Read Quinn's Deirdre for Free Online Page B

sigh. “Cut the praties into wee bits, now would ye ? They’re to cook down in a fresh pot of soup, this
batch.”
    “Okay, sure. Quinn wanted you to call April, I think
he said.”
    “I did already and she’s on her way or so she
says.   She’s a flighty young thing, April,
but she shows up often enough for Quinn to keep her on the payroll.   I tried to interest yer man in her, but he
had none at all.   He’s lived like a monk,
celibate as far as I’d know. There’s been no other woman good enough for him
but you.”
    As much as Deirdre disliked the thought of Quinn
lonely, she hated the idea of him with another woman more.   She tried to find the words to express the
idea but couldn’t, so she nodded and kept peeling potatoes.   It must’ve served as enough encouragement
because Uncle Desmond continued to natter, all the time stirring pots, checking
the ovens, and plating orders without a hitch.
    “Are ye goin’ to be on the telly again, since ye’ve
come back from the dead?”
    His question caught her short.   Surprised, Deirdre fumbled to answer. “I
don’t know.   I hadn’t thought about it,”
she said. “It probably wouldn’t be a very good idea, not now anyway.”
    “Oh?” Des tasted the stew and made a wordless sound
of appreciation.   “Why ever would ye not?
Ye were popular as I recall with yer face on billboards and all.”
    “It might be dangerous,” she said without thinking
first.
    He reared back his head and gave her a hard look.
“Dangerous is it? Is that why ye bolted like a rabbit chased by hounds? Were ye
afraid?”
    Old Des proved to be more astute than she would’ve
guessed. “Well, yes, I was.   I never told
Quinn, but a man threatened both me—and him.”
    “ A mhuirnín , ye
should’ve said something to yer fella. He fretted over ye when ye were a
witness and when ye didn’t come home from shopping, was it? He near lost his
mind, sick with worry.   And then, when he
got word ye’d been taken, then yer poor body found, I thought sure grief would
put him in the grave beside ye .   If ye’d told him there was danger, things
might’ve been different.”
    His calm tone never wavered.   He might have been discussing the weather,
but when Deirdre caught sight of his face, a ripple of anxiety tightened her
chest.   Des wore a bland expression, a
poker face.   He’s hiding something from me but what?
    “How?”
    “Ah, ‘tis water under the bridge now,
Deirdre,” Des said. “What’s done is done.”
    “What was done?” She didn’t understand,
but it sounded dire.
    “Nothing worth the tellin’,” the older
man replied.   “There, now, that’s enough
praties.   Can you cut onions for me too
or will ye weep?”
    “I’ll cry, always do.”
    He shrugged. “Never ye
mind , then. I’ll do it meself.”
    “What can I do?”
    Des pointed at the pile of dirty pots
and pans beside the rear sinks. “Ye can wash up if ye like, but ye don’t have
to do it.   Ye can go wait for Quinn in
the pub if ye’d rather.”
    Time would drag if she did. “I like
being busy. I’ll wash them.   Are you shorthanded
these days?”
    “Oh, aye, we are at times, dearie.   If ye plan to stay, ye can help as needed.”
    His uncertainty about staying rankled,
but she kept her mouth closed.   She
deserved it, after the way she’d left without a word and left them all to think
she had died.   “I do and will.”
    “That’s grand, then.   I can use the help most days.   Eileen helped when she was here.   She came for yer funeral, ye know.”
    “I did, yes.   I saw a picture.”
    With a snort, Des nodded. “And kept it,
I bet.”
    “Yes.”
    “Humph.” He shook his head. “Aye, she
came to bury ye and help her brother.   She’s been back every year since, always
tryin’ to talk Quinn into going home.   I’ve an idea he’d go, too, if he hadn’t wanted to leave what was left of
ye out at the graveyard.   Too many
memories, here, he told Eileen, and he