by Nora Roberts
“I like it down.” Cam tossed the pin he’d pulled out aside.
“I want it up,” she said mildly and began to walk toward the water.
“I bet we’re going to knock heads about all kinds of things.” He sipped his beer and sent her a sidelong look as they walked. “Ought to keep it all interesting.”
“I doubt either of us will be bored. Seth comes first, Cam. I mean that.” She paused, listened to the musical lap of water against the hull of the boats, the sloping shoreline. Topping one of the markers was a huge nest. Buoys bobbed in the tide.
“I can help him, and it’s unlikely we’ll always agree on what’s right for him. It’ll be essential to keep that issue completely separate when we end up in bed.”
He was grateful he hadn’t taken another sip from the bottle. No doubt in his mind he’d have choked on it. “I can do that.”
She lifted her head as an egret soared by, and wondered if the nest belonged to her. “When I’m certain I can, we’ll use my bed. My apartment’s more private than your house.”
He rubbed a hand over his stomach in a futile attempt to calm himself. “Lady, you’re right up front, aren’t you?”
“What’s the point in being otherwise? We’re grown-ups, unattached.” She shot him a look—a flick of the lashes, an arch of a brow. “But if you’re the type who’d prefer me to pretend reluctance until seduction, sorry.”
“No, I’m all right with it this way.” If he didn’t overheat and explode in the meantime. “No games, no pretenses, no promises. . . . Where the hell do you come from?” he finished, fascinated.
“Pittsburgh,” she said easily and started back toward the house.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. But if you intend to sleep with me, you should have some interest in the basic facts. No games, no pretenses, no promises. That’s fine. But I don’t have sex with strangers.”
He put a hand on her arm before she wandered too close to the house. He wanted another moment alone. “Okay, what are the basic facts?”
“I’m twenty-eight, single, of Italian descent. My mother . . . died when I was twelve and I was raised primarily by my grandparents.”
“In Pittsburgh.”
“That’s right. They’re wonderful—old-fashioned, energetic, loving. I can make a terrific red sauce from scratch—the recipe’s been passed down in my family for generations. I moved to D.C. right after college, worked there and did some graduate studies. But Washington didn’t suit me.”
“Too political?”
“Yes, and too urban. I was looking for something a little different, so I ended up down here.”
Cam glanced around the quiet yard, the quiet water. “It’s different from D.C., all right.”
“I like it. I also like horror novels, sappy movies, and any kind of music except jazz. I read magazines from back to front and don’t know why, and though I’m comfortable with all sorts of people, I don’t particularly like large social functions.”
She stopped, considered. They would see, she decided, how much more he’d want to find out. “I think that’s enough for now, and my glass is nearly empty.”
“You’re nothing like my first impression of you.”
“No? I think you’re exactly like mine of you.”
“Do you speak Italian?”
“Fluently.”
He leaned forward and murmured a highly charged and sexually explicit suggestion in her ear. Some women might have slapped his face, others might have giggled, some certainly would have blushed. Anna merely made a humming sound in her throat.
“Your accent’s mediocre, but your imagination is exceptional.” She gave his arm a light pat. “Be sure to ask me again—some other time.”
“Damn right I will,” Cam muttered, and watched her smile in an easy, open manner at Seth as he came barreling around the corner of the house.
“Hello, Seth.”
He skidded to a halt. That wary and distant look came into his eyes. His shoulders hunched. “Yeah, hi. Ethan says we can eat anytime.”
“Good, I’m starved.” Though she knew he was braced against her, she kept walking toward him. “I hear you went sailing yesterday.”
Seth’s gaze slid by her, locked accusingly on Cam’s. “Yeah. So?”
“I’ve never been.” She said it quickly, sensing that Cam’s indrawn breath was the signal for a sharp reminder of manners. “Cam offered to let me tag along with you sometime.”
“It’s his boat.” Then catching the dark scowl on Cam’s face, Seth shrugged. “Sure, that’d be cool. I’m supposed to go get a ton of newspaper to spread on the porch. That’s the way you eat crabs.”
“Right.” Before he could dash off, she bent down and whispered in his ear. “Good thing for us Cam didn’t cook them.”
That got a snicker out of him and a quick, fleeting grin before he turned and ran inside.
Ten
SHE WASN’T so bad. for a social worker. Seth came to this thoughtful conclusion about Anna after he’d retreated to his room, ostensibly to work on his anti-violence essay. He was drawing pictures instead, quick little sketches of faces. He had a stupid week to write the stupid thing, didn’t he? Wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours once he got down to doing it. Which was a raw deal all around, but better than letting fat-faced Robert get him suspended.
He could still close his eyes and bring up the image of all three of the Quinns standing in the principal’s office. All three of them standing beside him and facing down the all-powerful Moorefield. It was so . . . cool, he decided and began to doodle the moment in his notebook.
There . . . there was Phillip in his fancy suit with his hair just right and his kind of narrow face. He looked like one of the magazine ads, Seth thought, the ones that sold stuff only rich guys could buy.
Next he sketched in Ethan, all serious-faced, Seth mused, his hair a little shaggy even though Seth remembered how he’d combed it just before they’d gone into the school. He looked exactly like what he was. The kind of guy who made his living and lived his life outdoors.
And there was Cam, rough and tough with that light of mean in his eyes. Thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans. Yeah, that was it, Seth decided. He most always stood like that when he was ticked off. Even in the rough sketch he came across as someone who’d done most everything and planned to do a whole lot more.
Last he sketched in himself, trying to see what others would see. His shoulders were too thin and bony, he thought with some disappointment. But they wouldn’t always be. His face was too thin for his eyes, but it would fill out too. One day he’d be taller, and stronger, and he wouldn’t look like such a puny kid.
But he’d kept his head up, hadn’t he? He hadn’t been afraid of anything. And he didn’t look like he’d just wandered into the picture. He looked—almost—like he belonged there.
Mess with one Quinn, mess with them all. That’s what Cam had said—and he must have meant it. But he wasn’t a Quinn, Seth thought, frowning as he held up the sketch to study details. Or maybe he was, he just didn’t know. It hadn’t mattered to him if Ray Quinn had been his father like some people said. All that had mattered was that he was away from her.
It hadn’t mattered who his father was. Still didn’t, he assured himself. He just didn’t give a rat’s ass. All he wanted was to stay here, right here.
Nobody had used the back of their hand or their fists on him for months now. Nobody got blitzed out on drugs and laid around so long and so still he thought they were dead. Secretly hoped they were. No flabby guys with sweaty hands tried to grope him.
He wasn’t even going to think about that.
Eating crabs had been pretty cool, too. Good and messy, he remembered with a grin. You got to eat them with your hands. The social worker didn’t act all prim and girly about it either. She just took off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves. It didn’t seem like she was watching to see if he burped or scratched his butt or anything.
She’d laughed a lot, he remembered. He wasn’t used to women laughing a lot when they weren’t coked up. And that was a different kind of laughing, Seth knew. Miss Spinelli’s wasn’t wild and hard and desperate. It was low and, well, smooth, he supposed.
Nobody’d told him he couldn’t have more, either. Man, he’d bet he ate a hundred of those ugly suckers. He didn’t even mind eating the salad, though he pretended he did.
He hadn’t had that gnawing, sick feeling in his stomach that was desperate hunger for a long time now, so long he might have forgotten the sensation. But he hadn’t forgotten. He hadn’t forgotten anything.
He’d worried some that the social worker would want to pull him back in, but she seemed pretty okay to him. And he saw her sneaking little bits of crab and bread to Foolish, so she couldn’t be all bad.
But he’d have liked her better if she was a waitress or something like Grace.
When the light knock sounded on his door, Seth slapped the notebook closed on his sketches and quickly opened another, where the first dozen words of his five-hundred-word essay were scrawled.
“Yeah?”
Anna poked her head in. “Hi. Can I come in a minute?”
It was weird being asked, and he wondered if she would just turn around and go if he said no. But he shrugged. “I guess.”
“I have to leave soon,” she began, taking a quick survey of the room. A twin bed, inexpertly made, a sturdy dresser and desk, a wall of shelves that held a few books, a portable stereo that looked very new, and a pair of binoculars that didn’t. There were white miniblinds at the windows and a pale-green paint on the walls.
It needed junk, she thought. A boy’s junk. Ancient broken toys, posters tacked to the walls. But the puppy snoring in the corner was a very good start.
“This is nice.” She wandered to the window. “You’ve got a good view, water and trees. You get to watch the birds. I bought a book on local waterfowl when I moved here from D.C. so I could figure out what was what. It must be nice to see egrets every day.”
“I guess.”
“I like it here. It’s hard not to, huh?”
He shrugged his shoulders, took the cautious route. “It’s okay. I got no problems with it.”
She turned, glanced down at his notebook. “The dreaded essay?”
“I started it.” Defensively, he pulled the notebook closer—and knocked the other one to the floor. Before he could snatch it up, Anna crouched to pick it up herself.
“Oh, look at this!” It had fallen open to a sketch of the puppy, just his face, straight on, and she thought the artist had captured that sweet and silly expression perfectly. “Did you sketch this?”
“It’s no big deal. I’m working on the damn essay, aren’t I?”
She might have sighed over his response, but she was too charmed by the sketch. “It’s wonderful. It looks just like him.” Her fingers itched to turn the pages, to see who else Seth might have drawn. But she resisted and set the notebook down. “I can’t draw a decent stick man.”
“It’s nothing. Just fooling around.”
“Well, if you don’t want it, maybe I could have it?”
He thought it might be a trick. After all, she had her jacket back on, was carrying her briefcase. She looked like Social Services again rather than the woman who’d rolled up her sleeves and laughed over steamed crabs. “What for?”
“I can’t have pets in my apartment. Just as well,” she added. “It wouldn’t be fair to keep one closed in all day while I’m at work, but . . .” Then she smiled and glanced over at the sleeping puppy. “I really like dogs. When I can afford a house and a yard, I’m going to have a couple of them. But until then, I have to play with other people’s pets.”
It seemed odd to him. In Seth’s mind adults ruled—often with an iron hand. Did what they wanted when they wanted. “Why don’t you just move someplace else?”
“The place I’ve got is close to work, the rent’s reasonable.” She looked toward the window again, to the stretch of land and water. Both were deep with shadows as night moved in. “It has to do until I can manage to get the house and yard.” She wandered to the window, drawn to that quiet view. The first star winked to life in the eastern sky. She nearly made a wish. “Somewhere near the water. Like this. Anyway . . .”
She turned back and sat on the side of the bed facing him. “I just wanted to come up before I left, see if there’s anything you wanted to talk about, or any questions you wanted to ask me.”
“No. Nothing.”
“Okay.” She hadn’t really expected him to talk to her freely. Yet. “Maybe you’d like to know what I see here, what I think.” She took his shoulder jerk as assent. “I see a houseful of guys who are trying to figure out how to live with each other and make it work. Four very different men who are bumping up against each other. And I think they’re going to make some mistakes, and most certainly irritate each other and disagree. But I also think they’ll work it out—eventually. Because they all want to,” she added with an easy smile. “In their own ways they all want the same thing.”
She rose and took a card out of her briefcase. “You can call me whenever you want. I put my home number on the back. I don’t see any reason for me to come back—in an official capacity—for a while. But I may come back for a puppy fix. Good luck with the essay.”
When she started for the door, Seth went with impulse and tore the sketch of Foolish out of his notebook. “You can have this if you want.”
“Really?” She took the page, beamed at it. “God, he’s cute. Thanks.” He jerked back when she bent to kiss his cheek, but she brushed her lips across it lightly, then straightened. She stepped back, ordering herself to keep an emotional distance. “Say good night to Foolish for me.”
Anna slipped the sketch in her briefcase as she walked downstairs. Phillip was noodling at the piano, his fingers carelessly picking out some bluesy number. It was another skill she envied. It was a constant disappointment to her that she had no talent.
Ethan was nowhere to be seen, and Cam was restlessly pacing the living room.
She thought that might be a very typical overview of all three men. Phillip elegantly whiling away the time, Ethan off on some solitary pursuit. And Cam working off excess energy.
With the boy up in his room, drawing his pictures and thinking his thoughts.
Cam glanced up, and when their eyes locked, the ball of heat slammed into her gut.
“Gentlemen, thank you for a wonderful meal.”
Phillip rose and held out a hand to take hers. “We have to thank you. It’s been too long since we had a beautiful woman to dinner. I hope you’ll come back.”
Oh, he’s a smooth one, she decided. “I’d like that. Tell Ethan he’s a genius with a crab. Good night, Cam.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
She’d counted on it. “First thing,” she said when they stepped outside. “From what I can see, Seth’s welfare is being seen to. He has proper supervision, a good home, support with his school life. He could certainly use some new shoes, but I don’t imagine there’s a boy of ten who couldn’t.”
“Shoes? What’s wrong with his shoes?”
“Regardless,” she said, turning to him when they reached her car. “All of you still have adjustments to make, and there’s no doubt he’s a very troubled child. I suspect he was abused, physically and perhaps sexually.”
“I figured that out for myself,” Cam said shortly. “It won’t happen here.”
“I know that.” She laid a hand on his arm. “If I had a single doubt in that area he wouldn’t be here. Cam, he needs professional counseling. You all do.”
“Counseling? That’s crap. We don’t need to pour our guts out to some underpaid county shrink.”
“Many underpaid county shrinks are very good at their job,” she said dryly. “Since I have a degree in psychology myself, I could be considered an underpaid county shrink, and I’m good at mine.”
“Fin
e. You’re talking to him, you’re talking to me. We’ve been counseled.”
“Don’t be difficult.” Her voice was deliberately mild because she knew it would spark a flash of annoyance in his eyes. It was only fair, she thought, as he’d annoyed her.
“I’m not being difficult. I’ve cooperated with you from the get-go.”
More or less, she mused, and continuing to be fair, admitted it was more than she’d expected. “You’ve made a solid start here, but a professional counselor will help all of you get beneath the surface and deal with the root of the problems.”
“We don’t have any problems.”
She hadn’t expected such hard-line resistance to such a basic step, but realized she should have. “Of course you do. Seth’s afraid to be touched.”
“He’s not afraid to let Grace touch him.”
“Grace?” Anna pursed her lips in thought. “Grace Monroe, from the list you gave me?”
“Yeah, she’s doing the housework now, and the kid’s nuts about her. Might even have a little crush.”
“That’s good, that’s healthy. But it’s only a start. When a child’s been abused, it leaves scars.”
What the hell were they talking about this for? he thought impatiently. Why were they talking about shrinks and digging at old wounds when all he’d wanted was a few minutes of easy flirtation with a pretty woman?
“My old man beat the hell out of me. So what? I survived.” He hated remembering it, hated standing in the shadow of the house that had been his sanctuary and remembering. “The kid’s mother knocked him around. Well, she’s not going to get the chance to do it again. That chapter’s closed.”
“It’s never closed,” Anna said patiently. “Whatever new chapter you start always has some basis in the one that came before. I’m recommending counseling to you now, and I’m going to recommend it in my report.”
“Go ahead.” He couldn’t explain why it infuriated him even to think about it. He only knew he’d be damned if he would ask himself or any of his brothers to open those long-locked doors again. “You recommend whatever you want. Doesn’t mean we have to do it.”
