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cavalier attitude, so much a part of his
personality, sobered Deirdre.   His casual
comment stirred her emotions into a dither.   He joked about living while she’d allowed him to believe she died.   She missed him for three years while he
mourned her, his life crashing into chaos in his grief.   In her zeal to protect him, she realized
she’d been selfish.   Unable to bear the
possibility of his death and in fear for her life, she ran. And doing so sent
Quinn to a terrible hell.   I was so blind, so stupid.   I thought I was saving him and instead, I was
killing him through slow torture, one terrible day, one bottle at a time.
    Mallory seldom wept.   She had learned to lock the hurts deep within and hide them because
somewhere, Deirdre knew if she began to cry, she might never stop.   Tears rained down her face as she sat across
from Quinn in a silent waterfall.   When
she didn’t respond, he asked, without any mirth in his voice, “Deirdre, ye’re
here, are ye not?”
    “I am, Quinn.” She forced the words up her throat
and out before the first sob broke free.   Deirdre buried her face in her hands and cried.   Blinded by her tears, deafened by the loud
noise she made, she had no idea Quinn moved until he knelt before her.   He touched the back of her head with one hand.
“Woman, I’m all right, I am.   Don’t keen
over me like a banshee just yet.”
    She raised her head and cupped his face between her
hands. “Oh, Quinn, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you the way I did.   I didn’t think about how you’d feel.   I wanted to protect you, to keep you safe and
I was wrong.   I should’ve told you what
happened and not kept it from you, but I couldn’t bear to lose you, I
couldn’t.   I’m sorry.”
    Deirdre blubbered like a toy-deprived toddler until
Quinn pulled her into his arms.   He held
her, rocking her a bit and whispered soft words of comfort.   He used all the old endearments and a few new
ones.   Sometimes he threw in some Irish,
but he talked in a steady, calm tone until she eased.   She clung to him, almost ill with the
realization Quinn had no notion why she’d gone or let him think her dead.   Her mind whirled dizzy.   He
doesn’t know about WITSEC or why I did it or anything.   I never told him.
    “I’ve no idea what you’re blethering about,” he
said, his voice husky with emotion. “But you’ll tell it all to me soon enough,
I’m sure.   Whatever you’re so sorry
about, I forgive ye , but I need to hear your story.”
    “Oh, Quinn, I should’ve told you then.”
    He put one finger over her lips. “Aye, ye should’ve
done, but ye’ll tell me later.   I’m not
up to it just yet, and I’d rather we go somewhere where no one will come
knocking at the door or ringing the phone.”
    “Quinn…”
    “Hush, woman.   It’s near noon and I’ve got to go down to the pub.   I’m surprised old Des hasn’t been up to rouse
me.   If ye weren’t here, he would’ve
been.   Come down when ye’re ready and
we’ll make plans.”
    Deirdre hated to leave his arms.   In them, she felt safe but she nodded.   “All right, Quinn, I’ll be down later.”
      She watched
him walk through the door and the thought struck her.   Quinn said he’d forgiven her and he’d
accepted her return rather well.   He knew
nothing more than her violent and terrible death had been a lie.   She had strolled back into his life and
dropped a bombshell, but he didn’t hate her.   He still loved her and after he heard the details, Deirdre hoped he
still would.
    Despite the fact she’d found him drunk and
dissolute, no matter how rocky their reunion might yet prove to be, coming back
had been the right thing to do.   She
didn’t regret it and she hoped she never would.
     
     

Chapter
Four
     
    Dressed in a pair of her black jeans from Quinn’s
closet and an emerald green blouse, Deirdre descended the back stairs into the
pub. Delicious aromas wafted upward.