As Brendan sat on the front porch of the house on Kilgore Street, he thought about the Mighty Quinns, all those ancestors that had come before, all those Quinns whod made something of themselves. He wasnt sure how he knew, but Brendan was certain that something special was waiting for him out in the world. But it wouldnt come to him if he stayed here. Hed need to go find it.
1
BRENDAN QUINN sat in a dark corner of the Longliner Tap, nursing a warm beer and watching the patrons wallow in their Friday night rituals. The Longliner was a popular spot for commercial fishermen, their families and their friends, located on the rough and tumble waterfront of Gloucester, Massachusetts, homebase to the North Atlantic swordfishing fleet.
His own home, The Mighty Quinn, was tied up at a dock just a few hundred yards from the bar. Though the early December cold had set in, his fathers old swordboat was tight and cozy, providing a perfect spot for him to tie up the loose ends on his latest book.
Hed come to the Longliner to talk just once more to those family members and friends of the fishermen hed profiled, hoping to find a new slant to his book about the dangers and adventures the men faced while making a living on the open ocean. Hed interviewed six different people that night, scribbling notes on scraps of paper in between conversations, plying his subjects with free beer to loosen their tongues.
Now that hed finished, he just wanted to relax and absorb the atmosphere. The majority of the Gloucester fishermen who frequented the Longliner had already headed south for the season, but there were a few stragglers who hadnt picked up a job on a boat for the winter, men used to working hard and playing even harder. And then there were the girlfriends and wives of those who were gone. They came to the bar to share their loneliness with other women who understood what they went through year after year.
Brendans gaze fastened on a petite blond waitress who wove through the crowd, a tray of beers held high over her head. Throughout the night, his gaze had come back to her again and again. There was something about her that wasnt quite right, something that didnt fit. Though she wore the standard costumea canvas apron, impossibly tight jeans and a low-cut T-shirt that looked like it might have been painted onshe still didnt seem to fit.
It wasnt the hair, bleached a honey-blond, or the makeup, the dark eyes and bright red lips. Or even the three earrings she wore in each ear. He watched her for a long moment as she served drinks to a table of rowdy men. It was the way she moved. So unlike the other waitresses, with their hips swinging and breasts thrown out in obvious invitation. She was graceful, refined, not at all provocative. She seemed to glide across the floor almost like a dancer. The arch in her long neck and the turn of her arm added to the illusion that she wasnt serving beers to a bunch of waterfront rats but floating across the stage with Baryshnikov.
She turned away from the table and Brendan raised his hand, curious enough about her to order another beer. But just as he caught her eye and she moved toward him, one of the wharf rats at the table grabbed her from behind and dragged her into his lap. In an instant, his paws were all over her.
As the tawdry scene unfolded, Brendan groaned inwardly. The situation was fast getting out of control and no one else seemed overly concerned. He knew of only one solution. God, I hate fighting, he muttered. He shoved his chair back and stalked across the bar to stand beside the table. Take your hands off the lady, he ordered, his fists clenched at his side, his instincts sharp.
The drunken lout looked up at him and gave him a sneer. What did you say, pretty boy?
I said, take your hands off the lady.
The waitress reached out and touched his arm. He looked down at her and was immediately struck by how young she was. For some reason, hed expected a face lined by years of hard work and hard living. But instead he found a complexion so fresh, so perfect, that he was tempted to reach out and touch her to see if she was real.
I can handle this, she said. You dont need to get involved. Im very good with conflict resolution and interpersonal communications. I took a seminar once.
Her voice was low and throaty, the sound like whiskey on a cold night, drawing him in closer, warming his blood. Brendan reached down and took her hand, then pulled her to her feet. Go on, he said. Ill take care of this.
This time she clutched his jacket sleeve with her fingers. Her touch sent a current shooting up his arm. No, really. I can take care of this. Theres no need to fight. Violence never solves anything. She stared up at him with eyes so blue it hurt to look at them. Please, she pleaded.
Brendan wasnt sure what to do. It wasnt in his nature to just walk away from a woman in need. Especially not after being raised listening to all those Mighty Quinn tales of heroic deeds and chivalrous behavior. He glanced over to find the rest of the patrons silently watching, holding their collective breaths to see whether hed turn tail or stay and fight. And in that brief instant, the decision was made for him.
When he turned back around to the waitress, he saw a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. The beer bottle came flying at his head and Brendan dodged. It whizzed past his ear and hit one of the drunks at the table, catching him on the temple before it fell to the floor and shattered. After that, all hell broke loose.
The waitress grabbed a plastic pitcher of beer and poured it over her attackers head then began to beat him with the pitcher. Brendan dodged another bottle and then a fist before catching a glancing blow to his chin. Determined to retreat before either one of them got seriously injured, he grabbed the waitresss arm and dragged her away from the nucleus of the brawl. But she slipped from his grasp and jumped on the back of one of the drunks, boxing his ears with her fists.
Brendan had to admire the patrons of the Longliner Tap. They chose sides and they did it quickly, then threw themselves into the middle of an escalating melee, either with their fists or with verbal encouragement.
God, I hate fighting, he muttered. He was tempted to turn and walk away. But he couldnt just leave the waitress in the middle of it all. He glanced over at her as she wielded a tray like some Ninja weapon. She whacked one drunk across the head then stomped on the instep of another when he came to the aid of his injured friend.
No one seemed to be concerned for her safety. Those patrons not involved in the fight were cheering her on. The rest of the waitresses had perched on the bar to get a better view of the fight. One bartender was on the phone, probably summoning the local constables, and the other had pulled out a baseball bat and was waving it in a threatening manner. But as the fight escalated, Brendan wondered whether the police would get there in time.
When a burly fisherman grabbed the waitress from behind and picked her up off her feet, Brendan took a step forward. She kicked the guy in the kneecap with the heel of her boot, then screamed for help. Although a voice in his head told him to mind his own business, Brendan knew he was about to end up right back in the middle of the mess.
The original lout stood in the midst of the brawl. Brendan saw him step up to the waitress, shout something at her, then draw his hand back to slap her. Though he wasnt anxious to play white knight, Brendan couldnt seem to help himself. Hitting a woman was unacceptable. He stepped between the man and the waitress. Dont even think about it, Brendan warned.
You gonna stop me? the man growled. You and what army?
Brendan cursed softly. God, he hated fighting. But sometimes, a guy just couldnt avoid it. No army, he said, turning away. Just me. Brendan drew his fist back, then launched a roundhouse punch that caught the guy on the nose. He howled in pain as blood spurted from his nose.
Then Brendan turned around to the hulk who was holding the waitress. A left cross and a punch to the kidney was enough for the guy to let her go. Brendan grabbed her arm, but to his shock, she pulled away from him.
Let me go! she cried.
He grabbed her again. Dont make me carry you out of here, he warned. Because, Im not going to do it. This was how it all beganfor Conor and then for Dylan. Not the fight, but the rescue. This was exactly how they ended up trapped by a womans charms and madly in love. They each had saved a damsel in distress and their lives were never the same again. The hell if he was going to make that mistake.
Im not leaving! I can take care of myself! With a curse, she jammed her heel onto his instep.
Pain shot up his leg. He ground his teeth and tried desperately to hold his tongue. Listen, he said, his voice deceptively calm. Im not going to tell you again. He grabbed her arm more firmly this time and dragged her toward the door.
Help! she screamed. Help me!
Im not going to do it, Brendan muttered. Im not going to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here. If I do, itll be the end of my life as I know it.
Someone, please. Hes kidnapping me!
Aw, hell. Brendan stopped, bent over, grabbed her around the legs then hoisted her over his shoulder and strode to the door. A few of the patrons not involved in the fight cheered and some threw popcorn like rice at a wedding. With a tight smile, Brendan waved at them then yanked the door open and walked outside into the cold night.
When he got outside, he looked up and down the dark street. The sound of sirens approaching told him hed gotten out of the bar just in time. Considering hed instigated the fight, it might be best to avoid the authorities.
Put me down, the waitress said, wriggling and kicking.
Not yet, Brendan replied as he started across the street. He headed toward the docks and when they were far enough from the bar to escape notice, he bent over and set the girl on her feet. But he didnt let go right away. You arent going to run back inside, are you? Because Id hate to think that I almost killed myself saving your pretty little backside only to have you jump right back into the fight.
The cops are here, she murmured. Im not going back inside.
Satisfied, Brendan unwrapped his arms from around her legs and straightened. They stood under a bright streetlamp near the end of the pier. Brendans gaze skimmed over her features. Despite the unflattering glare, he was even more astounded by her beauty. She didnt have the cool, sophisticated features of Olivia, Conors wife. Or the cute, natural beauty of Dylans Meggie. This girl had a look that was wild and unpredictable, edgy and rebellious, as if she didnt care what people thought of her.
She obviously didnt care what he thought of her. The glare she sent his way bordered on murderous. If youre expecting me to thank you, I wouldnt hold my breath. She rubbed her arms and shivered, her chin tipped up defiantly.
The temperature was below freezing and all she wore was a skimpy T-shirt. Brendan slipped out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. My boats just down the dock here, he said. Why dont you come with me and Ill make us some coffee. The cops should be gone in about a half hour and then you can go back.
She eyed him suspiciously. Why should I go with you? How do I know youre not exactly like the guy you punched out, all paws and no brain?
Fine, Brendan said. Stand out here in the cold. He turned on his heel and started down the dock. He smiled as he heard footsteps behind him.
Wait! she called.
Brendan slowed his steps until she joined him. When they reached his boat, he held her hand as she stepped up on an overturned crate and jumped lightly to the deck. Her fingers felt small and delicate in his hand and he held on for a bit longer than necessary.
The lights inside The Mighty Quinn burned brightly. When he opened the hatch and showed her through the companionway, she sighed softly. I didnt take you for a fisherman, she said.
Im not, Brendan replied, following her down the steps into the main cabin. My father was. When he retired, I started living on the boat. Ive gradually restored it, changed a few things around, opened up the galley. It makes a nice place to live, especially in the summer.
She rubbed her arms again, this time through the soft leather of his jacket. In the winter, too, she said as she turned to face him.
Brendans gaze skimmed her features and stopped at a red welt on her cheekbone. He reached out and touched her there, realizing his mistake the moment he made it. A current of attraction, as strong as an electrical shock, shot through him as his fingertips made contact with impossibly soft skin. Youre hurt, he murmured.
Her gaze locked with his, her blue eyes wide and wary. She reached up and covered his fingers with hers. I am?
He nodded. The urge to kiss her was strong and undeniable, even though every shred of common sense told him that it was completely inappropriate. Theyd known each other ten minutes at the most. Hell, he didnt even know her name, yet here he was, tempted to sweep her into his embrace and taste her mouth! Brendan swallowed hard then realized exactly what was happening.
This was a self-fulfilling prophecy! Hed carried her out of the bar and now he could expect to fall head-over-heels in love with herjust like Conorjust like Dylan. Well, it wasnt going to happen. He liked his life exactly the way it wasfree and unencumbered. Brendan drew his hand away. Ill get you some ice, he muttered. He motioned to the table in the corner of the cabin. Sit. Itll just take a second.
She did as she was told, sliding into a spot at the table then playing distractedly with a pencil she found there. He reached over and moved his laptop computer out of the way then straightened a stack of manuscript pages, tucking them beneath a file folder.
So, if youre not a fisherman, what do you do?
Im a writer, Brendan said grabbing a handful of ice from the small fridge in the galley. He wrapped it in a cotton towel then sat down next to her and gently pressed it to the red mark on her face. Without thinking, he brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. Then he realized how intimate the action seemed.
I should go, she said, scrambling out of her place and putting a few feet of space between them.
At first, he thought hed frightened her. But then he noticed the flicker of attraction in her eyes, the way her gaze flitted from his face to his body and back again. He wondered if hed leaned forward and kissed her would she have drawn away or would she have responded?
She slipped out of his jacket and set it on the table beside him. The cops have probably cleared out the rowdies by now and Im working for tips. People are going to want their drinks and theyre paying me to fetch them.
She turned toward the hatch, but Brendan grabbed her arm. He picked up his jacket and held it out to her. Take this. Its cold outside.