by Nora Roberts
It could have been his face, so bony and rugged and somewhere just at the edges of handsome. Or the eyes, always so clear and thoughtful, so serious that it seemed to take them a few seconds to catch up whenever his mouth curved.
She served her drinks, pocketed money, took more orders. And watched out of the corner of her eye as he squeezed into a standing spot at the bar directly beside the order station.
She forgot all about her much-desired break.
‘‘Three drafts, bottle of Mich, Stoli rocks.’’ Absently, she brushed at her bangs and smiled. ‘‘Hi, Ethan.’’
‘‘Busy tonight.’’
‘‘Summer Saturday. Do you want a table?’’
‘‘No, this is fine.’’
The bartender was busy with another order, which gave her some breathing room. ‘‘Steve’s got his hands full, but he’ll work his way down here.’’
‘‘I’m not in any hurry.’’ As a rule, he tried not to think about how she looked in the butt-skimming skirt, those endless legs in black fishnet, the narrow feet in skinny heels. But tonight he was in a mood, and so he let himself think.
Just at that moment, he could have explained to Seth just what the big deal was about breasts. Grace’s were small and high, and a soft portion of the curve showed over the low-cut bodice of her blouse.
Suddenly, he desperately wanted a beer.
‘‘You get a chance to sit down at all?’’
She didn’t answer for a moment. Her mind had gone glass-blank at the way those quiet, thoughtful eyes had skimmed over her. ‘‘I, ah . . . yes, it’s nearly time for my break.’’ Her hands felt clumsy as she gathered up her order. ‘‘I like to go outside, get away from the noise.’’ Struggling to act normally, she rolled her eyes toward the band and was rewarded with Ethan’s slow grin.
‘‘Do they ever get worse than this?’’
‘‘Oh, yeah, these guys are a real step up.’’ She was nearly relaxed again as she lifted the tray and headed off to serve.
He watched her, while he sipped the beer Steve had pulled for him. Watched the way her legs moved, the way the foolish and incredibly sexy bow swayed with her hips. And the way she bent her knees, balancing the tray, lifting drinks from it onto a table.
He watched, eyes narrowing, as Curtis once again gave her a friendly pat.
His eyes narrowed further when a stranger in a faded Jim Morrison T-shirt grabbed her hand, tugging her closer. He saw Grace flash a smile, give a shake of her head. Ethan was already pushing away from the bar, not entirely sure what he intended to do, when the man released her.
When Grace came back to set down her tray, it was Ethan who grabbed her hand. ‘‘Take your break.’’
‘‘What? I—’’ To her shock he was pulling her steadily through the room. ‘‘Ethan, I really need to—’’
‘‘Take your break,’’ he said again and shoved the door open.
The air outside was clean and fresh, the night warm and breezy. The minute the door closed behind them, the noise shut down to a muffled echoing roar and the stink of smoke, sweat, and beer became a memory.
‘‘I don’t think you should be working here.’’
She gaped at him. The statement itself was odd enough, but to hear him deliver it in a tone that was obviously annoyed was baffling. ‘‘Excuse me?’’
‘‘You heard me, Grace.’’ He shoved his hands in his pockets because he didn’t know what to do with them. Left free, they might have grabbed her again. ‘‘It’s not right.’’
‘‘It’s not right?’’ she repeated, at sea.
‘‘You’re a mother, for God’s sake. What are you doing serving drinks, wearing that outfit, getting hit on? That guy in there practically had his face down your blouse.’’
‘‘Oh, he did not.’’ Torn between amusement and exasperation, she shook her head. ‘‘For heaven’s sake, Ethan, he was just being typical. And harmless.’’
‘‘Curtis had his hand on your ass.’’
Amusement was veering toward annoyance. ‘‘I know where his hand was, and if it worried me, I’d have knocked it off.’’
Ethan took a breath. He’d started this, wisely or not, and he was going to finish it. ‘‘You shouldn’t be working half naked in some bar or knocking anybody’s hand off your ass. You should be home with Aubrey.’’
Her eyes went from mildly irritated to blazing fury. ‘‘Oh, is that right, is that your considered opinion? Well, thank you so much for sharing it with me. And for your information, if I wasn’t working—and I’m damn well not half naked—I wouldn’t have a home.’’
‘‘You’ve got a job,’’ he said stubbornly. ‘‘Cleaning houses.’’
‘‘That’s right. I clean houses, I serve drinks, and now and then I pick crabs. That’s how amazingly skilled and versatile I am. I also pay rent, insurance, medical bills, utilities, and a baby-sitter. I buy food, I buy clothes, gas. I take care of myself and my daughter. I don’t need you coming around here telling me it’s not right.’’
‘‘I’m just saying—’’
‘‘I hear what you’re saying.’’ Her heels were throbbing, and every ache in her overtaxed body was making itself known. Worse, much worse, was the hard prick of embarrassment that he would look down on her for what she did to survive. ‘‘I serve cocktails and let men look at my legs. Maybe they’ll tip better if they like them. And if they tip better I can buy my little girl something that makes her smile. So they can look all they damn well please. And I wish to God I had the kind of body that filled out this stupid outfit, because then I’d earn more.’’
He had to pause before speaking, to gather his thoughts. Her face was flushed with anger, but her eyes were so tired it broke his heart. ‘‘You’re selling yourself short, Grace,’’ he said quietly.
‘‘I know exactly how much I’m worth, Ethan.’’ Her chin angled. ‘‘Right down to the last penny. Now, my break’s over.’’
She spun on her miserably throbbing heels and stalked back into the noise and the smoke-clogged air.
THREE
‘‘ NEED BUNNY, TOO.’’
‘‘Okay, baby, we’ll get your bunny.’’ It was, Grace thought, always an expedition. They were only going as far as the sandbox in the backyard, but Aubrey never failed to demand that all her stuffed pals accompany her.
Grace had solved this logistical problem with an enormous shopping bag. Inside it were a bear, two dogs, a fish, and a very tattered cat. The bunny joined them. Though Grace’s eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, she grinned broadly as Aubrey tried to heft the bag herself.
‘‘I’ll carry them, honey.’’
‘‘No, me.’’
It was, Grace thought, Aubrey’s favorite phrase. Her baby liked to do things herself, even when it would be simpler to let someone else do the job. Wonder where she gets that from, Grace mused and laughed at both of them.
‘‘Okay, let’s get the crew outside.’’ She opened the screen door—it squeaked badly, reminding her that she needed to oil the hinges—and waited while Aubrey dragged the bag over the threshold and onto the tiny back porch.
Grace had livened up the porch by painting it a soft blue and adding clay pots filled with pink and white geraniums. In her mind, the little rental house was temporary, but she didn’t want it to feel temporary. She wanted it to feel like home. At least until she saved enough money for a down payment on a place of their own.
Inside, the room sizes were on the stingy side, but she’d solved that—and helped her bank balance—by keeping furniture to a minimum. Most of what she had were yard sale bargains, but she’d painted, refinished, re-covered, and turned each piece into her own.
It was vital to Grace to have her own.
The house had ancient plumbing, a roof that leaked water after a hard rain, and windows that leaked air. But it had two bedrooms, which had been essential. She’d wanted her daughter to have a room of her own, a bright, cheerful room. She had seen to that, papering the walls herself, p
ainting the trim, adding fussy curtains.
It was already breaking her heart knowing that it was about time to dismantle Aubrey’s crib and replace it with a youth bed.
‘‘Be careful on the steps,’’ Grace warned, and Aubrey started down, both tiny tennis shoes planting themselves firmly on each of the steps on the descent. The minute she hit bottom, she began to run, dragging her bag behind her and squealing in anticipation.
She loved the sandbox. It made Grace proud to watch Aubrey make her traditional beeline for it. Grace had built it herself, using scrap lumber that she meticulously sanded smooth and painted a bright Crayola red. In it were the pails and shovels and big plastic cars, but she knew Aubrey would touch none of them until she’d set out her pets.
One day, Grace promised herself, Aubrey would have a real puppy, and a playroom so that she could have friends visit and spend long, rainy afternoons.
Grace crouched down as Aubrey placed her toys carefully in the white sand. ‘‘You sit right in here and play while I mow the lawn. Promise?’’
‘‘Okay.’’ Aubrey beamed up at her, dimples winking. ‘‘You play.’’
‘‘In a little while.’’ She stroked Aubrey’s curls. She could never get enough of touching this miracle that had come from her. Before rising, she looked around, mother’s eyes scanning for any danger.
The yard was fenced, and she had installed a childproof lock on the gate herself. Aubrey tended to be curious. A flowering vine rambled along the fence that bordered her house and the Cutters’ and would have it buried in bloom by summer’s end.
No one was stirring next door, she noted. Too early on a Sunday morning for her neighbors to be doing more than lazing about and thinking of breakfast. Julie Cutter, the eldest daughter of the house, was her much-treasured baby-sitter.
She noted that Julie’s mother, Irene, had spent some time in her garden the day before. Not a single weed dared show its head in Irene Cutter’s flowers or in her vegetable patch.
With some embarrassment, Grace glanced toward the rear of her yard, where she and Aubrey had planted some tomatoes and beans and carrots. Plenty of weeds there, she thought with a sigh. She’d have to deal with that after cutting the lawn. God only knew why she’d thought she would have time to tend a garden. But it had been such fun to dig the dirt and plant the seeds with her little girl.
Just as it would be such fun to step into the sandbox and build castles and make up games. No, you don’t, Grace ordered herself and rose. The lawn was nearly ankle-high. It might have been rented grass, but it was hers now, and her responsibility. No one was going to say that Grace Monroe couldn’t tend her own.
She kept the ancient secondhand lawn mower under an equally ancient drop cloth. As usual, she checked the gas level first, casting another glance over her shoulder to be certain Aubrey was still tucked in the sandbox. Gripping the starter cord with both hands, she yanked. And got a wheezing cough in response.
‘‘Come on, don’t mess with me this morning.’’ She’d lost count of the times she’d fiddled and repaired and banged on the old machine. Rolling her protesting shoulders, she yanked again, then a third time, before letting the cord snap back and pressing her fingers to her eyes. ‘‘Wouldn’t you just know it.’’
‘‘Giving you trouble?’’
Her head jerked around. After their argument the night before, Ethan was the last person Grace expected to see standing in her backyard. It didn’t please her, particularly since she’d told herself she could and would stay mad at him. Worse, she knew how she looked—old gray shorts and a T-shirt that had seen too many washings, not a stitch of makeup and her hair uncombed.
Damn it, she’d dressed for yard work, not for company.
‘‘I can handle it.’’ She yanked again, her foot, clad in a sneaker with a hole in the toe, planted on the side of the machine. It nearly caught, very nearly.
‘‘Let it rest a minute. You’re just going to flood it.’’
This time the cord snapped back with a dangerous hiss. ‘‘I know how to start my own lawn mower.’’
‘‘I imagine you do, when you’re not mad.’’ He walked over as he spoke, all lean and easy male in faded jeans and a work shirt rolled up to his elbows.
He had come around back when she didn’t answer her door. And he knew he’d stood watching her a little longer than was strictly polite. She had such a pretty way of moving.
He had decided sometime during the restless night that he had better find a way to make amends. And he’d spent a good part of his morning trying to figure how to do so. Then he’d seen her, all those long, slim limbs the sun was turning pale gold, the sunny hair, the narrow hands. And he’d just wanted to watch for a bit.
‘‘I’m not mad,’’ she said in an impatient hiss that proved her statement a lie. He only looked into her eyes.
‘‘Listen, Grace—’’
‘‘Eeee-than!’’ With a shriek of pure pleasure, Aubrey scrambled out of the sandbox and ran to him—full-out, arms extended, face lit up with joy.
He caught her, swung her up and around. ‘‘Hey, there, Aubrey.’’
‘‘Come play.’’
‘‘Well, I’m—’’
‘‘Kiss.’’
She puckered her little lips with such energy that he had to laugh and give them a friendly peck.
‘‘Okay!’’ She wiggled down and ran back to her sand-box.
‘‘Look, Grace, I’m sorry if I was out of line last night.’’
The fact that her heart had melted when he held her daughter only made her more determined to stand firm. ‘‘If?’’
He shifted his feet, clearly uncomfortable. ‘‘I just meant that—’’
His explanation was interrupted as Aubrey raced back with her beloved stuffed dogs. ‘‘Kiss,’’ she stated, very firmly, and held them up to Ethan. He obliged, waiting until she raced away again.
‘‘What I meant was—’’
‘‘I think you said what you meant, Ethan.’’
She was going to be stubborn, he thought with an inward sigh. Well, she always had been. ‘‘I didn’t say it very well. I get tangled up with words most of the time. I hate to see you working so hard.’’ He paused, patient, when Aubrey came back, demanding a kiss for her bear. ‘‘I worry about you some, that’s all.’’
Grace angled her head. ‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Why?’’ The question threw him. He bent to kiss the stuffed bunny that Aubrey batted against his leg. ‘‘Well, I. . . because.’’
‘‘Because I’m a woman?’’ she suggested. ‘‘Because I’m a single parent? Because my father considers that I smeared the family name by not only having to get married but getting myself divorced?’’
‘‘No.’’ He took a step closer to her, absently kissing the cat that Aubrey held up to him. ‘‘Because I’ve known you more than half my life, and that makes you part of it. And because maybe you’re too stubborn or too proud to see when somebody just wants to see things go a little easier for you.’’
She started to tell him she appreciated that, felt herself begin to soften. Then he ruined it.
‘‘And because I didn’t like seeing men paw at you.’’
‘‘Paw at me?’’ Her back went up; her chin went out. ‘‘Men were not pawing at me, Ethan. And if they do, I know what to do about it.’’
‘‘Don’t get all riled up again.’’ He scratched his chin, struggled not to sigh. He didn’t see the point in arguing with a woman—you could never win. ‘‘I came over here to tell you I was sorry, and so maybe I could—’’
‘‘Kiss!’’ Aubrey demanded and began to climb up his leg.
Instinctively, Ethan pulled her up into his arms and kissed her cheek. ‘‘I was going to say—’’
‘‘No, kiss Mama.’’ Bouncing in his arms, Aubrey pushed at his lips to make them pucker. ‘‘Kiss Mama.’’
‘‘Aubrey!’’ Mortified, Grace reached for her daughter, only to have Aubrey cling to Ethan’s shirt
like a small golden burr. ‘‘Leave Ethan be now.’’
Changing tactics, Aubrey laid her head on Ethan’s shoulder and smiled sweetly—one arm clinging like a vine around his neck as Grace tugged at her. ‘‘Kiss Mama,’’ she crooned and batted her eyes at Ethan.
If Grace had laughed instead of looking so embarrassed—and just a little nervous—Ethan thought he could have brushed his lips over her brow and settled the matter. But her cheeks had gone pink—it was so endearing. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and her breath was unsteady.
He watched her bite her bottom lip and decided he might as well settle the matter another way entirely.
He laid a hand on Grace’s shoulder with Aubrey caught between them. ‘‘This’ll be easier,’’ he murmured and touched his lips lightly to hers.
It wasn’t easier. It rocked her heart. It could barely be considered a kiss, was over almost before it began. It was nothing more than a quiet brush of lips, an instant of taste and texture. And a whiff of promise that made her long, desperately, impossibly.
In all the years he’d known her, he had never touched his mouth to hers. Now, with just this fleeting sampling, he wondered why he’d waited so long. And worried that the wondering would change everything.
Aubrey clapped her hands in glee, but he barely heard it. Grace’s eyes were on his now, that misty, swimming green, and their faces were close. Close enough that he only had to ease forward a fraction if he wanted to taste again. To linger this time, he thought, as her lips parted on a trembling breath.
‘‘No, me!’’ Aubrey planted her small, soft mouth on her mother’s cheek, then Ethan’s. ‘‘Come play.’’
Grace jerked back like a puppet whose strings had been rudely yanked. The silky pink cloud that had begun to fog her brain evaporated. ‘‘Soon, honey.’’ Moving quickly now, she plucked Aubrey out of Ethan’s arms and set her on her feet. ‘‘Go on and build me a castle for us to live in.’’ She gave Aubrey a gentle pat on the rump and sent her off at a run.
Then she cleared her throat. ‘‘You’re awfully good to her, Ethan. I appreciate it.’’