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

depths of his mourning, the intensity of
his pain.
    Unshed tears burned in her eyes and she
resisted an urge to rub them with her dishwater hands.   Instead, she grabbed a heavy pot and scrubbed
at it with force.
    “Do ye want roses, mo ghra?” Quinn’s voice whispered in her ear.   He’d entered the kitchen without her noticing
and heard the last sentence. “I’ll buy ye all ye want.”
    He spoke with quiet affection, enough to
banish her tears. “Lunch will do for now,” Deidre said without turning around.  
    He wrapped his arms around her and
kissed the back of her neck.   Deirdre
dried her hands and turned into his arms as he asked, “What would ye like?”
    “Irish stew with boxty,” she said
without hesitation.   She hadn’t had
either in a very long time.
    “Uncle Des, can ye dish up both for us?”
    “Aye, I can if ye’ll give me a minute.
I’ll be all the more hammered when ye take my new kitchen girl away to eat.   Deirdre’s said she’ll be happy to help in the
kitchen each day as needed.”
    Quinn’s blue eyes met hers, warm and
bright. “Did ye?”
    She nodded. “Yes, I did.”
    “Good.   I thought ye might want to go back to doing the news, but I’d like
having you here better.”
    He took a loaded tray from his uncle and
led Deirdre into the rear dining room.   En route, several customers called out greetings and Quinn returned
them.   As they settled into the same
table as the night before, Deirdre glanced around.   No one else shared the space.   It used
to be busier than this.   I’m sure of
it.   I wonder if business is down.   She resolved to ask him later, but they had
other things to discuss for the time being.
    Without asking, he took her hands in his
and asked the blessing, then they ate.   The stew tasted delicious, the vegetables
tender, the meat lean and filled with flavor.   Deirdre enjoyed the boxty, the Irish version of potatoes cakes, most of
all.   Des brought out a pot of tea with
two cups.
    “I thought ye might like some tea,” he
said, pronouncing it ‘tay’ rather than the American ‘tee’.
    “Thank you,” Deirdre said. He flashed a
brief smile, then vanished back into the kitchens.   Although she and Quinn held a conversation as
they’d eaten, it’d been small talk about the food and pub.   Although the rear dining room had been empty
when they entered, a few tables were filled as they ate.   The server checked twice to see if Quinn or
Deirdre needed anything more.   Riley, the
bartender, appeared at the table to ask for Quinn’s signature on a liquor
delivery.   Deirdre now understood why
he’d suggested they go somewhere to talk because in the pub, the interruptions
were continual. He hadn’t said when, however, and she wondered if they would
today. He appeared to have recovered from the worst of his hangover, but Quinn
also seemed busy and in demand.   I’d like to get it over with and behind us.
    “What now?” she asked after they
finished the tea.   Once, she wouldn’t
have had to ask—she would’ve known. “Can we get away for while to talk?”
    The moment his lips twisted into a
quirky frown, Deirdre knew they couldn’t.   “I’ve a great deal to do today,” he said. “I’ve got two distributors
coming and a salesman, then a band who wants me to book them for Saturday
nights.   I won’t be done until late, acushla.   Tomorrow, though, I’m planning for us to take the whole day.”
    She heaved a sigh, disappointed. “All
right, we’ll go tomorrow.”
    Quinn reached over and grasped her
hand.   “I thought ye might need a day to
adjust,” he said. “I’ve no notion where you’ve been, love, but it must be
strange coming back after so long away.   Ye say ye plan to stay —”
    “I am staying.”
    “I’m glad of it, but if there are any
loose ends to tie up from wherever ye’ve been, maybe this afternoon would be a
good time to do it.”
    He thought of the things she
didn’t.   Deirdre’s