The Mighty Quinns: Rourke Read Free Page B

the door, a chilly wind swirled through the kitchen. “Rourke,” she called. “Your name is Rourke, isn’t it?”
    He turned and smiled. “Rourke Quinn.” With that, he walked outside.
    Annie sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Her head hurt, but she wasn’t dizzy or confused. Well, maybe a little, but that was more from having a handsome man in her house than the wound on her head. She slipped off her shoes and socks. Standing beside the bed, she gingerly skimmed the wet jeans down over her hips and kicked them aside.
    Shivering, she grabbed the pajama bottoms and tugged them on, then crawled beneath the faded handmade quilts on the bed. Drawing a deep breath, she closed her eyes. She led a rather lonely existence, but she’d never really regretted her choice of a simple life—until now.
    This was the only home she’d ever known. After her parents passed away, her grandmother had taken her in. From that moment on, her life had changed. She’d been allowed to roam free, without any rules or expectations. She ate when she was hungry, slept when she was tired and in between, explored every inch of the land that surrounded her home.
    For a young girl who struggled to communicate, it was the perfect life. Her friends were wild animals and sea creatures, clouds and trees, the wonderful, vibrant natural world waiting just outside the door of the light keeper’s cottage. They didn’t care whether her words came out in fits and starts. She lived her life in her fantasies, where she had friends, where people thought she was beautiful and clever, and where her stammer didn’t exist.
    It was odd. Annie had imagined that someone would someday rescue her from her lonely existence. And her white knight had always looked exactly like Rourke Quinn. From the moment he’d defended her against the town bullies, he’d become her hero. And now, here he was, coming to her rescue again. Only she wasn’t a child anymore. She was a twenty-five-year-old woman.
    Over the years, her fantasies had given way to a simple reality. She was alone and no one was coming to ease her loneliness. So she’d accepted her life as it was and learned to be happy.
    Maybe it seemed strange to others on the island, but it was a life she’d come to enjoy, even love. She had her paintings and her poetry and plenty of time for her own thoughts. Still, she couldn’t deny that she was grateful for the company, especially with the approaching storm.
    It wasn’t just because he was handsome or sexy or even a tiny bit dangerous. Annie had weathered storms in the past and they’d always left her shaken, filled with bad memories of her parents’ deaths. Perhaps if she had someone with her during the worst of it, it wouldn’t be so traumatic.
    The door flew open and Rourke stepped back inside, his arms loaded with firewood. He strode to the hearth and carefully stacked the wood on the stone apron. Then, he tossed a few birch logs onto the flickering embers. A moment later, flames licked at the white bark.
    He sat back on his heels and stared into the fire. “How do you feel?” he asked.
    “Better,” she said. “Thank you. For rescuing me.”
    He turned to look at her and she took in the details of his face. There was something so kind about his eyes, even set in an expression that seemed less than happy. “You should go. You don’t want to be caught out here when the storm rolls in.”
    “I have some tools in my truck,” he said. “The wind is supposed to be bad. I’m going to get your shutters squared away and then I’ll leave.”
    “You don’t have to—”
    “No, I’m not sure I could leave you here without making this place a little safer.”
    “It’s held up to almost a hundred years of storms. I’m sure it will hold up to one more,” Annie said.
    “I’m not so sure,” Rourke replied. “This is supposed to be a bad one.”
    Annie shrugged. “I can’t stop it from coming, so worrying about the wind never did much good. Whatever