Read The Mighty Quinns: Ronan Online
Authors: Kate Hoffmann
The Mighty Quinns: Ronan (14 page)
Ronan took her hand and stared down at her fingers as he carefully slipped them between his. “I need to be near you. You’re like air and water to me. I can’t live unless I have you. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”
“You’re sure you want to stay in Sibleyville?”
“I want to be wherever you want to be. We can go live on an island somewhere, in a hut with fish and coconuts to eat and hours to lay around in the sun.”
“That sounds more like a honeymoon to me.”
He looked up at her, his gaze meeting hers, his eyes searching for an answer. “It could be. But we’d have to get married first.”
“We’ve never done things the usual way in my family.”
“All right, honeymoon first. We’ll figure out the wedding later.”
She drew his hands up and clutched them to her chest. “I think I could do that, Ronan.”
For the first time since he walked in, he smiled at her. And for Charlie, it was like a door had opened up and the sun had come pouring in too. “I do love you, Ronan. I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t think I can live without you either.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Charlie felt her knees go weak and her pulse begin to race. Everything that she’d ever wanted in life was here in his arms. She’d never realized that her dreams didn’t have to be a career or an interesting place to live, fame and fortune. She’d found her dreams in this man, this stranger who’d walked into her life and stolen her heart.
As long as they were together, life would be perfect. “Are you going to be staying for dinner?” she asked.
“I was hoping we could go back to the apartment and eat some oysters.”
“And?”
“I’m happy to start with the oysters,” he said. “We’ll see what happens after that.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him along through the house and toward the front door. “Abby, take care of dinner. Ronan and I are leaving.”
“What?” her sister cried.
The screen door slammed and a minute later, she and Ronan were running across the lawn toward her SUV. “You know, I’m thinking we’re going to have to fix one thing about this relationship of ours.”
“And what’s that?”
“I don’t think I want to be your boss anymore. I think maybe we ought to try business partners.”
“Will you still boss me around in bed?” Ronan asked.
She laughed. “I think you can count on that.”
Epilogue
T
HE
FOUR
Q
UINN
brothers gathered around the table in the conference room at Quinn Yachtworks. It was New Year's Eve and a celebration had been planned for later that evening at one of Seattle's best restaurants. But for now, Martin Quinn was in charge of the festivities.
He surveyed the room, studying each of his grandsons and the women they'd brought to the party. When he'd sent them off to find a new life for themselves, he'd expected some major revelations. But he'd never expected each of them to return with fiances and in one case, a wife.
Cameron had been living in Albuquerque for the past few months, the love of his life a pretty ex-cop named Sofia Reyes. He'd split the design business away from Quinn Yachtworks and was working as a consultant rather than a business partner.
Dermot had been back in Seattle since early October and Rachel Howe, his partner, had arrived shortly after, leaving her life in Wisconsin behind for a new life with Dermot. Dermot's twin, Kieran had found love with a feisty country singer and songwriter who had been playing small venues around the Seattle area as she took a new direction in her career.
And Ronan, the grandson who'd suffered the most at the loss of his parents, had found a brand new life away from Seattle and the memories that had darkened his life for so long. He'd brought Charlotte along on his trip back to see his brothers, introducing her as his wife.
Martin had always dreamed about the day he would turn the business over to his grandsons, but he'd known that forcing them to buy into his dream had been wrong. Their grief at the loss of their parents was something he'd been unprepared to deal with. So he'd done the best he could.
And now, with their happiness assured, he'd been able to undo at least some of the damage he might have caused. Martin cleared his throat and reached for his champagne flute. “I'm sure you boys would like to get on with your celebrations, so I'm going to make this very quick.”
“Cameron and Ronan. You've chosen to make a life for yourselves outside of Seattle.” Martin's executive assistant, Miriam, handed them each an envelope. “This is a down payment on each of your twenty-percent shares in Quinn Yachtworks. For the next five years, you'll receive monthly payments until Kieran and Dermot have bought out your interests.”
Miriam handed two larger envelopes to the twins. “You'll want to have lawyers look those over,” Martin suggested. “But those papers turn control of the yachtworks over to you two. I have officially cashed in my share and will be taking half of it out in merchandise.”
Cameron frowned. “Merchandise?”
“Hull number 854,” Martin said. “It's being fitted right now and as soon as it's launched, your grandfather is going to sail around the world.”
Dermot gasped and he turned to his brothers with a worried look on his face. “Alone? Hull 854 is a fourty-six footer. You can't take a boat that size out alone.”
“I have a friend I'll be taking with me.”
“Who?” Ronan asked.
“Miriam.”
This time they didn't look at each other. They just stared at him in disbelief. “Miriam? Our Miriam?”
“My Miriam,” Martin said, holding out his arm. Miriam smiled and stepped to his side.
“Miriam,” Kieran repeated.
“Yes. We've been sailing together for many years now and we thought it was time to retire and see a little bit of the world.”
“Miriam,” Ronan said. “My gosh. Congratulations. And welcome to the family.” He looked at his grandfather. “You are planning to marry her, aren't you?”
“We've discussed it,” Miriam said.
Martin nodded. “I've already made the offer and she's thinking about it.” He picked up his glass. “So, here we are. I look at you four and your lovely ladies and I think about the trip I made all those years ago. Almost fifty years now. It seems like just yesterday that I stepped off that plane carrying your father. He and your mother would be so proud to see this. So I'd like to make a toast to my favorite boys and their favorite girls. To Cam and Sofie, to Kieran and Maddie, to Dermot and Rachel, and to Ronan and Charlotte.”
Rachel held up her glass. “And to Martin and Miriam.”
“To Martin and Miriam,” they all said.
“May you always walk in sunshine. May you never want for more. May Irish angels rest their wings right beside your door.” He touched his glass to Miriam's. “Sláinte chuig na fir, agus go mairfidh na mná go deo.”
“Are you going to tell us what that means?” Dermot asked.
“Health to the men and may the women live forever.”
For the next half hour, the champagne flowed and laughter filled the conference room. Martin couldn't help but remember the dark days that they'd weathered after the disappearance of his son and daughter-in-law.
But he felt their presence here now, for the first time since they'd been lost. Gathered around the table, he saw Jamie's smile and Suzanne's sparkling eyes. He saw her thick dark hair and his strong profile. And someday soon, he'd look into the faces of his great-grandchildren and know that Jamie and Suzanne weren't really lost at all.
They lived on in the children of their children.
* * * * *
The Mighty Quinns: Marcus
Prologue
T
HE
LATE
AFTERNOON
sun
slanted through the grimy windows of the old stone stable. The stalls stood empty, their iron bars tangled with cobwebs and their old wooden doors battered and scarred. From the roof rafters, doves cooed softly, fluttering their wings and sending up motes of dust to dance in the sunlight.
Marcus Quinn huddled in the quiet shadows of the haymow, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. At his feet, a small pile of wood shavings lay scattered in the musty hay. This had become his secret spot, the place he retreated to when his world got too difficult to bear. Today was his eighth birthday and nothing had changed.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out the Swiss Army knife his father had sent him last year for his birthday. The blade was sharp, honed by his grandmother’s cook with the old whetstone she kept in the kitchen.
Marcus stared at the line of tiny figurines he’d set on a beam against the stable wall, counting them silently—birds, dogs, horses, fish, even an alligator he’d carved from a photo in a book. His very first carving, an owl, had been fashioned from a scrap of sapwood he’d found in the rubbish bin. Though it was crude and a bit uneven, Marcus liked the way its wide eyes watched him.
Over the past year his carvings had become much more detailed, aided by the old tools he’d found in a box in a dark corner of the stable. Marcus pulled the box from its hiding spot beneath a musty canvas and carefully inventoried the tools, touching each as he counted them. The handles were all worn smooth with age, but the edges were still as sharp as razors and free of rust.
Marcus reached down and ran his fingers over the initials carved into the front of the rough-hewn box. E.H.P. He’d wanted to ask his grandmother who the tools belonged to, but he was afraid she’d take them away from him, fearful that he’d hurt himself. Everyone treated him like a baby, always hovering over him, always concerned for his feelings. But Marcus was much stronger than they gave him credit for.
The stable door creaked and Marcus quickly shoved the toolbox back beneath the canvas, then shimmied against the wall. Holding his breath, he waited, praying that the shadows would hide him.
“Marcus! Jaysus, Marcus, come on. Nana is waiting in the car and she’s pissed.”
Marcus scowled. He and his two older brothers, Ian and Declan, had lived with their Grandmother Callahan for two years now, but Marcus still couldn’t bear to call this place home. It was half a world away from his mother and father and the rest of his siblings, this big fancy house in a strange land where everyone talked in a funny voice and they played cricket and soccer instead of baseball and football.
Ian cursed. “Don’t be such a baby. Just come on out. Nana said we can go to the cinema for your birthday. And then we’ll have ice cream. She says it’ll be a grand time.”
Cinema? The movies. That’s what it was called—
the movies.
Already his brothers had started talking like their mates at school, lacing everything they said with colorful curses and strange slang. Marcus shifted, sinking farther back into the dark. A strand of hay tickled at his nose and he fought against a sneeze, covering his face with his hands. The last of his tears still clung to his cheeks, and Marcus wiped his runny nose with his wrist, willing himself to remain silent.
His grandmother had ordered a wonderful birthday celebration with gifts and a cowboy cake and an afternoon outing in nearby Dublin. Though everyone had worked so hard to lift his spirits, it wasn’t enough. After two birthdays away from home, he thought maybe this time he’d get to enjoy a celebration with his family, his ma and his da and all six of his older siblings.
He remembered the day he’d turned five, waking up in the morning and going downstairs to find the kitchen table covered with presents, all wrapped in the Sunday comics. He couldn’t remember what gifts he’d received, but he remembered his mother sitting at the end of the table and watching him with tear-filled eyes.
She’d cried a lot that month and Marcus hadn’t understood why. And then, one terrible night, his father had gathered them all around the kitchen table to tell them that their mother was very ill. Marcus remembered his confusion over the word:
cancer.
He’d never heard it before, but it was his father’s somber expression and watery eyes that told him how serious it was.
Marcus wondered if she were crying now. There would be a phone call later that day from Da and Ma, as there had been for his sixth and seventh birthdays, and Marcus felt a sick knot growing in his stomach. It was always difficult to talk to his mother, to ignore the tears in her voice and pretend everything was all right, to lie to her and insist that he was happy living in Ireland.
Everything wasn’t all right! His ma was sick—so sick, she could no longer care for her three youngest sons. So sick, his father had to go back to fishing with his uncle Seamus to make enough to pay the hospital bills. So sick that he and Ian and Declan had been sent away to Ireland so they wouldn’t have to watch their mother die.
A fresh round of tears threatened and Marcus swallowed them back. She couldn’t die, she wouldn’t, if they’d only let him go home and take care of her. Marcus had always been able to make her laugh. He’d been her sweet baby, her silly clown, her wee boy. If anyone could make her well, he could.
“Come on, Marky!” Ian shouted. “We know you’re in here. Nana’s gonna take us to see
Top Gun
. It’s supposed to be really neat, with jets and bombs and stuff.”
“Maybe he’s not here,” Dec muttered. “We didn’t search the attics. The little sissy could be hiding there.”
“I’m not a sissy!” Marcus shouted. As soon as the words slipped out, he knew he’d made a foolish mistake.
“See?” Ian said. “I told you.”
Marcus scrambled to the edge of the mow and peered down at his brothers. “I don’t wanna go to the movies,” he said defiantly. “You can go without me.”
“It’s
your
birthday,” Ian said. “If you don’t go, then Nana won’t let us go. Grady is waiting to drive us.”
“Maybe we can talk him into taking us to
Aliens
,” Dec said excitedly. “Davey says it’s really cool. There’s this monster that comes out of this guy’s chest and it’s all gooey with big fangs and—”
Ian gave Dec a shove. “Yeah, right. Can you see Grady sittin’ through that? He’d piss his pants.” Ian looked up at Marcus. “What’s the problem? Why are you actin’ like a baby?”
“I’m not a baby. I just wanna go home. It’s my birthday and I wanna see Ma and Da.”
“We can’t go home,” Ian explained. “Not until Da says it’s okay.”
Ian always acted as if he knew everything, Marcus mused. He was only eleven, but he acted like the boss. And Dec wasn’t any better even though he was just a couple years older than Marcus. They were always bullying him around. “You act like you don’t even miss them,” Marcus murmured, a hot tear trailing down his cheek.
Ian’s expression softened. “I do. I miss them a lot. I miss Ma’s cooking and I miss Da’s singing.”
“I miss ’em, too,” Dec admitted. “I miss the way Ma would read to us before she tucked us into bed. Haven’t slept right since we came here.”
Ian crawled up the ladder to the top of the mow and plopped down next to Marcus. A few seconds later, Dec joined them. They sat on the wide plank floor, their legs dangling over the edge.
“It’s pretty cool up here,” Dec commented.
“Nice animals,” Ian added, pointing to the menagerie lined up against the wall. “Is that what you do up here? Carve those little animals?”
Marcus nodded. Though he’d always considered this spot his private retreat, it was nice to have his brothers paying attention to him for once. They usually didn’t want anything to do with him. “I miss her smile,” Marcus murmured.
Dec and Ian nodded, and they all sat silently, staring down into the barn. “I know a secret,” Marcus ventured.
Dec turned to look at him. “You do not.”
“I do, I do,” Marcus insisted. “I found a treasure map.”
“You’re full of shite!” Ian declared. “Where?”
Marcus hesitated. He’d hoped to find the treasure himself. He’d been studying the map for months and couldn’t figure it out, so he’d already resigned himself to asking for help. Between the three of them, they could figure it out.
“If we find the treasure, we split it three ways,” Marcus said. He spit on his palm and held it out. “Swear.”
Dec quickly shook his brother’s hand. “I swear on my mother’s—” He stopped suddenly. “I swear,” he murmured.
Ian wasn’t so quick to join in the deal. Finally he shrugged and added his promise. With that, Marcus scrambled to his feet and crossed the plank floor to the far wall. Ian and Declan followed him and waited as he brushed aside a small pile of hay.
“Here,” Marcus said, pointing to a cubbyhole in the stone wall. Tucked inside was a yellowed piece of paper, rolled tightly and secured with a leather string. From the string dangled a small gold medallion with an odd inscription embossed into it.
“What’s that?” Dec asked.
Marcus held up the medallion. “It’s very old. I think it’s a charm, like for luck. Or maybe it’s magic.” He unwound the medallion from the paper and showed it to his brothers, then smoothed the map out on the floor so they could all read it.
The two older boys bent down to study the pencil drawing. Dec reached out and touched a mark on the map. “X marks the spot,” he said, his voice filled with disbelief. “Do you think it’s pirates?”
“Could be,” Ian said.
“Maybe there’s gold,” Marcus said, “or jewels. Enough so we could buy plane tickets to go back home.”
Ian studied the medallion. “Maybe this is a clue, too. It’s in some kind of different language.”
“Maybe it’s Irish,” Dec suggested.
Ian gave him a shove. “Jaysus, Dec, you are a smart lad.”
“We need to keep this a secret,” Dec said. “We can’t tell anyone, not even Nana.” Dec wrapped the medallion around the paper and tucked it back into its hiding spot. “We’ll come back later to study it.”
They all crawled down from the haymow. Ian slipped his arm around Marcus’s shoulders as they walked to the door. Marcus leaned into him, desperate for any reassurance that he still had a family.
“You’re a clever lad, Marky,” Ian said.
Marcus smiled. “If I were to ask Nana real nice, I bet she’d take us to see
Aliens
.”
Ian chuckled, and Dec reached out to ruffle Marcus’s hair. “Now there’s an idea,” Ian said. “Pretty damn smart for a seven-year-old.”
“Eight,” Marcus corrected.
“Yeah, right,” Ian replied. “I guess you’re a big guy now. Just like us.”
A wide grin broke across Marcus’s face. They were brothers and no matter what happened along the way, that would never change. Maybe now that he was eight, they would forget that he was the baby of the family. “I’m smart enough to know a treasure map when I see one,” he said.
“That you are, Marky,” his brothers said. “That you are.”