Chesapeake Bay Saga 1-4

by Nora Roberts

  “It was an impulse, an error in judgment. It was less than six months. It didn’t count.” Her brain was fogged, she decided, trying to inch away for some breathing room. He only scooted her back.

  “You were married?”

  “Only technically. It didn’t . . .” She turned her head to make her point, and his mouth was there. Right there to meet hers, to urge her lips to part and warm and soften.

  It was like sliding under a slow-moving wave, being taken down into silky, shimmering water. Everything inside her went fluid. A surprise, she would realize later, that she’d neglected to factor into this particular pattern.

  “It didn’t count,” she managed as her head fell back, as his lips trailed smoothly down her throat.

  “Okay.”

  If he’d taken her by surprise, she’d done exactly the same to him. At her sudden and utter surrender to the moment, his need churned to the surface, thrashing there. He had to touch her, to fill his hands with her, to mold those pretty curves through the thin, crisp cotton of her blouse.

  He had to taste her, deeper now, while those little hums of shock and pleasure sounded in her throat. As he did, as he touched and as he tasted, her arms came around him, her hands sliding into his hair, her body turning to fit itself against him.

  He felt her heart thud in time with his own.

  Panic punched through pleasure when she felt him tug at the buttons of her blouse. “No.” Her own fingers shook as she covered his. “It’s too fast.” She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to find her control, her sense, her purpose. “I’m sorry. I don’t go this fast. I can’t.”

  It wasn’t easy to check the urge to ignore the rules, to simply press her under him on the deck until she was pliant and willing again. He put his tense fingers under her chin and lifted her face to his. No, it wasn’t easy, he thought again as he saw both desire and denial in her eyes. But it was necessary.

  “Okay. No rush.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “Tell me about the one that didn’t count.”

  Her thoughts had scattered to the edges of her mind. She couldn’t begin to draw them together while he was looking at her with those tawny eyes. “What?”

  “The husband.”

  “Oh.” She looked away, concentrated on her breathing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Relaxation technique.”

  Humor danced back and made him grin at her. “Does it work?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Cool.” He shifted until they were hip to hip and timed his breathing to hers. “So this guy you were technically married to . . .”

  “It was in college, at Harvard. He was a chemistry major.” Eyes shut, she ordered her toes to relax, then her arches, her ankles. “We were barely twenty and just lost our heads for a short time.”

  “Eloped.”

  “Yes. We didn’t even live together, because we were in different dorms. So it wasn’t really a marriage. It was weeks before we told our families, and then, naturally, there were several difficult scenes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . .” She blinked her eyes open, found the sun dazzling. Something plopped in the water behind her, then there was only the lap of it, kissing the hull. “We weren’t suited, we had no feasible plans. We were too young. The divorce was very quiet and quick and civilized.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “I was twenty.” Her relaxation level was reaching her shoulders. “Of course I thought I did. Love has little complexity at that age.”

  “So spoken from the advanced age of what twenty-seven, twenty-eight?”

  “Twenty-nine and counting.” She let out a last long breath. Satisfied and steady, she turned to look at him again. “I haven’t thought of Rob in years. He was a very nice boy. I hope he’s happy.”

  “And that’s it for you?”

  “It has to be.”

  He nodded, but found her story strangely sad. “Then I have to say, Dr. Griffin, that using your own scale, you don’t take relationships seriously.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, then wisely, shut it again. Casually, she picked up the wine bottle and topped off both glasses. “You may be right. I’ll have to give that some thought.”

  SEVEN

  SETH DIDN’T MIND RUNNING herd on Aubrey. She was kind of his niece now that Ethan and Grace were married. Being an uncle made him feel adult and responsible. Besides, all she really wanted to do was race around the yard. Every time he threw a ball or a stick for one of the dogs, she went into gales of laughter. A guy couldn’t help but get a kick out of it.

  She was pretty cute, too, with her curly gold hair and her big green eyes that looked amazed at everything he did. Spending an hour or two on a Sunday entertaining her wasn’t a bad deal.

  He hadn’t forgotten where he had been a year ago. There’d been no big backyard that fell off into the water, no woods to explore, no dogs to wrestle with, no little girl who looked at him like he was Fox Mulder, all the Power Rangers and Superman rolled into one.

  Instead, there’d been grungy rooms three flights up from the street. And those streets had been a dark carnival at night, a place where everything had its price. Sex, drugs, weapons, misery.

  He’d learned that no matter what went on in those grungy rooms, he shouldn’t go out after dark.

  There’d been no one to care if he was clean or fed, if he was sick or scared. He’d never felt like a hero there, or even very much like a kid. He’d felt like a thing, and he’d learned quickly that things are often hunted.

  Gloria had ridden all the rides in that carnival, again and again. She’d brought the freaks and the hustlers into those rooms, selling herself to whoever would pay the price of her next spin.

  A year ago Seth hadn’t believed his life would ever be any different. Then Ray came and took him to the house by the water. Ray showed him a different world and promised he would never have to go back to the old one.

  Ray had died, but he had kept his promise all the same. Now Seth could stand in the big backyard with water lapping at its edges and throw balls and sticks for the dogs to chase while an angel-faced toddler laughed.

  “Seth, let me! Let me!” Aubrey danced on her sturdy little legs, holding up both hands for the mangled ball.

  “Okay, you throw it.”

  He grinned while she screwed up her face with concentration and effort. The ball bounced inches away from the toes of her bright-red sneakers. Simon snapped it up, making her squeal with delight, then politely offered it back.

  “Oooh, good doggie.” Aubrey batted the patient Simon on either side of his jaw. Angling for attention, Foolish nudged his way in, shoved her down on her butt. She rewarded him with a fierce hug. “Now you,” she ordered Seth. “You do it.”

  Obliging her, Seth winged the ball. He laughed as the dogs raced after it, bumping their bodies like two football players rushing downfield. They crashed into the woods, sending a pair of birds squawking skyward.

  At that moment, with Aubrey bouncing with giggles, the dogs barking, the fresh September air on his cheeks, Seth was completely happy. A part of his mind focused on it, snatched at it to keep. The angle of the sun, the brilliance of light on the water, the creamy sound of Otis Redding drifting through the kitchen window, the bitchy complaints of the birds, and the rich salty scent of the bay.

  He was home.

  Then the putt of a motor caught his attention. When he turned he saw the family sloop angling in toward the dock. At the wheel, Phillip raised a hand in greeting. Even as Seth returned the wave, his gaze shifted to the woman standing beside Phillip. It felt as if something brushed over the nape of his neck, light and cagey as the legs of a spider. Absently he rubbed at it, shrugged his shoulders, then took Aubrey firmly by the hand.

  “Remember, you have to stay in the middle of the dock.”

  She gazed up at him adoringly. “Okay. I will. Mama says never, never go by the water by myself.”

  “That’s right
.” He stepped onto the dock with her and waited for Phillip to come alongside. It was the woman who, awkwardly, tossed him the bow line. Sybill something, he thought. For a moment, as she balanced herself, as their eyes met, he felt that sly tickle on the nape of his neck again.

  Then the dogs were bounding onto the dock and Aubrey was laughing again.

  “Hey, Angel Baby.” Phillip helped Sybill step onto the dock, then winked down at Aubrey.

  “Up,” she demanded.

  “You bet.” He swung her onto his hip and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek. “When are you going to grow up and marry me?”

  “Tomorrow!”

  “That’s what you always say. This is Sybill. Sybill, meet Aubrey, my best girl.”

  “She’s pretty,” Aubrey stated and flashed her dimples.

  “Thank you. So are you.” As the dogs bumped her legs, Sybill jolted and took a step back. Phillip shot out a hand to grab her arm before she backed her way off the dock and into the water.

  “Steady there. Seth, call off the dogs. Sybill’s a little uneasy around them.”

  “They won’t hurt you,” Seth said with a shake of his head that warned Sybill she’d just dropped several notches in his estimation. But he snagged both dogs by the collar, holding them back until she could ease by.

  “Everybody inside?” Phillip asked Seth.

  “Yeah, just hanging until dinner. Grace brought over a monster chocolate cake. Cam sweet-talked Anna into making lasagna.”

  “God bless him. My sister-in-law’s lasagna is a work of art,” he told Sybill.

  “Speaking of art, I wanted to tell you again, Seth, how much I liked the sketches you’ve done for the boatyard. They’re very good.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, then bent down to scoop up two sticks to toss and distract the dogs. “I just draw sometimes.”

  “Me, too.” She knew it was foolish, but Sybill felt her cheeks go warm at the way Seth studied her, measured and judged. “It’s something I like to do in my spare time,” she went on. “I find it relaxing and satisfying.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Maybe you’ll show me more of your work sometime.”

  “If you want.” He pushed open the door to the kitchen and headed straight to the refrigerator. A telling sign, Sybill mused. He was at home here.

  She took a quick scan of the room, filing impressions. There was a pot simmering on what seemed to be an ancient stove. The scent was impossibly aromatic. Several small clay pots lined the windowsill over the sink. Fresh herbs thrived in them.

  The counters were clean, if a bit worn. A pile of papers was stacked on the end beneath a wall phone and anchored with a set of keys. A shallow bowl was centered on the table and filled with glossy red and green apples. A mug of coffee, half full, stood in front of a chair under which someone had kicked off shoes.

  “Goddamn it! That ump ought to be shot in the head. That pitch was a mile high.”

  Sybill arched an eyebrow at the furious male voice from the next room. Phillip merely smiled and jiggled Aubrey on his hip. “Ball game. Cam’s taking this year’s pennant race personally.”

  “The game! I forgot.” Seth slammed the refrigerator door and raced out of the kitchen. “What’s the score, what inning is it, who’s up?”

  “Three to two, A’s, bottom of the sixth, two outs, a man on second. Now sit down and shut up.”

  “Very personally,” Phillip added, then set Aubrey down when she wiggled.

  “Baseball often becomes a personal challenge between the audience and the opposing team. Especially,” Sybill added with a sober nod, “during the September pennant race.”

  “You like baseball?”

  “What’s not to like?” she said and laughed. “It’s a fascinating study of men, of teamwork, of battle. Speed, cunning, finesse, and always pitcher against batter. In the end it all comes down to style, endurance. And math.”

  “We’re going to have to take in a game at Camden Yards,” he decided. “I’d just love to hear your play-by-play technique. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, I’m fine.” More shouts, more cursing burst out of the living room. “But I think it might be dangerous to leave this room as long as your brother’s team is down a run.”

  “You’re perceptive.” Phillip reached out to curve his hand over her cheek. “So, why don’t we stay right here and—”

  “Way to go, Cal!” Cam shouted from the living room. “That son of a bitch is amazing.”

  “Shit.” Seth’s voice was cocky and smug. “No stinking California outfielder’s going to blow one by Ripken.”

  Phillip let out a sigh. “Or maybe we should head out back and take a walk for a few innings.”

  “Seth, I believe we’ve discussed acceptable word usage in this house.”

  “Anna,” Phillip murmured. “Coming downstairs to lay down the law.”

  “Cameron, you’re supposed to be an adult.”

  “It’s baseball, sugar.”

  “If the pair of you don’t watch your language, the TV goes off.”

  “She’s very strict,” Phillip informed Sybill. “We’re all terrified of her.”

  “Really?” Sybill considered as she glanced toward the living room.

  She heard another voice, lower, softer, then Aubrey’s firm response. “No, Mama, please. I want Seth.”

  “She’s okay, Grace. She can stay with me.”

  The easy, absent tone of Seth’s voice had Sybill considering. “It’s unusual, I’d think, for a boy Seth’s age to be so patient with a toddler.”

  Phillip shrugged his shoulders and walked to the stove to start a pot of fresh coffee. “They hit it off right away. Aubrey adores him. That has to boost the kid’s ego, and he’s really good with her.”

  He turned, smiling as two women walked into the room.

  “Ah, the ones who got away. Sybill, these are the women my brothers stole from me. Anna, Grace, Dr. Sybill Griffin.”

  “He only wanted us to cook for him,” Anna said with a laugh and held out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve read your books. I think they’re brilliant.”

  Taken by surprise, both by the statement and the lush and outrageous beauty of Anna Spinelli Quinn, Sybill nearly fumbled. “Thank you. I appreciate you tolerating a Sundayevening intrusion.”

  “It’s no intrusion. We’re delighted.”

  And, Anna thought, incredibly curious. In the seven months she’d known Phillip, this was the first woman he’d brought home to Sunday dinner.

  “Phillip, go watch baseball.” She waved him toward the doorway with the back of her hand. “Grace and Sybill and I can get acquainted.”

  “She’s bossy, too,” Phillip warned Sybill. “Just yell if you need help, and I’ll come rescue you.” He gave her a hard, firm kiss on the mouth before she could think to evade it, then deserted her.

  Anna gave a long, interested hum, then smiled brightly. “Let’s have some wine.”

  Grace pulled out a chair. “Phillip said you were going to stay in St. Chris a while and write a book about it.”

  “Something like that.” Sybill took a deep breath. They were just women, after all. A stunning dark-eyed brunette and a cool lovely blonde. There was no need to be nervous. “ Actually, I plan to write about the culture and traditions and social landscapes of small towns and rural communities.”

  “We have both on the Shore.”

  “So I see. You and Ethan are recently married.”

  Grace’s smile warmed, and her gaze shifted to the gold band on her finger. “Just last month.”

  “And you grew up here, together.”

  “I was born here. Ethan moved here when he was about twelve.”

  “Are you from the area, too?” she asked Anna, more comfortable in the role of interviewer.

  “No, I’m from Pittsburgh. I moved to D.C., wandered down to Princess Anne. I work for Social Services, as a caseworker. That’s one of the reasons I was so interested in your books.” She s
et a glass of deep-red wine in front of Sybill.

  “Oh, yes, you’re Seth’s caseworker. Phillip told me a little about the situation.”

  “Mmm,” was Anna’s only comment as she turned to take a bib apron from a hook. “Did you enjoy your sail?”

  So, Sybill realized, discussing Seth with outsiders was offlimits. She ordered herself to accept that, for now. “Yes, very much. More than I’d expected to. I can’t believe I’ve gone so long without trying it.”

  “I had my first sail a few months ago.” Anna set a huge pot of water on the stove to boil. “Grace has been sailing all her life.”

  “Do you work here, in St. Christopher’s?”

  “Yes, I clean houses.”

  “Including this one, thank the Lord,” Anna put in. “I was telling Grace she ought to start a company. Maids Are Us or something.” When Grace laughed, Anna shook her head. “I’m serious. It would be a terrific service, to the working woman in particular. You could even do commercial buildings. If you trained two or three people, word of mouth alone would get it going.”

  “You think bigger than I do. I don’t know how to run a business.”

  “I bet you do. Your family’s been running the crab house for generations.”

  “Crab house?” Sybill interrupted.

  “Picking, packing, shipping.” Grace lifted a hand. “Odds are, if you’ve had crab while you’ve been here, it came to you via my father’s company. But I’ve never been involved in the business end.”

  “That doesn’t mean you couldn’t handle your own business.” Anna took a chunk of mozzarella out of the refrigerator and began to grate it. “A lot of people out there are more than willing to pay for good, reliable, and trustworthy domestic services. They don’t want to spend what little free time they might have cleaning the house, cooking meals, separating laundry. Traditional roles are shifting—don’t you agree, Sybill? Women can’t spend every spare second of their time in the kitchen.”

  “Well, I would agree, but . . . well, here you are.”

  Anna stopped, blinked, then threw back her head and laughed. She looked, Sybill thought, like a woman who should be dancing around a campfire to the sound of violins rather than cozily grating cheese in a fragrant kitchen.