The Mighty Quinns: Dermot

“Are you Rachel, then?” he asked.

She blinked in surprise. Did she know him? Was he some forgotten classmate from high school? An older brother of one of her friends? A friend of one of her older siblings? “I am.”

“I saw your note posted over at the grocery store. One of the checkers told me she saw you pass by and thought you might be headed here. You’re looking for a ranch hand?”

“Farm,” she said. “It’s a farm, not a ranch.”

“I thought you said it was a dairy.”

“A dairy… farm.” She cleared her throat nervously. Was this man really answering her ad?

“So, do you need a hand? Because I need a job and somewhere to stay.”

“You want to work for me?” At first, Rachel couldn’t believe her good fortune. But then, as she began to consider his offer, she was forced to contemplate why a man as handsome as this one was willing to take a low-paying job without any chance for advancement and virtually no benefits besides all the free goat’s milk he could drink. “You don’t look like a guy who’s spent much time on a farm.”

“And you look nothing like a goat farmer,” he said, a teasing smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I’m going to be in Mapleton for six weeks. I need a job to occupy my time. And I need a place to stay, somewhere cheap. I’m willing to work hard if you’ll give me room and board and a decent wage.”

“How decent?” she asked.

“I don’t know. What were you looking to pay?”

“Full-time, I should offer you two hundred a week, plus meals and lodging,” she said. “I can afford a hundred a week. Cash. Plus room and board.”

“A hundred sounds good to me. As long as the meals are decent.” He moved to grab another sack and loaded it into the back of the truck. “All of these?”

She nodded as she studied him shrewdly. No, this couldn’t possibly be happening to her. Men like this didn’t just drop into her life. There must be something more to his story, maybe something… criminal? “What’s your name?”

“Dermot,” he said. “Dermot Quinn.”

“Where are you from?”

“Seattle.” He straightened, rubbing his hands on the front of his jeans. “Is this an interview now? As you can see, I’m strong. I’m pretty smart and handy around the house. I’ll do what I’m told, unless I don’t agree with it, and then I’ll tell you.”

“You’re good at home repairs?”

He nodded. “I can build you just about anything you’d like if you’ve got tools and materials. Hell, I could build you a boat.”

“I don’t need a boat,” she said. Rachel looked at him intently. “Is there anything that I should know about you before I offer you this job?”

His eyebrow slowly rose as he gave her a quizzical look. “I… prefer beer to wine. I don’t like cooked vegetables. I’m not very good at doing my laundry. And I sleep in the buff. Is that what you’re getting at?”

An image of him, naked, his limbs twisted in her bedsheets, flashed in Rachel’s mind. “Actually, I was going to ask if you have a criminal record,” she said. “But I guess the rest is good to know.” She couldn’t help but smile at the confusion on his face.

“No!” he said. “Of course not. I’ve never even had a speeding ticket.”

“If you don’t have a criminal record, why aren’t you looking for a real job? A guy with your… talents?”

“Is this an imaginary job you’re offering?”

“No. But I mean a job that pays more than slave wages and doesn’t involve cleaning gutters and shoveling goat poop. A job where your pretty face might get you more than three dollars an hour.”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “If you hire me, I promise, I’ll explain it all to you.”

Though Rachel wasn’t sure she ought to believe him, there was something about this man that intrigued her. Yet, for all she knew, he could be a consummate liar… or a con man… or maybe a serial killer. “Hang on,” she said.

Rachel ran up the steps of the feed store and poked her head inside. “Harley, Sam, come out here. I need you.”

“Finally giving up on those feed bags?” Harley asked.

“No. I need you to be a witness.” The two men followed her back outside. Rachel pointed to the man standing behind her truck. “Tell them your name,” she called.

“Dermot Quinn.”

Frowning, she turned back to Harley and Sam. “See this guy? He’s coming to work on my farm. If I turn up the victim of some horrible crime, this is the guy to look for.” She glanced back at Dermot. “Where are you from again?”

“Seattle,” he said.

“Do you have any identification with you?” Harley asked.

Dermot pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took out his driver’s license, then handed it to Rachel. “It’s all there. I can give you references if you like. People who’ll vouch for my character.” He withdrew a business card and held it out to her. “Here. You can call my office.”

Harley looked over Rachel’s shoulder at the identification. “Looks legit to me. But I’d make him sleep in the barn.”

“He looks trustworthy to me,” Sam said. “And he’s a nice lookin’ guy, if you don’t mind me sayin’.” He wagged his finger at Dermot. “Behave yourself, mister, and we won’t have a problem. Get out of hand and old Eddie is likely to shoot you in the ass.”

Dermot smiled. “I’ll be the model of propriety.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Harley muttered, “but anyone who can use big words like that is probably no one to worry about.”

The two farmers wandered back inside. “Who is Eddie?” Dermot asked.

“My uncle. He lives on the farm, too. He’s not as bad as everyone says he is. He’s just a bit… grumpy. It would be best to avoid him.” Rachel rubbed her palms together. “I guess you have a job,” she said.

“Then, I guess I’d better finish loading this feed,” Dermot replied.

THE RIDE TO THE FARM offered Dermot a chance to find out a little more about his beautiful new boss. Her widowed father had died the previous year and she’d come home three months before his death to help care for him. She had two older brothers and an older sister and had worked as an artist in Chicago.

When she pulled off the road and into a driveway, Dermot’s attention turned to his new home. Clover Meadow Farm was right out of the movies with its red barn, fieldstone silo and white clapboard house. The old Victorian sat back from the road, surrounded by a grove of tall maple trees. A smaller stone house stood behind it, a ramshackle porch running the length of the facade.

An old man sat on the porch of the stone house, his wrinkled brow furrowed, his dark eyes observant. A small black goat sat on his lap, also watching warily.

“This is it,” Rachel said as she hopped out of the truck.

Dermot grabbed his bag from the back of the pickup before following her across the yard. He felt something tug on his leg and glanced down to find the little goat nibbling at the bottom of his jeans.

He stepped away, but the goat was undeterred. “Hey, cut that out.”

“Benny, shoo,” Rachel said. She looked at the old man on the porch. “Do not let that goat in the house again, you hear me?”

The old man slowly stood. “I hear you. Who is this?”

“Uncle Eddie, this is Dermot Quinn. I just hired him to help out on the farm. He’s got six weeks with nothing to do. I figure we can get him to help us finish some of the repair work around here.”

The frown on the old man’s face grew deeper. “Dermot Quinn? What kind of name is that?”

“It’s Irish,” Dermot said.

“Lemme see your hands.”

Dermot dropped his bag and approached, holding his hands out, then flipping them palms up. “I’m a hard worker. I’m strong and I’m not afraid to get dirty.”

“Can you milk a goat?”

Dermot gasped. “No. But I’m sure I could learn if you showed me how.”

“Don’t worry,” Rachel said. “We don’t milk by hand. We have machines for that.” She smiled at her uncle. “Eddie, I’d like our new worker to take the bedroom upstairs in your house. Do you have any objections?”

Dermot shook his head. “Hey, I don’t want to put you out. I can sleep in the barn if—”

“No problem,” Eddie said. “I’ll be able to keep an eye on him. You step out of line, mister, and I’ll run you off with a load of buckshot in your behind. I’ve done it before, don’t think I haven’t.”

“Come on,” Rachel said, walking up the steps. “I’ll show you your room.”

She held open the screen door and Dermot followed her inside. They climbed a narrow staircase to the second floor and she pointed to a door on the left.

“Has he really shot someone?” Dermot asked.

“Yes. Shot at someone. He wasn’t aiming to hit him. Just chase him off.”

Dermot frowned. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. But as he followed Rachel up the stairs, his gaze fixed on her backside, enhanced by a pair of jeans that hugged her curves. No, he’d definitely made the right choice.

“This is the original farmhouse,” Rachel explained. “It was built in 1870 by my great-great-grandparents.”

She opened the bedroom door to reveal an old iron bed, covered by a colorful quilt. An overstuffed chair sat in the corner, its upholstery worn, and the wall above the bed was covered with old pictures from the turn of the century. Faded flowered wallpaper covered all four walls. An old chest of drawers and a vanity sat near each of two windows.

“My great-grandparents lived here, too, before they built the big house. My grandparents lived here after my parents took over the farm. My grandfather was born in this room.” She drew a deep breath. “It’s nothing fancy. No air-conditioning, but I’ll bring you a fan from the house.”

“I don’t need anything fancy,” he said. “This is really quite nice.” He’d always heard that farmers’ daughters were supposed to be beautiful, but he hadn’t expected this.

Though she wore faded jeans and a tattered shirt, Rachel Howe was a stunner. Her honey-blond hair was pulled up into a crooked ponytail and tied with a scarf and she wore absolutely no makeup. Yet, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. And obviously farming was good exercise because she had a body that any trainer would be proud of.

“There’s a bathroom downstairs,” she said. “Just off the kitchen. No shower, just a tub. There are showers in the barn. Probably better to use those rather than upset Eddie’s routine.”

“He doesn’t seem to like me much,” Dermot said.

Rachel laughed. “He’s not so bad, once you get to know him. And a word of warning. Don’t let him talk you into helping him get rid of the skunk living under the corncrib. He’s got some kind of vendetta going on, and the last time he got sprayed, he stunk for a week.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dermot said.

“I’ll just open a window and get some fresh air in here.”

Rachel managed to get one sash up, but struggled with the other. Dermot crossed the room and reached around her to offer his help. But the moment their bodies brushed against each other, he realized how close they actually were. The window flew up and Rachel fell back against him.

Holding on to her shoulders, he turned her around. Their gazes locked for what seemed like an eternity. Though he knew it was probably a mistake, Dermot’s instincts took over and he bent close and brushed a kiss across her lips. When she gasped, he quickly stepped back, cursing his impetuous move.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m… I shouldn’t have done that.” He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Shit. I don’t usually—”

“I liked it,” Rachel interrupted.

“What?”

“Don’t be sorry. I wanted you to kiss me.” Her cheeks flushed and she smiled nervously. “A single woman living on a goat farm doesn’t often get the opportunity to kiss an attractive single man.” She paused. “You are single, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

She gave him a dubious stare. “Really?”

Dermot held his hand to his heart. “I swear.”

“Oh, my God, why?” she asked. “A guy as good-looking as you could have any woman he wanted.”

“I guess I just haven’t found the right woman yet.”

“Well, you’ve come to the wrong place,” she said with a laugh. “Mapleton, Wisconsin, is not exactly crawling with beautiful women.”

“I found one already,” Dermot replied. “And I’ve only been here a few hours.”

This brought a deeper blush to her cheeks. “You have the job. You don’t have to flatter the boss to keep it.”

“You’re beautiful, I’m charming. I think we’ll get along just fine.”

Rachel seemed to enjoy the back-and-forth banter between the two of them and Dermot realized that being stuck in Mapleton, Wisconsin, might not be the worst thing in the world. He had a roof over his head and a sexy woman to occupy his thoughts. If the food were decent, he’d be set.

“Well, I’ll let you settle in. We’ve got a few hours before we start milking. We milk the goats twice a day, 5:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m.”

“Right,” he said warily. “I suppose they don’t milk themselves.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” She turned for the door, then glanced over her shoulder. “When you’re ready, I’ll give you a tour of the barns. Just knock on the back door.”

Dermot listened to her footsteps on the stairs, then he heard the screen door slam. He chuckled softly as he shrugged out of his shirt. What was a woman like Rachel doing all alone on a goat farm? Maybe this was his problem. All the really interesting women in the world were living in some rural hideaway, waiting for some unsuspecting guy to discover them.

He unzipped his duffel, then grabbed a clean T-shirt. He stared at his reflection in the old mirror above the chest of drawers. Though he’d spent the past two days on a bus, he didn’t look any worse for wear. He was in serious need of a shave and a shower and a decent meal and a long nap. But he suspected all that would have to wait until after he milked a few goats.

Dermot smoothed his hand over the stubble on his cheek. He could at least manage a quick shave. He stripped out of his shirt and then, dressed only in his jeans, grabbed his shaving kit and headed downstairs to the bathroom.

He’d just lathered his face when Eddie appeared at the bathroom door. “I—I was just going to shave. If you prefer I do this in the barn, I can—”

Rachel’s uncle scowled, then nodded. “My goats prefer a well-groomed dairyman. But lay off the Old Spice. They won’t like you if you smell funny.”

As he lathered his face, Dermot watched the old man in the mirror. He had to hand it to his grandfather. This was going to be a real challenge, especially considering that he’d have both a beautiful woman and her surly uncle to contend with.

He wondered whether his brothers had arrived at their destinations and what strange fates had befallen them. Would they be as lucky as he was to find such lovely scenery?

Though he was tempted to call one of them, his grandfather had requested that they give up their cell phones for the duration. They were on their own, left to their own devices to live a different life for the next six weeks.

When he left Seattle, six weeks had seemed like an eternity. But now that he’d met Rachel Howe, it seemed like barely enough time at all.

2

RACHEL STOOD AT the kitchen sink, staring out the window at the front porch of the stone house. Her gaze fixed on a bumblebee that lazily buzzed around her grandmother’s perennial garden as her mind wandered back to the kiss she’d shared with Dermot Quinn.

A tiny shiver skittered through her and she turned her attention back to the lunch dishes. How was it possible to be so overwhelmingly attracted to a man she didn’t even know? She’d been living at the farm full-time for over a year now, with her friends an hour away in Chicago. She hadn’t been with a man in all that time.

“I suppose that explains it,” she murmured to herself. Though she’d never call herself promiscuous, she did have boyfriends and lovers on a fairly regular basis. But a year was a really long time to go without any sex at all. And since Dermot had arrived, her year of celibacy seemed destined to end—soon.

It wasn’t as if she wanted to live the life of a nun. Leaving the farm was almost impossible, even for a weekend. Eddie couldn’t run the dairy on his own and she hadn’t been able to find reliable helpers. So she’d been stuck, biding her time and wondering if her sex life would ever get back to normal.

Maybe the solitude had just gotten to her and that’s why she’d kissed him. Yes, she was pathetically lonely and he was incredibly handsome and charming. Would it be wrong to take advantage of her good fortune? A kiss here and there wouldn’t do either one of them any harm. But could she stop at just one kiss?

A screen door squeaked and she glanced up to see Dermot headed across the yard, freshly shaved and dressed in a faded T-shirt and jeans. Every time she looked at him he seemed to get more good-looking. A few seconds later, he knocked on the door. She grabbed a towel and wiped her hands, then let him in.

“Hey,” he said, giving her a shy smile.

“You look… refreshed,” Rachel commented. “Are you hungry? I could make you a sandwich. It’s going to be a while until dinner. We eat after we’re done milking and that’s usually around eight.”

He nodded. “No, I can wait. I know I haven’t earned anything yet but—”

She held out the dish towel. “You can dry the dishes,” Rachel suggested.

He chuckled softly. “I may not know how to milk a goat, but I can definitely dry dishes.” He took the towel from her hand, his fingers touching hers for a moment. The contact sent a thrill racing through her and she groaned inwardly.

So it had been a year. She still remembered exactly what to do with a man once she had him in bed. It wasn’t something she could forget. But a man as sexy as Dermot might expect a woman to please him in very different ways, very… unusual ways.

Though Rachel considered herself experienced, most of the guys she’d been with hadn’t been very adventurous in the bedroom. She could count her lovers on two hands with a couple fingers left over. And the most exciting experience she’d ever had was making love on the kitchen floor of her apartment.

She stared at the spot on the floor at Dermot’s feet, wondering if that might be the next place it happened.

“Rachel?”

Startled out of her thoughts, she looked up to find him staring at her. “I was just going to make a pie for dessert,” she mumbled.

Her heart pounded and she drew a deep breath to try to calm herself. How had this happened? She hadn’t even thought of the possibilities until he’d kissed her, and now she could think of nothing else. Her brain was filled with sex, sex and more sex.

“You can bake a pie,” he said. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met a woman who could bake a pie.”

Rachel slowly gathered the things she’d need and placed them on the table in the center of the kitchen. That’s not all she could do, she mused. In fact, she had a lot of undiscovered talents.

“Tell me what you’re doing on this farm all alone.”

“I was raised here,” she said. “My parents used to keep dairy cows, but I was allergic to cow’s milk, so they got some goats. As my dad got older, it was easier to raise goats.”

“When did your parents pass away?” Dermot asked.

“My dad just this last fall. My mom about five years ago.”

“My folks died when I was just a kid,” he said. “In a boating accident.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing up at him.

He shrugged. “I barely remember them. We were raised by my grandfather. Me and my three brothers.”

“I have a sister and two brothers, but they’re a lot older than me,” she explained. “The closest one is fifteen years older. I don’t remember living with siblings. It was always just me and my parents.”

“So you stayed on the farm with them?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I did the same thing that my brothers and sister did. As soon as I graduated from high school, I headed out into the world. I went to art school in Chicago and then started my own line of greeting cards. I lived in San Francisco and then moved to New York with a boyfriend, who broke up with me a month later. I came back here to care for my dad and decided to stay for a while.” She paused. “My dad’s will stipulated that if any of his children wanted to run the farm, then they could have it. If not, it gets sold and the proceeds divided up between us.”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t want this place sold,” he said. “It’s perfect.”

“You haven’t met the goats yet,” she said with a smile.

“I met Benny. He was kind of cute.”

“It’s like living with sixty children who never stop eating, will try anything to get loose, require round-the-clock supervision and can’t tell you when they’re sick. It can be really stressful at times. I’m just glad to finally have some help.”

“Well, anything I can do to relieve your stress, just let me know.”

Rachel met his gaze, wondering if he was thinking what she was. There were many ways to relax. A nice, long bath. A massage. A lazy afternoon in bed with a naked man. And an orgasm so powerful that it—Rachel swallowed hard and turned back to the pie.

She could barely remember what she was supposed to do, her hands fumbling with the ingredients. They continued to chat, but all she could think about was finding an excuse to stand close enough to him so he might kiss her again.

Once the pie was in the oven, she went to the sink to wash her hands. He handed her the towel. “What next, boss?”

“You can help me bring the goats in from the pasture. I think we should get an early start on the milking since I’m going to have to teach you how to do it.”

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go. I’m ready to get to work.” They walked to the door and he opened it for her, then gently rested his hand on her back as she passed through. Was he feeling the same way about her? Was he looking for an excuse to touch her? Or was she the only lovesick, horny fool on this farm?

As they crossed the yard, he kept a respectful distance. But when they got past the barn to the path out to the west pasture, he grabbed her hand and tucked it in his. Rachel smiled to herself. Maybe he was having a hard time keeping his hands off her.

She tried her best to explain the basics of the dairy, the breeds of the goats, the process for pasteurizing the milk, and the small artisanal-cheese maker who bought the milk from her.

“It’s a beautiful place,” Dermot said.

“It is,” she agreed. “But it’s so difficult to make a go of it. We’re always scrambling to pay the bills. My sister and brothers want to sell, but I’m just not ready for that yet. I made a promise to my dad to keep the farm in the family. I don’t want my generation to be the last generation of Howes to live at Clover Meadow.”

As they walked, Dermot continued to question her. Rachel was surprised at how much he was able to absorb about the business aspects of farming. He was exactly the kind of person she needed here on the farm—for so many reasons beyond just sexual.

When they reached the gate of the pasture, Rachel stood on the bottom rung and unwrapped a leather lead from the post. “Watch,” she said. She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. The herd all turned in her direction and started moving toward her.

“Wow, that’s amazing. They’re like dogs.”

“They’re really, really smart,” she said. She handed him the lead, then opened the gate. “Clip this onto the goat with the bell. That’s Lady. She’s kind of the queen of the dairy. The oldest goat. I took her to the State Fair my senior year of high school. Blue ribbon. We’re very old friends.”

“Do they bite?” he asked, observing the herd warily.

“Sometimes. But just walk in there like you know what you’re doing. Show them who is boss.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said.

“Charm them like you charmed me,” Rachel suggested.

“And how did I charm you?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Talk sweet to them. Soft. Smile a little.”

Rachel ushered him inside the gate, then closed it behind him. The goats surrounded him and he held up his arms as they nudged at his legs. When he spotted Lady, Dermot gradually worked his way over to her and clipped the lead on her collar. “All right, now what?”