by Nora Roberts
“She’s heading south, then.” He lifted his gaze to Phillip’s. “He pin her yet?”
“No, she moves around a lot, and she’s using cash. A lot of cash.” His mouth tightened. “She’s got plenty to toss around since Dad paid her a bundle for Seth.”
“Doesn’t look like she’s interested in coming back here.”
“I’d say she’s got as much interest in that kid as a rabid alley cat has in a dead kitten.” His own mother had been the same, Phillip remembered, when she’d been around at all. He had never met Gloria DeLauter, but he knew her. Despised her.
“If we don’t find her,” Phillip added, rolling the cold can over his forehead, “we’re never going to get to the truth about Dad, or Seth.”
Ethan nodded. He knew Phillip was on a mission here, and knew he was most likely right. But he wondered, much too often for comfort, what they would do when they had the truth.
Ethan’s plans after a fourteen-hour workday were to take an endless shower and drink a cold beer. He did both, simultaneously. They’d gotten take-out subs for dinner, and he had his on the back porch alone, in the soft quiet of early twilight. Inside, Seth and Phillip were arguing over which video to watch first. Arnold Schwarzenegger was doing battle with Kevin Costner.
Ethan had already placed his bets on Arnold.
They had an unspoken agreement that Phillip would take responsibility for Seth on Saturday nights. It gave Ethan a choice for the evening. He could go in and join them, as he sometimes did for these movie fests. He could go up and settle in with a book, as he often preferred to do. He could go out, as he rarely did.
Before his father had died so suddenly and life had changed for all of them, Ethan had lived in his own little house, with his own quiet routine. He still missed it, though he tried not to resent the young couple who were now renting it from him. They loved the coziness of it and told him so often. The small rooms with their tall windows, the little covered porch, the shady privacy of the trees that sheltered it, and the gentle lap of water against shore.
He loved it, too. With Cam married and Anna moving in, he might have been able to slip out again. But the rental money was needed now. And, more important, he’d given his word. He would live here until all the legal battles were waged and won and Seth was permanently theirs.
He rocked, listening to the night birds begin to call. And must have dozed because the dream came, and came clearly.
“You always were more of a loner than the others,” Ray commented. He sat on the porch rail, turned slightly so he could look out to the water if he chose. His hair was shiny as a silver coin in the half light, blowing free in the steady breeze. “Always liked to go off by yourself to think your thoughts and work out your troubles.”
“I knew I could always come to you or Mom. I just liked to have a handle on things first.”
“How about now?” Ray shifted to face Ethan directly.
“I don’t know. Maybe I haven’t gotten a good handle on it yet. Seth’s settling in. He’s easier with us. The first few weeks, I kept expecting him to rabbit off. Losing you hurt him almost as much as it did us. Maybe just as much, because he’d just started to believe things were okay for him.”
“It was bad, the way he had to live before I brought him here. Still, it wasn’t as bad as what you’d faced, Ethan, and you got through.”
“Almost didn’t.” Ethan took out one of his cigars, took his time lighting it. “Sometimes it still comes back on me. Pain and shame. And the sweaty fear of knowing what’s going to happen.” He shrugged it off. “Seth’s a little younger than I was. I think he’s already shed some of it. As long as he doesn’t have to deal with his mother again.”
“He’ll have to deal with her eventually, but he won’t be alone. That’s the difference. You’ll all stand by him. You always stood by each other.” Ray smiled, his big, wide face creasing everywhere at once. “What are you doing sitting out here alone on a Saturday night, Ethan? I swear, boy, you worry me.”
“Had a long day.”
“When I was your age, I put in long days and longer nights. You just turned thirty, for Christ’s sake. Porch sitting on a warm Saturday night in June is for old men. Go on, take a drive. See where you end up.” He winked. “I bet we both know where that’s likely to be.”
The sudden blare of automatic gunfire and screams made Ethan jerk in his chair. He blinked and stared hard at the porch rail. There was no one there. Of course there was no one there, he told himself with a quick shake. He’d nodded off for a minute, that was all, and the movie action in the living room had wakened him.
But when he glanced down, he saw the glowing cigar in his hand. Baffled, he simply stared at it. Had he actually taken it out of his pocket and lit it in his sleep? That was ridiculous, absurd. He must have done it before he’d drifted off, the habit so automatic that his mind just didn’t register the moves.
Still, why had he fallen asleep when he didn’t feel the least bit tired? In fact, he felt restless and edgy and too alert.
He rose, rubbing the back of his neck, stretching his legs on a pacing journey up and down the porch. He should just go in and settle down with the movie, some popcorn, and another beer. Even as he reached for the screen door, he swore.
He wasn’t in the mood for Saturday night at the movies. He would just take a drive and see where he ended up.
Grace’s feet were numb all the way to the ankles. The cursed high heels that were part of her cocktail waitress uniform were killers. It wasn’t so bad on a weekday evening when you had time now and then to step out of them or even sit for a few minutes. But Shiney’s Pub always hopped on Saturday night—and so did she.
She carted her tray of empty glasses and full ashtrays to the bar, efficiently unloading as she called out her order to the bartender. “Two house whites, two drafts, a gin and tonic, and a club soda with lime.”
She had to pitch her voice over the crowd noise and what was loosely called music from the three-piece band Shiney had hired. The music was always lousy at the pub, because Shiney wouldn’t shell out the money for decent musicians.
But no one seemed to care.
The stingy dance floor was bumper to bumper with dancers, and the band took this as a sign to boost the volume.
Grace’s head was ringing like steel bells, and her back was beginning to throb in time with the bass.
Her order complete, she carried the tray through the narrow spaces between tables and hoped that the group of young tourists in trendy clothes would be decent tippers.
She served them with a smile, nodded at the signal to run a tab, and followed the hail to the next table.
Her break was still ten minutes away. It might as well have been ten years.
“Hey, there, Gracie.”
“How’s it going, Curtis, Bobbie.” She’d gone to school with them in the dim, distant past. Now they worked for her father, packing seafood. “Usual?”
“Yeah, a couple of drafts.” Curtis gave Grace his usual—a quick pat on her bow-clad butt. She’d learned not to worry about it. From him it was a harmless enough gesture, even a show of affectionate support. Some of the outlanders who dropped in had hands a great deal less harmless. “How’s that pretty girl of yours?”
Grace smiled, understanding that this was one of the reasons she tolerated his pats. He always asked about Aubrey. “Getting prettier every day.” She saw another hand pop up from a nearby table. “I’ll get you those beers in just a minute.”
She was carting a tray full of mugs, bowls of beer nuts, and glasses when Ethan walked in. She nearly bobbled it. He never came into the pub on Saturday night. Sometimes he dropped in for a quiet beer midweek, but never when the place was crowded and noisy.
He should have looked the same as every second man in the place. His jeans were faded but clean, a plain white T-shirt tucked into them, his work boots ancient and scuffed. But he didn’t look the same as other men—and never had to Grace.
Maybe it was th
e lean and rangy body that moved as easily as a dancer through the narrow spaces. Innate grace, she mused, the kind that can’t be taught, and still so blatantly male. He always looked as though he was walking the deck of a ship.
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 babysitter. 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, recovered, 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, painting 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 babysitter.
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.