Blood Kin (7 page)

“Yesterday, when I was going over old deeds in the courthouse, I came upon a little snag, a minor conflict about property lines going back to the mid-eighteen fifties. Nothing to trouble yourself about. It all goes to you, but I need to clear this up so that there will be no problems if you decide to sell the property.”

“How long are we talking about? Should I go home and—”

“No, no need to do that. A few days, perhaps a week. Certainly no longer. I think you should stay on at Emma's, take the opportunity to see something of the island. I understand the school where you teach doesn't open until September.”

“Yes, after Labor Day. But I didn't plan on staying so long.”

“Sometimes, Miss Elliott, the best things in life come to us through serendipity. You really should know something of your heritage. Tawes is quite an amazing place, unmatched anywhere in the world. The islanders, for all their quaint ways, possess an amazing strength, sustained by their faith in God and the bounty of the earth and the tides.”

“You sound more like a poet than a lawyer.”

“You've caught me out. I'm a secret romantic.” He chuckled. “Seriously, Miss Elliott—”

“Please, call me Bailey.”

“Bailey. You should take time to get to know us, to find pride in your heritage. Matthew can give you all sorts of information about the Tawes family and the island's turbulent past. Our men and women have fought in every war since the French and Indian, including the War on Terror. We lost relatives in the World Trade Center attack and in the terrible disaster in New
Orleans and the Gulf Coast. And if you aren't personally interested, it's a legacy you should have, to pass on to your children and grandchildren, if you ever—”

“I've never had a child. I'd like to, but . . .” She spread her hands. “Who knows? Perhaps one day . . .”

“Don't wait too long,” he advised. “Find a good man and take the leap. I once thought that Elizabeth would be my wife.” He smiled regretfully. “We were engaged to be married, but we argued, and we were both too stubborn to realize that giving in would have been better than ruining what we might have had together. Enough of that. There never was a finer woman than Elizabeth Tawes. Her death was a great shock to me and to a lot of us. You would have liked her.”

Bailey felt a great sense of loss for this aunt she would never know. “Why didn't she ever contact me?”

Forest resumed his professional countenance. “She felt it was best for you.” He rose. “You are more than welcome to have another cup of tea.” He glanced at his watch. “I don't want to rush you, but I'd like to return to the mainland. The sooner I can begin work on that snag in the deed . . .”

“Of course.” Bailey knew a polite dismissal when she heard one. Forest McCready was clearly embarrassed that he'd allowed personal feelings to intrude on what should have been a business discussion, but she was glad he'd spoken out. If Aunt Elizabeth had had to die young, it was nice that someone mourned her.

“You'll stay on a few days, then?” Emma asked. “God knows I'd appreciate the extra income. Folks aren't exactly lined up to take your room.”

“They would be if you'd advertise,” Bailey said. The two were seated on the back porch. Emma was peeling
potatoes for supper, and she'd given Bailey a dishpan full of green beans and instructions to snap them.

The backyard was enclosed with a white picket fence. To the right, on the far side of the grass, in a large wire run, chickens scratched in the dirt, chased one another, and clucked softly. Beyond that, perhaps two hundred feet from the house, was the Chesapeake. The tide was low, and gentle waves slapped against the foundation of Emma's shedding house, the dock, and a wide stretch of sand. Emma's boat was snugged against a tarred post with enough line to allow for the rise and fall of the tide.

“Advertise?” Emma grimaced. “And put up with God knows who tramping through my house and insulting my cooking? I do well enough with visiting relatives and such as you.” Her gaze became intense. “It won't put you out any, leaving your own place empty?You won't come home to find you've been robbed, will you?”

Bailey laughed. “I hope not. But I have good neighbors on both sides. One is a Newark policeman. Mine's a town house, two stories, but small. Just the right size for me. No pets, although I've been thinking of getting a cat.”

“Cats are good company.” Emma reached down to pet the scarred tabby curled around her ankles. “Cats are independent. You never own one, and sometimes you think they own you. But you'll never have mice in the—” A phone rang from inside the house. “Wait until I answer that.” Emma hurried inside and a minute later called through the dining room window, “It's for you, Bailey. No, just take it from there.” She pushed open the screen and handed her the receiver.

“Bailey?”

“Elliott. I've been trying to reach you.”

“I've had my cell on. I've been trying yours, but no luck. All I get is, ‘Service not available.'Where are you? The dark side of the moon?”

Bailey laughed. “You'd probably think so. No problems. Well, actually, a little one. But nothing's wrong. Phone signals out here are spotty.”

“Nonexistent, if you ask me. When are you coming home?”

“I'm not certain. A few more days. Wait until you hear my awesome news.”

“Your aunt left you a crab trap and two stray cats?”

“Nooo. Be serious. Better than that. You aren't going to believe this. . . .”

“Get out!” Elliott shouted when she filled him in on what she'd learned from Forest McCready. “Waterfront property? All the more reason to come home. Better yet, come to Rehoboth. I have to tend bar at the Driftwood tonight, but I have the next three days off. We'll celebrate big-time. I've got a buddy who works for Seaside Realtors. He can probably give you an idea what the place is worth.”

“I'm not sure I want business advice from any friend of yours.”

“Why not?”

“Because he can't be too bright, or he wouldn't be a friend of—”

“Low blow, Bails. Very low. But I'm in a forgiving mood. I get off at two. Could you—”

“Not coming home tonight. Not coming to Rehoboth tonight. But I'll do you one better. You say you have time off. Why don't you come to Tawes? See the house for yourself? Bring your bike. There are lots of dirt roads we can—”

“Dirt roads.” He groaned. “Can't do, kid. I bent a front
wheel last week. Betsy's in the shop. You know Voladya, a genius at fixing bikes, but slower than hell. Sure I can't persuade you to cut your little jaunt short and come down here?”

“Next week, maybe. My attorney is working out some little deed problem here. I'll call you as soon as I get back.”

“All right. You're a hard woman, Bails.”

“Not hard enough.” After they'd exchanged a few more friendly insults, they said their good-byes and she handed the phone back to Emma.

“The ex?” she asked when she returned to the porch.

Bailey nodded. “Elliott. He was worried. I gave him this number before I left. He said he kept trying that and my cell but—”

“Couldn't get through.” Emma returned to her potatoes. “Sounds like you're more than friends.”

“No. Just friends.”

“You've got to work at holding a marriage together. Certain it can't be mended?”

“No.” Bailey sighed. “He loves me, but his first love is gambling.”

“Ah, enough said.”

Bailey concentrated on the snap beans, carefully removing the pointed tips and depositing them into a bucket at her feet. “Forest McCready knew my birth mother, Beth Tawes. Did you know her?”

“A little.” Emma's sunburned face reddened. “She was a pretty girl, always had a book in her hand. She sang in the church choir.”

“Do you remember if she had any special talents? Did she draw or paint?”

Emma rose abruptly, spilling potato peelings onto the worn cedar floorboards. “No, I don't recall that. It
was a long time ago. A pity she died so young. Nobody knew how it came to happen. Course, nobody knew she was in the family way, either.”

“Do you have any idea who my birth father was?”

The gray-haired woman stiffened. “Nope. Can't say as I do.” Her round face creased into a scowl. “Best let that old dog lie. No good can come of stirrin' up what's long past. No good at all.”

The scents of frying bacon, coffee, and hot cinnamon buns lured Bailey from her bed early the following morning. Daniel, looking like a country version of Keanu Reeves and smelling faintly of shaving lotion and new denim, was already at the dining room table. His hair was still damp from the shower, and Bailey had an almost irresistible urge to push back the single wayward lock that had fallen across his forehead.

“Are those new Levi's you're wearing?” Emma teased. “Wasn't certain I could pry you out of the old ones.”

Daniel grinned good-naturedly. His teeth were white and even, making his slightly crooked smile a killer. “The ones with holes in both knees are in the washer, Miss Emma. I'll wear them tomorrow just for you.” He glanced across the table at Bailey. “I hear that you'll be spending a few more days on Tawes. Any chance I could enlist your help in repairing the grape arbor today?”

“I'd appreciate it,” Emma said. “I've got to check my
crab traps this morning. And if I let him slip away, Lord knows when he'll get back to mending it. It looks like a good year for the Concords, and I don't want them spilling all over the ground.”

Bailey had the feeling that she'd been set up, but she couldn't think of a good excuse not to help. It wasn't as though she was on a schedule. She wasn't certain she wanted to spend time in close proximity to Daniel Catlin, and she wasn't sure she didn't. He was a damned attractive man, and she'd been living like a cloistered nun far too long. Sometimes, when she listened to the exploits of her fellow unattached teachers after a holiday weekend, she felt as though she'd been raised in a different century.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy sex. Hell, sex had always been the best thing she and Elliott had going for them, and the pleasure had lasted long after the flames of infatuation had died out. The fact was, except for one night on a forgettable cruise to the Bahamas, her ex was the only man she'd ever slept with. And the way her life had been going, that wasn't about to change anytime soon.

So what harm would it do to flirt a little with the resident carpenter? It wasn't as though she was about to take up residence on the island. A few days, a week, and she'd never see Tawes or Daniel again. What did she have to lose? She was already divorced and in her mid-thirties. Her biological clock wasn't simply ticking; the hour hand had already slipped past eight. If she didn't allow herself a little fun, pretty soon she'd be one of those bloodless, schoolmarm stereotypes.

“All right,” she agreed, “but I warn you: My fence-mending skills are right up there with my cow milking. Pretty nonexistent.”

“All I need is a pair of hands and a strong back.”

She glanced down at her hands, noticing that her nail polish could use a touchup. “Two hands, present and accounted for. I won't vouch for the strength of the back.”

“That's settled,” Emma said. “Now, eat up, so I can clear away these dishes and get to my day's work.”

And thus, quite easily, Bailey found herself drafted into the project and holding a cedar crosspiece in place while Daniel drove nails into the spot where the wood intersected with the post. He worked in silence, giving simple instructions with a minimal amount of words.

The sun was bright and drops of dew still sparkled on the grape leaves. Between the strikes of the hammer and the rasp of Daniel's handsaw, Bailey was captivated by the beauty of the early morning. To her left a panorama of bay stretched from horizon to horizon, the blue-gray water as smooth as a mirror, crowned by a cloudless robin's-egg-blue sky. Directly over her head, gnarled grapevines arched on a frame so seasoned by weather and time that it seemed almost part of the living branches. The salt breeze that blew off the water smelled as sweet and invigorating as fresh dark roast, and the drone of bees and the occasional
rat-tat-tat
of a woodpecker eased the tension in the back of her neck and lifted her spirits.

She felt sixteen again, full of giddy anticipation without knowing why. “Tawes really is a magical place, isn't it?”

“Mmm.” Daniel pulled a nail from the half dozen held between his lips, set it, and drove it home with sure, powerful strokes.

God, but he had nice shoulders. He didn't have the
bulky muscles of a gym jock, but his Hard Rock Café T-shirt left little to her imagination. It wasn't such a leap to consider what it might feel like to be held in those strong arms. “You were born here?” she asked in an attempt to divert her thoughts from damp sheets and heavy breathing.

He nodded. “Born and bred, as Tawes folk say.”

“So you know my great uncle?”

He removed the nails. “I suppose. As well as anybody.”

“Could you take me to meet him?”

“Nope.” Daniel tucked the nails back into his mouth.

It was the second time he'd turned her down, and the rejection stung. “I know I've already met him, but it wasn't under the best of circumstances. I really think I need to ask him some questions.”

Daniel turned away, sorted through several cedar lengths, and lifted one into place. He eyed it for length, then took it down and began to saw off about three inches.

Determined not to be put off, Bailey laid a hand on the handle of the saw. “Why not?”

His dark eyes hardened. “Because he's as apt to take a shot at you as not. He doesn't like visitors. Guards his property lines like a pit bull.”