Bride Quartet Collection

by Nora Roberts

  “You’re up, too.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Laurel lifted her hands. “What’s wrong with us?”

  “Not a thing. Everyone else is sleeping through vacation. We’re wringing every drop out of it.”

  “Damn right. That beach calls for a run, as previously discussed.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  They warmed up on the walkway, then set off at an easy pace on the sand. They didn’t need to talk, but simply matched gaits, followed the shoreline with the surf foaming beside them.

  Birds took wing or strutted in the foam. Carter would likely know what they were, Laurel thought, but it was enough just to have them there, soaring, calling, pecking while the rising sun sparkled on the water.

  When they turned back, they kept up the same steady pace until the house came into view again. Laurel reached over to touch Parker’s arm as she slowed.

  “Just look at it. That’s where we’re going.”

  “Don’t hate me, but it makes me think, wow, what a fabulous place for casual beach weddings.”

  “I may have to hurt you.”

  “I can’t help it. It is a fabulous place.”

  “How many calls have you taken since we got here?”

  “Only two. Okay three, but all easily handled. And I got a sunrise run on the beach and am now seriously jonesing for coffee. In fact ... last one there makes it.”

  She took off in a sprint. Laurel was quick off the mark, but she already knew she’d be making the coffee. Parker ran like a damn cheetah.

  Once she made the deck, she leaned over, hands on knees to catch her breath. “I was going to make the coffee anyway.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I hate that you’re barely winded, but I’ll still make the coffee, and egg-white omelettes.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m in the mood.”

  The others wandered down, probably lured by the scent of coffee and the music Parker turned on low.

  Del leaned on the counter, shoving fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. “Why aren’t you still in bed with me?”

  “Because I’ve already had a three-mile run on the beach, and my first cup of coffee.” She handed him one. “Shortly I’m having breakfast, which you can benefit by as I’m feeling generous.”

  He gulped down coffee. “Okay,” he said and walked out onto the deck to flop into a chaise.

  Emma stopped slicing fruit to roll her eyes in a look that clearly said: men.

  “He gets away with it today because I’m in a very good mood.” She paused at the sound of an engine, shifted closer to the window. “Who could that be?”

  Outside, Parker set a pitcher of juice on the table then glanced down to see Malcolm Kavanaugh remove his helmet. He gave his hair a shake as he swung off the motorcycle. “Nice little place you’ve got here,” he called up to Del, then headed up the stairs. He shot Parker a quick grin. “How’s it going, Legs? Looks like I’m in time for breakfast.”

  He slid into the group, Laurel thought later. Parker might find him a little irritating, but he did slide in. By midmorning, they’d staked their territory on the beach with folding chairs, blankets, umbrellas, coolers. The air smelled of sea and sunscreen.

  She’d nearly dozed off over her book, when Del plucked her bodily out of her chair.

  “What? Cut it out.”

  “Time for a dip.”

  “If I want a dip, I’ll use the pool. Stop it!”

  “Can’t come to the seashore without getting in the sea.” He waded right in with her over his shoulder, then tossed her.

  She managed one short curse, then held her breath.

  The cool water closed over her head, and she felt sand swim in every-damn-where as she pushed herself up. When she blinked the salt water out of her eyes, she saw him standing about waist high and grinning.

  “Damn it, Del. It’s cold.”

  “Refreshing,” he corrected, and dived under an oncoming wave. She, of course, didn’t see it coming. Knocked down, breathless, carrying yet more sand, she started to push up again, as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “You’re so pushy, Brown.”

  “Got you in, didn’t I?”

  “I like to look at the ocean, swim in a pool.”

  “We don’t have an ocean at home,” he pointed out. “Here comes another one.”

  At least she was prepared this time, rolled with the wave—and had the satisfaction of shoving him under. He only surfaced laughing. Since she was wet, sandy, and covered with salt, she struck off to swim past the breakers. As her skin and muscles warmed, she had to admit Del had a point.

  They didn’t have an ocean at home.

  She dived under again, just for the pleasure of it. And once more, his hands closed around her waist.

  “That’s far enough out.”

  “Pushy,” she said again.

  “Maybe.” But he wrapped around her so they bobbed. She felt him take a few strong kicks to bring them closer to shore. What the hell, she decided, and, relaxing against him, let him do the work.

  She watched her friends, on shore and sea, listened to the sounds of voices, of surf, of music.

  “I could get myself back to the beach,” she told him. “Like I could’ve gotten myself in the water in the first place if I’d wanted to.”

  “Yeah, but then I couldn’t do this.” He shifted her, took her mouth as the water rocked them.

  Once again she was forced to admit he had a point.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SHE WANTED TO BAKE. MAYBE IT WAS THE LIGHT PITTER-PATTER of morning rain outside the windows that turned the beach into a pearly watercolor—or just several days running without doing much more in the kitchen than making coffee or nuking some popcorn.

  Laurel supposed it was the same as Parker sneaking off for a couple of hours every day to huddle over her laptop, or Mac with her camera. And hadn’t Emma hunted up a flower shop so she could buy armloads to arrange around the house?

  After a few days of sleeping in, lazing around, after the long walks and nightly game fests, she just wanted to get her hands in some dough.

  She’d already checked out the pantry, noting that Del knew her well enough to stock the basics, and with some surprise realized he paid enough attention to what she kept in her own pantry to shelve more specifics toward professional baking.

  But he didn’t know everything, she thought, because she was in the mood for pies.

  She made a mental list, knowing it depended on what she found once she got to the market.

  She left a note for Parker.

  Gone to market. Borrowed your car.

  L.

  And grabbing the keys and her purse, set out on what she thought of as a little adventure.

  IN THE GYM, PARKER WATCHED THE RAIN AS SHE FINISHED UP HER cardio session. She hadn’t turned on the news as was her habit—a concession to the holiday. Whatever was going on in the world just had to wait until she got back home.

  With the exception of her brides. But really, she thought, it hadn’t been too bad. A scatter of calls, a handful of problems and concerns she’d been able to handle long-distance.

  In fact, it was satisfying to know she could be away and still deal with what needed to be done.

  She smiled as she spotted Mac, her shock of red hair covered in a ball cap, her windbreaker a bright blue flash as she headed down to the rain-washed beach with her camera.

  They could get away from home, Parker thought, but not from what they were.

  She watched a moment longer, then walked over to switch the music to something less driving for the rest of her workout.

  It was such a treat to take as much time as she wanted, not to watch the clock, not to adjust her routine to meet an appointment or dig into a chore.

  She opted to make use of the barre, started off with some plies.

  When Mal walked in she had her foot on the barre and her nose to her knee.

  “Bendy,”
he commented, then lifted his eyebrows when she stared at him. “Do you have a problem with me getting some time in?”

  “No, of course not.” It irritated her that she caught herself, too often, stiff and ungracious around him. So she made a deliberate effort to be friendly. “Help yourself. You can change the music if you want. It won’t bother me.” She refused to be bothered.

  He only shrugged, and headed over to the weights to set up for bench presses. “I didn’t know anyone else was up until I heard the long-hair.”

  “Mac’s already down at the beach with her camera.” No reason not to be civil, Parker told herself.

  “In the rain?”

  “We can’t seem to help ourselves.” She turned to face him with a smile—but mostly because she suspected he’d stare at her ass if she didn’t.

  “Whatever works for you. I’ve seen some of her shots. You ought to put some up around here.”

  It surprised her as she’d already planned to do so. “Yes, we should. So ...What do you press?”

  “I keep it about one-fifty.You’ve got good arms,” he said after one of his long surveys. “How about you?”

  “One-ten, maybe one-twenty if I’m in the mood for it.”

  “Not bad.”

  She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she stretched. There was no denying the man had arms on him. Muscles bunched but didn’t bulge as he lifted and lowered the weights. High on his sleek right biceps rode a tattoo in the shape of a Celtic manhood knot.

  She’d only Googled the design out of curiosity.

  She respected a man who stayed in shape. As she’d seen Mal stripped down for the ocean—not that she’d paid particular attention—she knew he did.

  She moved on to crunches, and he to curls. She added in some pilates, and he switched to flies. He was unobtrusive, so she nearly forgot he was there and ended her workout with a few minutes of yoga to stretch everything out again.

  She turned to get a bottle of water and nearly walked into him.

  “Sorry.”

  “No problem.You’re seriously ripped there, Ms. Brown.”

  “Toned,” she corrected. “I’d pass the ripped to you, Mr. Kavanaugh.”

  He got two bottles of water out of the cooler, handed her one. Then he moved in until her back was against the cooler, his hands on her hips, and his mouth taking easy possession of hers.

  She told herself it was the stunned surprise—where had this come from?—that prolonged the moment, the kiss, the slow, sultry rise of heat. She shoved him back a half a step, gulped in air.

  “Wait a minute. Wait a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  She stared him down, but he seemed unaffected by the look that withered most. Still, he didn’t move in on her again, but only stood watching her with those sharp green eyes.

  Cat to mouse, she thought. That’s how it made her feel. And she was nobody’s mouse.

  “Listen, if you’ve got the idea I’m ... that because everyone’s paired up and we’re . . .”

  “No. That was you. Fourth of July. I remember it really well.”

  “That was just—nothing.”

  “I liked it. But no, I don’t have the idea. I just like your mouth and thought I’d see if my memory was accurate. It was.”

  “Now that we’ve established that.” She elbowed him aside, and stalked out.

  On a sound that combined amusement and pleasure, Mal stepped over to change the music. He preferred his long-hair with guitar and drums.

  WITH VERY WARM FEELINGS TOWARD THE LOCAL MARKET, LAUREL unloaded her bags. She might’ve gone just a little overboard, but since it made her happy, she didn’t see anything wrong with that. She had enough to bake her pies, some bread, a coffee cake—and whatever else struck her fancy.

  “I think it’s clearing up.”

  She turned to see Mac, windbreaker shiny with rain, crossing over from the beach steps. “Oh yeah, I can see that.”

  “No, really. See? Look over there.” Mac pointed to the eastern sky. “Little patches of blue. I’m optimistic.”

  “And wet.”

  “Got some great shots.” She reached in for another bag. “Dramatic, dreamy, moody. Jeez, this is heavy. What did you get?”

  “Stuff.”

  Mac peeked in, then sent Laurel a smug smile. “You’re going to bake. Just can’t take the Betty out of the Crocker.”

  “You should talk since you haven’t dug Annie out of the Leibovitz.”

  “Emma’s making noises about putting in a beach garden. Pampas grass and . . . well, who knows. It doesn’t make us workaholics.”

  “No. It makes us productive.”

  “Much better,” Mac agreed as they hauled the load up the steps. “I’m having the best time, and now I can’t wait to upload the digitals and see what I’ve got. I took some film, too. I wonder what it would take to talk Parker and Del into putting in a darkroom.”

  “Parker thinks the place would be perfect for casual beach weddings.”

  Mac pursed her lips in thought. “That may be going too far. Except, shit, it really would.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Laurel ordered and shifted her bags to open the door.

  Before she could, Del pulled it open. “There you are.” He took a bag from each of them. “Did we need supplies?”

  “I did.”

  He set them on the counter, leaned down to give her a quick kiss. “Good morning. Hey, Macadamia, you’re all wet.”

  “It’s clearing up,” she insisted. “I’m going to grab some coffee. Have you seen Carter?”

  “Briefly. He had a book about this thick.” Del stretched his thumb and forefinger out.

  “That’ll keep him occupied.” She poured the coffee and gave them a salute on her way out.

  “Missed you in bed this morning,” Del said to Laurel. “I woke up to the sound of the rain and the surf, and thought, now this is the perfect place to be. But you weren’t there, so it wasn’t.”

  “I went on a mission.”

  “So I see.” He reached in a bag, pulled out one of several lemons. “Lemonade?”

  “Lemon meringue pie, and a deep-dish cherry pie, I think.And I want to bake some bread, maybe a coffee cake. Rainy mornings are great for baking.”

  “Boy, our minds went in different directions on rainy morning.”

  She laughed as she unpacked the bags. “If you’d woken up sooner, we could’ve had both. No, let me unpack. I know where I want everything.”

  He shrugged and left her to it. “I guess I’ll hit the gym then, especially since pies are in my future. If you’ve got the receipt or remember what you spent, I’ll pay you back.”

  She stopped. “Why?”

  “You shouldn’t have to buy the supplies,” he said absently as he pulled a bottle of Gatorade out of the fridge.

  “And you should?” She couldn’t stop the line of heat that rode up her spine.

  “Well, it’s—”

  “Your house?” she finished.

  “Yes. But I was going to say it’s more . . . equitable since you’re doing the work.”

  “Nobody did any work last night when we all went out to dinner and you picked up the check.”

  “That was just . . .What’s the problem? Somebody else will get it next time.”

  “Do you think I care about your money? Do you think I’m with you because you can pick up dinner checks and have a place like this?”

  He lowered the bottle. “Jesus, Laurel, where did that come from?”

  “I don’t want to be paid back. I don’t want to be taken care of, and you can screw equitable because that’s never going to happen. But I can pay my own way, and I can buy my own damn supplies when I want to make some pies.”

  “Okay. I’m a little puzzled why offering to pay you back for a bunch of lemons pisses you off, but since it does, offer rescinded.”

  “You don’t get it,” she muttered as Linda’s jeering hired help echoed in her mind. “Why would you?”

>   “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

  She shook her head. “I’m going to bake. Baking makes me happy.” She reached for the remote, turned on music at random. “So, go work out.”

  “That’s the plan.” But he set down the bottle to take her face in his hands, study it. “Be happy,” he said. Kissed her, grabbed the bottle again, and left.

  “I was,” she murmured. “Will be again.” Determined, she began arranging her supplies and ingredients as suited her.

  Mal walked in while she cut shortening into her flour mixture for the pastry dough.

  “I love seeing a woman who knows what she’s doing in the kitchen.”

  “Glad to oblige.”

  He went to the coffeepot, judged the remainder stale, tossed it. “I’m going to make a fresh pot.You want?”

  “No, I’ve had enough.”

  “So, what’s on the menu?”

  “Pies.” She heard the edge in her voice, made the effort to dull it. “Lemon meringue and cherry.”

  “I’ve got a weakness for a good piece of cherry pie.” Once he’d set the coffee to brew, he stepped over to her counter, scanned it. “You use actual lemons for the lemon meringue?”

  “Well, they were out of mangoes.” She glanced at him as she added ice water. “What else?”

  “You know that little box with a picture of a slice of pie.”

  She unbent enough to laugh. “Not in my kitchen, friend. Juice and rind from actual lemons.”

  “How about that?” He poured the coffee, then poked in a cupboard. “Hey, Pop-Tarts. Is it going to bother you if I watch?”

  Stumped, she stopped what she was doing to stare at him. “You want to watch me make pies?”

  “I like seeing how things work, but I can take off if I’m in your way.

  “Just don’t touch anything.”

  “Deal.” He took a seat on a stool on the other side of the counter.

  “Do you cook at all?”

  He ripped open the Pop-Tart package as he spoke. “When I first took off for L.A., it was learn to put food together or starve. I learned. I make a damn good red sauce. Maybe I’ll put that together tonight, especially if the rain keeps up.”