The Mighty Quinns: Malcolm Read Free

farewells there before he died on the mountain? There were so many unanswered questions.
    “I’m going to go see Mum,” Mal said, pushing to his feet. “And then I’m going home to grab a shower and a drink, and maybe I’ll get myself a haircut.”
    “What about the woman?” Dana asked with a wry smile.
    “That might have to wait,” he murmured.
    Mal gave Duff a rough pet and the dog trotted beside him to the Range Rover. “You want me to take him?”
    “No, I’ll keep him.”
    He waved at his sister, Duffy at her side, as he drove out to the main road. Life had always been pretty uncomplicated for Mal and he liked it that way. But the reality of their business problems was beginning to weigh on him. There was never extra money; he could barely afford to make rent from month to month. When finances were tight, he bought new equipment instead of food and ate expired rations from their expedition stockpile.
    He reached into his pocket and grabbed the wad of cash that he had left over from the client tips he and the other guides had divided amongst themselves. He’d take enough for a single night out. The rest would have to go to pay the bills.
    “I’d better make it a bloody good night,” he muttered. “I’ve had enough of living like a damn monk.”
    * * *
    “H EY , B ILLY F INSTER ! Set me up with a pint and make it quick. I’ve got myself a powerful thirst!”
    The shout echoed through the empty pub and Amy Engalls looked up from her laptop at the tall, lanky man who strode up to the bar. His hair was shaggy and he wore a well-worn T-shirt and faded jeans. The cap on his head was turned backward and his eyes were hidden by a pair of bright blue sunglasses.
    He glanced around and his eyes lingered on her for a long moment. Amy grabbed a quick breath and held it. Was this Malcolm Quinn? He wasn’t due back until tomorrow, but she’d studied the photos and it could be him. Word around town was that he and his brothers hung out at Brawley’s Pub near his place on the beach. So she’d decided to stake it out. When he turned away, she quickly pulled a file folder from her bag and searched for a reference.
    Her breath slowly escaped as she stared down at the handsome face in the photo, then compared it to the profile of the man at the bar.
    An instant later, the barkeeper burst through the swinging kitchen door and confirmed her suspicions. “Mal Quinn, you old dog. I was wonderin’ when you’d roll back in. Where was it you were?”
    “Greenland,” Mal said as he slid onto a stool.
    The barkeeper drew him a glass of beer and set the pint in front of him. “Bloody hell, what’s in Greenland?”
    Mal took off his sunglasses and tossed them on the bar. “Lots of ice. And snow and cold.”
    “Any pretty girls?”
    Mal laughed. “Not that I saw. The whole expedition was blokes. Not a woman for miles.”
    Billy nodded, then slapped his hands on the worn wood surface of the bar. “At that is exactly the reason why you’ll never find me out there, trudging up some mountainside or walking across some bloody glacier. I can’t do without female companionship. And they can’t do without me.”
    “You can’t do without your smokes and Foster’s for more than a day,” Mal teased. “It’s hard yakka out there. Not for a piker like you.”
    The barkeeper frowned, then patted his stomach. “I could get in shape for it. Give up the ale and the cigs. You could put me with a group of ladies and I’d keep them all entertained.”
    Amy listened as they exchanged jibes, silently taking in Mal’s appearance. How would she describe him in her story? Tall, graceful, fit. He was thin but muscular, broad shouldered and narrow hipped. His dark hair was long and shaggy and streaked by the sun, and his tanned face was shadowed by the stubble of a beard.
    He was, by all accounts, one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen. The pictures she had didn’t come close to conveying the energy that surrounded him. He