Rising Tides

by Nora Roberts

  selected and plucked with his own hands. On a long, trembling sigh, she buried her face in them. "They're beautiful."

  "They made me think of you. Almost everything does." And when she lifted her head, when he saw that her eyes were stunned and soft, he wished he had more words, better ones, smoother ones. "I know you only have the one night off now. I'd like to take you to dinner if you don't have any plans."

  "To dinner?"

  "There's a place Anna and Cam like up in Princess Anne. Suit-and-tie place, but they claim the food's worth it. Would you like to?"

  She realized she was nodding her head like a fool and made herself stop. "I'd like that."

  "I'll come by for you. About six-thirty?"

  There went her head, bobbing again like a spring robin drunk on worms. "Fine. That'd be fine."

  "I can't stay now because they're expecting me at the boatyard."

  "That's all right." She wondered if her eyes were as huge as they felt. She could have devoured him with them. "Thanks for the flowers. They're lovely."

  "You're welcome." And with his eyes open, he leaned over, laid his lips on hers very gently, very softly. He watched her lashes flutter, watched the green of her irises go misty under those tiny flecks of gold. "I'll see you tomorrow night, then."

  Her muscles had turned to putty. "Tomorrow," she managed and breathed out a long, long sigh as he walked away and out her front door.

  He'd brought her flowers. She clasped the stems in both hands, held them out and waltzed through the house with them. Beautiful, fragrant, soft-petaled flowers. And if some of those petals drifted to the floor as she danced, it only made the scene more romantic.

  They made her feel like a princess, like a woman. She sniffed them lavishly as she circled back into the kitchen for a vase. Like a bride.

  She stopped abruptly, staring at them. Like a bride.

  Her head went light, her skin hot, her hands trembly. When she realized she was holding her breath, she let it out with a whoosh, but it caught and stumbled as she tried to pull air in again.

  He'd brought her flowers, she thought again. He'd asked her to dinner. Slowly, she pressed a hand to her heart, found that it was pumping light and fast, very fast.

  He was going to ask her to marry him. To marry him.

  "Oh, my. Oh." Her legs wanted to fold, so she sat down, right on the floor of the kitchen with the flowers cradled in her arms like a child. Flowers, tender kisses, a romantic dinner for two. He was courting her.

  No, no. She was jumping to conclusions. He would never move that quickly to the next step. She shook her head, picked herself up, and found an old wide-mouthed bottle for a vase. He was just being sweet. He was just being considerate. He was just being Ethan.

  She turned on the faucet and filled the bottle. Just being Ethan, she thought again, and found her breath gone a second time.

  Being Ethan, he would think and he would do things in a certain manner. Struggling for calm, for logic, she began to arrange the precious flowers, stem by stem.

  They'd known each other for… she could hardly remember not knowing him. Now they were lovers. They were in love. Being Ethan, he would consider marriage the next step. Honorable, traditional. Right. He would believe it right.

  She understood that but had expected it to be months yet before he drifted in that direction. Yet why would he wait, she asked herself, when they'd already waited for years?

  But… She had promised herself she would never marry again. She made that vow as she signed her name on the divorce papers. She couldn't fail so miserably at something ever again, or risk putting Aubrey through the misery and trauma. She'd made the decision that she would raise Aubrey alone, raise her well, raise her with love. That she herself would provide, would build the home, tend it, where her daughter could grow up happy and safe.

  But that was before she had let herself believe Ethan would ever want them, would ever love her the way she loved him. Because it had always been Ethan. Always Ethan, she thought, closing her eyes. In her heart, in her dreams. Did she dare break her promise, one she had made so solemnly? Could she risk being a wife again, pinning her hopes and her heart on another man?

  Oh, yes. Yes, she could risk anything if the man was Ethan. It was so right, so perfect, she thought, laughing to herself as her head and heart went light with joy. It was the happy-ever-after that she'd stopped letting herself yearn for.

  How would he ask? She pressed her fingers to her lips, and those lips trembled and curved. Quietly, she thought, with his eyes so serious, so intent on hers. He would take her hand, in that careful way of his. They'd be outside with moonlight and breezes, with the scents of night all around them and the musical lap of water close by.

  Simply, she thought, without poetry or fuss. He would look down at her, saying nothing for a long moment, then he would speak, without hurry.

  / love you, Grace. I always will. Will you marry me?

  Yes, yes, yes! She spun herself in giddy circles. She would be his bride, his wife, his partner, his lover. Now. Forever. She could give her child to him knowing, without hesitation, that he would love and cherish, would protect and tend. She would have more children with him.

  Oh, God—Ethan's child growing inside her. Overwhelmed by the image, she pressed her hands to her stomach. And this time, this time, the life that fluttered inside her would be wanted and welcomed by both who'd made it.

  They would make a life together, a wonderfully, thrillingly simple life.

  She couldn't wait to begin it.

  Tomorrow night, she remembered, and in a sudden panic, pushed at her hair. Dropped her hands to look at them in utter despair. Oh, she was a mess. She needed to look beautiful.

  What would she wear?

  She caught herself laughing, the laughter full of joy and nerves. For once she forgot work and schedules and responsibility and raced to her closet.

  anna didn't notice the stolen flowers until the next day. Then she noticed them with a shout.

  "Seth! Seth, you come out here right now." She had her hands on her hips, her sassy straw hat askew, her eyes snapping and dangerous.

  "Yeah?" He came out, munching on a handful of pretzels, though dinner was simmering on the stove.

  "Have you been messing with my flowers?" she demanded.

  He slid a glance down to the mixed bed of annuals and perennials. And snorted. "What would I be messing with stupid flowers for?"

  She tapped her foot. "That's what I'm asking you."

  "I never touched them. Hey, you don't even want us to pull up weeds."

  "That's because you don't know the difference between a weed and a daisy," she snapped. "Well, somebody's been in my flower beds."

  "Wasn't me." He shrugged, then rolled his eyes in glee as she stormed past him into the house.

  Somebody, Seth thought, was in for it big time.

  "Cameron!" She stomped upstairs and into the bathroom where he was washing up from work. He glanced over, lifting a brow as water dripped from his face into the sink. She scowled for a moment, then shook her head. "Never mind," she muttered, slamming the door.

  Cam would no more fiddle with her gardens than Seth, she decided. And if he was picking flowers for anyone, it damn well better be his loving wife, or she'd just murder him and be done with it.

  Her eyes narrowed on the door to Ethan's room. And she made a low, threatening sound in her throat.

  She did stop to knock, though it was only three staccato raps before she simply pushed open the door.

  "Christ, Anna." Mortified, Ethan snatched up the slacks that lay on his bed and held them in front of him. He was wearing nothing but his briefs and a pained expression.

  "Just save the modesty, I'm not interested. Have you been into my flowers?"

  "Into your flowers?" Oh, he'd known this was coming. The woman had eyes like a cat when it came to her posies. But he hadn't expected the moment to come when he was half naked. Half, hell, he thought and clutched the slacks more firmly.<
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  "Somebody's snapped off more than a dozen blooms. Snapped them right off." She advanced on him, her eyes scanning the room for evidence.

  "Oh, well…"

  "Problem?" Cam leaned on the doorjamb, tongue in his cheek. It was an amusing sight after a hard day's work, he decided. His well-riled wife stalking around his all-but-bare-assed brother.

  "Somebody's been in my garden and they stole my flowers."

  "No kidding? Want me to call the cops?"

  "Oh, shut up." She whirled back to Ethan, who took a cautious and cowardly step in retreat. She looked fit to murder. "Well?"

  "Well, I…" He'd intended to confess, throw himself on her mercy. But the woman glaring at him out of dark, furious eyes looked several quarts low on mercy. "Rabbits," he said slowly. "Probably."

  "Rabbits?"

  "Yeah." He shifted uncomfortably, wishing to Christ he'd at least gotten his pants on before she burst in. "Rabbits can be a problem with gardens. They just hop up and help themselves."

  "Rabbits," she said again.

  "Could be deer," he added, just a little desperately. "They'd graze over and eat every damn thing down to stubs." Counting on pity, he shot a look at Cam. "Right?"

  Cam weighed the situation, knew Anna was city girl enough to buy it. Oh, Ethan would owe him for this, he decided and smiled. "Oh, yeah, deer and rabbits, big problem." Which having two dogs running tame pretty much eliminated, he mused.

  "Why didn't anybody tell me!" She whipped off her hat, rapped it against her thigh. "What do we do about it? How do we make them stop?"

  "Couple ways." Guilt stung, just a little, but Ethan rationalized that deer and rabbits could be a problem, so she should take precautions anyway. "Dried blood."

  "Dried blood? Whose?"

  "You can buy it at the garden store, and you just dump it around. It'll keep them away."

  "Dried blood." Her lips pursed as she made a mental note to buy some.

  "Or urine."

  "Dried urine?"

  "No." Ethan cleared his throat. "You just go out and…you know, around so they smell it and know there's a meat eater in the vicinity."

  "I see." She nodded, satisfied, then whirled on her husband. "Well, get out there then and pee on my marigolds."

  "Could use a beer first," Cam said and winked at his brother. "Don't worry, darling, we'll take care of it."

  "All right." Calmer, she huffed out a breath. "Sorry, Ethan."

  "Yeah, well, hmmm." He waited until she'd hurried out, then lowered himself to the edge of the bed. He slanted a look at Cam, who continued to lean against the door. "That wife of yours has a streak of mean in her."

  "Yeah. I love it. Why'd you steal her flowers?"

  "I just needed a few of them," Ethan muttered and pulled on his pants. "What the hell are they out there for if you get your head cut off for picking them?"

  "Rabbits? And deer?" Cam began to hoot with laughter.

  "They're garden pests right enough."

  "Pretty brave rabbits who hop between two dogs and right up to the house to select a few flowers. If they got that far, they'd mow the whole garden down to the ground."

  "She doesn't have to know that. For a while. I appreciate you backing me up. I thought she was going to punch me."

  "She might have. Since I saved your pretty face, I figure you owe me."

  "Nothing comes free," Ethan grumbled and stalked to the closet for a shirt.

  "You got that right. Seth needs a haircut, and he's already outgrown his last pair of shoes."

  Ethan turned, shirt dangling from his fingertips. "You want me to take him to the mall?"

  "Right again."

  "I'd rather have the punch in the face."

  "Too late." Cam hooked a thumb in his front pocket and grinned. "So, why'd you need the flowers?"

  "Just thought Grace would like them." Muttering, Ethan shrugged into his shirt.

  "Ethan Quinn stealing flowers, going out—voluntarily—to a jacket-and-tie restaurant." Cam's grin widened, his eyebrows wiggled. "Serious business."

  "It's a usual thing for a man to take a woman out to dinner, bring her flowers now and then."

  "Not for you it isn't." Cam straightened, patted his flat belly. "Well, I guess I'll go choke down that beer so I can be a hero."

  "Man's got no privacy around here," Ethan complained when Cam sauntered away. "Women come right on into your bedroom, don't even have the courtesy to leave when they see you don't have your pants on."

  Scowling, he dragged one of his two ties out of the closet. "People ready to skin you alive over a few flowers. And the next thing you know, you're at the goddamn mall fighting crowds and buying shoes."

  He wrestled the tie under his collar and began to deal with the knot. "Never had to worry when I was in my own place. I could walk around buck ass naked if I wanted to." He hissed at the tie that refused to cooperate. "I hate these fuckers."

  "That's because you're happier tying a sheepshank."

  "Who the hell wouldn't be?"

  Then he stopped, his fingers freezing on the tie. His gaze stayed on the mirror, where he could see his father behind him.

  "You're just a little nervous, that's all," Ray said with a smile and a wink. "Hot date."

  Taking a careful breath, Ethan turned. Ray stood at the foot of the bed, his bright-blue eyes merry, the way Ethan remembered they would sparkle when he was particularly tickled about something.

  He was wearing a squash-yellow T-shirt that sported a boat under full sail, faded jeans, and scuffed sandals. His hair was long, past his collar, and shining silver. Ethan could see the sun glint on it.

  He looked exactly like what he was—had been. A robust and handsome man who appreciated comfortable clothes and a good laugh.

  "I'm not dreaming," Ethan murmured.

  "It was easier for you to think so at first. Hello, Ethan."

  "Dad."

  "I remember the first time you called me that. Took you a while to come to it. You'd been with us almost a year. Christ, you were a spooky kid, Ethan. Quiet as a shadow, deep as a lake. One evening when I was grading papers, you knocked on the door. You just stood there for a minute, thinking. God, it was a marvel to watch your mind work. Then you said, 'Dad, the phone's for you.' " Ray's smile went bright as sunlight. "You slipped right out again, or you'd have seen me make a fool of myself. Sniffled like a baby and had to tell whoever the hell it was on the phone I was having an allergy attack."

  "I never knew why you wanted me."

  "You needed us. We needed you. You were ours, Ethan, even before we found each other. Fate takes its own sweet time, but it always finds a way. You were so… fragile," Ray said after a moment, and Ethan blinked in surprise. "Stella and I were worried we'd do something wrong and break you."

  "I wasn't fragile."

  "Oh, Ethan, you were. Your heart was delicate as glass and waiting to be shattered. Your body was tough. We never worried about you and Cam pounding on each other those first months. Thought it did both of you good."

  Ethan's lips twitched. "He usually started the pounding."

  "But you never were one to back off once your blood was up. Took some doing to get it up," he added. "Still does. We watched you watch and settle and think and consider."

  "You gave me… time. Time to watch and settle, to think and consider. Everything I've got that's decent came from the two of you."

  "No, Ethan, we just gave you love. And that time, and the place."

  He wandered over to the window, to look out on the water and the boats that swayed gently at the dock. He watched an egret sail across a sky hazed with heat and plumped by clouds.

  "You were meant to be ours. Meant to be here. Took to the water like you'd been born in it. Cam, he always just wanted to go fast, and Phillip preferred to sit back and enjoy the ride. But you…"

  He turned back again, his gaze thoughtful. "You studied every inch of the boat, every wave, every turn of a river. You'd practice tying knots for hours, and
nobody had to nag you into swabbing the decks."

  "It came easy for me, right from the start. You wanted me to get a college degree."

  "For me." Ray shook his head. "For me, Ethan. Fathers are human, after all, and I went through a time when I thought my sons needed to love schooling as much as I did. But you did what was right for you. You made me proud of you. I should have told you that more often."

  "You always let me know it."

  "Words count, though. Who would know that better than a man who spent his life trying to teach the young the love of them?" He sighed now. "Words count, Ethan, and I know some of them come hard for you. But I want you to remember that. You and Grace have a lot to say to each other yet."

  "I don't want to hurt her."

  "You will," Ray said quietly. "By trying not to. I wish you could see yourself as I do. As she does." He shook his head again. "Well, fate takes its time. Think of the boy, Ethan, think of Seth—and what pieces of yourself you see there."

  "His mother—" Ethan began.

  "Think of the boy for now," Ray said simply, and he was gone.

  Chapter Sixteen

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  there wasn't a hint of rain on the breezy summer air. The sky was a hot, staggering blue, an unbroken bowl that held a faint haze and fragile clouds. A single bird sang manically, as if mad to complete the song before the long day was over.

  She was as nervous as a teenager on prom night. The thought of that made Grace laugh. No teenager had ever dreamed of nerves like these.

  She fussed with her hair, wishing she had long, glossy curls like Anna's—exotic, Gypsy-like. Sexy.

  But she didn't, she reminded herself firmly. And never would. At least the short, simple crop showed off the pretty gold drop earrings Julie had loaned her.

  Julie had been so sweet and excited about what she'd termed the Big Date. She'd launched straight into a what-to-wear-and-what-to-wear-with-it routine—and naturally had deemed the contents of Grace's closet a total loss.

  Of course, letting Julie drag her off to the mall had been sheer foolishness. Not that Julie had to yank very hard,

  Grace admitted. It had been so long since she'd shopped simply for the simple pleasure of shopping. For the couple of hours they'd spent swarming through the shops, she'd felt so young and carefree. As if nothing was really more important than finding the right outfit.

  Still, she'd had no business buying a new dress, even if she did get it on sale. But she couldn't seem to talk herself out of it. Just this one little indulgence, this one little luxury. She so desperately wanted something new and fresh for this special night.

  She'd yearned for the sexy, sophisticated black with its shoestring straps and snug skirt. Or the boldly sensuous red with the daringly plunging neckline. But they hadn't suited her, as she'd known they wouldn't.

  It had been no surprise that the simple powder-blue linen had been discounted. It had looked so plain, so ordinary, hanging on the rack. But Julie had pressed it on her, and Julie had an eye for such things.