by Nora Roberts
She couldn’t regret it, not when Aubrey had come from it. But she could regret that the pregnancy, the hasty marriage and hastier divorce, had driven a thicker wedge between father and daughter.
But what was couldn’t be changed, she told herself and took Aubrey’s hand to lead her to the car. “You’re sure this car Dave has for you runs all right?”
“Dave says it does.”
“Well, he ought to know.” He was a good mechanic, Carol thought, even if he had been the one to hire Jack Casey. “You know you could borrow mine for a while—give yourself more chance to shop around.”
“This one will be fine.” She hadn’t even laid eyes on the secondhand sedan Dave had picked out for her. “We’re going to do the paperwork on Monday, then I’ll have wheels again.”
After securing Aubrey in the car seat, Grace slipped in while her mother took the wheel.
“Go, go, go! Go, fast, Gramma,” Aubrey demanded. Carol flushed when Grace cocked a brow.
“You’ve been speeding again, haven’t you?”
“I know these roads like the back of my hand, and I haven’t had a single ticket in my life.”
“Because the cops can’t catch you.” With a laugh, Grace strapped herself in.
“When do the newlyweds get home?” Not only did Carol want to know, she preferred to have the conversation veer away from her notoriously heavy foot.
“I think they’re due in about eight tonight. I just want to give the house a buff, maybe put something on for dinner in case they’re hungry when they get here.”
“I imagine Cam’s wife’ll appreciate it. What a beautiful bride she was. I’ve never seen lovelier. Where she managed to get that dress when the boy gave her so little time to plan a wedding, I don’t know.”
“Seth said she went to D.C. for it, and the veil was her grandmother’s.”
“That’s fine. I have my wedding veil put aside. I always imagined how pretty it would look on you on your wedding day.” She stopped, and could cheerfully have bitten her tongue.
“It would have looked a little out of place in the county courthouse.”
Carol sighed as she pulled into the Quinns’ driveway. “Well, you’ll wear it next time.”
“I’ll never get married again. I’m not good at it.” While her mother gaped at the statement, Grace climbed quickly out of the car, then leaned in the window and kissed Aubrey soundly. “You be a good girl, you hear? And don’t let Grandma feed you too much candy.”
“Gramma has chocolate.”
“Don’t I know it! Bye, baby. Bye, Mama. Thanks.”
“Grace . . .” What could she say? “You, ah, you just call when you’re done here and I’ll come by and pick you up.”
“We’ll see. Don’t let her run you ragged,” Grace added and hurried up the steps.
She knew she’d timed it well. Everyone would be at the boatyard working. She was determined not to feel awkward about what had happened the night before last. But she did—she felt miserably awkward and she wanted time to settle before she had to face Ethan again.
This was a home that always felt warm and welcoming. Caring for it soothed her. Because she knew that a large part of her motivation for working on it that afternoon was self-serving, she put more effort into the job. The results would be the same, wouldn’t they, she thought guiltily as she ran the old buffer over the hardwood floors to make the wax gleam. Anna would come home to a spotless house, with the scents of fresh flowers, polish, and potpourri perfuming the air.
A woman shouldn’t have to come home from her honeymoon to dust and clutter. And God knew the Quinn men generated plenty of both.
She was needed here, damn it. All she was doing was proving it.
She spent extra time in the master bedroom, fussing with the flowers she’d begged off Irene, then changing the position of the vase half a dozen times before she cursed herself. Anna would put them where she wanted them to be anyway, she reminded herself. And would probably change everything else while she was at it. More than likely, she would want new everything, Grace decided as she pressed the curtains she’d washed until not the tiniest wrinkle showed in the thin summer sheers.
Anna was city-bred and probably wouldn’t care for the worn furniture and country touches. Before you knew it, she’d have things decked out in leather and glass, and all Dr. Quinn’s pretty things would be packed up in some box in the attic and replaced with pieces of sculpture nobody could understand.
Her jaw tightened as she rehung the curtains, gave them a quick fluff.
Cover the lovely old floors with some fancy wall-to-wall carpet and paint the walls some hot color that made the eyes sting. Resentment bubbled as she marched into the bathroom to put a bunch of early rosebuds in a shallow bowl.
Anybody with any sense could see the place only needed a little care, a bit more color here and there. If she had any say in it . . .
She stopped herself, realizing that her fists were clenched, and her face, reflected in the mirror over the sink, was bright with fury. “Oh, Grace, what is wrong with you?” She shook her head, nearly laughed at herself. “In the first place you don’t have any say, and in the second you don’t know that she’s going to change a single thing.”
It was just that she could, Grace admitted. And once you changed one thing, nothing was quite the same again.
Isn’t that what had happened between her and Ethan? Something had changed, and now she was both afraid and hopeful that things wouldn’t be quite the same.
He thought of her, she mused and sighed at her own reflection. And what did he think? She wasn’t a beauty, and she’d never filled out enough to be sexy. Now and then, she knew, she caught a man’s eye, but she never held it.
She wasn’t smart or particularly clever, had neither stimulating conversation nor flirtatious ways. Jack had once told her she had stability. And he’d convinced them both, for a while, that that was what he wanted. But stability wasn’t the sort of trait that attracted a man.
Maybe if her cheekbones were higher or her dimples deeper. Or if her lashes were thicker and darker. Maybe if that flirty curl hadn’t skipped a generation and left her hair straight as a pin.
What did Ethan think when he looked at her? She wished she had the courage to ask him.
She looked—and saw the ordinary.
When she had danced she hadn’t felt ordinary. She’d felt beautiful and special and deserving of her name. Dreamily, she dipped into a plié, settling crotch on heels, then lifting again. She’d have sworn her body sighed in pleasure. Indulging herself, she flowed into an old, well-remembered movement, ending on a slow pirouette.
“Ethan!” She squeaked it out, color flooding her cheeks when she saw him in the doorway.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, but I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Oh, well.” Mortified, she snatched up her cleaning rag, twisted it in her hands. “I was just . . . finishing up in here.”
“You always were a pretty dancer.” He’d promised himself he would put things back the way they’d been between them, so he smiled at her as he would a friend. “You always dance around the bathroom after you clean it?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She did her best to answer his smile, but the heat continued to sting her cheeks. “I thought I’d be done before y’all got back. I guess the floors took longer than I figured on.”
“They look nice. Foolish already had a slide. Surprised you didn’t hear it.”
“I was daydreaming. I thought I’d—” Then she managed to clear her brain and get a good look at him. He was filthy, covered with sweat and grime and God knew what. “You’re not thinking of taking a shower in here?”
Ethan lifted a brow. “It crossed my mind.”
“No, you can’t.”
He shifted back because she’d taken a step forward. He had a good idea just how he smelled at the moment. That was reason enough to keep his distance, but worse, she looked so fresh and pretty. He’d taken a solemn
vow not to touch her again, and he meant to keep it.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t have time to clean it up again after you, or the bath downstairs, either. I still have to fry the chicken. I thought I’d make that and a bowl of potato salad so you wouldn’t have to worry about heating anything up when Cam and Anna get home. I have to deal with the kitchen after, so I just don’t have time, Ethan.”
“I’ve been known to mop up a bathroom after I’ve used one.”
“It’s not the same. You just can’t use it.”
Flustered, he took off his cap, dragged a hand through his hair. “Well, then, that’s a problem because we’ve got three men here who need to scrape off a few layers of dirt.”
“There’s a bay right outside your door.”
“But—”
“Here.” She opened the cabinet under the sink for a fresh bar of soap. Damned if she’d have them use the pretty guest soaps she’d set out in a dish. “I’ll get you towels and some fresh clothes.”
“But—”
“Go on now, Ethan, and tell the others what I said.” She shoved the soap into his hand. “You’re already scattering dust everywhere.”
He scowled at the soap, then at her. “You’d think the Royal Family was dropping by for a visit. Damn it, Grace, I’m not stripping down to my skin and jumping off the dock.”
“Oh, like you’ve never done it before.”
“Not with a female around.”
“I’ve seen naked men a time or two, and I’m going to be too busy to take Polaroids of you and your brothers. Ethan, I’ve just spent the best part of my day getting this house to shine. You’re not spreading your dirt around.”
Disgusted, because in his experience arguing with a woman’s made-up mind was as painful and fruitless as banging your head against a brick wall, he shoved the soap in his pocket. “I’ll get the damn towels.”
“No, you won’t. Your hands are filthy. I’ll bring them out.”
Muttering to himself, he went downstairs. Phillip’s reaction to the bathing arrangements was a shrug. Seth’s was pure glee. He darted outside, calling for the dogs to follow, and sent shoes, socks, shirt, scattering as he raced for the dock.
“He’ll probably never want to take a regular bath again,” Phillip commented. He sat on the dock to remove his shoes.
Ethan remained standing. He wasn’t taking off a blessed thing until Grace delivered the towels and clothes and was back in the house. “What are you doing?” he demanded when Phillip pulled his sweat-stained T-shirt over his head.
“I’m taking off my shirt.”
“Well, put it back on. Grace is coming out.”
Phillip glanced up, saw that his brother was perfectly serious, and laughed. “Get a grip, Ethan. Even the sight of my amazing and manly chest isn’t likely to send her over the edge.”
To prove it, he rose and shot Grace a grin as she crossed the lawn. “I heard something about fried chicken,” he called out.
“I’m about to get to it.” When she reached the dock, she set the towels and clean clothes in neat piles. Then she straightened, smiling out to where Seth and the dogs splashed. She imagined they’d scared every bird and fish away for two miles. “This arrangement suits them just fine.”
“Why don’t you take a dip with us?” Phillip suggested and swore he heard Ethan’s jaw crack. “You can scrub my back.”
She laughed and picked up the clothes that had already been discarded. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone skinny-dipping, and as appealing as it sounds, I’ve got too much to do to play right now. You give me the rest of your clothes, I’ll get them washed before I go.”
“Appreciate it.” But when Phillip reached for his belt buckle, Ethan jabbed an elbow into his ribs.
“You can wash them later if you’re set on it. Go in the house.”
“He’s shy.” Phillip wiggled his brows. “I’m not.”
Grace only laughed again, but she headed back to the house to give them privacy.
“You shouldn’t tease her that way,” Ethan muttered.
“I’ve been teasing her that way for years.” Phillip peeled himself out of his work-stained jeans, delighted to be rid of them.
“Now it’s different.”
“Why?” Phillip started to slip out of his silk boxers, then caught the look in Ethan’s eye. “Oh. Well, well. Why didn’t you say so?”
“I got nothing to say.” Because Grace was in the house now and he couldn’t imagine her pressing her nose to the window, he pulled off his shirt.
“It’s her voice that always got me.”
“Huh?”
“That throaty sound,” Phillip continued, pleased to be able to rile Ethan about something. “Low and smooth and sexy.”
Gritting his teeth, Ethan pried off his work boots. “Maybe you shouldn’t listen so hard.”
“What can I do? Can I help it if I have perfect hearing? Perfect eyesight, too,” he added, judging the distance between them. “And as far as I can see, there’s nothing wrong with the rest of her either. Her mouth’s particularly attractive. Full, shapely, unpainted. Looks tasty to me.”
Ethan took two slow breaths as he tugged off his jeans. “Are you trying to irritate me?”
“I’m giving it my best shot.”
Ethan stood, gauged his man. “You want to go in headfirst, or feetfirst?”
Pleased, Phillip grinned. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
Both waited a beat, then charged, grappled. And with Seth’s rousing cheers ringing, wrestled each other into the water.
Oh, my, Grace thought with her nose pressed up against the window. Oh, my. If she’d ever seen two more impressive examples of the male form, she couldn’t say when. She’d only intended to sneak a quick glance. Really. Just one innocent little peek. But then Ethan had peeled off his shirt and . . .
Well, damn it, she wasn’t a saint. And what harm did it do to anyone just to look?
He was just so beautiful, inside and out. And God, if she could get her hands on him again for just five minutes, she thought she could die a happy woman. Maybe she could, since he wasn’t indifferent—the way she’d always assumed he was.
There’d been nothing indifferent in the way his mouth had crushed down on hers, or the way his hands had rushed over her.
Stop, she ordered herself and stepped back from the window. The only thing she was going to accomplish this way was to get herself all worked up. She knew how to channel her more intimate needs, and that was to work until they passed away again.
But if her mind wasn’t completely on her chicken, who could blame her?
She had the potatoes cooling for the salad and the chicken frying when Phillip came back in. Gone was the image of the sweaty laborer. In its place was the smooth, the gilded, the casually sophisticated. He winked at her. “Smells like heaven in here.”
“I made extra so you can have it for lunch tomorrow. You just put those clothes in the laundry room, and I’ll see to them in a minute.”
“I don’t know what we’d do without you around here.”
She bit her lip and hoped everyone felt the same. “Is Ethan still in the water?”
“No, he and Seth are doing something to the boat.” Phillip went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine. “Where’s Aubrey today?”
“With my mother. In fact she just called and wants to keep her a little longer. I guess one of these days I’m going to have to give in and let her stay overnight.” She glanced down blankly at the glass of cool golden wine he offered her. “Oh, thanks.” What she knew about wine wouldn’t fill a thimble, but she sipped because it was expected. Then her brows lifted. “This isn’t anything like what they serve down at the pub.”
“I wouldn’t think so.” He considered what they called the house white down at Shiney’s one shaky step up from horse piss. “How are things going there?”
“Fine.” She gave serious attention to her chicken, wondering if Eth
an had mentioned the incident. Unlikely, she decided when Phillip didn’t press. She relaxed again and let Phillip entertain her while she worked.
He was always full of stories, she mused. Of easy, even careless conversation. She knew he was smart and successful and had slipped into city living like a duck in water. But he never made her feel inadequate or silly. And in a cozy way, he made her feel just a little more feminine than she had before he’d come into the room.
That was why Grace’s eyes were laughing and her mouth prettily curved when Ethan came in. Phillip sat, sipping wine while she put the finishing touches on the meal.
“Oh, you’re making that up.”
“I swear.” Phillip held up a hand in oath and grinned as Ethan came in. “The client wants the goose to be the spokesperson, so we’re writing dialogue. Goose Creek Jeans, fine feathers for everyday living.”
“That’s the silliest thing I ever heard.”
“Hey.” Phillip toasted her. “Watch them sell. I’ve got a few phone calls to make.” He rose, deliberately rounding the table to kiss her and make Ethan seethe. “Thanks for feeding us, darling.”
He strolled out, whistling.
“Can you imagine, making a living writing words for a goose.” Amused, Grace shook her head as she tucked the bowl of potato salad into the refrigerator. “Everything’s done, so you can eat when you’re hungry. Your clothes are in the dryer. You don’t want to leave them sitting in there after it’s done or they’ll be wrinkled.”
She moved around, tidying the kitchen as she spoke. “I’d wait and fold them for you, but I’m running a bit behind.”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“I’d appreciate it. I’m dealing with the car on Monday, but until then . . .” She lifted her shoulders and saw with one last glance that she had nothing left to do. Still, she eyed every nook and corner as she walked through the house to the front door.
“How are you getting to work?” Ethan demanded when they were in his truck.
“Julie’s taking me. Shiney’s taking me home himself.” She cleared her throat. “When I explained what happened the other night he was upset. Not mad at me, but really upset it had happened. He was set to skin Steve, but under the circumstances—they had a boy, by the way. Eight and a half pounds. They’re calling him Jeremy.”