by Nora Roberts
The wicked humor on Cam's face drained, leaving it naked and vulnerable. "Mom? You dreamed about Mom?"
"I know it's weird. I never even met her."
"What was she…" It was strange how grief could hide inside you. Like a virus, laying low for months, even years, only to spring out and leave you weak and helpless again. "What were you doing?"
"Sitting on the dock in back of the house. It was summer. Hot, sweaty, close. I was fishing, just a pole and a line and some of
Anna's Brie."
"You'd better've been dreaming," Cam managed. "Or you're a dead man."
"See, that's the thing. The line's in the water, but I knew I'd copped the cheese for bait. And I could smell roses, feel the heat of the sun. Then Foolish plops down next to me. I know he's gone—I mean in the dream I know—so I'm pretty damn surprised to see him. Next thing I know Stella's sitting on the dock beside me."
"How did she look?"
It didn't seem like an odd question while they were gliding along on quiet water in the dimming light. It seemed perfectly rational. "She looked terrific. She had on this old khaki hat, no brim. The kind you just yank down over your head, and her hair was falling all out of it."
"Jesus." Cam remembered the old hat, and the way she'd stuffed her unmanageable hair under it. Did they have a picture of her in that ugly cap? He couldn't recall. "I don't want to mess you up with this." Cam only shook his head. "What happened in the dream?"
"Not a whole lot. We just sat there and talked. About you guys, and Ray and…"
"What?"
"How they figured it was time she got to play Grandma, since she'd missed out on that before. It wasn't what we said so much as how real it seemed. Even when I woke up sitting on the side of the bed, it seemed real. I don't know how to explain it."
"No, I get you." Hadn't he had a number of conversations with his father, after Ray had died? And hadn't his brothers both had similar experiences?
But it had been so long now. Longer yet since they'd lost their mother. And none of them had ever had that wrenching chance to talk to her again. Even in dreams.
"I always wanted to meet her," Seth continued. "It feels like I have."
"How long ago was this?"
"Last week, I guess. And before you start, I didn't say anything at the time because I figured you might freak. You gotta admit, it's a little spooky."
You ain't seen nothing yet, Cam thought. But that was one of the aspects of being a Quinn Seth would have to find out on his own.
"If you dream about her again, ask her if she remembers the zucchini bread."
"The what?"
"Just ask her," Cam said as they drifted home.
WHEN THEY GOT HOME, dinner was cooking. And Dan McLean was standing by the stove, holding a beer and leaning in for Anna to feed him a spoonful of red sauce.
"What the hell's he doing here?" Cam demanded, and fixed a scowl on his face because Dan would expect it.
"Mooching. That's terrific, Miz Q. Nobody makes it like you. It makes having to see his face again easier," he added, and nodded toward Seth.
"Weren't you mooching here two weeks ago?" Cam asked him. "Nah. I mooched at Ethan's two weeks ago. I like to spread myself around."
"More of you to spread around than there was last time I saw you." Seth hooked his thumbs in his pockets and took a long look at his childhood friend. Dan had filled out in a way that indicated solid gym time.
"Can't men just say, 'Hi, it's good to see you again'?" Anna wondered.
"Hi," Seth echoed. "It's good to see you again."
They moved together in the one-armed hold that constitutes a male hug.
Cam sniffed at the simmering pots. "Christ, I'm tearing up.
This is so touching."
"Why don't you set the table," Anna suggested to Cam. "Before you make a sentimental fool of yourself."
"Let the moocher set it. He knows where everything is. I've got to go dethrone and execute our youngest child."
"Make sure you do it within twenty minutes. We're eating in twenty-one."
"I'll set the table, Miz Q."
"No, get out of my kitchen. Take your beer and manly ways outside. I don't know why I couldn't have had just one girl. I don't know why that was too much to ask."
"Next time this one comes over to eat our food, make him put on a dress," Cam called over his shoulder as he headed for the den and his son's date with destiny.
"Cam loves me like a brother," Dan said and, at home, opened the refrigerator to get Seth a beer. "Let us go and sit outside like men, scratching and telling sexual lies."
They sat on the steps. Each took a pull from his beer. "Aub says you're digging in this time. Got yourself a studio over the florist."
"That's right. Aub says? My information is your little brother's after her."
"When he gets the chance. I see more of her than I see of Will. They've got him doing so many double shifts at the hospital he calls out'stat!' and other sexy medical terms in his sleep."
"You guys still bunking together?"
"Yeah, for now. Mostly I've got the apartment to myself. He lives and breathes the hospital. Will McLean, M.D. Ain't that some shit?"
"He really got off dissecting frogs in biology. You wimped out."
Even from this distance, the thought made Dan grimace. "It was, and continues to be, a disgusting rite of passage. No frog's ever caused me harm. Now that you're back, it screws my plans to visit you in Italy, have the two of us sit at some sidewalk cafe—"
"Trattoria."
"Whatever, and ogle sexy women. Figured we'd catch a lot of action, with you being all artistic and me being so damn handsome."
"What happened to that teacher you were seeing? Shelly?"
"Shelby. Yeah, well, that's another thing that put my little fantasy in the dust." Dan dug in his pocket, pulled out a jeweler's box and flipped the top with his thumb.
"Holy hell, McLean," Seth managed as he blinked at the diamond ring.
"Got big plans tomorrow night. Dinner, candlelight, music, get down on one knee. The whole package." Dan blew out a shaky breath. "I'm scared shitless."
"You're getting married?"
"Man, I hope so, because I love her to pieces. You think she'll go for this?"
"How do I know?"
"You're the artist," Dan said and shoved the ring under Seth's nose. "How's it look to you?"
It looked like a fancy gold band with a diamond in the center. But friendship demanded more than that. "It looks great. Elegant, classic."
"Yeah, yeah." Obviously pleased, Dan studied it again. "That's her, man. That's Shelby. Okay." Breathing out, he put the box back in his pocket. "Okay then. She really wants to meet you. She's into that art crap. That's how I hit on her the first time. Aubrey dragged me to this art show at the university because Will was tied up. And there's Shelby standing in front of this painting that looked like maybe a chimp had done. I mean, what is with that shit that's just streaks and splatters of paint? It's a scam, if you ask me."
"I'm sure Pollock died in shame."
"Yeah, right, whatever. Anyhow, I went up to her and pulled that 'what does it say to you?' kind of line. And you know what she says?"
Enjoying seeing his friend so besotted, Seth leaned back against the step. "What did she say?"
"She said the five-year-olds in her kindergarten class do better work with fingerpaints. Man oh man, it was love. So that's when I pulled out the big guns and told her I had this friend who was an artist, but he painted real pictures. Then I drop your name and she nearly fainted. I guess that's when it really hit me you'd become a BFD."
"You still have that sketch I did of you and Will hanging over your toilet?"
"It's in a place of honor. So, how about you meet Shelby and me some night next week? For a drink, maybe something to eat."
"I can do that, but she may fall for me and leave you brokenhearted."
"Yeah, that'll happen. But just in case, she's got this friend—"<
br />
"No." The horror of it had Seth throwing up a blocking hand. "No fix-ups. You'll just have to take your chances on your girl falling under the spell of my fatal charm."
AFTER THE MEAL, and the noise, Seth let Dan drag him off for a night at Shiney's. It turned into a marathon of reminiscence and bad music.
They'd left the porch and living room lamp on for him, so he made it all the way upstairs before he tripped over the dog sprawled across the bathroom doorway.
He cursed under his breath, limped off to his room and stripped down to the skin where he stood. His ears were still ringing from the last horrendous set when he flopped facedown on the bed.
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 lat
he when Seth shut off his tool.
"Dru up with the guys?"
"Nope. She went on."
"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.
* * *
Chapter Eight
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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.