Quinn's Deirdre by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy Read Free Book Online

couldn’t leave.”
    Deirdre’s heart clenched.   Of the many scenarios she’d envisioned while
living in Arkansas, Quinn returning to Ireland for good hadn’t been one of
them.   “I never thought he’d want to leave
Kansas City and the pub anyway.”
    The pungent smell of cut onions filled the
kitchen and rankled her nose as Desmond chopped them
into bits with more force than necessary.   He exhaled a long-suffering, rather Irish sigh. “He might at that.   There’s times the lad is homesick for
Ireland.   ‘Twas different when he had ye and the pub, but the pub alone is scarcely enough to fill
his heart.   If he didn’t have the pub
with so many Irish ex-pats who come in and the many Yanks who love all things
Irish, I doubt he’d stand here at all.   But now ye’re back, so maybe it will change and he’ll be more content.” His
tone sounded skeptical.
    “I hope so.” More than anything, she
wanted Quinn to be happy and safe.
    “We’ll see, I suppose.   I’m sure our Eileen will have a deal to say
when she learns you’re alive.”
    “Won’t she be happy, at least for Quinn?”
    “Maybe, but she’ll be mad first, I’m
thinkin’.   She’s the temper ye’d expect
from a red-headed Irishwoman.”
    Eileen Sullivan, now Mrs. O’Brien,
possessed the brilliant auburn hair and her brother’s blue eyes.   She also owned the temper of an irate banshee
or total bitch.   Deirdre had been on the
receiving end of her tongue more than once, and there’d been little love lost
between the two.  
    “I remember.”
    A clatter at the rear door opening into
the alley distracted Desmond.   Deirdre
recognized April from the night before.   Dressed
in the pub’s quasi uniform of black trousers and white blouse, April rushed
through the kitchen with apologies.   “Go
relieve Quinn,” Des called as she passed. “He’s needed elsewhere.”
    “I know and I’m sorry I’m late,” April
said as she halted. “My babysitter wasn’t available, and it took me awhile to
find one.”
    “Tell it to him, not me,” Des said.
“Deirdre, dear, won’t you hand me a stack of clean plates? I’ve orders coming
in to plate and send out to the paying customers.”
    April’s expression shifted from
apologetic to astonishment. “You’re Quinn’s Deirdre?”
    “I am.”
    “Oh, my god, I should’ve recognized you
last night,” April said, babbling. “I should’ve known you from the picture in
the pub.” Her smile became a frown. “I thought you were dead.”
    “So did everyone else,” Des barked. “Go
on now, Quinn’s waitin’.   Ye can gape at
Lazarus here some other time, but keep yer bloody mouth closed.   Don’t be tellin’ the tale to anyone.”
    “Oh, right.   Pleased to meet you, I guess,” April said and
vanished through the swinging door.
    Coming back from beyond was proving to
be more difficult than Deirdre had imagined.   The questions, the explanations, and the stares were almost too
much.   “What’s she mean, my picture in
the pub?”
    Des rolled his eyes upward. “Quinn has a
picture of the two of youse framed and hanging in the first dining room.   Sometimes he leaves a rose below it or
did.   A few times, he’s pointed ye out to
someone as his lost love.   I don’t
suppose he ‘twill now.”
    “He left roses?” His sweet gesture
stabbed her heart and wrecked her conscience.   I should have told him something
before I left or called him or written a letter, not abandoned him to his
grief.
    “Aye, roses,” Des said with a downturned
frown. “Why fuss about a single flower once in a while when he carted them to
yer grave by the dozens to put in the vase there?   Red ones, pink ones, white ones, even those
ones ye like so well, the white ones with the pink tips?”
    “They’re fire and ice roses.” Her
favorites, the name described her emotions.   She burned with fire for Quinn, a love and passion combined, but ice
coated her heart when she realized the