Chesapeake Bay Saga 1-4

by Nora Roberts

  When the board he lifted gifted him with a fat splinter in the thumb, he swore ripely. “Why the hell didn’t we hire carpenters?”

  “Because, as keeper of our magic funds, you pointed out it’s cheaper this way. And Claremont gave us the first month’s rent free if we did it ourselves.” Cam took the board himself, placed it, and began to hammer in the next stud. “You said it was a good deal.”

  Gritting his teeth, he yanked out the splinter, sucked on his aching thumb. “I was insane at the time.”

  Phillip stepped back, hands on his hips above his tool belt, and surveyed the area. It was filthy. Dirt, sawdust, piles of refuse, stacks of lumber, sheets of plastic. This was not his life, he thought again, as the sound of Cam’s hammer thudded in time with the gritty rock beat of Bob Seger that pumped out of the radio.

  “I must have been insane. This place is a dump.”

  “Yep.”

  “Setting up this idiotic business is going to devour our capital.”

  “No doubt about it.”

  “We’ll go under in six months.”

  “Could be.”

  Phillip scowled and reached down for the jug of iced tea. “You don’t give a good damn.”

  “If it bombs, it bombs.” Cam tucked his hammer back in his belt, took out his measuring tape. “We’re no worse off. But if it makes it, if it just bumps along for a while, we’ll have what we need.”

  “Which is?”

  Cam picked up the next board, eyeballed it along its length, then set it over the sawhorses. “A business—which Ethan can run after the dust settles. He gets himself a couple of part-timers—off-season watermen—he builds three or four boats a year to keep it afloat.”

  He paused long enough to mark the board, run the saw. Dust flew and the noise was awesome. Cam set the power saw aside, hefted the board into place. “I’ll give him a hand now and then, you’ll keep track of the money end. But it ought to give us room to move some. I can get in a few races a year, you can get back to bilking the consumer with jazzy ads.” He pulled out his hammer. “Everybody’s happy.”

  Phillip cocked his head, scratched his chin. “You’ve been thinking.”

  “That’s right.”

  “When do you figure this slide back to normality’s going to happen?”

  Cam swiped at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. “The faster we get this place up and running, the faster we get the first boat done.”

  “Which explains why you’ve been busting your ass, and mine. Then what?”

  “I’ve got enough contacts to line up a second job, even a third.” He thought of Tod Bardette—the bastard—even now priming a crew for the One-Ton Cup. Yeah, he could finesse Bardette into a boat by Quinn. And there were others, plenty of others, who would pay and pay well. “I figure my main contribution to this enterprise is contacts. Six months,” he said. “We can handle six months.”

  “I’m going back to work Monday,” Phillip told him, braced for a fight. “I’ve got to. I’m flexing time so I’ll only be in Baltimore Monday through Thursday. It’s the best I can do.”

  Cam considered. “Okay. I don’t have a problem with that. But you’ll be busting ass on weekends.”

  For six months, Phillip thought. More or less. Then he hissed out a breath. “One factor you haven’t worked into your plan. Seth.”

  “What about him? He’ll be here. He’s got a place to live. I’m going to use the house as a base.”

  “And when you’re off breaking records and female hearts in Monte Carlo?”

  Cam scowled and rapped the hammer harder than necessary on the head of the nail. “He doesn’t want to be in my damn pocket all the time. You guys’ll be around when I’m not. The kid’s going to be taken care of.”

  “And if the mother comes back? They haven’t been able to find her. Nothing. I’d feel better if we knew where she is and what she’s up to.”

  “I’m not thinking about her. She’s out of the picture.” Has to be, Cam insisted, remembering the look of pasty-faced terror on Seth’s face. “She’s not going to mess with us.”

  “I’d like to know where she is,” Phillip said again. “And what the hell she was to Dad.”

  CAM PUT IT out of his mind. His way of handling loose ends was to knot them up together and forget about them. The immediate problem, as he saw it, was getting the building in shape, ordering equipment, tools, supplies. If the business was a means to an end, it had to begin.

  Every day he worked on the building was one day closer to escape. Every dollar he poured into supplies and equipment was an investment in the future. His future.

  He was keeping his promise, he told himself. His way.

  With the sun beating down on his back and a faded blue bandanna tied around his head, he ripped broken shingles off the roof. Ethan and Phillip were working behind him, replacing shingles. Seth appeared to be having a fine time winging the discarded ones from roof to ground, and a satisfying pile was forming below.

  It was a cool place to be as far as Seth was concerned. Up on the roof with the sun beating down and the occasional gull flying by. You could see just about everything from up here. The town, with its straight streets and square yards. The old trees popping up out of the grass. The flowers were okay, too. From up here they were just blobs and dots of color. Someone was mowing, and the sound carried up to him like a distant hum.

  He could see the waterfront, with the boats at dock or cruising along the water. A couple of kids were sailing a little skiff with blue sails, and because he envied them, he looked away toward the docks.

  There were people, shopping or strolling or eating lunch at one of the outdoor tables with umbrellas. Tourists were watching the show the crab pickers put on. He liked to sneer at the tourists; when he did, he didn’t envy the boys in their neat little boat quite so much.

  He wished he had the binoculars Ray had given him so he could see even farther. He wished he could sit up here sometime with his sketchbook.

  Everything looked so . . . clean from up here. The sky and water both so blue, the grass and leaves so green. You could smell the water if you took a good sniff—and maybe that was hot dogs grilling.

  The scent made his stomach growl with hunger. He shifted a little and looked at Cam out of the corner of his eye. Man, he wished he had muscles like that. With muscles like that you could do anything and nobody could stop you. If a guy had muscles like that he would never have to be afraid of anything, anyone, ever in his whole life.

  Testing his own biceps with his finger, he was far from satisfied. He thought maybe if he got to use tools, he could harden them up.

  “You said I could pull some of them off,” Seth reminded him.

  “Later.”

  “You said later before.”

  “I’m saying it again.” It was hot, nasty, tedious work, and Cam wanted it over as much as he wanted to breathe. He’d already sweated through his T-shirt and pulled it off. His back gleamed damp and his throat was desert-dry. He pried off another square and watched Seth send it soaring. “You throwing them in the same place?”

  “That’s what you said to do.”

  He eyed the boy. Seth’s hair stuck out from under an Orioles fielder’s cap that Cam had ended up buying him when they went to a game the week before. Now that he thought of it, Cam didn’t think he’d seen the kid without the cap since he got it.

  The ball game had been an impulse, he thought now, just one of those things. But it had given him a sharp tug to see the way Seth’s eyes had gone huge at the sight of Camden Yards. How he’d sat there, a hot dog clutched and forgotten in his hand as he watched every movement on the field.

  And it had made Cam laugh when Seth’s serious and firm opinion had been “it looks like shit on TV compared to this.”

  He watched Seth send another shingle flying and wondered if he should teach the kid how to field a ball. Instantly, the fact that he had had the thought irritated him. “You’re not looking where you’
re throwing them.”

  “I know where they’re going. If you don’t like how I do it, you can throw them down yourself. You said I could pull some off.”

  Not worth it, Cam told himself. Not worth the effort to argue. “Fine, you want to rip shingles off the damn roof. Here, look, see how I’m doing this? You use the claw of the hammer and—”

  “I’ve been watching you for an hour. It doesn’t take brains to rip off shingles.”

  “Fine,” Cam said between his teeth. “You do it.” He shoved the hammer into Seth’s eager hand. “I’m going down. I need a drink.”

  Cam went nimbly down the ladder, trying to assure himself that all ten-year-old boys were snotty assholes. And the more shingles the kid ripped free, the fewer there would be for him to do himself. If he survived the day, he had another Saturday night date with Anna. He wanted to make the most of it.

  Now there was a woman, he thought as he grabbed the jug of ice water and glugged some down. Damn near the perfect woman. Though it occasionally gave him an uneasy feeling in the gut to think of her that way, it was tough to find the flaws.

  Beautiful, smart, sexy. That great laugh she let loose so often. Those gorgeous, warm, understanding eyes. The wild spirit of adventure tucked into the practical public servant suits.

  And she could cook.

  He chuckled to himself and pulled out another bandanna to mop his face.

  Why, if he was the settling-down type, he would snatch her right up. Get a ring on her finger, say the I-do’s, and tuck her into his house—his bed—on a permanent basis.

  Hot meals, hot sex.

  Conversation. Laughter. Slow smiles to wake you up in the morning. Shared looks that said more than dozens of words.

  When he caught himself staring into space, the jug dangling from his fingers and a stupid grin on his face, he shook himself hard. Let out a long breath.

  The sun had baked his brain, he decided. Permanent wasn’t his style. Never had been. And marriage—the word made him shudder—was for other people.

  Thank God Anna wasn’t looking for any more than he was. A nice, easy, no strings, no frills relationship suited them both.

  To ensure that his mind didn’t go hot again, he dumped frigid water over his head. Six months, he promised himself as he started back outside. Six months and he would start easing himself back into his own world. Competition, speed, glittery parties, and women who were only looking for a fast ride.

  When the thought of it fell flat, when the image of it all left him hollow inside, he swore. It was what he wanted, goddamn it. What he knew. Where he belonged. He wasn’t cut out to spend his life building boats for other people to sail, raising a kid and worrying about matching socks.

  Sure, maybe he’d teach the kid how to field a grounder or a pop fly, but that was no big deal. Maybe Anna Spinelli was firmly hooked in his brain, but that didn’t have to be a big deal either.

  He needed room, he needed freedom.

  He needed to race.

  His thoughts were boiling as he stepped outside. The aluminum extension ladder nearly crashed on top of him. His hot oath and the muffled scream overhead sounded as one.

  When he looked up, his heart simply stopped beating.

  Seth dangled from his fingertips from the broken frame of a window twenty feet above. In the space of a trio of heartbeats, Cam saw the pattern on the bottom of the new high-tops, the dangling laces, the droopy socks. Before he could draw the first breath, both Ethan and Phillip were leaning over the roof and struggling to reach Seth.

  “You hold on,” Ethan shouted. “Hear me?”

  “Can’t.” Panic made Seth’s voice thin, and very, very young. “Slipping.”

  “We can’t reach him from here.” Phillip’s voice was deadly calm, but his eyes as they stared down at Cam’s were bright with fear. “Put the ladder up. Quick.”

  He made the decision in seconds, though it seemed like the rest of his life. Cam gauged the time it would take to haul the ladder into place, to climb up or climb down to where Seth hung. Too long, was all he could think, and he moved to stand directly under Seth.

  “You let go, Seth. Just let go. I’ll catch you.”

  “No. I can’t.” His fingers were raw and bleeding and nearly gave way as he shook his head fiercely. Panic skittered up his spine like hungry mice. “You won’t.”

  “Yes, you can. I will. Close your eyes and just let go. I’m here.” Cam planted his legs apart and ignored his own trembling heart. “I’m right here.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Me, too. Let go. Do it!” he said so sharply that Seth’s fingers released on instinct.

  It seemed as though he fell forever, endlessly. Sweat poured down Cam’s face. Air refused to come into Seth’s lungs. Though his eyes stung from sun and salt, Cam never took them off the boy. His arms were there, braced and ready as Seth tumbled into them.

  Cam heard the explosion of breath, his, Seth’s, he didn’t know which as they both fell heavily. Cam used his body to cushion the boy, took the hard ground on his bare back. But in an instant, he was up on his knees. He spun Seth around and plastered the boy against him.

  “Christ! Oh, Christ!”

  “Is he all right?” Ethan shouted from above.

  “Yeah. I don’t know. Are you okay?”

  “I think. Yeah.” He was shaking badly, his teeth chattering, and when Cam loosened his hold enough to look into his face he saw deathly pale skin and huge, glassy eyes. He sat down on the ground, pulled Seth into his lap, and pushed the boy’s head between his knees.

  “Just shaken up,” he called to his brothers.

  “Nice catch.” Phillip sat back on the roof, rubbed his hands over his clammy face, and figured his heart rate would get back to normal in another year or two. “Jesus, Ethan, what was I thinking of, sending that kid down for water?”

  “Not your fault.” Hoping to steady both of them, Ethan squeezed Phillip’s shoulder. “Nobody’s fault. He’s okay. We’re okay.” He looked down again, intended to tell Cam to get the ladder. But what he saw was the man holding on to the boy, his cheek pressed to the top of the boy’s hair.

  The ladder could wait.

  “Just breathe,” Cam ordered. “Just take it slow. You got the wind knocked out of you, that’s all.”

  “I’m okay.” But he kept his eyes closed, terrified that he would throw up now and totally humiliate himself. His fingers were burning, but he was afraid to look. When it finally sank in that he was being held, and held close, it wasn’t sick panic, it wasn’t shuddering disgust that raced through him.

  It was gratitude, and a sweet, almost desperate relief.

  Cam closed his eyes as well. And it was a mistake. He saw Seth falling again, falling and falling, but this time he wasn’t quick enough, or strong enough. He wasn’t there at all.

  Fear bent under fury. He whirled Seth around until their faces were close and shook him. “What the hell were you doing? What were you thinking of? You idiot, you could have broken your neck.”

  “I was just—” His voice hitched, mortifying him. “I was only—I didn’t know. My shoe was untied. I must’ve stepped wrong. I only . . .”

  But the rest of the words were muffled against Cam’s hard, sweaty chest as he was pulled close again. He could feel the rapid beat of Cam’s heart, hear it thunder under his ear. And he closed his eyes again. And slowly, testingly, his arms crept around to hold.

  “It’s all right,” Cam murmured, ordering himself to calm down. “Wasn’t your fault. You scared the shit out of me.”

  His hands were trembling, Cam realized. He was making a fool of himself. Deliberately, he pulled Seth back and grinned. “So, how was the ride?”

  Seth managed a weak smile. “I guess it was pretty cool.”

  “Death-defying.” Because they were both feeling awkward, they eased back slowly, warily. “Good thing you’re puny yet. You had any weight on you, you might have knocked me out cold.”

  “Shit,” S
eth said, because he couldn’t think of anything else.

  “Messed up your hands some.” Cam frowned consideringly at the bloody, torn fingertips. “Guess we better get the rest of the crew down and fix you up.”

  “It’s nothing.” It hurt like fire.

  “No use having you bleed to death.” Because his hands still weren’t quite steady, Cam made quick work of lifting the ladder into place. “Go on in and get the first aid kit,” he ordered. “Looks like Phil was on the mark when he made us buy the damn thing. We might as well use it on you.”

  After he watched Seth go inside, out of sight, Cam simply lowered his brow to the side of the ladder. His stomach continued to jump, and a headache he hadn’t been aware of until that instant roared through his temples like a freight train.

  “You okay?” Ethan put a hand on Cam’s shoulder the minute he was on the ground.

  “I’ve got no spit. My spit’s dried clean up. Never been so fucking scared.”

  “That makes three of us.” Phillip glanced around. Because his knees were still wobbly, he sat on one of the rungs of the ladder. “How bad are his hands? Does he need a doctor?”

  “Fingers are ripped up some. It’s not too bad.” At the sound of a car pulling into the loose-gravel lot, he turned to see who it was. And his jittery stomach sank. “Oh, perfect. Sexy social worker at three o’clock.”

  “What’s she doing here?” Ethan pulled his cap down lower on his head. He hated having women around when he was sweaty.

  “I don’t know. We have a date tonight, but not until seven. She’s going to have some damn female thing to say about us having the kid up there in the first place.”

  “So we won’t tell her,” Phillip murmured even as he shot Anna a charming, welcoming smile. “Well, this brightens the day. Nothing better than to see a beautiful woman after a tough morning’s work.”

  “Gentlemen.” She only smiled when Phillip took her hand and brought it to his lips. Amusement rippled through her. Three men, three brothers, three reactions. Phillip’s polished welcome, Ethan’s vaguely embarrassed nod, and Cam’s irritated scowl.

  And there was no doubt each and every one of them looked outrageously male and appealing in sweat and tool belts.