Sean

Chapter 9

"As you can see by this map, the location for the Louise Carpenter Rand Center for the Arts is two blocks off Dorchester Avenue and within easy walking distance of two bus lines. Within a ten-block radius, census figures show nearly one thousand school-age children who would benefit from our programs. Working parents would know that their children are safe after school and they'd be assured that their children were participating in an enriching variety of artistic endeavors including dance, music, theater and the visual arts." Laurel pointed nervously to the map, then gave a tremulous smile. "How was that?"

Alistair clapped excitedly. "Oh, very good. I must say I was quite impressed, Miss Laurel."

"I should have pointed to the map when I was talking about the location. I have to remember that."

"No, I thought that was fine. It emphasized your information about the location at the very end."

Laurel had put her final presentation together last night and had brought everything over to the house to show Alistair when she stopped by to pick up more of her clothes. The butler had offered to serve as a practice audience and she'd been grateful for the input. Her displays and charts and floor plans were propped up around the dining room, some on the floor and some on easels that she'd brought along.

"I get so flustered with all the facts and figures," Laurel said. "But I know they're important. Amy says her board of directors likes facts and figures. I have all of it in the handout, but I think they'll want to hear it from me."

"What time is the presentation tomorrow morning?"

"Ten o'clock at the foundation office," she said. "In their boardroom. Amy showed me. There'll be at least ten people there, maybe as many as fifteen." Laurel fussed with the papers she'd laid out on the dining room table. "Would you come? For moral support?"

"Of course I will," Alistair said. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope, holding it out to her.

"What's this?"

"I wanted to be the first to make a donation," he said.

"Oh, you don't have to make-"

"No," Alistair interrupted. "If you're going to make a success of this, you have to learn to accept every donation graciously."

Laurel smiled and plucked the envelope out of his hand. "Thank you very much. Your donation will be put to good use." She opened the envelope and looked at the check inside. Her eyes went wide. "Thirty thousand dollars?"

"Your uncle has paid me very well over the years," Alistair explained. "And I've been lucky with my investments. I can't think of a better cause than this."

Laurel hurried over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a fierce hug. "Thank you."

He patted her back. "Now, why don't you come to the kitchen and I'll fix you a sandwich. You've been working so hard, you probably haven't eaten anything all morning."

"I am a little hungry."

She slipped her arm through Alistair's and walked with him through the butler's pantry to the kitchen. After pulling up a stool, Laurel sat at the kitchen worktable. "Thanks for letting me come over and practice in front of you. I really appreciate your input."

"How's the hunt for an apartment going?"

Laurel shrugged. "I'm still sleeping on Nan's sofa."

"And have you seen Sean lately?"

Her stomach did a little somersault at the mention of his name. Sean Quinn. She'd thought about him at least a hundred times a day since they'd parted a month ago. She'd even driven past the pub three or four times, hoping that she'd find the courage to stop in for a bowl of soup and a chance to see him. "We haven't talked."

"Why not? You have two men in your life who love you, Laurel. And you're not talking to either one of them."

"Sinclair doesn't love me." She let the sentence hang in the air, her thought unfinished. She wasn't really sure how Sean felt.

"I think Sinclair misses you. He regrets what happened."

"It's his fault," Laurel said.

Alistair cleared his throat. "No… actually, it's my fault."

"Your fault?"

He set down the jar of mayonnaise that he'd retrieved from the refrigerator and met her questioning gaze. "While I was in New York with your uncle, I let it slip that you and Sean weren't really husband and wife."

"Alistair! Why would you do that?"

"I wanted to prove to your uncle how far you were willing to go to secure your happiness and to get your trust fund. I thought he needed to know what he was putting you through. And I also convinced him of the fact that you were in love with Sean Quinn."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I thought you were in love with Sean Quinn."

Laurel sighed. "I was. I am." She moaned softly. "Oh, God, I do love him."

"Imagine my surprise when your uncle told me he thought Sean would make a good husband for you. So the two of us hatched a little plan. We decided to find a way to keep you two together until you both realized how you felt."

Confusion muddled her brain as she tried to understand what Alistair was saying. "And… and everything that happened that night was part of your plan?"

"We didn't expect you to get angry and walk out. Sinclair was crushed. He thought he was doing the right thing and it only served to drive you away. I tried to convince him to call you, but he's so stubborn. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Laurel braced her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her palms. "I can't believe this."

"We managed to make a real mess of it. And I'm sorry for being the source of it all. But you have to know, we only wanted your happiness."

As Laurel considered all that Alistair had revealed, she tried to make sense of what her uncle had done. Why hadn't he just come out and told her how he felt? Why did he constantly have to manipulate her? Was that the only way he knew how to show his love?

"Now, about Sean…" Alistair prompted.

"I think he cares about me. But I don't think his feelings run as deep. It's so hard to tell with him. He keeps so much hidden. He has trouble trusting, and even if he did love me I think he'd deny it for fear that he might get hurt."

Alistair put the ham sandwich he'd made on a plate and handed it to her. "You know him pretty well, don't you?"

"Sometimes I think I do. And other times, I think there's a whole lot more behind that handsome face that I don't understand."

"And you haven't wanted to see him since the two of you left here last month?"

"I figured if he really cared, he'd find me."

"Maybe he figures the same," Alistair suggested.

Laurel slid off the stool and picked up her plate. "I need to get back to work."

Whenever she found herself dwelling on what might have been, she went back to work, focusing her thoughts on the children's center and on her presentation. She shook her head and tried to clear her mind, but talking about Sean hadn't done her any good. Questions that she'd put aside rushed back into her head.

Laurel wandered into the dining room, then stopped short. Sinclair stood in front of one of the easels, staring at a huge photo of Laurel's mother she had brought along. Laurel had decided to use the photo in the presentation to put a face to her dreams, to make it clear why she'd had the dream in the first place.

"You loved her, didn't you?" she said.

Sinclair's shoulders stiffened and he slowly turned to face her, his ivory-handled cane clutched in his hand. His eyes were wistful and his face showed nothing of the hard expression it usually wore. "She didn't love me."

Laurel slowly crossed the room. "That must have been so difficult for you. To live in this house with her and my father. To see their happiness every day."

He shook his head. "No. I considered myself lucky to be able to look at her beautiful face every morning and every evening. And after she died, I was reminded of her when I looked at you. You look very much like her." His eyes misted over for a moment and Sinclair turned away, focusing his attention on the other easels she'd set up along one side of the room.

"This seems like a very ambitious plan," he said, walking down the line of charts and photos.

"It is," Laurel replied. "I'm doing my presentation for the Aldrich-Sloane Family Foundation tomorrow morning. I'm hoping that they'll decide to fund the project."

Sinclair was silent for a long time. "You've grown up," he murmured.

"I'm twenty-six years old," Laurel said. "I know what I want to do with my life."

"And you don't let anything stand in your way to get it, do you? Not even a foolish old man."

Laurel reached out and placed her hand on his arm. "You're not a foolish old man," she said. "You just know what you want and you don't let anything stand in your way. We're alike in that way. It must be a Rand family trait."

"Can you forgive an old man for his selfishness?"

Her gaze met his and for the first time in her life she saw how much he cared about her. Sinclair was family and the least she could give him was her forgiveness-and her love. "I can."

He nodded, patting her hand as he did. "Good. And I think I can admit that I was wrong about your trust fund. This is a fine use of your inheritance. In fact, it might do me some good to put a little of my own money into this project."

Laurel couldn't believe what she'd just heard. "You're going to give me my trust fund?"

"I'll have the bank transfer it to your name in the morning. You'll have to sign some papers, but that shouldn't take long."

Tears flooded Laurel's eyes and she grabbed her uncle and gave him a quick hug. He sputtered slightly, surprised at her show of affection, then reached out and patted her shoulder. "There is one thing I'd like you to consider. Two things, actually."

Laurel's breath caught in her throat. Was he about to lay down another condition? "What is that?"

"First, I'd like for you to move back into the house. It's your house and you belong here. I'm going back to Maine soon. And, second, I'd like you to go find that young man of yours. I enjoy him. He doesn't take any crap from a rich old man. And I've got some new corns I want to show him."

"No more conditions?" Laurel asked.

"No more conditions," Sinclair agreed.

They strolled out into the foyer and Laurel walked with him to the library. "When I was younger, I fancied myself quite the painter," Sinclair commented as he settled himself into his huge wing chair.

"Really? A painter?"

"I was quite good, but my parents insisted that I take up something more practical. An artist couldn't make a good living unless he had a great talent."

"Maybe you should take up painting again," Laurel suggested. "You have the time and we could go out and buy some paint and brushes. It's not too late. It's never too late to make your dreams come true, Uncle."

"No, I suppose it isn't," Sinclair said.

As Laurel sat in the library, sharing a brandy with her uncle, her thoughts drifted to dreams of another kind. Every night since Sean had left, he'd come to her in her sleep, a strong, certain presence that she found herself longing for in the morning when she awoke.

Now that all her other dreams were falling into place, maybe it was time to make one last dream come true.

Sean stared at the office door, then reached out and ran his hand over the block letters painted on the window. "Quinn Private Investigations," he murmured.

He'd found the small office space in Southie last month. The building was on a main thoroughfare and his second-floor office had a window that also boasted the name of his new business, a nice way to advertise that he'd moved in.

Sean hadn't expect to rent the office so quickly. Though his savings had barely covered the first three months' rent, he hadn't let that stop him as it had in the past. He'd learned an important lesson from Laurel. Waiting until the perfect moment for your dreams to come true was a waste of precious time.

He and Laurel were so different. She met life head-on and fearlessly, unafraid of making mistakes. And he'd always been so careful, so measured and wary. She'd shown him how to go out and take a gamble, accept the risks and just jump off that cliff. There would never be the perfect time to start building the life he wanted, so why not start right away?

Sean sat at the desk he'd salvaged from the basement of Olivia's antique store and kicked up his feet. He'd already found one new client, a small armored-car company that needed independent background checks done on its employees. And he'd had a few walk-in clients since he'd opened his doors, two deadbeat dads to track down and a runaway daughter.

But there was one part of his life that he hadn't quite squared away yet. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Laurel. He knew from Amy that her grant had been approved and that she'd purchased the building in Dorchester. He also knew that she'd moved back to the mansion. But all his information was secondhand or hearsay. He hadn't talked to Laurel since the day he'd walked out of the house in Cohasset.

The first week after his "marriage" had ended, Sean was sure he'd done the right thing. Though he'd spent all of his idle time thinking about her, he'd hoped those thoughts would gradually fade. But when they hadn't by the third week, he began to realize that maybe they never would. Hell, if this wasn't love, he didn't know what was.

A soft knock sounded on his office door and he swung his feet off the desk and stood. When he pulled the door open, his mother stood on the other side, a huge plant in her arms.

"Ma," he said, grabbing the plant. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought you an office-warming gift. A plant always brightens up any decor."

"How did you know where to find the place?"

"It's all everyone's been talking about at the pub. Your da's been passing out your business cards like free beer on St. Paddy's Day."

Sean grabbed a stack of newspapers from the seat of an old wooden chair and dusted it off with his hand. "Have a seat."

Fiona smiled, pleased by the offer. "This is a nice office. Lots of light." She glanced around. "When your da and I first moved to Southie, there used to be an accountant's office here." She shook her head. "That was a lifetime ago. So, this is a big step, isn't it? Your own office."

Sean nodded and sat. "I have stationery, too. When I do my reports they'll look really official. And look at that." He pointed over his shoulder. "I've got a fax machine and a computer. I bought the fax secondhand from Rafe, and Brian gave me his old computer. I'm even thinking about getting a Web site. And when I have enough money, maybe a secretary."

"You've got everything you need," Fiona said.

"Yeah." Sean paused. "Well, not everything."

A long silence grew between them, Fiona fussing with a loose button on her sweater and Sean tapping a pen on his desk.

"What happened with Laurel?" she finally asked.

Sean shrugged. A month ago he could barely stand to be in the same room with his mother and now he felt comfortable enough to confide in her. Jeez, it was hard to believe he was the same guy. "I don't know. It just ended-as quickly as it began. No reason. Or maybe we just didn't have a reason to keep it going."

"Did you argue?"

"No, we just walked away. Maybe if we'd had a few more weeks together something might have happened. But we were barely together for a week. People don't fall in love that fast."

"Your father and I did," Fiona said. "The instant I saw him I knew I'd marry him. He felt the same way. That happened a lot in Seamus's family."

"And look at what hap-" Sean snapped his mouth shut. "Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No," Fiona said. "You're right. Sometimes love at first sight doesn't work out." A slow smile curled her lips. "Oh, but sometimes it does. We never know until we try."

"I don't want to make a mistake. I don't want to spend my life like Da, bitter and angry, full of resentment."

"Your father and I let that happen to us," Fiona insisted. "We were both too stubborn to admit our marriage was in trouble. He didn't want to face his failures and I refused to believe I couldn't help him. Sometimes I wonder if we'd just sat down back then and talked to each other, really talked, whether things might have been different. Can you talk to this girl, Laurel?"

"I can talk to her like I've never talked to anyone. Even Brian. I can say anything to her-except maybe how much I love her."

"You love her," Fiona said.

"I do."

"Then why are you sitting here in this office telling me?"

Sean smiled ruefully. "Maybe when I figure that one out, I'll know what to do." He furrowed his hands in his hair, pressing his palms against his temples. "I should go see her."

"I think that would be best," Fiona said.

"Now?"

"Why not? There's no time like the present."

Sean pushed up from his chair and paced back and forth across the width of the tiny office. "All right. I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna tell her. And if she doesn't love me, then I'll deal with it." He hurried to the door, then stopped and walked back to his mother. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said.

Just as he got to the door, Fiona called his name. "Wait, I nearly forgot the reason I came," she said. "Two weeks from Saturday we're having a family get-together at Keely's house. About five in the evening. She and Rafe are all moved in and they'd like everyone to be there." Fiona met his gaze. "I'd like everyone to be there. I know you usually don't attend family functions, but this is-"

"I'll be there," Sean said, anxious to leave.

"You will? Do you promise?" He nodded. "I promise."

"You can bring Laurel," she said.

Sean nodded, impatient to get going. "We'll see. Could you write the date in my book there, on the desk? And lock the door as you leave."

His car was parked half a block away. By the time he pulled out into traffic, he'd decided to try Dorchester first. Amy had told him that work had begun on Laurel's building and she'd been consumed with the details. If he got lucky, he'd find her there. He considered calling first, but the element of surprise would work to his advantage. If she wasn't in Dorchester he'd head out to the mansion in Cohasset.

As he drove, Sean practiced what he was going to say, knowing he'd probably only have one chance to get it right. This was the single most important moment in his life and he didn't want to mumble and bumble his way through it. "I love you," he murmured. "Laurel, I love you. I love you more than…" He cursed softly. "No, just keep it simple."

But what if she questioned his declaration? What if she asked him why he loved her? God, he wished he had Brendan along-or Brian. They'd always been so good with words. They'd be able to tell him exactly what to say to make her believe him. Sean reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone, then thought better of the idea and tossed the phone onto the seat beside him.

"Why do I love her?" He took a deep breath. "One. I love her because she's the strongest person I've ever known. Two. Because she can see inside my soul. Three. Because when she looks at me, I feel like the luckiest guy in the world."

Sean groaned. "God, that sounds so hokey. Why do I love you, Laurel? Because when I'm with you, my life suddenly makes sense?"

He turned south toward Dorchester, weaving in and out of traffic. When he was just a few blocks from Laurel's building he pulled to the curb and took a moment to organize his thoughts. But a million words rattled around in his head and he couldn't seem to put them in any decent order.

Maybe if he had paid more attention in school he could have quoted poetry or recited a few lines from Shakespeare, but "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo" and "To be or not to be" didn't really apply. He'd always been a man of very few words and "I love you, Laurel" was what best expressed his thoughts.

By the time he pulled up to the old storefront he'd decided simplicity would serve him best. His stomach tensed when he saw Laurel's car parked out front. As he walked to the front door he fought off a flood of nausea. "I love you, Laurel. I love you."

The door was unlocked and as he walked through the open space on the first floor the voices of construction workers and the sounds of power tools filled the air. He approached a guy holding a T square. "Hey there. I'm looking for Laurel Rand."

"She's upstairs."

Sean nodded. "Thanks." He took the stairs two at a time, anxious now to see her. It had seemed like months, years even, since he'd looked into her eyes, and he wondered if he really remembered how beautiful she was. When he got to the top of the stairs Sean stopped. Laurel stood in the cavernous room, her back to him, her face tipped up.

He watched her for a long time from the shadows of the stairwell door, watched as she slowly turned, then did a little ballet step. She held her arms above her head, went up on her toes and did three neat pirouettes. But she froze in the middle of the fourth when she saw him step into the room. Her eyes grew wide and she plopped back down on her heels.

She smoothed her hands over the front of her faded jeans. "Sean."

He took another step into the room and opened his mouth, ready to profess his love. But all that came out was her name. "Laurel," he murmured. God, she was beautiful. He'd forgotten how pale her hair was and how it curled around her face. He'd forgotten the exact color of her eyes and the perfect shape of her mouth.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I came to see you. I have something I have to tell you." He swallowed hard. "How are you?"

"I'm fine."

Sean nodded. "Good. Good. You look fine. You look better than fine." He glanced around. "And the place is looking fine, too."

She smiled, confusion coloring her expression. "Everything is fine."

Hell, this was not going well. He couldn't seem to make small talk, yet he couldn't just blurt out what he'd come to say. Then an idea popped into his head. He'd go back to where it all started. "I came here because I wanted to talk to you about a problem I have."

She moved toward him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. It's just this problem. You see, I'm in need of a… a wife. I had this one woman and we got along great. But I was a real dope and I blew it. I didn't tell her how I felt. I should have, but I was afraid she might not feel the same way about me."

"Maybe she did," Laurel murmured, her gaze fixed on his, her eyes piercing the depths of his soul.

"Maybe. Anyway, I have this proposition for you." He reached into his pocket and grabbed his wallet. "I have seven… twelve… fourteen dollars here and-" he shoved his hand into the front pocket of his jeans "-and seventy-nine cents." Sean held the money out to her in the palm of his hand. "How many days will this buy me?"

"Are you asking me to be your wife again?" Her voice trembled and her gaze darted over his features, as if she was trying to see the truth there.

"I am," he said. "And I'm willing to pay you $14.79 if you say yes. But this time I don't want it to be pretend. I want to marry you for real, Laurel. I want to make a life with you."

Laurel's smile grew wider. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure I love you, Laurel. I'm sure I never expected to need you so much. And I'm sure I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"We haven't known each other for very long."

"I know all I need to know."

Laurel reached out and hesitantly took the money from his hand. "This is all you have to give me?"

"I have my heart and my soul, and I have my devotion to give you. And a promise that I'll make you happy." Sean reached into his pocket again and pulled out one last dime. "And I have ten cents more."

Laurel laughed softly. "Ten cents. Well, that makes a big difference. For $14.79, I would have given you five or six years. But for $14.89, you can have the rest of my life."

Sean took one last step toward her and Laurel threw herself into his arms, the money falling to the floor, their mouths meeting in a frantic kiss. The taste of her was like a drug, soothing his nerves, exciting his desire. His hands moved to her face, skimming over her features as if he had to prove to himself that this really was Laurel in his arms.

"Say it again," he murmured. "Say you want to marry me."

"I do," Laurel said, laughing. "I do, I do, I do."

"I promise to make you happy, Laurel. And I promise I'll never walk away again." He grabbed her waist and lifted her feet off the floor. "I love Laurel Rand," he shouted, his words echoing in the huge room.

"And I love Sean Quinn," she replied. She hugged him. "That really isn't so hard to say, is it?"

Sean shook his head. "I love you, Laurel." As he kissed her again, a wave of emotion washed over him. Love wasn't a curse and it wasn't an affliction. Instead, it was a power, deeper than anything he'd ever known in his life. And it was also the one thing that connected him with all his Mighty Quinn ancestors. For despite his father's cautionary tales, it had been and always would be a woman who made the Quinns the mightiest men of all.