The Mighty Quinns: Malcolm. Kate Hoffmann
to him just ten minutes before, hoping they calmed his brother’s concern more than they had his.
Ryan rubbed his eyes. “What if something bad happened?”
“Yeah,” Rogan said. “Maybe they’re afraid to call us.”
Mal crossed the room and pulled them both to their feet. “Go to bed. I’ll wake you when the call comes. I promise.”
To his great relief, they wandered off in the direction of their bedroom. Mal waited until the door shut behind them, then turned and hurried into the kitchen. Lydie Quinn sat at the kitchen table, Dana curled up in her arms, sound asleep. His mother was humming a tune that Mal didn’t recognize, repeating the same phrase over and over again.
Mal silently walked by her and put the teakettle on to boil. When he sat down across from her, she refused to look at him, her eyes fixed on a point above his head.
“Mum?”
Her gaze didn’t falter and the tune continued.
“Mum, would you like a cup of tea?”
Mal watched as tears welled up in his mother’s eyes. He rose to comfort her and as he did, the phone rang.
“Don’t answer it,” she said.
“But, I—”
“Don’t.” She shook her head, the tears now tumbling down her cheeks. He’d never seen his mother cry before and Mal wasn’t quite sure what to do. Dana stirred in her arms and Lydie grasped her daughter to her more tightly, rocking back and forth.
Mal quietly picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Who is this?”
“Malcolm Quinn.”
“Malcolm, it’s Roger Innis. I need to speak with your mother.”
“No,” Malcolm said. “You can tell me.”
“Son, put your mother on the phone. It’s very important. This is no time for childish games.”
“She won’t speak with you,” Mal insisted. “She can’t. We know something is wrong. Just tell me and I’ll tell her.”
As he listened to his father’s partner explain the situation, Mal slowly began to realize that his life—and the lives of his mother and siblings—would never be the same.
1
IT WAS GOOD to be home.
Malcolm Quinn grabbed his duffel from the back of his battered Range Rover and hefted it over his shoulder with a groan. He’d left Greenland three days ago after leading a four-week expedition across the ice cap from east to west, following the Arctic Circle. After boarding a bush flight from Greenland to Iceland, he’d flown from Reykjavik to Copenhagen, then to Dubai, then to Sydney and finally landed in Auckland just that morning after two days in airports. The two-hour drive home to Raglan was the final leg of his trip, and now that he was home, he could finally relax.
To say he was knackered was an understatement. But it was the good kind of exhaustion that he only experienced after a successful expedition. His clients had been thrilled with the experience and were grateful he’d led them on a trip without a single serious hitch.
But it was nice to be able to walk around in a light jacket and shorts. It was early April, spring in the northern hemisphere. But in New Zealand, winter was on its way. Still, the weather felt balmy compared to the constant cold of the Arctic.
The offices for Maximum Adrenaline were located in a low-slung white clapboard building just outside the town limits. For a company that specialized in high adventure, the office was rather unremarkable, distinguished from other nearby businesses by just a small sign above the door. A porch spanned the front facade; weathered wooden furniture was scattered along the wide expanse.
As he slammed the hatch on the SUV, the front door opened and the family dog, Duffy, came bounding out, followed by Mal’s younger sister, Dana. “Hey, Duff, look at you. Hey, Dana.”
The black Lab was so excited he wasn’t sure what to do with himself, and when Mal squatted down, Duffy knocked him off his feet. He surrendered to a thorough tongue bath, laughing as the dog pinned him to the ground. When he finally was able to sit up, Duffy had stretched out across his lap, the dog’s subtle way of keeping him in one spot.
“I can’t move,” Mal said to his sister, “or I’d give you a hug.”
“Welcome home,” Dana said. “I expected you tomorrow.”
“I caught an earlier flight. Martin stayed with our gear to get it through customs. God, it’s good to be home.”
Duffy wriggled in his lap, nuzzling his wet nose under Mal’s chin. “Enough, Duff,” he said, struggling to his feet.
“He’s missed you,” Dana said.
“I’m sure he hasn’t thought of me since I left. Considering the way you baby him, you’re the only one he’d truly miss.”
“I’ve been taking him running every day. And he’s actually lost a bit of weight.”
Mal bent down and patted the dog on his flank. “Ugh, don’t talk about exercise. Right now, I need a stiff drink and a shower. And I’m not sure which I’ll have first. Then, I’m heading into town to kick back and get laid. And I’m not sure which will come first.”
It was an unwritten rule in the guiding business that you didn’t bonk the clients, no matter how attractive they might be. He had one job and one job only—to bring his clients home safely. Sex was a distraction from that responsibility, especially in extreme environments. He was also a bit superstitious. You didn’t disrespect the mountain gods.
That didn’t mean the trekkers and climbers didn’t have sex in their own tents, but Mal turned a blind eye and often made excuses when the locals were offended.
So from the time he left until the time he returned, he lived a celibate life. But when he got back to Raglan, Mal knew a handful of girls that were willing to provide a randy bloke with a night or two in bed, no strings attached. Raglan was a surf capital, a beach town with a plethora of pretty girls.
Though Mal and his brothers were considered attractive, there weren’t many women on the North Island who wanted to settle down with a guy who was gone ten months out of the year, no matter how good he was in the sack. Which was just fine by Mal. He’d never been interested in anything long-term. His life was pretty perfect the way it was. And he wasn’t prepared to alter it to make a woman happy—no matter how good she might be in bed.
Besides, he had his family’s business to keep afloat. Any time wasted on a woman was time he could put to better use building their clientele, getting publicity for Maximum Adrenaline and working out new trips to offer.
“Any important messages for me?” Mal asked his sister as he got up.
He strode toward the door, but Dana stayed glued to the spot at the base of the porch steps. Mal turned to motion to her, then saw the pained expression on her face. A sick fear clutched at his gut and he drew a sharp breath. Something was wrong. “What is it? Is it Ryan? Rogan?”
His younger brother was climbing Lhotse in the Himalayas with an Aussie film crew. And Ryan’s twin, Rogan, was in Alaska, doing a prep course for a Denali climb. Either trip had the potential for trouble. And then there were the other hundred or so guides that they employed on various expeditions throughout the year. “Who is it?”
“It’s Dad,” she murmured.
“Dad?” Their father had died twenty years ago this spring, somewhere near the summit of Mt. Everest. Mal had been ten, the twins seven and Dana only five.
His sister nodded, fighting back tears. “They found his body.”
Mal gasped. “When?”
“Three