by Nora Roberts
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 sandbox.
“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.”
He decided the best place for his hands, under the circumstances, was his pockets. He wasn’t sure what to do about the itchy feeling in them. “She’s a sweetheart.” Deliberately, he turned to watch Aubrey in her red sandbox.
“And a handful.” She needed to get her feet back under her, Grace told herself, and to do what needed to be done next. “Why don’t we just forget last night, Ethan? I’m sure you meant it all for the best. Reality’s just not always what we’d choose or what we’d like it to be.”
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He turned back slowly, and those quiet eyes of his focused on her face. “What do you want it to be, Grace?”
“What I want is for Aubrey to have a home, and a family. I think I’m pretty close to that.”
He shook his head. “No, what do you want for Grace?”
“Besides her?” She looked over at her daughter and smiled. “I don’t even remember anymore. Right now I want my lawn mowed and my vegetables weeded. I appreciate you coming by like this.” She turned away and prepared to give the starter cord another yank. “I’ll be by the house tomorrow.”
She went very still when his hand closed over hers.
“I’ll cut the grass.”
“I can do it.”
She couldn’t even start the damn lawn mower, he thought, but was wise enough not to mention it. “I didn’t say you couldn’t. I said I’d do it.”
She couldn’t turn around, couldn’t risk what it would do to her system to be that close again, face-to-face. “You have chores of your own.”
“Grace, are we going to stand here all day arguing over who’s going to cut this grass? I could have it done twice over by the time we finish, and you could be saving your string beans from being choked out by those weeds.”
“I was going to get to them.” Her voice was thin. They were both bent over, all but spooned together. The flash of sheer animal lust that streaked through the familiar yearning for him staggered her.
“Get to them now.” He murmured it, willing her to move. If she didn’t, and very quickly, he might not be able to hold himself back from putting his hands on her. And putting them on her in places they had no business being.
“All right.” She shifted away, moving sideways while her heart knocked at her ribs in short rabbit punches. “I appreciate it. Thanks.” She bit her lip hard because she was going to babble. Determined to be normal, she turned and smiled a little. “It’s probably the carburetor again. I’ve got some tools.”
Saying nothing, Ethan grabbed the cord with one hand and yanked it hard, twice. The engine caught with a dyspeptic roar. “It ought to do,” he said mildly when he saw her mouth thin in frustration.
“Yeah, it ought to.” Struggling not to be annoyed, she strode quickly to her vegetable patch.
And bent over, Ethan thought as he began to cut the first swath. Bent over in those thin cotton shorts in a way that forced him to take several long, careful breaths.
She didn’t have a clue, he decided, what it had done to his usually well-disciplined hormones to have her trim little butt snugged back against him. What it did to the usually moderate temperature of his blood to have all that long, bare leg brushing against his.
She might be a mother—a fact that he reminded himself of often to keep dark and dangerous thoughts at bay—but as far as he was concerned, she was nearly as innocent and unaware as she’d been at fourteen.
When he’d first begun to have those dark and dangerous thoughts about her.
He’d stopped himself from acting on them. For God’s sake, she’d just been a kid. And a man with his past had no right to touch anyone so unspoiled. Instead, he’d been her friend and had found contentment in that. He’d thought he could continue to be her friend, and only her friend. But just lately those thoughts had been striking him more often and with more force. They were becoming very tricky to control.
They both had enough complications in their lives, he reminded himself. He was just going to mow her lawn, maybe help her pull some weeds. If there was time he’d offer to take them into town for some ice cream cones. Aubrey was partial to strawberry.
Then he had to go down to the boatyard and get to work. And since it was his turn to cook, he had to figure out that little nuisance.
But mother or not, he thought, as Grace leaned over to tug out a stubborn dandelion, she had a pair of amazing legs.
Grace knew she shouldn’t have let herself be persuaded to go into town, even for a quick ice cream cone. It meant adjusting her day’s schedule, changing into something less disreputable than her gardening clothes, and spending more time in Ethan’s company when she was feeling a bit too aware of her needs.
But Aubrey loved these small trips and treats, so it was impossible to say no.
It was only a mile into St. Chris, but they went from quiet neighborhood to busy waterfront. The gift and souvenir shops would stay open seven days a week now to take advantage of the summer tourist season. Couples and families strolled by with shopping bags filled with memories to take home.
The sky was brilliantly blue, and the Bay reflected it, inviting boats to cruise along its surface. A couple of Sunday sailors had tangled the lines of their little Sunfish, letting the sails flop. But they appeared to be having the time of their lives despite that small mishap.
Grace could smell fish frying, candy melting, the coconut sweetness of sunblock, and always, always, the moist fragrance of the water.
She’d grown up on this waterfront, watching boats, sailing them. She ran free along the docks, in and out of the shops. She learned to pick crabs at her mother’s knee, gaining the speed and skill needed to separate out the meat, that precious commodity that would be packaged and shipped all over the world.
Work hadn’t been a stranger, but she’d always been free. Her family had lived well, if not luxuriously. Her father didn’t believe in spoiling his women with too much pampering. Still, he’d been kind and loving even though set in his ways. And he’d never made her feel that he was disappointed that he had only a daughter instead of sons to carry his name.
In the end, she’d disappointed him anyway.
Grace swung Aubrey up on her hip and nuzzled her.
“Busy today,” she commented.
“Seems to get more crowded every summer.” But Ethan shrugged it off. They needed the summer crowds to survive the winters. “I heard Bingham’s going to expand the restaurant, fancy it up, too, to bring more people in year-round.”
“Well, he’s got that chef from up north now, and got himself reviewed in the Washington Post magazine.” She jiggled Aubrey on her hip. “The Egret Rest is the only linen-tablecloth restaurant around here. Spiffing it up should be good for the town. We always went there for dinner on special occasions.”
She set Aubrey down, trying not to remember that she hadn’t seen the inside of the restaurant in over three years. She held Aubrey’s hand and let her daughter tug her relentlessly toward Crawford’s.
This was another standard of St. Chris. Crawford’s was for ice cream and cold drinks and take-out submarine sandwiches. Since it was noon, the shop was doing a brisk business. Grace ordered herself not to spoil things by mentioning that they should be eating sandwiches instead of ice cream.
“Hey, there, Grace, Ethan. Hello, pretty Aubrey.” Liz Crawford beamed at them even as she skillfully built a cold-cut sub. She’d gone to school with Ethan and had dated him for a short, careless time that they both remembered with fondness.
Now she was the sturdy, freckle-faced mother of two, married to Junior Crawford, as he was known to distinguish him from his father, Senior.
Junior, skinny as a scarecrow, whistled between his teeth as he rang up sales, and sent them a quick salute.
“Busy day,” Ethan said, dodging an elbow from a customer at the counter.
“Tell me.” Liz rolled her eyes, deftly wrapped the sub in white paper and handed it, along with three others, over the counter. “Y’all want a sub?”
“Ice cream,” Aubrey said definitely. “Berry.”
“Well, you go on down and tell Mother Crawford what you have in mind. Oh, Ethan, Seth was in here shortly ago with Danny and Will. I swear, those kids grow like weeds in high summer. Loaded up on subs and soda pop. Said they were working down to your boatyard.”
He felt a faint flicker of guilt, knowing that Phillip was not only working but riding herd on three young boys. “I’ll be heading down there myself soon.”
“Ethan, if you don’t have time for this . . .” Grac
e began.
“I’ve got time to eat an ice cream cone with a pretty girl.” So saying, he lifted Aubrey up and let her press her nose to the glass-fronted counter that held the buckets of hand-dipped choices.
Liz took the next order, and spared a wiggling-eyebrow glance toward her husband that spoke volumes. Ethan Quinn and Grace Monroe, it stated clearly. Well, well. What do you think of that?
They took their cones outside, where the breeze was warm off the water, and wandered away from the crowds to find one of the small iron benches the city fathers had campaigned for. Armed with a fistful of napkins, Grace set Aubrey on her lap.
“I remember when you’d come here and know the name of every face you’d see,” Grace murmured. “Mother Crawford would be behind the counter, reading a paperback novel.” She felt a wet drip from Aubrey’s ice cream plop on her leg below the hem of her shorts and wiped it up. “Eat around the edges, honey, before it melts away.”
“You’d always get strawberry ice cream, too.”
“Hmm?”
“As I recall,” Ethan said, surprised that the image was so clear in his mind, “you had a preference for strawberry. And grape Nehi.”
“I guess I did.” Grace’s sunglasses slipped down her nose as she bent to mop up more drips. “Everything was simple if you had yourself a strawberry cone and a grape Nehi.”
“Some things stay simple.” Because her hands were full, Ethan nudged Grace’s glasses back up—and thought he caught a flicker of something in her eyes behind the shaded lenses. “Some don’t.”
He looked out to the water as he applied himself to his own cone. A better idea, he decided, than watching Grace take those long, slow licks from hers. “We used to come down here on Sundays now and then,” he remembered. “All of us piling into the car and riding into town for ice cream or a sub or just to see what was up. Mom and Dad liked to sit under one of the umbrella tables at the diner and drink lemonade.”