by Nora Roberts
It was good to be home, was his last thought, and he fell dreamlessly into sleep.
* * *
“MOM?” In the office of the boatyard, Phillip sat heavily in his chair. “He dreamed about Mom?”
“Maybe it was a dream, maybe it wasn’t.”
Ethan rubbed his chin. “He said she was wearing that old cap?”
“That’s right.”
“She wore it often enough,” Phillip pointed out. “He’s probably seen a picture of her wearing it.”
“She’s not wearing it in any of the pictures we’ve got sitting around our place.” Cam had looked. “I’m not saying he hasn’t seen a picture, and I’m not saying it wasn’t just a dream. But it’s odd. She used to come down and sit on the dock with us like that. She didn’t care much for fishing, but if one of us was sitting out there brooding over something, she’d come out and sit until we started talking about whatever it was we had in our craw.”
“She was good at it,” Ethan agreed. “Good at getting down to the meat of it.”
“It doesn’t mean this is anything like what happened with us after Dad died.”
“You didn’t want to believe that either,” Ethan pointed out as he hunted up a bottle of water from Phillip’s office refrigerator.
“I know this. Something’s bothering the kid and he doesn’t want to talk about it. Not to me anyway.” It stung a little, Cam admitted. “If anybody can get it out of him, it’s Mom. Even in a dream. In the meantime, I guess we just watch him. I’m going down before he figures out we’re up here talking about him.”
Cam started out, then stopped and turned back. “I told him if he dreams about her again to ask her about the zucchini bread.”
Both his brothers looked blank. Ethan remembered first and laughed so hard he had to sit on the edge of the desk.
“Christ.” Phillip eased back in his chair. “I’d forgotten all about that.”
“We’ll see if she remembers,” Cam said, then started down into the din of the work area. He’d gotten to the last step when the outer door opened, spilling in sunshine just ahead of Dru.
“Well, hello, gorgeous. Looking for my idiot brother?”
“Which idiot brother?”
His grin was pure appreciation. “You catch on. Seth’s earning his keep.”
“Actually, I wasn’t—” But Cam already had her hand and was leading her along.
Legs spread, his back to her, Seth stood on the decking of the boat, stripped to the waist. His back and arms showed considerably more muscle than might be expected from a man who wielded a paintbrush for a living. He guzzled from a bottle of water like a man who hadn’t had a drink in a week.
Her own mouth went dry watching him.
Shallow, Dru told herself. Shallow, shallow, shallow, to be interested in a man simply because he looked hot and hard and handsome. She appreciated intellect and strength of character and personality and . . . a really excellent butt, she admitted.
Sue her.
She managed to avoid licking her lips before he turned. He reached up to swipe at his brow with his forearm, then spotted her.
Now, in addition to the long male body clad only in jeans and work boots, her senses were assaulted by the lethal power of his smile.
She saw his mouth move—it was, like his butt, excellent. But the words he spoke were drowned out by the music.
Willing to assist, Cam walked over and turned the stereo down to merely loud.
“Hey!” Aubrey’s head popped up from under the deck. “What gives?”
“We’ve got company.”
Dru watched, with some interest, as Seth ran a hand over Aubrey’s shoulder as he jumped down from the deck. “We’re on for tomorrow, right?” he asked her as he walked over, pulling a bandanna out of his pocket to wipe his hands and face.
“Yes.” Dru noted that Aubrey continued to watch, with considerable interest of her own. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work. I was running some errands while Mr. G watches the shop, and I thought I’d come in and have a look at the operation here.”
“I’ll show you around.”
“You’re busy.” And your blond companion is watching me like your guard dog, Dru decided. “In any case, I’m told it’s probably you I want to see,” she said to Cam.
Cam gestured at Seth. “I told you that’s what all the pretty ladies say. What can I do for you?”
“I want to buy a boat.”
“Is that so?” Cam draped an arm around her shoulders and turned to lead her toward the stairs. “Well, sugar, you’ve come to the right place.”
“Hey!” Seth called out. “I can talk about boats.”
“Junior partner. We try to humor him. So, what kind of boat are you interested in?”
“Sloop. Eighteen feet. Arc bottom, cedar hull. Probably a spoon bow, though I’d be flexible if the designer has another idea. I want something with good balance, reliable stability, but when I want to move, I want to move.”
She turned to study the gallery of sketches and told herself she’d admire the art of them later. For now, she wanted to make her point.
“This hull, this bow,” she said, gesturing to two sketches. “I want something dependable, quick to the wind, and I want a boat that lasts.”
She obviously knew her boats. “A custom job like that’s going to cost you.”
“I don’t expect it comes free, but I don’t discuss terms with you, do I? I believe that’s your brother Phillip’s area—and if there are any other specific design details, that would be Ethan’s.”
“Done your homework.”
“I like to know who I’m dealing with, and I prefer dealing with the best. That, by all accounts, is Quinn Brothers. How soon can you work up a design?”
Man, oh man, Cam thought, you’re going to drive the kid crazy. And it’s going to be fun to watch. “Let’s go upstairs and we’ll figure it out.”
* * *
IT was Ethan who walked her down and out thirty minutes later. The lady, he’d discovered, knew port from starboard, had very specific ideas about what she wanted, and held her own against a group of men who’d never had their rough edges quite smoothed off.
“We’ll have a draft of the design drawn up by the end of next week,” he told her. “Sooner if we can browbeat Seth into doing most of it.”
“Oh?” She sent what she hoped was a casual glance toward the work area. “Does he do some of the designing?”
“When we can pin him down. Always had a knack. Pretty obvious he draws better than the three of us put together, and then some.”
She followed his gaze and looked at the gallery of boats. “It’s a wonderful collection, and retrospective, I suppose. You can see his artistic progress very clearly.”
“This one here.” He tapped his finger against the sketch of a skipjack. “He did this drawing when he was ten.”
“Ten?” Fascinated, she moved closer, studying it now as a student might study the early works of a master in a museum. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to be born with that kind of gift. It would be a burden for some, wouldn’t it?”
In his way, Ethan took his time considering, following the lines of his old skipjack as seen through the eyes and talent of a child. “I guess it would. Not for Seth. It’s a joy for him, and what you’d call a channel. Always has been. Well.”
He was never long on conversation, so offered her a quiet smile and his hand. “It’s going to be a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Likewise. Thanks for making time for me today.”
“We always got time.”
He showed her out, then wandered into the driving beat of Sugar Ray and power sanders. He was halfway to the lathe when Seth shut off his tool.
“Dru up with the guys?”
“Nope. She went on.”
&n
bsp; “Went on? Well, damn it, you could’ve said something.” He vaulted down from the boat and sprinted for the door.
Aubrey frowned after him. “He’s half stuck on her already.”
“Seems like.” Ethan tilted his head at the look on her face. “Problem?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s just not what I pictured for him, that’s all. She’s all kind of stiff and fancy, with a high snoot factor, if you ask me.”
“She’s alone,” Ethan corrected. “Not everybody’s as easy with people as you are, Aubrey. Besides the fact, it’s what Seth pictures that matters.”
“Yeah.” But she was far from sold on Drusilla.
EIGHT
SINCE HE HADN’T told her what to wear for the sitting, Dru settled on the simple, with blue cotton pants and a white camp shirt. She watered her gardens, changed her earrings twice, then made a fresh pot of coffee.
Maybe the hoops had been a better choice, she thought, fingering the little lapis balls dangling from her ear. Men liked women in hoop earrings. Probably had some strange sultry gypsy fetish.
And what the hell did she care?
She wasn’t sure she wanted him to make another move on her. One move, after all, invariably led to another, and she wasn’t interested in the chessboard of relationships just now.
Or hadn’t been.
Jonah had certainly checkmated her, she thought, and enjoyed the little flash of anger. The problem had been she’d believed she was in control of the board there, that all the game pieces were in correct positions.
She’d been completely oblivious to the fact that he’d been playing on another board simultaneously.
His disloyalty and deception had damaged her heart and her pride. While her heart had healed, perhaps too easily, she admitted, her pride remained bruised.
She would never be made a fool of again.
If she was going to develop a relationship with Seth—and the jury was still out on that one—it would be on her terms.
She’d proven to herself that she was more than an ornament for a man’s arm, a notch in his bedpost or a rung in the ladder of his career advancement.
Jonah had miscalculated on that score.
More important, she’d proven that she could stand on her own and make a very contented life.
Which didn’t mean, she admitted, that she didn’t miss a certain amount of companionship, or sexual heat, or the heady challenge of the mating dance with an interesting, attractive man.
She heard his tires crunch on her gravel drive. One step at a time, she told herself, and waited for him to knock.
All right, she thought, so she did feel a rush of heat the minute she opened the door and looked at him. It only proved that she was human, and she was healthy.
“Good morning,” she said, as manners had her stepping back to let him inside.
“Morning. I love this place. I just realized that if you hadn’t snapped it up before I got back home, I would have.”
“Lucky for me.”
“I’ll say.” He scanned the living area as he wandered. Strong colors, good fabrics, he mused. It could’ve used a little more clutter for his taste, but it suited her with its good, carefully selected pieces, the fresh flowers and the tidy air of it all.
“You said you wanted to work outside.”
“Yeah. Oh, hey, your painting.” He shifted the package wrapped in brown paper under his arm and handed it to her. “I’ll hang it for you if you’ve picked your spot.”
“That was quick.” And because she couldn’t resist, she sat on the sofa and ripped off the wrapping.
He’d chosen thin strips of wood stained a dull gold that complemented the rich tones of the flowers and foliage so that the frame was as simple and strong as the painting.
“It’s perfect. Thank you. It’s a wonderful start to my Seth Quinn collection.”
“Planning on a collection?”
She ran a finger over the top of the frame as she looked up at him. “Maybe. And I’d take you up on hanging it for me because I’m dying to see how it looks, but I don’t have the proper hanger.”
“Like this?” He dug the one he’d brought with him out of his pocket.
“Like that.” She angled her head, considered. “You’re very handy, aren’t you?”
“Damn near indispensable. Got a hammer, and a tape measure, or should I get mine out of my car?”
“I happen to have a hammer and other assorted household tools.” She rose, went into the kitchen and came back with a hammer so new it gleamed.
“Where do you want it?”
“Upstairs. My bedroom.” She turned to lead the way. “What’s in the bag?”
“Stuff. The guy who rehabbed this place knew what he was doing.” Seth examined the satin finish on the banister as they climbed to the second floor. “I wonder how he could stand to let it go.”
“He likes the work itself—and the profit. Once he’s finished, he’s bored and wants to move on. Or so he told me when I asked just that.”
“How many bedrooms? Three?”
“Four, though one’s quite small, more suited to a home office or a little library.”
“Third floor?”
“A finished attic, which has potential for a small apartment. Or,” she said with a glance at him, “an artist’s garret.”
She turned into a room, and Seth saw immediately she’d selected what suited her best here as well. The windows gave her a view of the river, a sweep of trees and shady garden. The window trim was just fussy enough to be charming, and she’d chosen to drape filmy white gauze in a kind of long swag around them in lieu of formal curtains. It diffused the sunlight and still left the view and the craftsmanship of the trim.
She’d gone for cerulean blue on the walls, scattered a couple of floral rugs on the pine floor, and had stuck with antiques for the furnishings.
The bed was tidily made, as he’d expected, and covered with a white quilt with intricate interlocking rings and rosebuds that seemed to have been crafted specifically for the sleigh bed.
“Great piece.” He leaned down to get a closer look at the workmanship of the quilt. “Heirloom?”
“No. I found it at an arts-and-crafts fair in Pennsylvania last year. I thought the wall between these windows. It’ll be good light without direct sun.”
“Good choice.” He held the painting up. “And it’ll be like another window, so you’ll have flowers during the winter.”
Her thoughts, Dru admitted, exactly.
“About here?”
She stepped back, checked the position from several different angles—resisting, only because it was a bit too suggestive, lying down on the bed to see how it would look to her when she woke in the mornings.
“That’s perfect.”
He reached behind the painting, scraped a vague mark on the wall with his thumbnail, then set it aside to measure.
It was odd, she thought, having a man in her bedroom again. And far from unpleasant to watch him with his tools and his painting, his rough clothes and his beautiful hands.
Far from unpleasant, she admitted, to imagine those beautiful hands on her skin.
“See what you think about what’s in the bag,” he said without looking around.
She picked it up, opened it. And her eyebrows lifted high as she took out the long, filmy skirt—purple pansies rioting against a cool blue background—and the thin-strapped, narrow top in that same shade of blue.
“You’re a determined man, aren’t you?”
“It’ll look good on you, and it’s the look I’m after.”
“And you get what you’re after.”
He glanced back now, his expression both relaxed and cocky. “So far. You got any of those . . .” He made a circle with his finger in the air. “Hoop ear things
. They’d work with that.”
I should’ve known, Dru thought, but only said, “Hmm.”
She laid the skirt and top on the bed, then stepped back as he fixed the painting on its hook. “Left bottom needs to come up a little—too much. There. That’s perfect. Painted, framed and hung by Quinn. Not a bad deal on my side.”
“It looks good from my end, too,” he said, staring at her.
When he took a step toward her, she considered taking one toward him. Before the phone rang.
“Excuse me.” For the best, she assured herself as she picked up the bedside phone. “Hello.”
“Hello, princess.”
“Dad.” Pleasure, distress and, shamefully, a thread of annoyance knotted inside her. “Why aren’t you on the seventh green by this time on a Sunday morning?”
“I’ve got some difficult news.” Proctor let out a long sigh. “Sweetheart, your mother and I are getting divorced.”
“I see.” The pulse in her temple began to throb. “I need you to wait just a minute.” She pushed the hold button, turned to Seth. “I’m sorry, I need to take this. There’s coffee in the kitchen. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Okay.” Her face had gone blank on him. It was very still and very empty. “I’ll grab a cup before I go out to set up. Take your time.”
She waited until she heard him start down the steps, then sat on the side of the bed and reconnected with her father. “I’m sorry, Dad. What happened?” And bit her tongue before she could finish the question with: this time.
“I’m afraid your mother and I haven’t been getting along for quite a while. I’ve tried to shield you from our problems. I have no doubt we’d have taken this step years ago if it hadn’t been for you. But, well, these things happen, princess.”
“I’m very sorry.” She knew her job well and finished with, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Ah well. I’m sure I’d feel better if I could explain things to you, so I’m sure you’re not upset by all this. It’s too complicated to discuss on the phone. Why don’t you come up this afternoon? We’ll have lunch, just you and me. Nothing would brighten my day more than spending it with my little girl.”