Rising Tides (30 page)

Grace’s knees wobbled as she walked to them. The picture they made flashed into her mind, into her heart, where she knew it would imprint itself. The lanky man with big hands and a serious smile and the golden-bright child with a pink bow in her hair.

The sun poured over them as full and rich as the love that poured from her heart.

‘‘She’s been ready to come over since she opened her eyes this morning,’’ Grace began. ‘‘I thought we could come a little early and I’d give Anna a hand.’’ He was watching her so intently, so quietly, her nerves did a rapid dance under her skin. ‘‘There’s not much left to do, but—’’

She broke off because his arm had snaked out, wrapped around her fast and hard to pull her against him. She had time to draw in one startled breath before his mouth came down on hers. Rough and needy, it shot bolts of heat into her blood, sent her startled brain into a dizzying spin. Dimly she heard Aubrey’s happy squeal.

‘‘Kiss, Mama!’’

Oh, yes, Grace thought, sprinting to catch up to this frantic pace he’d set. Please. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

She thought she heard some sound from him, a sigh perhaps, that came from someplace too deep inside to make a sound. His lips softened. The hand that had clutched the back of her shirt like a man gripping his own life opened, stroked. This gentler, sweeter emotion that shimmered from him was no calmer than that first whip of greed; it only gilded the edges of the yearning he’d stirred.

She could smell him, heat and man. She could smell her daughter, powder and child. Her arms circled them both, instinctively making them a unit, holding there when the kiss ended and she could press her face into hisshoulder.

He’d never kissed her in front of anyone. She knew Cam had only been a few feet away when Ethan had taken hold of her. And Seth would have seen . . . and Anna.

What did it mean?

‘‘Kiss me!’’ Aubrey demanded, patting her hand against Ethan’s cheek and puckering up.

He obliged her, then nuzzled at her neck where it would tickle and make her laugh. Then he turned his head and brushed his lips over Grace’s hair. ‘‘I didn’t mean to grab you that way.’’

‘‘I was hoping you did,’’ she murmured. ‘‘It made me feel you’ve been thinking about me. Wanting me.’’

‘‘I’ve been thinking about you, Grace. I’ve been wanting you.’’

Because Aubrey was wiggling, he set her down and let her run off toward Seth and the dogs. ‘‘I meant I didn’t mean to be rough with you.’’

‘‘You weren’t. I’m not fragile, Ethan.’’

‘‘Yes, you are.’’ When he saw Aubrey fall on Foolish so they could wrestle in the grass, he looked back at Grace, into her eyes. ‘‘Delicate,’’ he said softly, ‘‘like the white china with pink roses we only use on Thanksgiving.’’

It made her heart flutter pleasantly that he would think so, even if she knew better. ‘‘Ethan—’’

‘‘I was always afraid I’d pick it up wrong, break it in half from being clumsy. I never really got used to it.’’

He skimmed his thumb lightly across her cheekbone, where the skin was warm and soft and silky. Then he dropped his hand to his side. ‘‘We’d better pitch in before Anna drives Cam over the edge.’’

G
RACE’S STOMACH CON
tinued to flutter with nervous delight even when she went about the chore of carting food from the kitchen out to the picnic table. She would catch herself stopping, a bowl or platter in hand, to watch Ethan drive the horseshoe stakes into the ground.

Look how his muscles ripple under his shirt. He’s so strong. Look at the way he shows Seth how to hold the hammer. He’s so patient. He’s wearing the jeans I washed just the other day. The cuffs have gone white and they’re starting to fray. There was sixty-three cents in the right front pocket.

See how Aubrey climbs up on his back. She knows she’ll be welcome. Yes, he reaches back, gives her a little hitch to secure her there, then goes back to work. He doesn’t mind when she steals his cap and tries to put it on her own head. His hair’s gotten long, and the ends glint in the sun when he shakes it back out of his eyes.

I hope he keeps forgetting to go to the barber for a while yet.

I wish I could touch it, right now. Make those thick, sun-bleached ends curl around my finger.

‘‘It’s a nice picture,’’ Anna murmured from behind her and made Grace jolt. With a quiet laugh, Anna set down the enormous bowl of pasta salad. ‘‘I do the same thing with Cam sometimes. Just stand and watch him. The Quinns are very watchable men.’’

‘‘I think I’m just going to take a quick glance, then I
can’t stop looking.’’ She grinned when Ethan rose, Aubrey still clinging to his back, and turned slow circles as iftrying to find her.

‘‘He has a wonderful, natural way with children,’’ Anna commented. ‘‘He’ll make a wonderful father.’’

Grace felt heat rise up into her cheeks. She’d been thinking the same thing. It was hard to believe that only a few weeks before she’d told her own mother she would never marry again. And now she was thinking, and wondering. And waiting.

It had been easy to put all thoughts of marriage aside when she hadn’t believed she could ever have a life with Ethan. She made a poor job of marriage before because her heart had belonged to someone other than her husband. That was her fault, and she accepted the responsibility for the failure.

But she could make marriage shine with Ethan, couldn’t she? They could build a home and a family and a future based on love and trust and honesty.

He wouldn’t move quickly, she mused. It wasn’t his way. But he loved her. She understood Ethan well enough to know that marriage would be the next step.

She was already poised to take it.

T
HE SMELL OF BURGERS
smoking on the grill, the yeasty tang of beer pumped from a cold keg. The sounds of children laughing and adult voices lifted in bright conversation or lowered in juicygossip. The low roar of a boat zipping over the water, with the thrilled shouts of its teenage occupants, the metallic clang of a horseshoe striking home.

There were scents and sounds and sights. There was the snappy red, white, and blue of the cloths covering the tables that were crowded with bowls and plates and platters and casseroles.

Mrs. Cutter’s cherry pie. The Wilsons’ shrimp salad. What was left of the bushel of corn the Crawfords had brought along. Jell-O molds and fruit salad, fried chicken and early vine tomatoes. People were spread out and gathered. On chairs, on the lawn, down at the dock, and on the porch.

Several men stood with hands on hips, watching the horseshoe match, their faces sober in the way men had when they kibitzed a sporting event. Babies napped in carriers or willing arms while others wailed for attention. The young splashed and swam in the cool water, and the old fanned themselves in the shade.

The sky was clear, the heat immense.

Grace watched Foolish nosing along the ground in search of dropped food. He’d found plenty, and sheimagined he’d be sick as a—well, a dog—before the day was over.

She hoped it was never over.

She waded into the water, gripping Aubrey firmly despite the colorful floats wrapped around her arms. She dipped her daughter down, laughing when Aubrey’s little legs began to kick with delight.

‘‘In, in, in!’’ Aubrey demanded.

‘‘Honey, I didn’t bring my bathing suit.’’ But she eased out a little more, until the water lapped at her knees, so she could let Aubrey splash.

‘‘Grace! Grace! Watch this!’’

Obliging, Grace squinted against the sun and watched Seth take a running leap off the dock, tucking knees,wrapping arms, and hitting the water like a bomb so that it shot it up in a glittering fountain. And all over her.

‘‘Cannonball,’’ he announced proudly when he surfaced. Then he grinned. ‘‘Gee, you got all wet.’’

‘‘Seth, take me.’’ Straining, Aubrey held out her arms. ‘‘Take me.’’

‘‘Can’t, Aub. Got bombs to blow.’’ When he swam off to join the other boys, Aubrey began to sniffle.

‘‘He’ll come back and play later,’’ Grace assured her.

‘‘Now!’’

‘‘Soon.’’ To ward off what Grace knew could turn into a fine temper, she tossed Aubrey up, catching her as she hit the water. She let her paddle and splash, then let her go, biting her lip as Aubrey reveled in the freedom.

‘‘Swimming, Mama.’’

‘‘I see that, baby. You’re a good swimmer. But you stay close.’’

As Grace expected, the sun and water and excitement combined to tire the child out. When Aubrey blinked and widened her eyes as she did when she fought sleep, Grace drew her in. ‘‘Let’s get a drink, Aubrey.’’

‘‘Swimming.’’

‘‘We’ll swim some more. I’m thirsty.’’ Grace lifted her, braced for the minor battle that was bound to come.

‘‘What you got there, Grace, a mermaid?’’

Mother and daughter looked up onto the wet slope and saw Ethan.

‘‘She sure is pretty,’’ he said, smiling into Aubrey’s mutinous face. ‘‘Can I have her?’’

‘‘I don’t know. Maybe.’’ She leaned close to Aubrey’s ear. ‘‘He thinks you’re a mermaid.’’

Aubrey’s lip trembled, but she’d nearly forgotten why she’d wanted to cry. ‘‘Like Ariel?’’

‘‘Yes, like Ariel in the movie.’’ She started to climb out, then Ethan’s hand was there, clasping hers firmly. And when she gained her balance, he plucked Aubrey out of her arms.

‘‘Swimming,’’ she told him, rather pitifully, then buried her face in the curve of his throat.

‘‘I saw you swimming.’’ She was cool and wet and curled against him. He reached out, took Grace’s hand again and pulled her to level ground. This time, his fingers twined with hers and held. ‘‘Looks like I’ve got two mermaids now.’’

‘‘She’s tired,’’ Grace said quietly. ‘‘It makes her cross
sometimes. She’s wet,’’ she added and started to take Aubrey from him.

‘‘She’s fine.’’ He released her hand only because he wanted to skim his over Grace’s damp and shining hair. ‘‘You’re wet, too.’’ Then he slipped an arm around her shoulders. ‘‘Let’s walk in the sun for a while.’’

‘‘All right.’’

‘‘Maybe around the front of the house,’’ he suggested, smiling a little as Aubrey’s breath fluttered against his skin, evening out into sleep. ‘‘Where there aren’t so many people.’’

With surprise and a low surge of pleasure, Carol Monroe watched Ethan take her daughter and granddaughter walking. With a woman’s eyes she saw more than aneighbor and friend strolling with a neighbor and friend. Impulsively, she tugged on her husband’s arm, distracting him from his absorption in the current round of horseshoes.

‘‘Hold on, Carol. Junior and I are playing the winners of this round.’’

‘‘Look, Pete. Look at that. Grace is with Ethan.’’

Vaguely annoyed, he flicked a glance around, shrugged. ‘‘So what?’’

‘‘
With
him, Pete, you knothead.’’ It was said with exasperation and affection. ‘‘Like a boyfriend.’’

‘‘Boyfriend?’’ He snorted, started to dismiss it—Christ knew, Carol had the screwiest ideas from time to time. Like when she was all het up to take a cruise down to the Bahamas. As if he couldn’t take a sail any damn time of the day or night right in his own backyard. But then he caught—something—in the way Ethan leaned his body toward Grace, the way she tilted her head up.

It made Pete shift his feet, scowl, look away. ‘‘ Boyfriend,’’ he muttered, and didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to feel about that. He didn’t poke his nose in his daughter’s life, he reminded himself. She’d already gone her own way.

He scowled hard into the sun because he remembered
what it had been like to have his little girl rest her head on his shoulder the way Aubrey was doing right then and there with Ethan Quinn.

When they were little like that, he thought, they trusted you and looked up to you and believed what you told them even if you told them thunder was just angels clapping.

When they got older they started to tug away. And to want things that didn’t make a damn bit of sense. Like money to live in New York City, and your blessing to marry some sneaky bastard who wasn’t half good enough for them.

They stopped thinking you were the man with the answers, and they broke your damn heart. So you had to put it back together as best you could, with a lock on it so it couldn’t happen again.

‘‘Ethan’s just what Grace needs,’’ Carol was saying in a low voice—just in case any of the fuddy-duddies, who thought tossing a horseshoe at an iron peg was an exciting way to spend the day, had sharp ears. ‘‘That’s a steady man, and he’s got gentleness in him. He’s a man she could lean on.’’

‘‘Won’t.’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘She won’t lean on nobody. She’s too proud for her own good, and always has been.’’

Carol merely sighed. If it was true, Grace had gotten every stubborn ounce of that pride from her father. ‘‘You’ve never even tried to meet her halfway.’’

‘‘Don’t you start on me, Carol. I’ve got nothing to say.’’ He shifted away from her, ignoring the guilt because he knew the gesture would hurt her. ‘‘I want a beer,’’ he muttered and stalked away.

Phillip Quinn and some of the others were gathered around the keg. Pete noted with an amused snort thatPhillip was flirting with the Barrow girl, Celia. He couldn’t blame the boy—she was built like a Playboy pinup and not afraid to show it off. It wasn’t something a man
stopped noticing even if he was old enough to be her father.