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The Mighty Quinns: Jack
Kate Hoffmann
Mia McMahon isn’t thrilled that her wealthy father is now dating a woman from his past.But once she meets Jack Quinn, she forgets all about getting his mother out of the picture – and instead focuses on getting him into bed! Because, as everyone knows, the most delicious affairs are the forbidden ones…
Praise for Kate Hoffmann’s MIGHTY QUINNS
“This truly delightful tale packs in the heat and a lot of heart at the same time.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Dermot
“This is a fast read that is hard to tear the eyes from.
Once I picked it up I couldn’t put it down.”
—Fresh Fiction on The Mighty Quinns: Dermot
“A story that not only pulled me in,
but left me weak in the knees.”
—Seriously Reviewed on The Mighty Quinns: Riley
“Sexy, heartwarming and romantic, this is a story to settle down with and enjoy—and then reread.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Teague
“Sexy Irish folklore and intrigue weave throughout this steamy tale.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Kellan
“The only drawback to this story is that it’s far too short!”
—Fresh Fiction on The Mighty Quinns: Kellan
“Strong, imperfect but lovable characters,
an interesting setting and great sensuality.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Brody
About the Author
KATE HOFFMANN has written more than seventy books for Mills & boon, most of them for the Blaze
line. She spent time as a music teacher, a retail assistant buyer and an advertising exec before she settled into a career as a full-time writer. She continues to pursue her interests in music, theater and musical theater, working with local schools in various productions. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her cat, chloe.
The Mighty
Quinns: Jack
Kate Hoffmann
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Thanks Paul S.!
This book is for you (and your mom)!
Prologue
AILEEN QUINN kNELT over the bed of pansies, digging into the soil with her trowel until she’d broken up the clumps around the plants. The wind was chilly and the weather rolling in from the Atlantic was sure to bring rain. But it was spring in Ireland and she was alive to enjoy another summer. At age ninety-six, one couldn’t ask for much more.
She braced her hands on the tall handles of her gardening bench and slowly got to her feet. Every day was a blessing, she mused. And with each day came the hope that she would find more members of the family that she’d lost all those years ago.
As one of Ireland’s most famous novelists, she lived a charmed life. But it hadn’t started that way. She’d been raised in an orphanage, her father killed in the Irish uprising and her mother dead of consumption when Aileen was two. She had spent her life alone, without a single blood relative to call family.
But then, in the midst of doing research for her biography, she learned of her four older brothers—Diarmuid, Conal, Lochlan and Tomas, who had been sent from Ireland by her mother, hoping that her boys would make lives of their own in a more promising place.
Her investigator, Ian Stephens, had already tracked down one descendant, a lovely young man named Logan Quinn who ran a horse-breeding farm outside Brisbane, Australia. He’d also found Logan’s parents who had recently visited her in Ireland. She’d given David Quinn and his son, Logan, a sizeable gift from her estate, almost a million dollars each.
Aileen smiled to herself. She had so much money and nothing to do with it. Better that it went to help her family. They were the people who’d be her legacy, the children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren of her lost brothers.
“Miss Quinn?”
Aileen glanced over her shoulder to see Ian Stephens standing at the garden gate. “Hello,” she said with a smile. “Either you’re early or I’ve lost all track of time.”
“It’s half past eleven,” he said. “That was when we were supposed to meet, wasn’t it?”
She pulled off her gardening gloves and dropped them onto the padded bench. “Yes, it was. Come, let’s get out of this dampness and in front of a warm fire. I’m cold to the bone.”
Ian offered her his arm as they walked through the garden then onto the wide terrace and into the house. Sally, her housekeeper, appeared almost immediately and helped Aileen out of her jacket. “I’ve laid a fire in the parlor,” she said. “I’ll bring you tea.”
“Thank you, Sally. And bring a cup for yourself. Mr. Stephens has come with news, haven’t you, Mr. Stephens?”
He grinned. “I have. Lots of news. All good.”
Aileen nodded. “Then I think we’ll also need some of your blackberry scones, as well, Sally. And real butter, not that terrible paste you and Doctor Arnett insist I eat. I’m nearly ninety-seven years old. What harm will a few bites of butter do me now?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sally muttered, sending Ian a secret smile. “But I’m sure Mr. Stephens doesn’t keep his trim figure by gobbling down butter every chance he gets.”
Ian forced a smile, then cleared his throat. “I’ll have butter,” he said.
He extended his arm and Aileen slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Let’s go find a quiet place to talk, shall we?”
The stone country house was warm and cozy, filled with comfortable furnishings and items she’d collected over a lifetime. They walked to the parlor and Aileen sat down in the chair closest to the fire.
They chatted about the weather until Sally returned with the tea tray. She poured them both a cup and then found a spot for herself on a nearby sofa.
Aileen held out a plate of scones. “Have one. Sally bakes them for me every day. They are the only indulgence left to me, I’m afraid.”
As he munched on a scone, Ian opened his portfolio and withdrew a folder, holding it out to her as he wiped his other hand on a linen napkin.
She hesitated before taking it, knowing that the information inside would open yet another door to her past. There were times when the regrets outweighed the joy. “Tell me,” she said. “Who have you found?”
“Conal,” Ian said, setting his scone down. “And it wasn’t a simple task.”
She opened the folder to find a copy of a faded photograph. Though she wanted to recognize the face, the subject of the photograph was a stranger. “He’s a handsome lad,” she said. “I wonder if he resembles my father?”
Ian sat quietly as she studied the photograph. When she looked up at him, he continued. “Conal was hired out as an apprentice to a printer in Cork. Unlike many, this man valued education and Conal attended school until he was sixteen. In his early twenties, he left Cork and started writing for the Irish Independent in Dublin. And when the war broke out in Europe, he covered it. I’ve copied some of his articles.”
“He was a writer? My brother was a writer?”
“Yes, ma’am. And quite a good one from what I could see.”
“I used to read that paper,” Aileen said. “I might have seen his name.” She laughed softly. “If only we might have met. But then, would we have known each other?”
“After the war, he made his way to the U.S. where he settled in Chicago and founded an Irish weekly. He married at age 45 and had two children, a daughter, Mary Katherine, who became a nun, and a son, John, who married in 1975. John had three children, two daughters, Kristina and Katherine, and a son, Jack.”
Aileen picked up another photo, turning it over to find the name written on the back. “Jack Quinn.”
“He’s a sports writer,” Ian explained. “And his sisters are both high school teachers.”
“And their father?”
“He followed his own father into the newspaper business, but he died of a heart ailment a few years after his youngest daughter was born. From what I’ve uncovered, the family has struggled, but they are now living comfortably.”
“Have you contacted them yet?” Aileen asked.
“Not yet. I’m leaving for Chicago at the end of the week.”
Aileen closed the folder and hugged it to her chest. “I’d like to meet them. The whole family. You’ll arrange it, won’t you? Do all you can to convince them to come?”
“Kristina and Katherine are married and have young children.”
“Well, then, I’m looking forward to entertaining little ones. I’ve never had children in this house. It’s about time I did, don’t you think?”
“I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve contacted them,” Ian said.
He moved to get up but she waved him back into his chair. “You don’t have to rush off,” she said. “I enjoy your visits.”
“I enjoy them, too.”
She reached for a photo sitting on the small table next to her chair. “Have I shown you this? Logan sent it to me. He and Sunny got married last month. I was invited to the wedding, but I don’t travel much anymore.” She stared down at the couple in the photo, Logan dressed in a smart suit and Sunny in a simple flowing dress. They looked so happy, starting out their life together. She handed the picture to Ian.
“They are a lovely couple.”
“It’s the only regret I’ve ever had, you know. That I never married and had children.” She sighed softly, then put on a bright expression. “I sent them a wedding present. Two handmade Irish riding saddles. They were very pleased. I just got a letter from them last week.”
Aileen sat back in her chair and watched as Ian devoured another scone. She was beginning to like this young man. He took his work very seriously, which was a good thing for her. But she worried that he might not have enough time for a personal life. A young man like him ought to be thinking about marriage and a family.
Family was the most important thing in life, she mused. Everyone should have a family to love and treasure. And before the year was over, she hoped to be able to add to the three family members she’d already found, for then, she would be truly rich.
1
“THIS IS CRAZY,” Jack Quinn muttered. “I should never have taught you how to use Facebook.” He glanced over at his mother, standing quietly next to him in the baggage claim area at the San Francisco airport.
For a woman who had worked so tirelessly her whole life, Elyse Quinn looked remarkably young. But then, he’d noticed a change in her entire demeanor these past few months. He caught her smiling for no reason and the weight of the world seemed to have lifted from her shoulders. She looked…optimistic.
Jack’s mother had retired from her teaching job and was now happily looking forward to the next phase of her life. And part of that shift had included more travel. Strangely, her first post-retirement trip wasn’t to Europe or Asia, it was to visit an old childhood friend on the West Coast.
Elyse Quinn and Ben McMahon had spent summers as neighbors, their families living in lake cabins next door to each other. But when financial problems caused Elise’s family to sell the cabin when she was fourteen, they lost touch with the McMahons. Until Elyse discovered Ben on Facebook and they reconnected.
“Where are we supposed to meet him?” Jack asked, his gaze returning to the baggage carousel.
“Ben said he’d be here to pick us up. I expect if he doesn’t find us here, he’ll be waiting outside.” Elyse glanced over at him. “You really didn’t have to come along with me, Jack. I’m perfectly able to travel on my own. I went to Norway last year by myself, after all.”
“That was a tour. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you fly halfway across this country to meet some man you barely remember. You don’t know anything about him.”
“Don’t be silly. We’ve been writing to each other for six months. And phoning. And using Facebook. And Skype. And I know you’ve done your research, too. If there’d been anything bad about him, you wouldn’t have allowed me to buy a plane ticket. Ben McMahon is a nice person and once you meet him, you’ll see that.”
Jack groaned inwardly. “You know what I think? I think you have romantic feelings for him. You just won’t admit it.”
Elyse smiled. “Don’t be silly. We’re old friends and that’s all. It’s a little late for me to be thinking about romance. And it is possible for a man and a woman to be friends.” She sighed softly. “Your father was the one great love of my life. I’m not looking for love.”
Jack’s thoughts flashed back to the night his father died, the night he’d been called to John Quinn’s bedside at the hospital.
The virus had taken away so much of his strength, destroying his heart. Jack had known that the end was near. He’d been nine years old and his father told him that he was now the man of the house. It was his job to protect his mother and two younger sisters.
And so he had, taking on the task with such ferocity that his concern sometimes bordered on obsession. His two younger sisters, now married, had every boyfriend strictly vetted until they brought home two men that Jack had finally found worthy to join the family.
Once Katie and Kris were out of the house, Jack had been left with just his mother to watch over. Luckily, his work as a sports writer had kept him in the Chicago area and her career as a kindergarten teacher had kept her busy. But now that she’d retired, everything had changed.
“There it is,” Elyse said, pointing to her bag. “Now where is yours?”
Jack continued to watch the carousel. “Did you call to confirm the hotel rooms?” he asked. “I still think we should have rented a car.”
“Ben is more familiar with the city than we are. And parking is so expensive, even at the hotel. I’m sure he knows best.”
Ben, Ben, Ben. That’s all his mother had been talking about for the past six months.
“What did you do with Roger for the weekend?” Elyse asked.
“He’s with Melanie,” Jack murmured. He and Melanie had broken up last year after a six-year relationship that his family had assumed would result in marriage. They’d shared a condo, an active social life and a mutt named Roger.
“I sure wish you two could work out your problems,” Elyse said.
“Mom, don’t start. I told you, that’s not going to happen. We’re just friends.”
Her brow arched. “Just friends. I thought men and women couldn’t be just friends.”
