was cleaning up in the kitchen. I thought she was the housekeeper.”
He frowned. “You thought I had a housekeeper?”
“Well, I didn’t know,” Eden replied. “Your place is pretty clean for a guy.”
Marcus crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice, then poured himself a glass. “So what did you talk about?”
“Nothing, really. You, mostly. Did she say anything about me?”
“You mean about Liselotte Bunderstrassen?”
“She asked my name. It’s the first thing that came to mind. You didn’t think I was going to admit to being Eden Ross, did you? I wanted your mother to like me.”
Marcus sat down beside Eden. “She thought you were pretty. And she reminded me that we need to practice safe sex.”
“You told her we were having sex?” Eden cried.
“You’re in my bed at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning.” He looked down and frowned. “And wearing my underwear. My mother’s not an idiot.”
“I’d never tell my father we were having sex.”
“He knows you’re not a virgin.”
Eden took a sip of her tea. “But he doesn’t know the details. He’s a very powerful man. If he wanted