Taran was visibly confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I told Forde I can’t volunteer anymore. I’ll do what I can to help with fundraising and I can volunteer to man the station … but I won’t be going out on rescues.”
“Because of me?” She gripped my arm. “Quinn, no, I won’t let you do that.”
“I’ve made up my mind. It’s not just about you and putting you through undue stress. When I was out there, Taran, there were genuine moments I thought that was it. We were dead.”
Her breath stuttered. “It really was that bad?”
“We capsized at one point. And, aye, the boat can right itself, but we had to go out on the deck to throw a tow, and at any point a wave could have taken me. All I kept thinking was I had to get back to Heather, Angus, and you. No one knows what life will throw at them, and as much as I feel good that we saved people, I don’t think I can justify jeopardizing my family’s future happiness to save strangers. Not very heroic but …” He shrugged. “It’s time I start putting the people I love above everything else.”
“Quinn, you’ve sacrificed enough. If being a part of the rescue service means something to you, then you should keep doing it.”
“It doesn’t even come close to meaning to me what you and the kids do.”
“You’re sure?” she pushed.
“I’m absolutely certain.”
Taran wrapped a hand around my neck and tugged me down to her for a kiss that made me spill my coffee. I didn’t fucking care. I grunted into her kiss with feeling, wrapping my free arm around her to pull her deeper into it.
It was only the catcalls that drew us apart.
I flipped my crew the bird behind Taran’s back, making them laugh, but I kept my focus on her. Her beautiful face was soft and warm with the kind of love I thought I’d never see her direct at me again.
“I take it you’re glad?”
Taran nodded, stroking her fingers down my beard. “I never want to go through a night like that again.”
“What a mess this is!” a loud voice interrupted.
We turned together to find Mrs. Gilchrist, the owner of the antiques store, walking toward us, eyes on the construction. “This your doing, Taran Macbeth?”
At Taran’s weary sigh, I squeezed her waist in support. She’d been fielding questions from islanders for the past two weeks regarding the store. Most people thought it was a grand idea, while others were annoyed by the inconvenience it had caused since the road outside it had been closed for a few days. And there were a couple of people who had apparently applied to Aodhan to buy that prime spot of land and been turned down and were annoyed he’d donated the plot to Taran’s cause.
“It is.”
“It’s an eyesore.” Mrs. Gilchrist halted before wearing a furrowed brow.
“It’s not finished yet,” I explained.
“Hmm.” She eyed Taran, ignoring me. “Word has it you’re intending to sell antiques in it.”
Ah.
Taran stiffened. “Just my mother’s. I’m donating them to the store. And anything people feel like donating.”
“You don’t think that will impact my business?”
“I doubt people will donate expensive antiques, Mrs. Gilchrist.”
“You are.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well … you said you had some good estimates from Mr. White.”
“Did I?” Taran cocked her head. “I’m not sure I mentioned value.”
