Chesapeake Bay Saga 1-4

by Nora Roberts

  “I want another.”

  She put on her shoes. “You’ve done two.”

  “One day, when I’m a dead, famous artist whose work is studied, and the prices of which are ridiculously jacked up, they’ll call this my Drusilla period.”

  “Interesting. If that’s what you want as payment, I’ll pose again.”

  “Sunday.”

  “Yes, fine. Do you know what you’re looking for with this one? What you want me to wear?”

  “I know exactly what I’m looking for.” He walked over, laid his hands on her shoulders and kissed her. “And you’ll be wearing rose petals.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Red rose petals. Seeing as you’re a florist, you should be able to get me a supply.”

  “If you think I’m going to pose wearing nothing but . . . No.”

  “You want the watercolor?”

  “Not enough to be blackmailed.”

  She turned away, but he only caught her hand, spun her back. “You admire my work enough to want to own it.”

  “I admire your work very much, but you’re not painting me naked.”

  “Okay, I’ll wear clothes, but you’re wearing rose petals. Ssh.” He tapped a finger on her lips before she could speak again. “Obviously I’m not having you pose nude so I can get you into bed because I’ve already gotten you into bed. And for the record, I don’t use art that way. I’ve had this image in my head since the first time I saw you. I have to paint it.”

  He took her hands. “I need to paint it. But I’ll make you a deal.”

  “What’s the deal?”

  “I won’t show it to anyone. When it’s finished, you’ll decide what to do with it.”

  He recognized the look on her face—one of mulling and consideration.

  And knew he had her.

  “I decide?”

  “I’ll trust you to be honest about it. You have to trust me to paint what I see, what I feel. Deal?”

  “Red rose petals.” She angled her head. “I’m going to order a lot of them.”

  SETH walked whistling into the boatyard the next morning. He carried a box of doughnuts, fresh from the bakery.

  Cam was already at work, drilling turnbuckles into a hull.

  “She’s a beauty,” Seth called out as he strolled up to the prettily proportioned yawl. “You guys must’ve busted tail to get her this close to finished so soon.”

  “Yeah. She’s done except for a little brightwork, some details in the cabin. Client wants to pick her up Sunday.”

  “Sorry I didn’t give you a hand the last couple days.”

  “We managed.”

  There wasn’t a sting in the tone, but there was the implication of one. “Where’s everybody?”

  “Phil’s upstairs. Ethan and Aubrey are checking crab pots this morning. I’ve got Kevin coming in after school. Another week or so he’ll be sprung, put in more time.”

  “Sprung? School’ll be over already? What the hell day is it?”

  “You’d keep up better if you checked in at home once in a while.”

  “I’ve been busy, Cam.”

  “Yeah.” Cam set another turnbuckle. “So I hear.”

  “What’re you pissed off about?” Seth tossed the bakery box onto the deck. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “You sashay in and sashay out as the mood strikes you. Decide to come swaggering in today because you finally got lucky last night?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “What’s it to me?” Cam set the drill aside, vaulted down to the floor—a quick blur of aggravated male. “You want to know what it is to me, you asshole? It’s a hell of a lot to me when you up and disappear for the best part of a week. You go around with some damn black cloud over your head, then hole up in your studio. It’s a hell of a lot to me when I have to watch Anna worrying because you can’t be bothered to tell us what the fuck’s going on. You think you can just walk back in here feeling fine because you finally got Dru’s skirt over her head?”

  Guilt, which had begun to shimmer, exploded into a red flash of fury. Seth moved before he thought, shoving Cam back against the hull. “Don’t talk about her like that. She’s not some easy lay I used to scratch an itch. Don’t you ever talk about her like that.”

  Cam knocked Seth back a full step. They were squared off now, nose to nose. Boxers who didn’t give a damn about the bell. “You don’t treat your family like this. Like a goddamn convenience.”

  Temper was a vicious dog that snapped at both their throats.

  “You want to go a round with me?” Cam invited as fists bunched.

  “Hold it, hold it. Jesus Christ, hold it!” Phillip all but leaped between them, pushed them apart. “What the hell’s going on here? I could hear the two of you all the way upstairs.”

  “Kid thinks he can take me,” Cam replied hotly. “I’m about to let him try.”

  “Hell you are. You two want to pound on each other, you take it outside. As a matter of fact, Seth, you go. Cool off.” Phillip pointed toward the cargo doors and the dock beyond them. “You’ve been scarce enough around here lately, another few minutes isn’t going to matter.”

  “This is between me and Cam.”

  “This is a place of business,” Phillip corrected. “Our business, so that brings me into it. Keep it up, and the first one to take a punch at you may be me. I’ve had enough aggravation from you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about keeping promises, remembering your responsibilities. I’m talking about having a client who expects a completed design, which you agreed to do. Where the hell is it, Seth?”

  He opened his mouth, closed it. Drusilla’s sloop. He’d forgotten it. Just, he remembered, as he’d forgotten he’d told Anna he’d pick up the mulch she wanted for a new flower bed. And the ride he’d promised Bram in his new car.

  As his anger turned inward, he stalked out of the cargo doors.

  “Pissant,” Cam grumbled. “Needs a kick in the ass.”

  “Why don’t you get off his back?”

  Baffled, still steaming, Cam rounded on Phillip. “Well, fuck you. You’re the one who just finished stomping on him.”

  “I’ve been as worried and annoyed as you have,” he shot back. “But that’s enough. He’s old enough to come and go as he pleases. When you were his age, you were racing around Europe and getting your hand up as many skirts as you could manage.”

  “I never broke my word.”

  “No.” Calmer now, Phillip looked out to where Seth stood on the end of the dock. “And from the look of him, he didn’t intend to break his either. How long are you going to let him stand out there feeling like shit?”

  “A week or two ought to be enough.”

  At Phillip’s steady stare, Cam hissed out a breath, and felt most of the temper expel with it. “Damn it. I must be getting old. I hate that. I’ll go deal with it.”

  Seth heard the footsteps on the dock. He turned. Braced. “Go ahead and take a shot. But you only get the first one free.”

  “Kid, I’ll only need one.”

  “Christ, I’m sorry,” Seth blurted out. “I’m sorry I let you down. I’ll do whatever grunt work you need. I’ll get the design finished today. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Oh hell.” This time Cam raked his fingers through his hair. Who felt like shit now? he asked himself. “You didn’t let me down. You worried me, you pissed me off, but you didn’t let me down. Nobody expects you to give all your time to this place. Or to be at home every spare minute. Damn it, first Anna’s nagging at me because you’re home too much and she doesn’t think it’s good for you. Then she’s ragging because you’re not home at all. How the hell did I get caught in the middle?”

  “Just lucky, I guess. I had some things I had to take care of. That’s all. And I was working. I got caught up in it and forgot the rest. The family’s not a convenience for me, Cam. You can’t believe that. It’s a miracle. If it wa
sn’t for you—”

  “Stop right there. This isn’t about old business, it’s about now.”

  “I wouldn’t have a now without you.”

  “You wouldn’t have one without Ray. None of us would. Leave it at that.” He jammed his hands in his pockets, looked out over the water.

  Jesus, he thought. It didn’t matter how old a kid got. They were still yours.

  “So, you’re serious about the sexy florist?”

  Unconsciously Seth mirrored Cam’s stance, and now they looked over the water together. “It appears that way.”

  “Maybe now that you’ve scratched that itch we’ll get some work out of you.”

  “I seem to have some energy to spare this morning,” Seth replied.

  “Yeah, it always worked that way for me, too. What kind of doughnuts did you pick up?”

  They were okay, Seth thought. Somehow, no matter what went on, they came back to being okay. “Variety pack. I got dibs on the Bavarian cream.”

  “I’m a jelly man myself. Let’s go before Phil finds them.”

  They started back in together, then Seth stopped short. “Zucchini football.”

  Color drained out of Cam’s cheeks. “What the hell did you say?”

  “The Bread Bowl. The zucchini bread. She baked bread and you guys used it as a football. She told me.”

  “When?” Shaken, Cam gripped Seth’s shoulders. “When did you see her?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t. I dreamed it. Felt like I dreamed it,” he murmured. His stomach jittered, but it wasn’t unease he felt. It was, he realized, a kind of joy.

  He’d spoken with Stella, he thought. He had a grandmother who’d shared a story with him.

  “That’s right, isn’t it?” That joy leaped out in his voice, filled his face. “And you—you tried to intercept a pass and got hit above the eye. Knocked you down, nearly out. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Cam had to steady himself. It was a good memory. There were so many good ones. “She came running out the back door, shouting at us just as I was making the jump. I turned, and bam. Fucking galaxy of stars. That bread was like a goddamn brick. She was a hell of a doctor, but she never could cook worth a damn.”

  “Yeah, she told me.”

  “So, she bent down, looked at my pupils or whatever, held up fingers for me to count. Said it was just as well I got beaned. Saved her the trouble. Then we all started laughing—me and Dad, Phil and Ethan. Bunch of lunatics. Mom stood there, staring at us, with her hands on her hips. I can still see it. See her.”

  He let out a long breath. “Then she went back in and got another loaf so we could keep playing. She tell you that part?”

  “No.” Seth laid a hand on Cam’s shoulder as they turned toward the cargo doors. “I guess she wanted you to tell me.”

  THIRTEEN

  WHEN THE DOUGHNUTS were devoured, and Seth was hunkered down in a corner refining Ethan’s basic design for Dru’s sloop, Dru stepped outside her shop to snip off any faded blossoms in the whiskey barrel tub of verbena and heliotrope beside the front door.

  The night’s storm had cooled the air, swept away the dragging humidity and left the morning fresh and bell-clear.

  The Bay was rich blue, still kicking a bit from the turbulence of the night. Boats were already rolling over it. The watermen in their workboats, the vacationers in their rented skiffs or motorboats shared the waters. The summer people who moored their boats and stole time to use them were out early. Why waste a minute of a perfect day? Dru mused.

  In a few months, she’d be able to spend a pretty morning working on rigging, washing down the deck, polishing the brightwork of her own boat. Owning a boat meant a great deal more than casting off, hoisting sails and riding the wind. It meant pouring time, money, energy into maintenance. But that, she thought, was part of the pleasure. Or would be for her.

  She liked to work. It had been one of the many small self-realizations that had come to her over the years. She liked working, producing and the satisfaction of standing back and seeing what she’d managed to do on her own.

  She enjoyed the business end of running a business. The bookkeeping, the supplies, filling orders, calculating profit. It suited her sense of order just as the nature of her business suited her love of beauty for the sake of beauty.

  The boat, when it was finished, would be her personal reward for making it all come together.

  And Seth . . . She wasn’t entirely sure what Seth was. The night she’d spent with him had been glorious. But like a boat, a relationship with him would never be all smooth sailing, and there was bound to be maintenance.

  Just where would they be, she wondered, if the wind that had carried them to this point stalled on them? What would they do if they ran into a serious storm, or ran aground, or simply—as so many did—found the excitement draining from the ride?

  And she wished she could do no more than enjoy the moment without looking ahead for problems.

  He intrigued her and challenged her. He aroused her and amused her. He stirred up feelings in her no one had—not even, she was forced to admit, the man she’d nearly married.

  She was drawn to his solid sense of self, his honesty and his ease. And she was fascinated by the hints of the turbulence and passions she saw bubbling just under the surface of that ease.

  He was, she believed, the most compelling man she’d ever met. He made her happy. Now they were lovers, and she was already looking for the trouble ahead.

  Because if you didn’t look ahead, she reminded herself, you rammed straight into those problems and sank.

  She carried the little shears back inside, into the storeroom, where she put it on its place on the shelf. She wished she could talk to someone, another woman, about the thrill and anxiety running so fast inside her. She wanted to be able to sit down with a friend and have a silly conversation where she could ramble on about everything she was feeling.

  About how her heart started to flop around when he smiled at her. How it raced when he touched her. How scary and wonderful it was to be with someone who liked and accepted her for who she needed to be.

  She wanted to tell someone that she was falling in love.

  None of the women in her previous social circle would understand. Not the way she needed to be understood. They would be interested, certainly, even supportive. But she couldn’t imagine telling any of them how he’d bitten the nape of her neck, then have them groan and sigh in envy.

  And that’s what she wanted.

  She couldn’t call her mother and tell her she’d had the most incredible sex of her life with a man she was stumbling into love with.

  It just wasn’t the kind of conversation either of them would be comfortable having.

  Though her instincts told her there was nothing she could say to shock Aubrey, and she was dead certain she’d get the exact reaction she was looking for from her new friend, Aubrey’s connection to Seth made that possibility just a bit too sticky.

  So she was on her own, Dru supposed. Which was exactly where she’d wanted to be in the first place. But now that she had something to share, now that she felt her life shifting under her feet, there was no one to reach out to.

  It was her own doing, she admitted. She could either live with it, or begin to change it. Opening up meant more than taking a lover. It meant more than dipping a toe into the waters of a new friendship.

  It meant work. So she’d work.

  The bells on the front door jingled, signaling her first customer of the day. Dru squared her shoulders. She’d proven she could remake her life once. She could do it again.

  Prepared to be more than the polite and efficient florist, she stepped out of the storeroom with a warm smile.

  “Good morning. How can I help you?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure. I’m just going to look around.”

  “Help yourself. It’s a gorgeous day, isn’t it?” Dru walked over to prop open the front door. “Too gorgeous to be closed in. Are you v
isiting Saint Chris?”

  “That’s right,” Gloria said. “Taking a nice little vacation.”

  “You picked a perfect time.” Dru ignored a frisson of unease at the way she was being studied. “Are you here with your family?”

  “No, just me.” Gloria flicked fingers over the petals of an arrangement, and kept her eyes on Dru. “Sometimes a girl just has to get away on her own. You know?”

  “Yes, I do.” She didn’t look like the type to spend time or money on flowers, Dru thought. She looked . . . hard, edgy—and cheap. Her shorts were too tight, too brief, and her top too snug. When she caught what she thought was a whiff of whiskey along with the woman’s florid perfume, she wondered if she was about to be robbed.

  Then she dismissed the thought. Nobody robbed florists, certainly not in St. Chris. And if the woman had any sort of weapon it would have to be very, very tiny to be concealed under that outfit.

  And to judge someone because she didn’t care for the style of her dress wasn’t the way to begin the new phase of becoming more personable with her customers.

  “If you’re looking for something to cheer up your hotel room while you’re here, I have carnations on special this week. They have a nice fragrance and they’re very low maintenance.”

  “That might work. You know, you look familiar, and you don’t sound like a local. Maybe I’ve met you before. Do you spend much time in D.C.?”

  Dru relaxed again. “I grew up there.”

  “That’s got to be it. The minute I saw you, I thought . . . Wait a minute! You’re Katherine’s daughter. Prucilla—no, no, Drusilla.”

  Dru tried to imagine her mother having any sort of acquaintance with the thin, badly dressed woman who smelled of cheap perfume and whiskey. Then cursed herself for being a snob.

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Gloria planted her hands on her hips, made her smile large and friendly. She’d done her research. “What the hell are you doing down here?”

  “I live here now. So you know my mother?”

  “Sure, sure. I worked on several committees with Kathy. Haven’t run into her in a while. I guess it’s been three or four years. Last time, I think it was a fund-raiser for literacy. Book and author dinner at the Shoreham.”