The Mighty Quinns: Rourke (8 page)

“It’s—it’s really difficult for me to trust people.”

“I know that,” he said.

“And because I couldn’t trust people when I was younger, because I shut everyone out, I never really learned to read the signs.”

“What signs?”

“When someone is lying to me or when his or her motives might not be good.” Annie drew a ragged breath. Now that she’d started, she didn’t want to stop. Why not tell him everything? “When I was in high school, a boy invited me to the winter formal. He was kind of a quiet boy, not very popular at school. But he seemed nice and I really wanted to wear a long dress and have someone buy me a wrist corsage. I wanted a boy to kiss me and to treat me like I wasn’t the strange girl in school.”

He stared at her for a long time, his anger fading to be replaced by regret. “I’m not going to want to hear this, am I?”

“My grandmother didn’t have money to buy me a new dress, but we found a beautiful party dress that my mother had once worn. It had a velveteen bodice and a skirt made of tulle and it was the prettiest shade of green.”

“It went with your eyes,” he murmured.

Annie nodded, smiling. “It did. And I felt beautiful for the first time in my life. And then one of the girls at school told me that the bullies had paid this boy to ask me and that he was just not going to show up the night of the dance. He was going to leave me waiting.”

This time Rourke cursed out loud. “Who was this kid? Does he still live on the island? Because I’m thinking I might have to beat the shit out of him.”

“That’s not the point,” she said.

“It damn well is. Was it Decker who set this all up? Was he the ringleader?”

“The point is that I should have been able to read the signs. I should have suspected that something was up. But I didn’t have the...intuition. I wasn’t a very perceptive girl. And I really wanted to believe that my prince had come.”

“So now you just mistrust everyone you meet?”

She shrugged, forcing a smile. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“And you think that my wanting to insulate your attic is some kind of trick?”

When he said it that way, Annie realized how ridiculous it sounded. “No, of course not. But I don’t always think things out before I react. When something confuses me, I just throw the walls up and wait for the bombs to start dropping.”

“And do they?”

Annie thought about his question for a long moment, then shook her head. “Not since that day.”

“You can trust me,” Rourke said. He crossed the room and sat down on the hearth, then reached out and took her hands. Pressing her fingers to his lips, he stared into her eyes. “I would never, ever do anything to hurt you, Annie. If you believe one thing in this life, believe in that.”

“You might not even know you’re doing it.” Her voice caught in her throat, betraying the emotion behind her words.

“And that’s why you need to talk to me and tell me how you feel. As much as I’d like to, I can’t read your thoughts.”

Maybe it was time, Annie thought to herself. Sooner or later, she’d have to take a risk in life. And she felt safe with Rourke. She believed that he did care about her. And even if she got hurt in the end, at least she would have tried. She couldn’t live inside a protective shell for the next fifty years. If she did, she’d always be alone.

“All right,” she said. “You can insulate my attic.”

He slipped his hand around the back of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair, then pulled her into a kiss. Annie felt her resistance crumble and she pulled him back onto the bed with her.

“I should finish the roof,” he murmured, smoothing the hair out of her eyes.

“That can wait,” she said. She ran her fingertips over his lower lip, then kissed him.

The kiss dissolved into a frantic seduction and it wasn’t long before she’d rid him of his clothes. And when he pulled her legs tight around his hips and sank deep inside of her, Annie knew that she was lost. Even if she wanted to fight this, to resist his charms, she couldn’t. He owned her, body and soul, and there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

R
OURKE
SNIFFED
AT
his hands. No matter how hard he’d scrubbed them, in the kitchen sink and in the shower in the lighthouse, the smell of fish still lingered.

Lady Gray had returned that afternoon, waiting patiently at the bottom of the porch steps for Annie to appear. The sun had come out for a short time and he and Annie had enjoyed the turn in the weather as they’d fed the seal.

He stood, his hands braced on the porch railing, his gaze fixed on the sea. She had a beautiful piece of property. The views of the small cove and the North Atlantic were stunning and the picturesque old lighthouse only added to the landscape.

If he had any money, he’d build a beautiful house right on the spot. He’d design it himself and he’d make it a green house, using all the most environmentally advanced products. He closed his eyes and tried to picture it. The layout of the rooms was vague and the facade was unfocused, but there was one thing he could see clearly. Annie.

He’d never really thought about what it might feel like to find that one right girl. He’d always known it was a possibility, that he’d see her on the street or stand next to her in line at a coffee shop. They’d fall in love and get married and that would be it.

But the last place he thought he’d find her was here, on Cape Breton, living in a simple cottage with a border collie and the occasional gray seal. Was Annie the one he was supposed to be waiting for?

The cottage door squeaked and he turned to see Annie standing on the threshold, dressed in the deep green party frock she’d described earlier. She looked so beautiful, she took his breath away.

“It still fits,” she said.

“Wow.”

“Wow good? Or wow, is that a mistake?”

“Wow good,” Rourke said.

“I know it’s too fancy for pizza, but I really don’t care. This might be the only chance I get to wear it.”

“Only if every single guy on the island is blind. Once they see you in that dress, they’re going to be lining up at your door.”

“That’s very kind of you to say. You’re a very charming, and credible, liar.”

He held out his hand to her and when she took it, Rourke tucked it into the crook of his arm. “I’m not lying. Trust me on this.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “I think I will.”

When they reached his truck, Rourke opened her door for her and helped her inside, tucking in the tulle skirt before shutting the door. When he slipped behind the wheel, he noticed that she had her hands clutched in her lap.

Rourke took her fingers in his and gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s just pizza,” he said. “You look like I’m driving you to the dentist.”

“I’m overdressed.”

“Yes, you are. And I love it. I think you look beautiful and I’m the only one who matters.”

“You’re quite full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am. But I’m sure you’ll put me in my place if I get out of hand.”

Rourke steered the SUV out onto the main road and turned toward Port Hawkesbury. The town sat on the Strait of Canso, a narrow strip of water that separated Cape Breton Island from the rest of Nova Scotia and the Canadian mainland. On his trips to the island as a kid, the strait was always the marker that told him he was almost to his destination.

He tried to keep the conversation light as they made the thirty-minute drive. After a time, Annie seemed to relax and soon she was smiling and laughing. But when they reached the outskirts of Port Hawkesbury, Rourke decided to change their plans. This was far too important an occasion to leave it to some ordinary pizza parlor.

“I don’t think I’m in the mood for pizza,” he said.

She turned to face him. “Do you want to go home? I’m fine with that. I could make dinner and—”

“I’m thinking we should go somewhere a little more elegant.”

“I shouldn’t have worn this dress,” she said. “It was silly.”

“No, it’s perfect. I’m going to take you to Napoleon’s. They have steak and seafood and soft music and a pretty decent wine list. And really good bread. They serve it right from the oven with olive oil.”

“Are you sure? We could always just grab a pizza and take it home.”

Rourke shook his head. “I have a date with the most beautiful girl on the island. I’m going to show her a good time.”

“Yay,” she said without a trace of enthusiasm.

There wasn’t much chance that Annie would turn into an instant social butterfly after one dinner, and Rourke knew that changing her attitude about socializing would have to be done very slowly.

In truth, he knew that he’d probably be leaving the island soon. This thing with Annie would probably run its course and they’d decide it was time to move on. But he wanted to leave her knowing that she wouldn’t be spending the rest of her life shut away in her cottage on the shore. She’d have a few friends, she’d feel comfortable in town and people would be happy to see her.

When they reached the restaurant, Rourke found a place to park on the street. He helped Annie out of the truck, then slipped his arm around her waist. She wore a little satin jacket over the dress and it was no protection against the chill in the air.

The interior of Napoleon’s was quiet, the weeknight crowd scattered among the tables in the dining room. Their entrance caused some notice and Annie shifted from foot to foot as they waited at the hostess stand.

“Everyone is looking at me,” she said, holding tight to his hand.

“You look gorgeous in that dress.”

“I look stupid. I don’t know what ever possessed me to put it on.”

The hostess appeared a few moments later. “Table for two?” she asked, grabbing a pair of menus.

“Yes,” Rourke said.

“No,” Annie countered.

“No?”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“I love your dress,” the hostess said. “Is it vintage?”

The compliment took Annie by surprise and Rourke watched as she grasped for a reply. “Yes,” Annie said. “It was my mother’s.”

“Is it designer?” the hostess asked. “It looks like vintage Dior.”

“I think it is,” Annie said. “My mother loved pretty things. I’m pretty sure she bought it used.”

“Well, it’s beautiful,” the hostess said.

Annie drew a deep breath, then turned to Rourke. “A table would be good,” she said.

They were seated at the window, overlooking the harbor. Rourke ordered a bottle of wine and when it arrived, he held up his glass. “To first dates,” he said.

Annie laughed nervously. “It does feel like a first date. I’m so nervous I’m going to make a fool of myself.” She took a long sip of her wine and it seemed to relax her a bit.

“Tell me something,” Rourke said.

“All right,” Annie said. “My shoes are pinching and this dress is kind of scratchy. And I should have worn a bra.”

“You’re not wearing a bra?” he asked.

“No. Does that make a difference?”

Rourke laughed at how quickly they’d gotten off the subject. “That’s not what I meant. Why do you hide yourself away in that cottage? You have so much to offer. You’re beautiful and funny and smart. But you don’t let anyone see that.”

“Everyone already has their ideas about me,” she said. “People don’t change their minds so easily. Look at my parents. The townsfolk made their decisions about them and nothing will change that. My mother was crazy and my father was delusional.”

“But you’re not your parents,” Rourke said.

“My father was from the island. His family was a very important part of the community.
Beloved
is the word most people used. My mother grew up in Montreal. They met and married and he brought her back here to live. But she was never happy here. She was fragile. Always sick. I didn’t know until later that she drank, but she did. Their marriage began to fall apart and everyone blamed her. She was...odd. Like me. An outsider.”

“I think you like being an outsider. It gives you an excuse not to move forward with your life.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. The look on her face was enough to tell him that he’d overstepped.

“I know,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Rourke gasped. “You know?”

Annie nodded. “It’s just easier. Less...pressure. I keep telling myself that it doesn’t matter. And sometimes, it really doesn’t. But since you’ve been here, with me, I realize that I need to make some changes.”

“If people knew you, they’d love you, Annie. Just like I do.”

She took another sip of her wine, then picked up the menu. “What are we going to order?”

Rourke grabbed his own menu, wondering if she’d really heard what he’d just said. He loved her. The words had come out of his mouth, but he hadn’t meant them in
that
way. He loved her wit and her kindness, he loved her imagination and her passion. That’s what he’d meant. He loved all those wonderful qualities that she possessed.

It was too early to fall in love, he mused. Maybe lust, but not love. Unless, of course, this was a case of love at first sight. No, he wasn’t in love.

“I’m going to have a steak,” he said.

This was their first date and Rourke had every intention of securing a second date before the evening was out.

5

T
HEIR
DATE
HAD
been perfect. They’d enjoyed a long leisurely dinner with interesting conversation. Rourke had talked about his life in New York City and he’d asked Annie about her art. They’d laughed and teased and for the first time in a very long time, Annie felt comfortable around strangers.

Rourke had been very protective the entire evening and Annie knew that he was concerned about her bolting. Maybe he thought the way other people in town did—that she was as unstable as her mother had been. Annie knew that’s what they said about her. That’s why she kept herself away, alone in her little cottage by the ocean. But she was beginning to realize it wasn’t because she wanted solitude. She’d just never met a man interesting enough to lure her into the real world.

They ordered dessert and Annie got apple pie with two scoops of ice cream. Rourke settled for a cup of coffee laced with brandy. She dug into the ice cream, then held out a spoonful to him. “It’s so good,” she murmured, taking a bite for herself and then licking the spoon.

“You know, it wouldn’t be that hard to put electricity in your cottage. You could run a line from the pole at the lighthouse and you’d be able to have a fridge and a water heater and even a computer if you wanted.”

“What if I don’t want?” Annie asked. “I like my simple life.” He sighed softly and she could see the frustration in his eyes. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you? Like everyone else in town, you think there’s something wrong with me because I choose to live the way I do.”

“No,” Rourke replied. “I’m just trying to make life easier for you.”

“No, you’re trying to make life easier for you,” she said.

“Me? How is that? I don’t live in that cold damp cottage all winter long. I don’t squint to read a book by the light from a lantern or have to wake up in the middle of the night to put more wood on the fire so I don’t freeze to death.”

“No, you don’t. So why does it bother you so much?”

“When you care about someone, you want the best for them. You want them to be safe and comfortable. You want life to be easy for them.”

Annie laughed softly and took another bite of her ice cream. “I think what you really want is for me to be like everyone else. But I’m not.”

“No, you definitely are not like any woman I know.”

“Am I that hard to take?” Annie asked. “Is that why you want to change me?”

Rourke glowered. “I don’t want to change you. That’s not what this is about. I just want the best for you. I want you to be able eat a damn bowl of ice cream whenever you want.”

They sat at the table for a long time, the silence dragging on between them. Annie ate her dessert and Rourke sipped his coffee. Things had been going so well between them and then everything seemed to fall apart in the blink of an eye.

She was too stubborn, too set in her ways. She ought to appreciate what he was offering to do instead of taking it as an insult to the life she led. Why did she always have to be so defensive? There were times when she just wanted to let the walls fall. It got so exhausting trying to hold them up—especially against a force as strong as Rourke Quinn.

“I’m sorry,” Annie said. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“I do think you like being the odd girl,” Rourke said. “It keeps people away, people who might want get close to you. You want them to think you’re a little crazy because it keeps them at a distance. But if you ask me, you’re missing out on so much of what’s good in life. Annie, you don’t deserve to spend the rest of your life alone.”

“I think I’d like to go home now,” she murmured. It was so much easier to fight her battles on familiar turf. Wearing this silly dress and acting as if she belonged in this fancy restaurant made her feel weak and vulnerable.

Rourke stood up and grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair, then held it as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. Then he tossed a wad of bills on the table before grabbing her hand and heading for the door.

Annie had to hurry to keep up with his pace and once they reached the street, she thought the argument would start up all over again. But instead, Rourke grabbed her waist and spun her around, pressing her back against the brick wall of the restaurant. His mouth came down on hers in a long, desperate kiss. At first, Annie resisted, but then, as the taste of his mouth worked like a drug on her senses, Annie was forced to surrender.

“Don’t ever forget that I care for you, Annie. And that I want the best for you. I’ve never cared about a woman the way I do about you. And that’s saying something.”

With that, he turned and walked down the street, disappearing around the corner where they’d left his SUV. Annie took a big gulp of the chilly nighttime air. A shiver rocked her body and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Annie?”

She spun around to find Sam Decker standing on the sidewalk. It was as if he’d appeared out of nowhere. “Sam! What are you doing here?”

“I stopped by your place earlier and you weren’t there. I got a little worried.”

“How did you know I was here?” Annie asked.

“I thought you might be with Quinn, so I put out an APB on his car.”

She swallowed a gasp. “We were just having some dinner,” Annie said.

Sam’s gaze slowly took in the dress she was wearing and Annie felt her face warm with embarrassment. What was he thinking? Did he think she looked silly? Was he going to tell the whole town of Pearson Bay what he’d seen?

“I—I really should be going,” Annie murmured. “Rourke is waiting. He—he just went ahead to warm up the car. Bye, Sam.”

With that, she spun on her heel and ran down the sidewalk. When she reached Rourke’s SUV, he was leaning against the passenger-side door, his arms crossed over his chest. “I thought you might have decided to take a cab,” he said. “Or walk home.”

“I—I just ran into Sam Decker,” she said as he opened the door for her.

“Decker? What did he want?”

“He stopped by the cottage and found me gone and was worried. So he tracked us down.”

Rourke chuckled, but she could see that he found no humor in the situation. “Well, if you didn’t believe me that people are capable of caring about you, now you have proof. Maybe he’s the one you’d rather have in your bed.”

Annie got into the SUV then grabbed the door handle. “Don’t be ridiculous. I told you I don’t trust him. And I’m perfectly satisfied with you in my bed. Why would I want someone else?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. This time his laugh was genuine. The problem was, Annie wasn’t sure what she’d said that was so funny.

“Well, I guess that answers my question,” he muttered.

“I guess it does,” Annie said. She paused. “What question?”

He closed the door and she watched him as he circled around to the driver’s side. Was it any wonder she wanted to avoid any emotional entanglements? They’d known each other three days and their relationship was already a mess. Annie wasn’t even sure what they were arguing about.

“What question?” she repeated once he’d slipped behind the wheel.

“I was curious about how you really felt about me.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” Annie said. “You can’t possibly know how I feel because I’m not sure how I feel.”

“I think you know exactly how you feel. You just refuse to admit it. That way, you can pretend that you have everything under control.”

Annie crossed her arms over her chest and sank back into the seat. She had no clue what he wanted from her and she also had no clue what she wanted from him. Why was this suddenly so complicated?

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
dawned bright and clear. All traces of the nor’easter had dissolved inland and it was a beautiful autumn day on Cape Breton. Rourke yawned as he steered the SUV toward town.

He’d decided not to consider Annie’s opinion when it came to insulating her attic and just do it. What was she going to do, forbid him to climb the attic stairs? Lock him out of the cottage? He’d already learned that it was sometimes better not to risk asking her opinion. Especially if he wanted to avoid any kind of drama.

He fought off another yawn. He hadn’t slept much the night before. After they’d returned from the restaurant, they took out their frustrations with each other in bed, enjoying a rollicking roll in the sack that left them both exhausted.

Annie had fallen asleep, but Rourke had been plagued with restlessness. So he’d grabbed the flashlight and gone exploring. He really hadn’t intended to violate her privacy, but he’d wanted another look at what was in the front parlor.

He’d barely noticed the chill in the air as he went through her art, piece by piece. He’d seen some of the big oil paintings, the beautiful seascapes and landscapes. But then he’d stumbled upon all sorts of smaller works. There were weavings and quilt squares. There were beautiful Celtic crosses pressed into copper and screen printed onto homemade paper. He’d found a whole series of pen-and-ink drawings of local wildlife and watercolors of wildflowers.

When he’d seen it all, he’d been left breathless at the depth and scope of her work. She’d even taken some of her poems and turned them into handmade greeting cards—cards that were more beautiful and touching than any he could find in a store.

All that talent and no one knew about it. Rourke was afraid to bring it up, afraid that she’d be angry at him for snooping. But if she was looking for a source of income, it was sitting in her front parlor. All of her art was salable. She could give it to a gallery or a gift shop on the island and make enough to pay for central heat in the cottage or indoor plumbing or electricity. He just had to convince her to take the chance.

Rourke pulled up in front of the hardware store and hopped out of the truck. When he walked inside, Betty Gillies was behind the counter to welcome him.

“Well, hello again. Are you ever leaving town or have you decided to take up residence in Pearson Bay?”

“Oh, I’ll be going soon enough,” Rourke replied. “I’ve got a few more things keeping me busy.”

He hadn’t mentioned that he was staying at Annie’s place, but he was sure that most of the townsfolk already knew. Nothing was truly private on the island. You couldn’t sneeze without someone on the other side of town calling it pneumonia.

“A few more things? Or is it Annie Macintosh who’s keeping you busy?” Betty chuckled. “What can I get ya? More of those shingles?”

“Nope, this time it’s insulation,” Rourke said. “Ten rolls ought to do it. The same stuff you sold me for Buddy’s place.”

“Speaking of Buddy’s place, I’ve had a few inquiries about it. Not to buy, but to rent for next week.”

“Why would someone want to rent it for a week?” Rourke asked.

“The Celtic Colors music festival starts next week. Every hotel and motel room on the island is taken. Some folks rent their houses out. My cousins are comin’ in from Toronto and rather than sleep on my floor, they were hoping to rent a place.”

“Sure, I guess we could do that. I have no idea what to charge, though.”

“Marcy O’Neill is renting out her cottage. Why don’t I ask her and get back to ya.”

“All right.”

“Now, let me go find Timmy and have him fetch that insulation.”

When Betty returned, she rang up his purchase, then handed him the receipt after he paid. “Since you’ll be around for the festival, you ought to stop by the church. We put on our own little art fair and Irish stew dinner. We feature a lot of local artists and we always have a good crowd. My daughter has a booth. She sells embroidered dish towels. Has her own business. She’s single, you know. Name’s Ellen. Just broke up with her boyfriend.”

“I think you might have mentioned that last time I was in here,” Rourke said, forcing a smile. “Hey, if I knew an artist who wanted to display, what would I need to do to get a booth for the art fair?”

“Talk to Father John. He’s in charge of all of that. If there’s space, he’ll find it for you. Now, if you’ll just pull around to the back, Timmy can load up your truck.”

“Thanks,” Rourke said.

As he wandered outside, a plan began to formulate in his head. Annie wouldn’t have to go to a gallery or a gift shop. She could sell her art at the festival. She could price each item and he could help her man the booth. And whatever she made could help play for some of the things she needed done around the cottage.

He pulled around to the back of the hardware store and found Timmy Bryant standing on the loading dock. Timmy, a high school senior, had worked for Rourke at Buddy’s place for ten dollars an hour when Rourke needed an extra pair of hands. They’d become pretty good friends, talking about sports and women, higher education and life on the island. Timmy was planning to become a veterinarian and was headed to school in Montreal in the fall.

“Hey, there,” Timmy said with a wide grin. “I heard you decided to hang around a little longer.”

“Oh, yeah? Who’d you hear that from?” Rourke teased.

Timmy shrugged. “Oh, it’s been around town. People are saying you’re staying out at the Macintosh place. How’s that goin’ for ya?”

“None of your goddamn business,” Rourke said, chuckling to himself.

“Well, just be careful. You know what they say about Annie Macintosh.”

Rourke grabbed the roll of insulation from Timmy’s hands. “No, what do they say?”

Timmy frowned, then shook his head. “Nothin’. They don’t say anything.”

“Tell me. What do they say about her?”

The kid stared down at his feet, looking as if he wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. “They say she’s a—a siren. Like her mama.”

Rourke blinked in surprise, startled by the revelation. “They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.”

“No, not that kind of siren. The other kind. The one that sits on the rocks and lures men into their watery graves. You know, like from the myths.”

“I know what a siren is,” Rourke said.

“Just be careful,” Timmy warned. “You don’t want her to do to you what her mama did to her father. He drowned, you know. Heard her singing and walked right out into the North Atlantic to find her.”