And once she did, she’d be able to figure out who she really was—a McClain or a Quinn.
A CHILLY WIND stung Keely’s face as she walked down the rain-slicked sidewalk, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets, her gaze fixed a few feet ahead of her. She was almost afraid to look up, afraid to face what she had come to see.
The weather was cold for early October and a nasty storm was bearing down on the East Coast, the prospect of rain heavy in the air. But that hadn’t stopped her from driving to Boston. Since she’d returned from Ireland just over a week ago, Keely had dreamed about this day, going over it in her head, then with maps spread out on her bed. She had plotted how long it would take to drive from New York to Boston and back again.
She’d wanted to go the day after she’d returned from Ireland, the moment her mother told her that Seamus Quinn was in Boston. She’d found his address on the Internet and was ready to pick up the phone and call him. But she’d stopped herself, unwilling to act impulsively this time. For once in her life, Keely was determined to think before she acted and not rush headlong into something she knew might be dangerous.
Up until this moment, that had been the story of her life—impetuous decisions, impulsive actions, always leading to a severe reckoning. Like the time a friend had dared her to steal money from the offering basket at church. She’d tossed in a quarter and palmed a five-dollar bill, only to be caught by the old lady sitting next to her. Keely had been forced to clean the church bathrooms for six months to pay for that little lapse.
Then there was the time she’d run away with the drummer from a sleazy garage band. She’d been sixteen and had made it as far as New Jersey before the guy dumped her. Fiona hadn’t let her out of the house for almost six months for that unwholesome adventure. And just last year, she’d been hauled into jail for punching a policeman who’d been trying to roust a homeless man who lived in the alley behind her apartment. That had gotten her a substantial fine and a genuine police record.
But her trip to Boston, though risky, wasn’t really reckless. She had no other choice but to come. Only now that she was here, her only thought was how easy it would be to turn around and go home, to take the safe way out and resume her old life. But curiosity drove her forward, in spite of her pounding heart and her quickened breathing. Maybe her mother had been right. The past was the past, Fiona had said. Leave it alone.
The past that Keely had believed was her past had been nothing but a lie, a fabrication devised to quell a curious child’s questions. The father she thought had died in a commercial fishing accident was really alive. And the siblings she’d always longed for were living in a city just a few hundred miles from her home in New York, living lives that she could only imagine. Keely drew a shaky breath, then turned and looked across the street.
It was there, right where it was supposed to be, neon beer signs blazing in the plate-glass windows. Quinn’s Pub. She’d gone to her father’s house, screwed up her courage and knocked on the front door, only to have a neighbor tell her that Seamus Quinn was at the pub he owned, just a few blocks away.
“Seamus,” she murmured as she stared at the pub. “Seamus, Conor, Dylan, Brendan, Brian, Sean, Liam.”
Until a month ago, the names were those of strangers. But in just a few moments of shocking revelation in Maeve’s cottage in Ireland, they’d become her family. Now, she repeated the names over and over again, hoping the mere sound of the syllables would conjure up images of the men who belonged to them.
“All right,” she murmured. “What’s the plan?”
Maybe it would be best just to get a feel for the situation first. She’d go inside and order a beer, maybe get a look at her father. She crossed the street, but as she approached the bar, a man pushed open the front door and stepped outside, then another right behind him. An Irish tune drifted into the night from the interior of the pub, then disappeared on the wind. The lights flooding the front facade provided enough illumination for Keely to see both men, but her gaze was caught by the taller of the two.
It had to be him, though she wasn’t sure which him it was. His features were so unique, the dark hair, the strong jaw and the wide mouth, the very same features she looked at in the mirror every morning—only hers were softened to a feminine form—the same features she’d seen in the old photograph, now altered by age.
Keely had no choice but to continue walking. To turn and run would only draw attention to herself. As she passed the pair, she glanced up and her gaze locked with his. The recognition she felt was reflected in his own expression and, for a moment, Keely was sure he was going to stop and speak to her. A jolt of panic raced through her and she opened her mouth. But a casual greeting was too much. Instead, she just kept walking…walking until she felt a pang of regret at the missed opportunity.
“Keep walking,” Keely murmured to herself. “Don’t look back.”
When she reached the front door of the pub, she started up the steps, but her courage had already been severely shaken. If this was how she reacted to a stranger on the street—a stranger who might not even be one of her brothers—then how would she react when she spoke to her father for the first time in her life?
Another wave of panic overwhelmed and she spun on her heel and hurried back down the steps. She kept going until she reached the shadow of a panel truck parked along the curb. Then Keely turned and watched the two men as they got into an old car parked halfway down the block. Had he recognized her the same way she’d recognized him? Had he seen the same family resemblance that she’d noticed?
The car pulled away from the curb and the two men drove past her. At the last second she stepped into the light. “Wait!” Keely called, raising her hand to wave at them.
But her voice caught in her throat and the words were barely more than a sigh. “Wait,” she murmured as the taillights of the car disappeared into the rain and darkness. Keely stood on the sidewalk for a long time, letting the raindrops spatter on her face and the cold seep through her jacket.
A shiver skittered down her spine and Keely blinked, forced to admit that she had failed. With a softly muttered curse, she started back in the direction from which she had come. When she reached the safety of her car, Keely closed her eyes and tipped her head back, trying to ignore her disappointment.
“It was just a first step,” she murmured as her heart began to slow to its normal rhythm. “The second step will be much easier.”
She flipped on the overhead light and grabbed her purse from the floor, then pulled out the precious photograph. An Irish family—her family—standing on a rocky cliff overlooking the Atlantic. The five boys were so young. Conor, the oldest, was just seven or eight. Liam hadn’t even been born yet. They all looked so happy, so hopeful, ready to set out on the their grand adventure to America. Life was supposed to hold such promise, yet it had all gone so horribly bad.
As Keely rubbed her thumb over the photo, she tried to imagine her mother in those days before she walked away from her family. The notion of leaving her sons behind was impossible to imagine. And even worse was the realization that Keely had been to blame. That perhaps if her mother hadn’t been pregnant again, she might have stayed and tried to work things out.
Slouching down in her seat, Keely turned her gaze toward the door of the pub, watching as patrons walked in and out, hoping that she’d see another man who resembled a boy in the picture. “Conor, Dylan, Brendan,” she murmured. “Brian, Sean, Liam.”
Who were they? What kind of men had they grown up to be? Were they kind and understanding, compassionate and open-minded? How would they react to her sudden appearance in their life? She had grown up not knowing they existed. Would they accept her into the family or would they turn her away?
“Conor, Dylan, Brendan. Sean, Brian, Liam.” She paused. “And Keely.”
A tiny smiled curled the corners of her mouth. “Keely Quinn,” she said. It sounded right. Though she’d