Kate Hoffmann - The Mighty Quinns - Dermot-Dex

“I think loss is something farm kids deal with at an \ age. We see the circle of life all the time. Animals that we love die. We cry and then move on. That doesn’t mean it becomes any easier, but it’s… understood?”

“What scares you, Rachel? Besides tornadoes?” He waited for her answer, wondering what she’d say. Dermot had never met a woman as strong as Rachel Howe, as stubborn or determined.

“I’m afraid that I’ll be alone. I’ll be like Eddie, regretting all the mistakes I made in life, wondering how things might have been different.” She drew a ragged breath. “I’m happy, don’t get me wrong. But I’m afraid that, someday, I’ll wake up and it will be too late.”

“That will never happen,” Dermot said. He wanted to say more, to tell her how much she meant to him, to make her understand that if he could ever love anyone it would be her.

Dermot could imagine a future with her, a life that included more happiness than he’d ever had in the past. He had never had a serious relationship. There’d been dating relationships, and sexual relationships, but none of them ventured into the realm of “emotional.”

Yet, when he was with Rachel, he didn’t want to be anywhere else. If he were honest, he was almost afraid to leave her, afraid that what they had found together might suddenly evaporate. At this point in every other relationship, he was usually looking for a way out. But with Rachel, he was still trying to figure a way in.

Neither one of them had any expectations, beyond hard work and constant companionship. And when there was a promise of more, he accepted their relationship for what it was—for as long as it lasted.

Was that why he was so confused? Without a point of reference, he had no way of judging what they shared together. Was this love? Friendship? Or just sexual desire being satisfied? Suddenly, it was important to put a name to it.

A clap of thunder shook the house and Rachel jumped, groaning softly. Dermot took her hand in his. “Come on.”

“No, I’m not going to bed until this is over.”

“This will help. I promise.”

Reluctantly, she followed him into the kitchen. He opened the door and rain-damp wind buffeted them both. The sky was a riot of light, each flash illuminating the huge clouds. The air was full of electricity.

“I’m not going out there,” she said.

“We’re just going to stand on the porch. If it gets really bad, we’ll come back in. I promise. Trust me, Rachel.”

He held out his hand and she reluctantly stepped outside. Dermot wrapped his arms around her waist. “Now, we just have to wait for the next big flash of lightning and—” The sky split open and he yanked her into a long, deep kiss. He continued through the thunder crack, distracting her with his lips and his tongue.

When it was over, Dermot stepped back. “Wait for it.”

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see. You’ll never—” The lightning flashed and he kissed her again, the thunder calling an end to the kiss. “From now on, whenever you’re in the middle of a storm, you’ll think of kissing me. You won’t be able to help yourself.”

“You’re crazy,” she said.

Another bolt of lightning flashed in the sky and she barely noticed. “See,” Dermot said, “it’s working.”

She turned and walked along the porch railing, staring out into the storm as if the answers were all there. “It is beautiful,” she finally said, the wind whipping at her hair. “Powerful. Exciting.” She paused. “And dangerous. Kind of like you.”

“I’m not dangerous, Rachel.”

“You are,” she insisted. “You have no idea. You make me need you. The more time I spend with you, the more I can’t do without you.”

“That’s usually the way it is,” Dermot said. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Because I feel completely safe with you, too. I don’t understand how that can be. I don’t know why I feel this way. I’ll never be able to forget you.”

“Then don’t. Don’t forget a single moment.”

The wind shifted suddenly and Rachel glanced over at him. “It’s coming now. You can smell it.”

In a matter of seconds the storm had whipped itself into a fury. The rain was driven sideways and the maples around the house rocked and bent to the breaking point. A limb snapped and fell near the end of the porch and debris blew across the yard. In the distance, he heard the goats bleating from the barn.

“We better get back inside,” he said.

Rachel shook her head. “No. I want to face this fear. You were right.”

“I might have been wrong.” Dermot grabbed her hand and dragged her to the door, pushing her back into the kitchen. He peered out the window, stunned to see that the wind was blowing even harder. “Maybe we should go in the cellar.”

He opened the door and flipped on the light and followed Rachel to the bottom of the steps. They sat down on the last one. A few seconds later, the stairwell went dark.

“There’s a flashlight at the top of the stairs,” she said. “I’ll get it.”

“No, stay here,” he said, holding tight to her hand.

“Are you afraid?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of creeped out. I saw that movie Twister . I’m just waiting for the house to disintegrate around us. Are the goats going to be all right?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice coming out of the dark. “They’ll go in the barn. The stone foundation is strong. They’ll huddle up in a corner.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, the two of them listening to the storm raging outside. And when it was over, they climbed the stairs and walked outside to survey the damage from the porch.

Small branches and clumps of maple leaves were scattered over the yard but all the buildings were still standing, their roofs intact. The cushions from the wicker chairs on the porch had disappeared and one of the hanging pots had fallen into the garden, but that was the limit of the damage.

He turned her to face him and kissed her softly. “That was kind of scary,” he admitted.

“I told you. Flying monkeys all over again.” She drew a deep breath of the cool air. “Smell the ozone? It’s from the lightning.”

Dermot slipped his arm around her shoulders and they walked back inside. A breeze now drifted through the screen door, taking the humidity out of the air. The storm was a reflection of their relationship, he mused. All the wild, crazy emotions one minute and the beautiful calm the next.

And yet, there was a danger there. He couldn’t predict the weather and he didn’t know exactly what was lurking just beyond the horizon—fair weather or the storm of the century?

THE TWO TEENAGE BOYS stood in the yard, staring at their mother’s car as it pulled out onto the road and drove off. Rachel held her breath, trying to think of something to say that might erase the fearful expressions from their faces.

She hadn’t seen her nephews in six or seven years and she barely recognized them. Trevor, the eldest, was nearly sixteen, and as tall as Dermot, well over six feet. Taylor was a year younger and appeared to be the more sensitive of the pair, tears swimming in his eyes as he tried to be brave.

Rachel glanced over at Dermot. He’d been a teenage boy at one time. Maybe he knew what to say. The last thing she wanted to do was cause them more emotional upset. She drew a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. “Why don’t I show you your room. You can get settled and then I’ll make you something to eat. Are you hungry?”

Trevor shook his head. “No. We ate lunch on the road.”

“I—I’m kinda hungry,” Taylor said.

“No,” Trevor whispered. “We’re not hungry. It’s all right. We can wait until dinner.”