by Nora Roberts
Seth stared off into the marsh. He hurt all over, but the worst of it was shame. “Does she love you back?”
“Yeah, she does. Damned if I can figure out why.”
Seth thought he knew why. Ethan was strong, and he didn’t put on a big show. He did what had to be done. What was right. “I was going to take care of her when I got older. I guess you think that’s pretty lame.”
“No.” He suddenly, urgently, wanted to pull the boy against him, but he knew the timing was wrong. “No, I think that’s pretty great. It makes me proud of you.”
Seth’s gaze flicked up, then quickly away again. “I kind of, you know, love her. Sort of. Not like I want to see her naked or anything,” he added quickly. “Just—”
“I get it.” Ethan clamped down on the tip of his tongue to stifle the chuckle. The quick surge of amused relief tasted finer than an icy beer on a hot day. “Kind of like she was a sister, like you wanted the best for her.”
“Yeah.” And Seth sighed. “Yeah, I guess that’s it.”
Thoughtfully, Ethan sucked air between his teeth. “It’s got to be tough for a guy to walk in and see that his sister’s been with some guy.”
“I hurt her. I wanted to.”
“Yeah, you did. You’ll have to apologize if you want to put things right with her.”
“She’ll think I’m stupid. She won’t want to talk to me.”
“She wanted to come after you herself. By this time, I’d say she’s pacing around the backyard, worried sick.”
Seth sucked in a breath that was too close to a sob to suit either of them. “I razzed Cam until he brought me home for my ball glove. And when I . . . I saw you in there, it made me think of how I would come back to wherever Gloria was living, and she’d be doing it with some guy.”
Where sex was a business, Ethan thought, both ugly and mean. “It’s hard to put those things aside, or let yourself believe there’s a different way.” Since he was still working on it himself, Ethan spoke carefully. “That making love, when you care, when it matters, when things are right, it’s clean.”
Seth sniffled, wiped at his eyes. “Gnats,” he muttered.
“Yeah, they’re a bitch out here.”
“You should’ve slugged me, for saying that shit.”
“You’re right,” Ethan decided after a moment. “I’ll slug you next time. Now, let’s go home.”
He rose, brushed off his pants, then held out a hand. Seth stared up at him, saw kindness, patience, compassion. Qualities in a man he might have sneered at once because he’d found so little of them in anyone who had touched his life.
He put his hand in Ethan’s and, without realizing it, left it there as they walked down the path. “How come you didn’t hit me back even once?”
Little boy, Ethan thought, you’ve had too many hands raised against you in your short life. “Maybe I was afraid you could take me.”
Seth snorted, blinking furiously at tears that still wanted to come. “Shit.”
“Well, you’re small,” Ethan said, taking the cap from Seth’s back pocket and snugging it down on Seth’s head. “But you’re a wiry little bastard.”
Seth had to take long breaths as they came close to where the sunlight struck the edge of the woods, slanting white light.
He saw Grace, as Ethan had predicted, in the yard, hugging her arms as if she were chilled. She dropped them, took a quick step forward, then stopped.
Ethan felt Seth’s hand flex in his and gave it a quick encouraging squeeze. “It’d go a long way to making things up to her,” Ethan murmured, “if you were to run up and hug her. Grace is big on hugs.”
It was what he’d wanted to do, what he was afraid to risk. He looked up at Ethan, jerked a shoulder, cleared his throat. “I guess I could, if it’d make her feel better.”
Ethan stood back, watched the boy race across the lawn, watched Grace’s face light with a smile as she threw open her arms to take him in.
THIRTEEN
If you were going to have to work over a long holiday weekend, Phillip figured, it might as well be at something fun. He loved his job. What was advertising, anyway, but a knowledge of people and of which buttons to push to nudge them into opening their wallets?
It was, he often thought, an accepted, creative, even expected twist on picking those wallets. For a man who had spent the first half of his life as a thief, it was the perfect career.
On this day before the celebration of America’s independence, he put his skills to use in the boatyard, schmoozing a potential client. He much preferred it to manual labor.
“You’ll forgive the surroundings.” Phillip waved a well-manicured hand, encompassing the enormous space, the exposed rafters and hanging lights, the yet-to-be-painted walls and scarred floors. “My brothers and I believe in putting our efforts into the product and keeping our overhead minimal. Those are benefits that we pass along to our clients.”
At which time, Phillip thought, they had exactly one—with another in the box and this one nibbling at the line.
“Hmmm.” Jonathan Kraft rubbed his chin. He was in his mid-thirties and fortunate enough to be a fourth-generation member of the pharmaceutical Krafts. Since his great-grandfather’s humble beginnings as a storefront pharmacist in Boston, his family had built and expanded an empire on buffered aspirin and analgesics. It allowed Jonathan to indulge in his great love of sailing.
He was tall, fit, tanned. His hair was mink-brown and perfectly styled to showcase his square-jawed, handsome face. He wore buff-colored chinos, a navy cotton shirt, and well-broken-in Top-Siders. His watch was a Rolex, his belt hand-tooled Italian leather.
He looked exactly like what he was: a privileged, wealthy man with a love of the outdoors.
“You’ve only been in business a few months.”
“Officially,” Phillip said with a flashing smile. His hair was a rich, deep bronze, styled to make the most of a face that the angels had gifted with an extra kiss of pure male beauty. He wore fashionably faded Levi’s, a green cotton shirt, and olive-drab Supergas. His eyes were shrewd, his smile charming.
He looked exactly like what he’d made himself into: a sophisticated urbanite with an affection for fashion and the sea.
“We’ve built or worked on teams that built a number of boats over the years.” Smoothly, he guided Jonathan toward the framed sketches hanging on the wall. Seth’s artwork was displayed rustically, as Phillip felt suited the ambience of a traditional boatyard.
“My brother Ethan’s skipjack. One of the handful that still goes under sail every winter to dredge for oysters in the Chesapeake. She’s had over ten years in service.”
“She’s a beauty.” Jonathan’s face turned dreamy, as Phillip had suspected it would. However a man chose to pick wallets, he had to gauge his marks. “I’d like to see her.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that.”
He let Jonathan linger before nudging him gently along. “Now, you may recognize this one.” He indicated the drawing of a sleek racing skiff. “The Circe. My brother Cameron was involved with both her design and her construction.”
“And she beat my Lorilee to the finish line two years running.” Jonathan grimaced good-naturedly. “Of course, Cam was leading the team.”
“He knows his boats.” Phillip heard the buzz of a drill from where Cameron worked belowdecks. He intended to bring Cam into this shortly.
“The sloop currently under construction is primarily Ethan’s design, though Cam added some points. We’re dedicated to serving the client’s needs and wishes.” He led Jonathan over to where Seth continued his hull sanding. Ethan stood on deck, attaching the rubrails. “He wanted speed, stability, and some luxuries.”
Phillip knew the hull was a brilliant show of smooth lap construction—he’d put in plenty of sweaty hours on it himself. “She’s built for show as well as function. Teak from stem to stern, at the client’s direction,” he added, knocking his knuckles cheerfully against the hull.
Phillip wiggled his brows at Ethan. Recognizing the signal, Ethan bit back a sigh. He knew he was going to hate this part, but Phillip had pointed out that it was good business to bring the potential client into the fold.
“The joints are wedged and married, without glue.” Ethan rolled his shoulders, feeling as though he were giving an oral school report. He’d always hated them. “We figured if the old-time boat builders could make a joint last a century or so without glue, so could we. And I’ve seen too many glued joints fail.”
“Hmmm,” Jonathan said again, and Ethan took a breath.
“The hull’s caulked in the traditional way—stranded cotton. Planking’s tight, wood to wood on the inside. We rolled two strands of cotton in most of the seams. Hardly needed the mallet. Then we payed them with standard seam components.”
Jonathan hummed again. He had only a vague idea what Ethan was talking about. He sailed boats—boats that he’d bought fresh and clean and finished. But he liked the sound of it.
“She appears to be a fine, tight boat. A pretty pleasure craft. I’ll be looking for speed and efficiency as well as aesthetics.”
“We’ll see that you get it.” Phillip smiled broadly, waving a finger at Ethan behind Jonathan’s head. It was time to pull out the next round.
Ethan headed belowdecks, where Cam was fitting out the framing for an under-the-bunk cabinet. “Your turn up there,” he muttered.
“Phil got him on the string?”
“Couldn’t tell by me. I gave my little speech, and the guy just nodded and made noises. You ask me, he didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.”
“Of course he doesn’t. Jonathan hires people to worry about maintaining his boats. He’s never scraped a hull or replanked a deck in his life.” Cam rose from his crouch, worked the stiffness out of his knees. “He’s the kind of guy who drives a Maserati without knowing dick about engines. But he’d have been impressed with your salty waterman’s drawl and rugged good looks.”
As Ethan gave a snorting laugh, Cam elbowed past him. “I’ll go give him my push.”
He climbed topside and managed to look credibly surprised to see Jonathan onboard, studying the gunwales. “Hey, Kraft, how’s it going?”
“Fast and far.” With genuine pleasure, Jonathan shook Cam’s hand. “I was surprised when you didn’t show at the San Diego regatta this summer.”
“Got myself married.”
“So I hear. Congratulations. And now you’re building boats instead of racing them.”
“I wouldn’t count me out of racing entirely. I’m toying with building myself a cat over the winter if business slacks off any.”
“Keeping busy?”
“Word gets out,” Cam said easily. “A boat by Quinn means quality. Smart people want the best—when they can afford it.” He grinned, fast and slick. “Can you afford it?”
“I’m thinking of a cat myself. Your brother must have mentioned it.”
“Yeah, he ran it by me. You want light, fast, and tight. Ethan and I have been modifying a design for what I had in mind for me.”
“That’s bullshit,” Seth murmured, only loud enough for Phillip to hear.
“Sure.” Phillip winked at him. “But it’s Class A bullshit.” He leaned a little closer to Seth as Cam and Jonathan launched into the lure of racing a catboat. “Cam knows that while the guy likes him fine, he’s competitive. Never beat Cam in a head-to-head race. So . . .”
“So he’d pay buckets of money to have Cam build him a boat that not even Cam could beat.”
“There you go.” Proud, Phillip gave Seth a light punch on the shoulder. “You got a quick brain there. Keep using it, and you won’t be spending all your time sanding hulls. Now, kid, watch the master.”
He straightened, beamed up. “I’d be happy to show you the drawings, Jonathan. Why don’t we go into my office? I’ll dig them out for you.”
“Wouldn’t mind taking a look.” Jonathan climbed down. “The problem is, I need this boat seaworthy by March first. I’ll need time to test her, work out the kinks, break her in before the summer races.”
“March first.” Phillip pursed his lips, then he shook his head. “That might be a problem. Quality comes first here. It takes time to build a champion. I’ll look over our schedule,” he added, dropping an arm over Jonathan’s shoulder as they walked. “We’ll see what we can work out—but the contract’s already in place, and the worksheets tell me May is the soonest we can deliver the top-quality product you expect and deserve.”
“That’s not going to give me much time to get the feel of her,” Jonathan complained.
“Believe me, Jonathan, a boat by Quinn is going to feel fine. Just fine,” he added, glancing back at his brothers with a quick and wolfish grin before he nudged Jonathan inside the office.
“He’ll buy us till May,” Cam decided, and Ethan nodded.
“Or he’ll make it April and skin the poor bastard for a bonus.”
“Either way.” Cam clamped a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “We’re going to have ourselves another contract by end of day.”
Below, Seth snorted. “Shit, he’ll wrap it up by lunchtime. The guy’s toast.”
Cam tucked his tongue in his cheek. “Two o’clock, soonest.”
“Noon,” Seth said, peering up at him.
“Two bucks?”
“Sure. I can use the money.”
“You know,” Cam said as he dug out his wallet, “before you came along to ruin my life, I’d just won a bundle in Monte Carlo.”
Seth sneered cheerfully. “This ain’t Monte Carlo.”
“You’re telling me.” He passed the bills over, then winced when he saw his wife come into the building. “Cool it. Social worker heading in. She’s not going to approve of minors gambling.”
“Hey, I won,” Seth pointed out, but he stuffed the bills in his pocket. “You bring any food?” he asked Anna.
“Oh, no, I didn’t. Sorry.” Distracted, she dragged a hand through her hair. There was a sick ball in the pit of her stomach that she did her best to ignore. She smiled, a curve of lips that didn’t quite manage to reach her eyes. “Didn’t you all pack lunch?”
“Yeah, but you usually bring something better.”
“This time I’ve been pretty tied up putting food together for the picnic tomorrow.” She ran a hand over his head, then left it lying on his shoulder. She needed the contact. “I just . . . thought I’d take a break and see how things were going around here.”
“Phil just nailed this rich guy for a ton of money.”
“Good, that’s good,” she said absently. “Then we should celebrate. Why don’t I spring for ice cream? You think you can handle picking up some hot fudge sundaes at Crawford’s?”
“Yeah.” His face split into a grin. “I can handle it.”
She dragged money out of her purse, hoping he didn’t notice that her hands weren’t quite steady. “No nuts on mine, remember?”
“Sure. I got it. I’m gone.” He raced out, and she watched him, heartsick.
“What is it, Anna?” Cam put his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him. “What happened?”
“Give me a minute. I broke records getting here, and I need some time to settle.” She blew out a breath, drew one in, and felt marginally steadier. “Go get your brothers, Cam.”
“Okay.” But he lingered, rubbing his hands over her shoulders. It was rare for her to look so shaken. “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.”
He walked to the cargo doors, where Ethan and Phil stood outside arguing over baseball. “Something’s up,” he said briefly. “Anna’s here. She sent Seth off. She’s upset.”
She was standing by a workbench, with one of Seth’s drawing books open, when they came in. It made her eyes sting to see her own face, carefully, skillfully sketched by the young boy’s hand.
He’d been more than a case file, almost from the start. And now he was hers, as much as Ethan and Phillip were hers. Family. She couldn’t stand to think that
anything or anyone would hurt her family.
But she was steadier when she turned, scanned the quiet and concerned faces of the men who’d become essential to her life. “This came in today’s mail.” Her hand no longer trembled as she reached into her purse and pulled out the letter.
“It’s addressed to ‘The Quinns.’ Just ‘The Quinns,’ ” she repeated. “From Gloria DeLauter. I opened it. I thought it best, and well, my name’s Quinn now, too.”
She offered it to Cam. Saying nothing, he took out the single sheet of lined paper and passed the envelope to Phillip.
“She mailed it from Virginia Beach,” Phillip murmured. “We lost her in North Carolina. She’s sticking with the beaches, but coming north.”
“What does she want?” Ethan stuffed hands that had curled into fists into his pockets. A low, simmering rage was already pumping through his blood.
“What you’d expect,” Cam answered shortly. “Money. ‘Dear Quinns,’ ” Cam read. “ ‘I heard how Ray died. It’s too bad. You might not know that Ray and me had an agreement. I think you’ll want to make good on it since you’re keeping Seth. I guess he’s pretty settled in there in that nice house. I miss him. You don’t know what a sacrifice it was for me to give him up to Ray, but I wanted what was best for my only son.’ ”
“You ought to have your violin,” Phillip muttered to Ethan.
“ ‘I knew Ray would be good to him,’ ” Cam continued. “ ‘He did right by the three of you, and Seth’s got his blood.’ ”
He stopped reading for a moment. There it was, in black and white. “Truth or lie?” He looked up at his brothers.
“That’s to deal with later.” Ethan felt the ache begin around his heart and move in to squeeze. But he shook his head. “Read the rest.”
“Okay. ‘Ray knew how much it hurt me to part with the boy, so he helped me out. But now that he’s gone, I’m starting to worry that it might not be the best place for Seth there with you. I’m willing to be convinced. If you’re set on keeping him, you’ll keep up Ray’s promise of helping me out. I’m going to need some money, like a sign that you’ve got good intentions. Five thousand. You can send it to me, care of General Delivery here in Virginia Beach. I’ll give you two weeks, figuring the mail’s kind of unreliable. If I don’t hear back, I’ll know you don’t really want the kid. I’ll come get him. He must be missing me something awful. Be sure to tell him his mom loves him, and might be seeing him real soon.’ ”
