Bailey's Irish Dream (7 page)

Dear God,
Bailey thought. 
What had she done now? 
“This isn’t Stanley’s fault, Dad.”

“No?  Then who’s fault is it?  Don’t tell me.  I already know.”  He started up the stairs.

What had he meant by that? she wondered.

* * * * * * * * * *

Bailey had tossed and turned most of the night, thinking about the turmoil she’d created and how she could get out of it.  Maybe if she told her parents she was a compulsive liar and couldn’t help herself, they’d forgive her.  Or maybe she should tell them she was mentally ill.  That might work.  She should probably be locked up somewhere for a good long time. 

Finally, just before the sun rose, Bailey drifted off to sleep.  It was close to eleven when she woke.  “Omigod!” she screamed, charging out of bed.  She couldn’t believe she’d slept so late.  Some hostess she was.  Grabbing a white terry robe from the back of her door, she flew down the hall and made her way to the kitchen. 

Kaitlyn and her mother sat at the kitchen table, talking quietly. 

“I’m so sorry I overslept,” Bailey said, reaching for the coffee pot.  “Where is everyone?”

It was Kaitlyn who answered.  “Mark took the kids down to the beach.  And I’m not sure where Dad went.  He was gone when I got up at eight.”

“How are you feeling, Mom?” Bailey asked, although Mimi looked perfectly fine with her hair pulled back neatly in a French twist, as usual.  She’d dressed in a floral linen shift complete with stockings and pumps.  She had an ethereal beauty that never ceased to amaze Bailey. 

“I’m fine, dear.” 

“Can I make you some breakfast?” 

Mimi looked up at Bailey and smiled.  “No, thanks.  Besides, you don’t cook.”    Bailey had meant cereal, or toast.  Something easy that she couldn’t ruin.  “Kaitlyn and I toasted a couple bagels.  How are
you
feeling this morning?”

“Fine,” she said, reaching for a mug.

“Did you know you shouldn’t be drinking caffeine in your condition?” 

Kaitlyn’s head flew up just as Bailey turned around.  “What condition?”  Her eyes darted to Bailey’s stomach.  “Oh! 
That
condition,” she said with a wink and a smile, obviously playing along.

Bailey looked helplessly at her sister, silently asking for her help.  She didn’t know how to get out of the hole she’d dug for herself.  

“I knew you two were telling secrets last night,” Mimi said, frowning.  “I put two and two together on my own.  You could have told me, Bailey.”

Bailey put the mug back in the cupboard.  She’d have to do without her caffeine fix this morning.  Maybe she could sneak a cup once her mother wasn’t around. 

“Katie, why don’t you come with me while I get dressed, and we can talk.”  Bailey nodded her head toward her mother, trying to signal Kaitlyn again, but her sister didn’t seem to notice.

“More secrets?” Mimi said, looking hurt, her eyes darting between her two daughters. 

“No.  I don’t have any secrets from you, Mom,” Bailey lied.

“Everyone keeps secrets from me.  Including your father.  He said he was going for a drive this morning, but I know what he was up to.  He went to see if he could find Stanley.”

Bailey’s mouth dropped open.  “He
what
?”

Mimi shook her head.  “He sat up half the night watching the house next door.  He was waiting for him to come home, but Stanley never showed.”

“Omigod!”

“You can lie all you want, but I know you and Stanley weren’t arguing about baby names last night when you were standing in the driveway.  I know it was something more serious than that.  A mother knows these things.  She senses when something’s wrong with her children.  Is Stanley unhappy that you’re going to have his child?”

Bailey lifted her eyes toward the ceiling.
  Calm down
, she told herself.  There was no way her father would be able to find Stanley, or Quinn rather.  Just play it cool.  “No, Mom.  I mean, never mind.  It’s just so complicated.” 

“You just wait until your baby is born,” Mimi went on, shaking her finger at Bailey.  “Then you’ll know how it feels to be shut out.”

“Mom,” Bailey said, pulling a chair out and sitting down.  “I’m not trying to shut you out.  In fact, I have a confession.”  She glanced at Kaitlyn and cleared her throat.  “I’m not pregnant.  And I’m not getting married.  Stanley dumped me.”  There, she’d said it. 

Kaitlyn stared at her wide-eyed, then grimaced.

Mimi looked at her for a moment, then shook her head sadly.  “Bailey, you’ve always had a problem telling the truth.” 

She had?
  So, maybe it was something she’d been born with.

“I want you to promise me you’re going to stop telling lies.”

“Okay.  I promise.  No more lies.”  She felt better already, and her mother hadn’t even fainted when she’d told her the truth. 

“Next I want you to promise me that you’re going to start taking better care of yourself.”  Bailey stared at her mother, not quite sure what she’d meant by that.  “Pregnancy is a very serious thing.  You need to eat right.  And drink plenty of milk.  Have you seen a doctor yet?”

Bailey’s mouth dropped open.  “But, Mom, I already told you.  I’m
not
pregnant.”

Mimi looked at her for a long time without speaking.  There was a pensive shimmer in the shadow of her green eyes.  Finally, she reached out and took Bailey’s hand.  “You’re in denial.  Maybe you should talk to a psychiatrist.”

A psychiatrist?   Maybe I should
, Bailey thought, feeling desperate.  She had no idea which she needed more at the moment; a psychiatrist, or a cup of coffee. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.  I’ve been seeing one myself.”

Bailey and Kaitlyn exchanged a look.  Kaitlyn mouthed, “A shrink?”

“You want a refill?” Quinn asked Pete, knowing it was a stupid question.  Of course Pete would want a refill.  He grabbed the empty beer mug from the bar. 

“Do bears shit in the woods?” Pete asked, laughing at his own
words. 

Quinn filled Pete’s mug and set it in front of him.  “You ready to order?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.  I want one of them double bacon cheeseburgers with the works, an order of fries, and an order of onion rings.”

Quinn nodded, scribbling Pete’s order on the pad.

“Oh, yeah.  And a bowl of clam chowder.” 

Quinn added it to the list.  It was a wonder Pete didn’t have a heart attack the way he ate.  He was about to take the order to the kitchen when he saw Doyle Maguire walk in.  Shit!  “Hey, Pete.  Do me a favor.  There’s a guy looking for me.” 

Pete looked around the bar.  “What guy?”

“Never mind.  Just tell him you haven’t seen me.  He’ll probably call me Davenport.  Stanley Davenport.”

“Stanley Davenport?
  Isn’t that the guy who dumped Bailey?” 

“Yeah.  Just tell him you haven’t seen me.”

Pete’s mouth fell open.  “You’re not pretending to be Bailey’s fiancé, are you?  I thought you said you’d never do anything that stupid.”

Quinn sighed in frustration.  “Just help me out here.  Free beer for a month,” he added.

“You got it.”  Pete gave him a thumbs-up as Quinn scooted toward the kitchen. 

From the window of the swinging door, Quinn saw Pete talking to Doyle Maguire.  Pete laughed at something Doyle said.  Then Doyle took out his wallet and pressed a wad of bills into Pete’s hand and came around the bar.  Shit!  He’d been sold out.  Some friend Pete was. 

Well, he could hide behind the door like a scared little rabbit, or he could act like a man.  He decided to act like a man and pushed the door open.  “Hey, old man.  What brings you here?”

Doyle answered with a fist in Quinn’s face.

When Quinn recovered from the blow he opened his eyes and saw two Petes and two Doyles standing over him.  There was also a room full of customers--curious looks on their faces--milling around the bar, probably waiting to see what would happen next. 

“Hey, Quinn,” Pete said.  “I mean Stanley.  He didn’t ask for you by name.”  The two Petes nodded toward the two Doyles.  “He said he was looking for the owner of the Ducati parked outside.  He gave me fifty bucks!”  Pete grinned, as if he’d done a good deed.

Quinn moaned but didn’t say anything as he got to his feet, his hand covering his throbbing cheek and eye.

Sean Rafferty came around the corner, looking as if he were ready to throw a punch himself.  At who, Quinn wasn’t sure.  Fist drawn, he said, “You want me to call the police?”

“No,” Quinn said, then nodded at Doyle.  “This is just an old friend who stopped by to say hello.”

“Do I still get that free beer?” Pete asked. 

Quinn scowled at him before turning in Doyle’s direction.  “I take it you’re not here for lunch.” 

“You’re a smart one, all right.”

Nodding at Doyle to follow, Quinn headed for his office.  “We can talk in here.”  Once they’d entered the small room, Quinn closed the door and dropped into the chair behind the desk.

“First, I want to know who the hell you are!” Doyle demanded, hands bunched into fists at his sides.  

Quinn stared up at the man with his good eye.  Doyle’s face was a glowering mask of rage.  “Didn’t Bailey tell you?  I’m her loving fiancé,” he said, his voice full of sarcasm.  His right eye hurt to beat the band.  It felt as if the guy had hit him with a set of brass knuckles, which Quinn wouldn’t put past him.

“Just drop the act.  I know you’re not Stanley.  Stanley Davenport is a spineless, skinny worm, with blond hair and blue eyes.”

Great.  “I thought you and your wife had never met the man.” 

“Mimi’s never met him.  But I have.  I made it a point to catch him while he was on tour in Belfast a few weeks ago.  Mimi was visiting her sister in Florida at the time.”

“Uh, huh.  So you knew last night I wasn’t Davenport, and yet you let me make a fool of myself anyway.”

“And you did a good job.”  Doyle saluted him.  “I just want to know why you’d go to all that trouble.”

“I think you should ask your daughter.”

Doyle kept his eyes trained on Quinn as he paced the room.  “I’m asking
you
.”

Sighing, Quinn looked out from beneath his hand, testing his right eye.  He still saw double.

Doyle stopped in front of the desk and scowled at Quinn.  “She offered you money, didn’t she?”

The way he’d said it made Quinn feel like the lowest of scumbags, so he chose not to answer.

“I knew it!  She didn’t want her mother and me to know that Stanley had called off the wedding.  Right?  I kept waiting for her to call and tell us.  I should have known she’d try to spare our feelings somehow, but I never thought she’d go this far.”

Quinn knitted his brows together.  “How did you know Davenport had called off the wedding?” he asked, even as the pieces of the puzzle started to fit together.  Then the truth hit him full force.  “You paid him off, didn’t you?”

Doyle looked away guiltily. 

“You paid Davenport not to marry your daughter?” Quinn asked, watching the man in utter disbelief.  “What kind of man would do something like that?”

“A man who cares about his daughter’s happiness.  Those guys weren’t right for Bailey.”

“You bought off the others too!”
  Quinn shook his head.  “You’re incredible.”

“Don’t look at me like I’m despicable after what
you
did.  You’re certainly no saint.”

“What are you talking about?  I told Bailey last night I didn’t want her money.  In fact,” he said, opening his desk drawer and finding the check Bailey had given him, “here’s the down payment she gave me.”  Quinn tore the ten-thousand-dollar check in small pieces and tossed them in the trash can beside his desk.

“How much did she offer you?” Doyle asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“It was supposed to be a loan.”

“How much?” he persisted.

Quinn’s voice dropped to a low volume.  “One hundred thousand,” he said, feeling ashamed of himself.

“One hundred thousand!”  Doyle dropped his hands to his sides, clenched his fists and started pacing again.  “Now, that makes me wonder what you’re up to.  No man in his right mind is going to give up that kind of money.”

“I’m not up to anything, and I don’t want her money.  I’ll find another way to get the money I need.”

“Yeah, and I believe in Santa Claus too.”  Quinn didn’t bother to argue with the man.  “Just tell me one thing, whatever the hell your name is.  Were you lying about that girl Bambi and those four kids you got running around?”

“What do you think?”  How could anyone actually believe he’d married a sixteen-year-old girl?  Or that he’d had four kids and had conveniently forgotten about them.  Jesus.  The thought made him sick inside.  When he’d lied about those things last night, he’d felt sick too.  But that hadn’t stopped him from trying to make the Maguires believe his lies.

“I think you were pulling my leg.  But right now all I care about is Bailey.  And the baby.”

“There is no baby,” he said with fearful clarity.  “According to Bailey, Mrs. Maguire imagined it.  And besides, Bailey already told her mother it wasn’t true.”  Or had she? he wondered.

“Don’t play stupid with me, mister.  I know that’s what you two were arguing about last night in the drive.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  But he was afraid he was going to find out. 

“Bailey’s definitely pregnant.  And you’re the father.  Now I want to know what you intend to do about that.”

The news hit him in the gut as if he’d been shot with a cannonball.  “Bailey’s pregnant?”  He’d barely been able to say the words aloud.  Quinn shook his head in denial.  “You’re sure?  Did she tell you that?”

“Yeah, she told me.  She told me and her mother right after you left last night.” 

Quinn held his hand out in front of him and stood.  “Look, whatever she told you, I’m not the father.  I’ve never even touched her.”  Well, he’d touched her, but not like
that
.

“I saw the way you kissed her last night.”

“All right, so I kissed her, but that was all.”

“Like I’m going to believe a liar like you.”

“Maybe Bailey’s the one who’s lying.”  Quinn rested his hands on the desk top.  “Maybe she’s not pregnant at all.”

“Bailey wouldn’t lie to us about something like that.”

“Why not?  She told you I was her fiancé, didn’t she?” 

“That was different.  That was probably to protect our feelings, or maybe because she was embarrassed,” he said, defending his daughter.  “But Bailey wouldn’t lie about something as serious as being pregnant.”

Quinn rolled his eyes.  What he knew of Bailey so far, he certainly wouldn’t put it past her.  She’d said she hadn’t slept with Davenport, and he’d believed her at the time.  Now, he wondered. 

Maybe she
was
pregnant. 

And maybe Davenport was the father. 

Maybe she’d lied to Quinn.  “Look, I’m not going to stand here and argue with you.  I’m telling you I never touched her.  You’re just going to have to believe me.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my life.”

“You can’t walk out of my daughter’s life, just like that,” he said with a snap of his finger.  “What am I supposed to tell Mimi?”

“What?”  Quinn stared at the man.  “I don’t care what you tell her.  Tell her I died.  If I never see another Maguire again, it will be too soon for me.”  The throbbing pain in his cheek and eye served as a reminder. 

He’d no sooner finished speaking when there was a knock on the door and Sean Rafferty stuck his head inside.  “Excuse me, Quinn, but there’s a lady here to see you.  Says her name is Bailey Maguire.”

Doyle’s face turned a darker shade of red.  “Don’t let her know I’m here,” he said in a panic.  

Quinn turned to Sean.  “Give me five minutes and then you can send her in.”

Sean’s eyes shifted between the two men.  “Sure,” he said and closed the door behind him. 

“Is there a back way out of here?” Doyle asked, jerking his head around the room. 

“Yeah,” Quinn said and pointed to a door.  “Through there.”

Doyle started to bolt, then stopped short and spun around.  “Quinn, huh?” 

Quinn nodded in response. 

“So, this place belongs to you, does it?”

“Yes.”

“Look, I don’t want Bailey to know what I’ve done.  Hell, she’d probably never forgive me.  And Mimi would skin me alive if she knew.” 

“You should have thought about that,” Quinn said silently.

“I’ll make it worth your while not to say anything.”

“I don’t want your money, Maguire.  I just want to be left alone.”

“Deal,” he said, running for the door.  “We’ll talk later.”

Quinn didn’t want to talk later, but Doyle had closed the door before he got a chance to say anything.  Shaking his head in dismay, he wondered what the hell Bailey wanted with him now?  Walking to the office door, he yanked it open and found her waiting on the other side.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Omigod!” Bailey gasped, pushing her way into the office and shutting the door.  “What happened?”

You and your crazy mixed up family is what happened
, he wanted to say, but didn’t.  “An unhappy customer.”

“Oh, how awful!”  She laid a hand on his arm and looked at him with sympathetic eyes.  “You need to be more careful.  There are a lot of psychos out there.”

Yeah, and I’m looking at one right now.
  “What do you want, Bailey?  We said our good-byes last night.”

“I came to apologize,” she said, licking her lips and wringing her hands together, two habits he’d noticed she did when she was nervous. 

“For what?  Trying to ruin my life?”  Unable to stop them, his eyes drifted on their own accord to her flat stomach.  No sign of pregnancy yet.  If she even were pregnant.   

She blinked her eyes several times, looking innocently at him.  He hadn’t meant to sound quite so irritated, but damnit, his face felt like a whole had been shot through it.  “I accept your apology, okay?  Now I need to put some ice on my eye.” 

Quinn opened the door to the office and signaled to Sean.  “Sean, I’ll be upstairs.  Can you handle the bar for awhile without me?”  When Sean said he could, Quinn turned to look at Bailey.  “Well, I guess that’s it, then.  You’ve apologized.”

She looked around his office, ignoring the hint that he wanted her to leave.  Sighing loudly he closed the door.  Obviously something was on her mind, and he doubted she’d leave until she shared it with him. 

Bailey smiled and said, “Why don’t we go upstairs together.  I’ll put some ice on your eye, and then we can talk.”