by Nora Roberts
What would she wear?
She caught herself laughing, the laughter full of joy and nerves. For once she forgot work and schedules and responsibility and raced to her closet.
Anna didn’t notice the stolen flowers until the next day. Then she noticed them with a shout.
“Seth! Seth, you come out here right now.” She had her hands on her hips, her sassy straw hat askew, her eyes snapping and dangerous.
“Yeah?” He came out, munching on a handful of pretzels, though dinner was simmering on the stove.
“Have you been messing with my flowers?” she demanded.
He slid a glance down to the mixed bed of annuals and perennials. And snorted. “What would I be messing with stupid flowers for?”
She tapped her foot. “That’s what I’m asking you.”
“I never touched them. Hey, you don’t even want us to pull up weeds.”
“That’s because you don’t know the difference between a weed and a daisy,” she snapped. “Well, somebody’s been in my flower beds.”
“Wasn’t me.” He shrugged, then rolled his eyes in glee as she stormed past him into the house.
Somebody, Seth thought, was in for it big time.
“Cameron!” She stomped upstairs and into the bathroom where he was washing up from work. He glanced over, lifting a brow as water dripped from his face into the sink. She scowled for a moment, then shook her head. “Never mind,” she muttered, slamming the door.
Cam would no more fiddle with her gardens than Seth, she decided. And if he was picking flowers for anyone, it damn well better be his loving wife, or she’d just murder him and be done with it.
Her eyes narrowed on the door to Ethan’s room. And she made a low, threatening sound in her throat.
She did stop to knock, though it was only three staccato raps before she simply pushed open the door.
“Christ, Anna.” Mortified, Ethan snatched up the slacks that lay on his bed and held them in front of him. He was wearing nothing but his briefs and a pained expression.
“Just save the modesty, I’m not interested. Have you been into my flowers?”
“Into your flowers?” Oh, he’d known this was coming. The woman had eyes like a cat when it came to her posies. But he hadn’t expected the moment to come when he was half naked. Half, hell, he thought and clutched the slacks more firmly.
“Somebody’s snapped off more than a dozen blooms. Snapped them right off.” She advanced on him, her eyes scanning the room for evidence.
“Oh, well . . .”
“Problem?” Cam leaned on the doorjamb, tongue in his cheek. It was an amusing sight after a hard day’s work, he decided. His well-riled wife stalking around his all-but-bare-assed brother.
“Somebody’s been in my garden and they stole my flowers.”
“No kidding? Want me to call the cops?”
“Oh, shut up.” She whirled back to Ethan, who took a cautious and cowardly step in retreat. She looked fit to murder. “Well?”
“Well, I . . .” He’d intended to confess, throw himself on her mercy. But the woman glaring at him out of dark, furious eyes looked several quarts low on mercy. “Rabbits,” he said slowly. “Probably.”
“Rabbits?”
“Yeah.” He shifted uncomfortably, wishing to Christ he’d at least gotten his pants on before she burst in. “Rabbits can be a problem with gardens. They just hop up and help themselves.”
“Rabbits,” she said again.
“Could be deer,” he added, just a little desperately. “They’d graze over and eat every damn thing down to stubs.” Counting on pity, he shot a look at Cam. “Right?”
Cam weighed the situation, knew Anna was city girl enough to buy it. Oh, Ethan would owe him for this, he decided and smiled. “Oh, yeah, deer and rabbits, big problem.” Which having two dogs running tame pretty much eliminated, he mused.
“Why didn’t anybody tell me!” She whipped off her hat, rapped it against her thigh. “What do we do about it? How do we make them stop?”
“Couple ways.” Guilt stung, just a little, but Ethan rationalized that deer and rabbits could be a problem, so she should take precautions anyway. “Dried blood.”
“Dried blood? Whose?”
“You can buy it at the garden store, and you just dump it around. It’ll keep them away.”
“Dried blood.” Her lips pursed as she made a mental note to buy some.
“Or urine.”
“Dried urine?”
“No.” Ethan cleared his throat. “You just go out and . . . you know, around so they smell it and know there’s a meat eater in the vicinity.”
“I see.” She nodded, satisfied, then whirled on her husband. “Well, get out there then and pee on my marigolds.”
“Could use a beer first,” Cam said and winked at his brother. “Don’t worry, darling, we’ll take care of it.”
“All right.” Calmer, she huffed out a breath. “Sorry, Ethan.”
“Yeah, well, hmmm.” He waited until she’d hurried out, then lowered himself to the edge of the bed. He slanted a look at Cam, who continued to lean against the door. “That wife of yours has a streak of mean in her.”
“Yeah. I love it. Why’d you steal her flowers?”
“I just needed a few of them,” Ethan muttered and pulled on his pants. “What the hell are they out there for if you get your head cut off for picking them?”
“Rabbits? And deer?” Cam began to hoot with laughter.
“They’re garden pests right enough.”
“Pretty brave rabbits who hop between two dogs and right up to the house to select a few flowers. If they got that far, they’d mow the whole garden down to the ground.”
“She doesn’t have to know that. For a while. I appreciate you backing me up. I thought she was going to punch me.”
“She might have. Since I saved your pretty face, I figure you owe me.”
“Nothing comes free,” Ethan grumbled and stalked to the closet for a shirt.
“You got that right. Seth needs a haircut, and he’s already outgrown his last pair of shoes.”
Ethan turned, shirt dangling from his fingertips. “You want me to take him to the mall?”
“Right again.”
“I’d rather have the punch in the face.”
“Too late.” Cam hooked a thumb in his front pocket and grinned. “So, why’d you need the flowers?”
“Just thought Grace would like them.” Muttering, Ethan shrugged into his shirt.
“Ethan Quinn stealing flowers, going out—voluntarily—to a jacket-and-tie restaurant.” Cam’s grin widened, his eyebrows wiggled. “Serious business.”
“It’s a usual thing for a man to take a woman out to dinner, bring her flowers now and then.”
“Not for you it isn’t.” Cam straightened, patted his flat belly. “Well, I guess I’ll go choke down that beer so I can be a hero.”
“Man’s got no privacy around here,” Ethan complained when Cam sauntered away. “Women come right on into your bedroom, don’t even have the courtesy to leave when they see you don’t have your pants on.”
Scowling, he dragged one of his two ties out of the closet. “People ready to skin you alive over a few flowers. And the next thing you know, you’re at the goddamn mall fighting crowds and buying shoes.”
He wrestled the tie under his collar and began to deal with the knot. “Never had to worry when I was in my own place. I could walk around buck ass naked if I wanted to.” He hissed at the tie that refused to cooperate. “I hate these fuckers.”
“That’s because you’re happier tying a sheepshank.”
“Who the hell wouldn’t be?”
Then he stopped, his fingers freezing on the tie. His gaze stayed on the mirror, where he could see his father behind him.
“You’re just a little nervous, that’s all,” Ray said with a smile and a wink. “Hot date.”
Taking a careful breath, Ethan turned. Ray stood at the foot of the bed, his b
right-blue eyes merry, the way Ethan remembered they would sparkle when he was particularly tickled about something.
He was wearing a squash-yellow T-shirt that sported a boat under full sail, faded jeans, and scuffed sandals. His hair was long, past his collar, and shining silver. Ethan could see the sun glint on it.
He looked exactly like what he was—had been. A robust and handsome man who appreciated comfortable clothes and a good laugh.
“I’m not dreaming,” Ethan murmured.
“It was easier for you to think so at first. Hello, Ethan.”
“Dad.”
“I remember the first time you called me that. Took you a while to come to it. You’d been with us almost a year. Christ, you were a spooky kid, Ethan. Quiet as a shadow, deep as a lake. One evening when I was grading papers, you knocked on the door. You just stood there for a minute, thinking. God, it was a marvel to watch your mind work. Then you said, ‘Dad, the phone’s for you.’ ” Ray’s smile went bright as sunlight. “You slipped right out again, or you’d have seen me make a fool of myself. Sniffled like a baby and had to tell whoever the hell it was on the phone I was having an allergy attack.”
“I never knew why you wanted me.”
“You needed us. We needed you. You were ours, Ethan, even before we found each other. Fate takes its own sweet time, but it always finds a way. You were so . . . fragile,” Ray said after a moment, and Ethan blinked in surprise. “Stella and I were worried we’d do something wrong and break you.”
“I wasn’t fragile.”
“Oh, Ethan, you were. Your heart was delicate as glass and waiting to be shattered. Your body was tough. We never worried about you and Cam pounding on each other those first months. Thought it did both of you good.”
Ethan’s lips twitched. “He usually started the pounding.”
“But you never were one to back off once your blood was up. Took some doing to get it up,” he added. “Still does. We watched you watch and settle and think and consider.”
“You gave me . . . time. Time to watch and settle, to think and consider. Everything I’ve got that’s decent came from the two of you.”
“No, Ethan, we just gave you love. And that time, and the place.”
He wandered over to the window, to look out on the water and the boats that swayed gently at the dock. He watched an egret sail across a sky hazed with heat and plumped by clouds.
“You were meant to be ours. Meant to be here. Took to the water like you’d been born in it. Cam, he always just wanted to go fast, and Phillip preferred to sit back and enjoy the ride. But you . . .”
He turned back again, his gaze thoughtful. “You studied every inch of the boat, every wave, every turn of a river. You’d practice tying knots for hours, and nobody had to nag you into swabbing the decks.”
“It came easy for me, right from the start. You wanted me to get a college degree.”
“For me.” Ray shook his head. “For me, Ethan. Fathers are human, after all, and I went through a time when I thought my sons needed to love schooling as much as I did. But you did what was right for you. You made me proud of you. I should have told you that more often.”
“You always let me know it.”
“Words count, though. Who would know that better than a man who spent his life trying to teach the young the love of them?” He sighed now. “Words count, Ethan, and I know some of them come hard for you. But I want you to remember that. You and Grace have a lot to say to each other yet.”
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“You will,” Ray said quietly. “By trying not to. I wish you could see yourself as I do. As she does.” He shook his head again. “Well, fate takes its time. Think of the boy, Ethan, think of Seth—and what pieces of yourself you see there.”
“His mother—” Ethan began.
“Think of the boy for now,” Ray said simply, and he was gone.
SIXTEEN
There wasn’t a hint of rain on the breezy summer air. The sky was a hot, staggering blue, an unbroken bowl that held a faint haze and fragile clouds. A single bird sang manically, as if mad to complete the song before the long day was over.
She was as nervous as a teenager on prom night. The thought of that made Grace laugh. No teenager had ever dreamed of nerves like these.
She fussed with her hair, wishing she had long, glossy curls like Anna’s—exotic, Gypsy-like. Sexy.
But she didn’t, she reminded herself firmly. And never would. At least the short, simple crop showed off the pretty gold drop earrings Julie had loaned her.
Julie had been so sweet and excited about what she’d termed the Big Date. She’d launched straight into a what-to-wear-and-what-to-wear-with-it routine—and naturally had deemed the contents of Grace’s closet a total loss.
Of course, letting Julie drag her off to the mall had been sheer foolishness. Not that Julie had to yank very hard, Grace admitted. It had been so long since she’d shopped simply for the simple pleasure of shopping. For the couple of hours they’d spent swarming through the shops, she’d felt so young and carefree. As if nothing was really more important than finding the right outfit.
Still, she’d had no business buying a new dress, even if she did get it on sale. But she couldn’t seem to talk herself out of it. Just this one little indulgence, this one little luxury. She so desperately wanted something new and fresh for this special night.
She’d yearned for the sexy, sophisticated black with its shoestring straps and snug skirt. Or the boldly sensuous red with the daringly plunging neckline. But they hadn’t suited her, as she’d known they wouldn’t.
It had been no surprise that the simple powder-blue linen had been discounted. It had looked so plain, so ordinary, hanging on the rack. But Julie had pressed it on her, and Julie had an eye for such things.
She’d been right, of course, Grace thought now. It was simple, almost virginal, with its unadorned bodice and graceful lines. But it looked pretty on, with the color cool against her skin, and the skirt floating around her legs.
Grace traced a finger over the square neckline, faintly amazed that the bra Julie had nagged her into buying actually did gift her with a hint of cleavage. A miracle indeed, Grace thought with a little laugh.
Concentrating, she leaned close to the mirror. She’d done everything Julie had instructed with the borrowed makeup. And her eyes did look bigger and deeper, she decided. She’d done her best to blot away the signs of fatigue and thought she had succeeded. Maybe she hadn’t managed more than a wink of sleep the night before, but she didn’t feel in the least tired.
She felt energized.
She reached out, and her hand hovered over the samples of perfumes they’d been given at the cosmetics counter. Then she remembered that Anna had told her to wear her own scent for Ethan before. That it would say something to him.
Choosing that instead, she closed her eyes and dabbed it on. With her eyes closed, imagining that his lips might brush here, brush there, linger and taste where her pulse beat that fragrance into life.
Still dreaming, she picked up a little ivory evening bag—another loan—and checked its contents. She hadn’t carried such a small purse since . . . well, before Aubrey was born, she thought. It was so odd to look inside and see none of the dozens of mother things she was used to carrying. Only women things now, she mused. The little compact she’d splurged on, a tube of lipstick she rarely thought to use, her house key, a few carefully folded bills, and a tissue that wasn’t thin and ragged from wiping a sticky face.
It made her feel feminine just to look at it, to slip her feet into impractical heeled sandals—oh, she’d be scrambling to pay off her charge card when the bill came—to turn in front of the mirror and watch her skirt follow the movement.
When she heard his truck pull up outside, she dashed across the room. Made herself stop. No, she wasn’t going to race to the door like an eager puppy. She would wait right here until he knocked. And give her heart a chance to beat normally again.
When he did knock, it was still thundering in her ears. But she stepped out, smiled at him through the screen, and moved toward the door.
He remembered watching her walk to the door like this before, on the night they’d made love the first time. She’d looked so lovely, so lonely with the candlelight flickering around her.
But tonight she looked . . . he didn’t think he had words for it. Everything about her seemed to glow—skin, hair, eyes. It made him feel awkward, humble, reverent. He wanted to kiss her to be certain she was real, and yet was afraid to touch.
He stepped back as she opened the screen, then took the hand she held out carefully. “You look different.”
No, it wasn’t poetry. And it made her smile. “I wanted to.” She pulled the door closed behind her and let him lead her to his truck.
He wished immediately that he’d borrowed the ’Vette.
“The truck doesn’t suit that dress,” he said as she climbed in.
“It suits me.” She swept her skirts in to be certain they didn’t catch in the door. “I may look different, Ethan, but I’m still the same.”
She settled back and prepared for the most beautiful evening of her life.
The sun was still up and bright when they arrived in Princess Anne. The restaurant he’d chosen was in one of the old, refurbished houses where the ceilings were high and the windows tall and narrow. Candles yet to be lighted stood on tables draped in white linen, and the waiters wore jackets and formal black ties. Conversations from other diners were muted, as in church. She could hear her heels click on the polished floor as they were led to their table.
She wanted to remember every detail. The way the little table sat snug by the window, the painting of the Bay that hung on the wall behind Ethan. The friendly twinkle in the waiter’s eyes when he offered them menus and asked if they’d like a cocktail.
But most of all she wanted to remember Ethan. The quiet smile in his eyes when he looked across the table at her, the way his fingertips continued to brush hers on the white linen.
“Would you like to have some wine?” he asked her.
Wine, candles, flowers. “Yes, that would be nice.”