The Mighty Quinns: Sean

Sean cleared his throat, an uneasy expression crossing his face. “Uh, no.” He took a step back. “I’d, uh, better be going now. You have a lot to take care of. You probably can’t return the wedding dress, but maybe your guests will let you keep the gifts—once they realize this isn’t your fault….”

“What size jacket do you wear?” Laurel quickly turned and retrieved a garment bag from a hook on the back of the standing mirror. “I’m pretty sure this will fit,” she murmured as she unzipped the bag and glanced down at his shoes. She could still salvage something from this mess. “I doubt we’d be so lucky that the shoes would fit, too. Edward had really big feet.”

“No way. I’m not getting all dressed up so I can tell your guests that you’re not getting married,” Sean said. “I’ve done what I came here to do. I’m leaving.”

“I don’t want you to tell the guests,” Laurel said. “I do plan to get married this afternoon.”

“Eddie is in jail. And I don’t think they’ll let him out.”

“Oh, I’m not going to marry Edward,” she said. “I’m going to marry you.”

Dear Reader,

I can't believe that the last episode in my MIGHTY QUINNS saga is finished and in your hands! When I started this project, I signed on for three books. And now, seven books later, I’ve married off all the Quinns—Conor, Dylan, Brendan, Keely, Liam, Brian and finally, Sean.

It’s no wonder Sean was the last to find love. He’s been the one to resist it more than any other Quinn. But when I chose Laurel Rand as the heroine of this book, I knew that Sean was a marked man. No matter how hard he tried, love was going to get him. He was about to fall very fast and very hard.

I hope you enjoy the last book in my MIGHTY QUINNS series. I can’t tell you if I’ll write any more. I’m sure there are Quinn cousins out there somewhere, waiting to find love. But for now, you can visit www.katehoffmann.com to learn more about my upcoming releases for Harlequin Books.

Happy reading,

Kate Hoffmann

The Mighty Quinns: Sean

Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To old friends and new fun.

To Mary, Jane Y., Lisa, Lori, Jan, Ruthie, Susie and Jane W.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Prologue

SEAN QUINN sat on the front steps of his house on Kilgore Street, his chin cupped in his hand, his elbow resting on his knee. He didn’t have to look down the street to know his twin brother, Brian, was approaching. But right now, he didn’t want to talk to Brian. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Sean!”

“Go to hell!” he shouted as Brian strode up the front sidewalk.

“Come on, don’t be that way. Why didn’t you stick around? She wanted to talk to you. You just stood there like a lump.”

Sean’s fists clenched and he fought the impulse to strike out, to put a nice purple bruise on that pretty face of Brian Quinn’s. “She wanted to talk to you,” Sean shouted. “She’s only pretending to like me so she can get to you. I’m not stupid. I see the way she watches you.”

Brian stopped cold, his jaw agape. A frown wrinkled his brow. Sean took a small amount of satisfaction that he’d had the rare opportunity to best his brother. When it came to the mysterious motivations of seventh-grade girls, Brian still couldn’t tell when he was being hosed.

Sean unclenched his fists, knowing that he couldn’t hit his brother for simple stupidity. Still, he wouldn’t mind popping Brian good just for fun. Although they were twins, they didn’t have much in common beyond looks. Brian was part of the cool crowd at school, always knowing how to act and what to say. The teachers loved him, the girls adored him and he had a wide circle of buddies who seemed to hang on his every word.

Sean was known for nothing more than the fact that he was Brian Quinn’s brother—the shy one, the dumb one, the silent one. He’d always struggled to fit in, knowing Brian’s friends expected so much more from him—and were constantly disappointed when he didn’t deliver. When Colleen Kiley started paying attention to him, he thought, for one brief instant, that he might have found someone who actually saw him for who he was. But it hadn’t taken him long to realize what she was really after. He had always been able to sense when he was being manipulated or lied to.

“She…she doesn’t like me,” Brian stuttered. “She told me she likes you.”

“Get real. Sometimes you can be as dumb as a pile of dirt,” he muttered as he turned and walked to the front door. “Go ask her to the dance and see if she doesn’t say yes. She doesn’t want to go with me, she wants to go with you. She’s just using me to get to you.”

Sean yanked open the ragged screen door and stalked inside, letting the door slam behind him. He stormed through the house, past his little brother Liam, who was sprawled on the floor watching television, and past his oldest brother Conor, who had just come home from the police academy. Dylan, a high school senior, was off with one of his friends and Brendan was sitting quietly at the kitchen table, his nose buried in some dumb book about India.

Life was relatively normal, now that their father, Seamus Quinn, had left for another swordfishing run on the Mighty Quinn. They’d be without their only parent for at least another month, but Sean almost wished his father wouldn’t bother coming home at all. His infrequent periods of residence only threw the family into turmoil and emphasized the fact that the six Quinn brothers were existing on the edge, just a few steps ahead of the social workers and the bill collectors, just a few dollars away from eating ketchup soup for dinner.

Conor had managed pretty well over the years and kept the family from falling apart. Now that he’d graduated from high school and was bringing home a regular paycheck, the future looked a little brighter. Their father’s luck at poker no longer determined whether or not they’d go to bed with empty bellies.

Sean hurried to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. After flopping down on his bed, he covered his eyes with his arm. Sometimes his twin brother was so dense. Jaysus, for a guy who had so many girls drooling over him, he should have figured them out a long time ago.

Each of the Quinn boys had a particular quality they were known for. Nineteen-year-old Conor was the steady one, the provider. Dylan, the next oldest, was the playboy. All he had to do was crook his finger and every girl within a hundred yards was his. Then there was Brendan, the dreamer. He was fifteen and already he could tell the best stories, better than any of the Mighty Quinn tales their father told.

And Brian. For a thirteen-year-old, Brian was smart. He got the best grades in school, he’d been elected class president and he was good at sports. He could stand up in front of the class and give a report without turning all red and fumbling over his words. Sean could already tell that, someday, Brian would be famous. Maybe he’d even be on television. His youngest brother, Liam, was only ten, so Sean wasn’t sure what he’d be good at.

But Sean wasn’t good at anything. With a soft groan, he rolled over and hung off the side of his bed. He pulled a shoebox from the bottom drawer of the bedside table, then sat cross-legged on the bed and set it in front of him on the tattered quilt. He pushed off the lid, then flipped through the contents—his stamp collection, his baseball cards, a purple rabbit’s foot—until he found the small framed picture of the Virgin Mary.

Sean knew his brothers snooped through his treasures, but he also knew that none of them would even consider pinching his picture of the Blessed Virgin. Whether it was superstition, fear of eternal damnation or just a lack of interest in religion, Sean didn’t care. The important thing was that the framed picture made a perfect hiding place.

He carefully pulled the easel back off the picture and withdrew a faded photo he’d hidden there eight years ago. He’d managed to keep the photo a secret, from his brothers and his father, all these years. Maybe that was his talent, Sean mused as he stared at the only surviving photo of his mother—he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

He’d been just three years old when Fiona Quinn had walked out of their lives. His father’s anger and sadness had cast a gloom over the house and he’d begun to drink heavily and gamble more than usual. Two years later, Seamus told them their mother had died in a car crash. All traces of her had been wiped from the house. Though his brothers had grieved for a time, they had quickly moved on.

But Sean remembered. He remembered the spot, now empty, in front of the stove where she used to stand. And her smell—he remembered that she always wore perfume and a red apron. When he’d found the photo, caught behind a kitchen drawer, he’d tucked it away, preserving the only evidence he had of Fiona Quinn’s existence.

He rubbed his thumb gently over her face, as if he were touching her. She was the prettiest lady he’d ever seen. She had beautiful shiny hair and twinkling eyes. And a smile that made him feel better just to look at it. And she was kind and understanding. She was his angel, and whether she was dead or alive, he still felt her presence.

“Ma,” he murmured. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her saying his name. In some secret corner of his mind, before memories even began, he found the sound and it was soft and calming, making the anger he held so tightly inside of him dissolve.

A knock sounded at the door. Sean scrambled to return the photo to its hiding place. When he’d shoved the box back into the drawer, he laid down on the bed. “I don’t want to talk to you!” he shouted, knowing it would be Brian. His brother hated it when people were mad at him.

“It’s my room, too,” Brian replied. He knocked again, more insistent.

Sean hopped up and unlocked the door, then flopped back down on the bed. “You don’t have to be such a pest.”

“I can come in if I want. You can’t keep me out of my own room.”

“Suit yourself,” Sean muttered. “But I don’t have to talk to you.”

Brian sat on the end of Sean’s bed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, you shouldn’t be mad. After all, you are a Mighty Quinn. We all know Mighty Quinns aren’t supposed to like girls. Da says they’re dangerous. Falling in love with girls will destroy us. Just suck the strength right out of us.”

Sean laughed derisively. He’d heard the Mighty Quinn stories for as long as he could remember and recognized them for what they were. “Yeah, well, if you believe all that crap Da feeds us, then you’re dumber than two piles of dirt.”

The stories had become a part of their family history, stories of strong and clever and brave Quinn ancestors who had slain dragons and fought ogres and rescued fair maidens. Though he’d enjoyed the tales when he was younger, he soon saw them for what they were—elaborate lies, filled with his father’s hidden warnings about the evils of the opposite sex.

“Remember that story about our long-ago cousin Ronan Quinn?” Brian slid a little closer.

“I don’t want to hear a story,” Sean insisted.

But Brian wouldn’t be deterred. He loved the stories. “Ronan was from a poor family who lived in a little cottage at the edge of a huge forest. His father was always away and his mother struggled to feed a family of six. When the last potato was eaten and the last bit of flour gone, Ronan knew they were in a desperate state.”

“I don’t want to hear a damn story!” Sean insisted.

“Yes, you do,” Brian said. “It will make you feel better.”

“So he decided to take his club and dagger and go deep into the woods to hunt the wolf,” a hesitant voice continued. Sean and Brian glanced over at the door to see Liam peeking in, adding his own part of the story. He waited, expectantly, hopefully, and when Brian nodded, Liam raced into the room and threw himself on the bed between them.

Brian reached out and ruffled Liam’s dark hair. “If Sean won’t have a story, then I’ll tell it to you.”

Liam grinned. “I love this story.”

Sean cursed beneath his breath and slouched on the bed, determined not to listen to another ridiculous tale of imaginary ancestors.

“The king had put a bounty on the head of every wolf in Ireland,” Brian continued, “and the bounty was enough to feed Ronan and his family for many years. But hunting wolves was a dangerous sport, especially for one so young. And with only a wooden club and a small dagger, Ronan would have to come face-to-face with a wolf in order to kill it—close enough to be killed himself.”

“Wolves have really sharp teeth,” Liam commented. “My teacher showed us a picture of one. They can kill a man.”

“Now, Ronan had never gone to the dark forest and wasn’t sure how to find the wolves. But he vowed to stay in the woods until he found his prey and killed it—or was killed himself. Hunger and thirst tormented him from the start. Then he came upon a small quail with colorful green and yellow feathers and thought, Here is my dinner. But just as he was about to kill the quail with his dagger, the bird turned to him and spoke.”

Liam spoke up in a high, wavering voice, “‘Please,’ she begged Ronan, ‘spare my life and if you do, I will give you a magic acorn. The acorn will give you one wish, and I will give you a piece of advice.”’

Brian nodded. “That’s right. And Ronan, always tenderhearted, couldn’t bring himself to kill the quail. So he took the acorn and bent closer for the bird’s advice. And what was it?”

“‘These woods are full of magic,”’ Liam said.

“So Ronan wished to have a bucketful of money, but nothing happened. ‘I’ve made a bad deal,’ Ronan said to himself as he headed deeper into the woods. He’d been fooled and all he had was a silly acorn in his pocket. Hours later, he still hadn’t seen a wolf or found a bite to eat. But he came upon a huge black boar, rooting in a clearing near a beautiful crystal stream. Ronan’s stomach growled and again he thought, Here is my dinner. He snuck up behind the boar and raised his club, but the boar turned and spoke. ‘If you will let me live, I will give you a magic acorn and a bit of advice,’ the boar said. But Ronan wasn’t about to be duped again. He wasn’t that stupid.”

“Yes, he was,” Liam said. “He took the acorn even though he was starving. And he got more advice. ‘Everything is not as it appears in the magic forest.’ That’s what the boar said. And that was good advice. Wait and see.”

Sean groaned. “Do we have to? You both know how the story ends. Ronan meets the deer with antlers of gold and gets a third magic acorn and more advice. ‘What you want and what you need are not always the same.’ And then he meets a wolf and—”

“No,” Brian interrupted. “This version is different.”

“How?” Sean demanded.

“Ronan meets a…a beautiful druid princess dressed in…in a sparkling white gown, with a crown of emeralds covering her long, blond hair. Ronan had never seen a woman so beautiful and he was immediately captivated.”

Liam frowned. “Wait. That’s not how the story goes!”

“Yes, it is,” Brian insisted, shushing his brother. “The druid princess saw that he possessed three magic acorns and, with three, he could have anything he wanted. She desired them for herself. So she bewitched Ronan and told him that she could offer him anything he wanted for each of the acorns. When she offered to trade him one of his magic acorns for a wonderful feast, Ronan quickly agreed. The moment she took the acorn, a delicious feast appeared before his eyes. Ronan tossed his dagger aside, for what would he need a dagger for if he had such food to eat? He reached for a shank of beef. But before he was allowed to touch the food, the princess offered him something more. A bow appeared, made of the finest silver, and a jeweled quiver full of arrows. Ronan gave her another acorn and quickly tossed his club away, for he could now hunt wolves with his new bow and arrows. But before he could touch the bow and quiver, the princess offered him one final trade. His last acorn for a beautiful steed with a fine leather saddle.”

“Hey! Didn’t you hear me calling?” Conor stood at the door, dressed in his Boston Police Department T-shirt and navy trousers. His hands were braced on his waist and, for a moment, Sean was taken by how different he looked—older, like a real adult. He wasn’t just his pain-in-the-ass big brother anymore. In a few months, he’d be a cop. “Dinner is ready. Come on, it’s getting cold.”

He disappeared and Liam turned back to Brian. “Finish the story. It’s just fishsticks and French fries.”

Brian turned to Sean. “Do you want me to finish?”

“You might as well,” Sean said, knowing that Liam would refuse to leave until he heard how the Mighty Quinn triumphed in the end.

“When Ronan saw the fine steed, he thought, I will catch many wolves with such a fine horse and I will collect many bounties and make my family rich. He pulled the last acorn from his pocket. But then Ronan hesitated. The acorns must have very powerful magic to be so valuable to the princess. The druid princess demanded the third acorn, her voice turning shrill and her face turning ugly with anger. Ronan suddenly remembered the advice he was given by the quail, the boar and the deer.”

“The woods are full of magic, everything is not as it appears and what you want and what you need are not always the same,” Liam repeated.

“‘No!’ Ronan cried, clutching the last acorn in his fist. In the blink of an eye, the feast, the quiver and bow and the fine horse disappeared, for they were an illusion. And the princess turned into a huge, vicious wolf, snarling and lunging toward him, trying to get him to drop the acorn. Ronan had thrown aside all his weapons and had no escape.”

Even Sean wasn’t sure how the story would end, for this was a completely different version of Ronan’s tale from the one his father often told. In his father’s tale, the wolf guarded a princess and Ronan killed the wolf and rescued the princess. Then he chastely returned her to her father and went on his way, because Mighty Quinns never fell in love.

Brian paused and waited, dragging out the moment.

“All right, what happened?” Sean finally asked.

“Well, Ronan gathered his courage, held the single acorn tightly in his fist and closed his eyes, wishing that the wolf would turn into a harmless animal, like a mouse or a rabbit. When the snarling and growling finally ceased, Ronan opened his eyes and in front of him was a beautiful golden wolf pelt, worth a fine bounty from the king. He carefully lifted it up and, to his surprise, an ugly toad jumped out. When the druid princess realized a magic acorn had been used to turn her into a toad, she hopped off into the woods, and Ronan headed for home, anxious to collect his bounty. And after that, there was always food on Ronan’s table.”

Sean couldn’t help but laugh at the tale’s ending. “That story doesn’t even make sense. If Ronan was so smart, why didn’t he just go home with the acorns and wish for something he really needed? And what did a princess need with magic acorns if she had a crown of emeralds? And if she had two acorns already, and Ronan had one, then she could have—”

“Aw, shut yer gob,” Brian said, giving him a shove. “It’s just a story. Who’s gonna believe in magic acorns anyway?”

“It was a good story,” Liam said, his voice full of appreciation. He scrambled off the bed. “And I know the moral. Never trust a woman, no matter how pretty she is. A Mighty Quinn can never fall in love.” He ran to the bedroom door, then turned back. “Oh, yeah, and don’t get too greedy when someone offers you really nice stuff.” He ran out, shouting to Conor that he was starving.

Brian stood and Sean followed his lead. He did feel a little bit better. To hell with Colleen Kiley. Brian could have her, and good riddance. Besides, she really wasn’t even that pretty. She had squinty eyes and she wore too much makeup, and when she laughed, she sounded like a hyena.

“One more thing,” Brian said as they walked out of the bedroom.

“If you’re going to ask if I’m taking Colleen Kiley to the dance you might as well say goodbye to your pretty teeth right now,” Sean said, “’cause I’m gonna knock them through the back of your head.”

Brian laughed. Then he held out his hand. “I thought you might be able to use these.” He dropped three acorns into Sean’s palm.

“What are these for?” Sean asked.

“I figured you could use them to turn Colleen Kiley into a toad. Or maybe a big old sewer rat.” Brian pulled three more out of his pocket. “And if that’s not enough, I’ve got three of my own to use.” He slipped his arm around Sean’s shoulders. “We Quinns gotta stick together, right?”

Sean smiled and nodded. No matter how much he fought with his brothers, he always knew he could depend on them. “Yeah, I guess we do,” he murmured, shoving the acorns into his pocket.

1

SEAN QUINN sat slumped in the front seat of his battered Ford sedan. He’d found a parking space right down the street from the three-flat located in one of Cambridge’s trendy neighborhoods, and he’d been watching the front door for almost two hours.

The case had come to him in a roundabout way, through a colleague he’d met while sitting in a bar one night. Bert Hinshaw was a hard-drinking, woman-chasing, sixty-year-old private investigator, a guy who had seen his share of crazy cases over the years. They had talked for hours, Sean learning from Bert’s experience and Bert grateful to have someone to listen to his tales. A friendship developed and they now met regularly to chat—Bert doing most of the talking and Sean taking mental notes.

But health problems had slowed Bert down, and every now and then he threw a case Sean’s way. Sean had been on this referral for nearly two weeks, hired by a wealthy woman who had been romanced, married, then bilked out of a fortune by Eddie “The Cruiser” Perkins aka Edward Naughton Smyth aka Eddie the Weasel and about six or seven other aliases.

This case had been by far the most lucrative he’d ever taken, even better than the Intertel Bank case he’d had a few months ago. He was making some real money, a guaranteed rate of nearly four hundred dollars a day.

Eddie, a notorious con man and bigamist, had left a trail of broken hearts and empty bank accounts across the country. The FBI had been after him for years. A bail bondsman from Maryland had been on his tail since Eddie had jumped bail in Baltimore. But Sean had been the one to track him down when Eddie’s seventh wife had heard that he was in the Boston area. She had hired Sean to find him and to turn him over to the FBI, so she might exact her own retribution at a trial.

Sean glanced at his watch. On Saturdays, Eddie usually didn’t get out of bed before three in the afternoon. And last night had been a late one. He’d spent the evening with one of his five current lady friends, a wealthy divorcée with a Bentley and a pricey house in Back Bay. Sean had decided that the time was right to move in and had called the FBI. The agent in charge had assured Sean that he’d have two men to the flat within the hour.

“Come on, come on,” he murmured, staring out at the sideview mirror for a nondescript sedan.

It amazed him that a guy like Eddie could convince nine intelligent women from across the country to marry him and then entrust their money to him. He had to admire a guy that smooth. Not that Sean had any problems attracting women. He was a Quinn and there was something in the genes that made the Quinn brothers irresistible to the opposite sex. But, unlike his brothers, he’d never had an easy time talking to women. He just couldn’t think of anything witty or charming to say, nothing to keep them amused—beyond his talents in the bedroom.