FOUR
SHE MADE UP her mind quickly as well, Dru thought as she backed out of the pub’s lot. And she had Seth Quinn pegged.
A confident man, and a talented one. Each aspect probably fed into the other. The fact that his rough edges managed to have a sheen of polish was intriguing, something she was certain he knew very well.
And used very well.
He was attractive. The lean, lanky build that looked as though it had been designed to wear those worn-out jeans. All that burnished blond hair, straight as a pin and never quite styled. The hollowed cheeks, the vivid blue eyes. Not just vivid in color, she thought now. In intensity. The way he looked at you, as if he saw something no one else could see. Something you couldn’t see yourself.
It managed to be flattering, jolting and just a bit off-putting all at once.
It made you wonder about him. And if you were wondering about a man, you were thinking about him.
Women, she concluded, were like paints on a palette to him. He could dab into any one of them at his whim. The way he’d been snuggled up with the blonde in the bar—a little play she’d noted the instant she herself had walked in—was a case in point.
Then there’d been the way he’d smiled at the waitress, the terminally foolish Terri. Wide, warm and friendly, with just a hint of intimacy. Very potent, that smile, Dru mused, but it wasn’t going to work on her.
Men who bounced from woman to woman because they could were entirely too ordinary for her tastes.
Yet here she was, she admitted, driving back to the shop to show him the second-floor apartment when what she really wanted to do was go home to her lovely, quiet house.
It was the sensible thing to do, of course. There was no point in the space staying empty. But it galled that he’d assumed she’d take the time and trouble simply because he wanted her to.
There was no problem finding a parking space now. It was barely nine on a cool spring evening, but the waterfront was all but deserted. A few boats moored, swaying in the current, a scatter of people, most likely tourists, strolling under the light of a quarter moon.
Oh, how she loved the waterfront. She’d nearly howled with glee when she’d been able to snag the building for her shop, knowing she’d be able to step outside any time of the day and see the water, the crabbers, the tourists. To feel that moist air on her skin.
Even more, to feel part of it all, on her own merits, her own terms.
It would have been smarter, more sensible again, to have taken the room above for her own living quarters. But she’d made the conscious and deliberate decision not to live where she worked. Which, Dru admitted as she swung away from Market to drive to the rear of her building, had been a handy excuse to find a place out of the town bustle, someplace on the water again. An indulgent space all her own.
The house in Georgetown had never felt all her own.
She killed the lights, the engine, then gathered her purse. Seth was there, opening her door, before she could do it for herself.
“It’s pretty dark. Watch your step.” He took her arm, started to steer her to the wooden staircase that led to the second level.
“I can see fine, thanks.” She eased away from him, then opened her bag for the keys. “There’s parking,” she began. “And a private entrance, as you see.”
“Yeah, I see fine, too. Listen.” Halfway up the stairs, he laid a hand on her arm to stop her. “Just listen,” he said again and looked out over the houses that lined the road behind them. “It’s great, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t stop the smile. She understood him perfectly. And it was great, that silence.
“It won’t be this quiet in a few weeks.” He scanned the dark, the houses, the lawns. And again she thought he saw what others didn’t. “Starting with Memorial Day the tourists and the summer people pour in. Nights get longer, warmer, and people hang out. That can be great, too, all that noise. Holiday noise. The kind you hear when you’ve got an ice cream cone in your hand and no time clock ticking away in your head.”
He turned, aimed those strong blue eyes at her. She could have sworn she felt a jolt from them that was elementally physical.
“You like ice cream cones?” he asked her.
“There’d be something wrong with me if I didn’t.” She moved quickly up the rest of the steps.
“Nothing wrong with you,” he murmured, and stood with his thumbs tucked in his front pockets while she unlocked the door.
She flicked a switch on the wall to turn on the lights, then deliberately left the door open at his back when he stepped in.
She saw immediately she needn’t have bothered. He wasn’t giving her a thought now.
He crossed to the front windows first, stood there looking out in that hip-shot stance that managed to be both relaxed and attentive. And sexy, she decided.
He wore a pair of ragged jeans with more style than a great many men managed to achieve in a five-thousand-dollar suit.
There were paint flecks on his shoes.
She blinked, tuning back in to the moment when he began to mutter.
“Excuse me?”
“What? Oh, just calculating the light—sun, angles. Stuff.” He crossed back to the rear windows, stood as he had at the front. Muttered as he had at the front.
Talked to himself, Dru noted. Well, it wasn’t so odd, really. She held entire conversations with herself in her head.
“The kitchen—” Dru began.
“Doesn’t matter.” Frowning, he stared up at the ceiling, his gaze so intense and focused she found herself staring up with him.
After a few seconds of standing there, silent, staring up, she felt ridiculous. “Is there a problem with the ceiling? I was assured the roof was sound, and I know it doesn’t leak.”
“Uh-huh. Any objection to skylights—put in at my expense?”
“I . . . well, I don’t know. I suppose—”
“It would work.”
He wandered the room again, placing his canvases, his paints, his easel, a worktable for sketching, shelves for supplies and equipment. Have to put in a sofa, or a bed, he thought. Better a bed in case he worked late enough to just flop down for the night.
“It’s a good space,” he said at length. “With the skylights, it’ll work. I’ll take it.”
She reminded herself that she hadn’t actually agreed to the skylights. But then again, she couldn’t find any reason to object to them. “That was quick, as advertised. Don’t you want to see the kitchen, the bathroom?”
“They got everything kitchens and bathrooms are supposed to have?”
“Yes. No tub, just a shower stall.”
“I’m not planning on taking too many bubble baths.” He moved back to the front windows again. “Prime view.”
“Yes, it’s very nice. Not that it’s any of my business, but I assume you have any number of places you can stay while you’re here. Why do you need an apartment?”
“I don’t want to live here, I want to work here. I need studio space.” He turned back. “I’m bunking at Cam and Anna’s, and that suits me. I’ll get a place of my own eventually, but not until I find exactly what I want. Because I’m not visiting Saint Chris. I’m back for good.”
“I see. Well, studio space then. Which explains the skylights.”
“I’m a better bet than Terri,” he said because he felt her hesitation. “No loud parties or shouting matches, which she’s famous for. And I’m handy.”
“Are you?”
“Hauling, lifting, basic maintenance. I won’t come crying to you every time the faucet drips.”
“Points for you,” she murmured.
“How many do I need? I really want the space. I need to get back to work. What do you say to a six-month lease?”
“Six months. I’d planned on a full year at a time.”
“Six months gives us both an early out if it’s not jelling.”
She pursed her lips in consideration. “There is that.”
“How much are you asking?”
She gave him the monthly rate she’d settled on. “I’ll want first and last month’s rent when you sign the lease. And another month’s rent as security deposit.”
“Ouch. Very strict.”
Now she smiled. “Terri annoyed me. You get to pay the price.”
“Won’t be the first time she’s cost me. I’ll have it for you tomorrow. I’ve got a family thing on Sunday, and I have to order the skylights, but I’d like to start moving things in right away.”
“That’s fine.” She liked the idea of him painting over her shop, of knowing the building that was hers was fulfilling its potential. “Congratulations,” she said and offered a hand. “You’ve got yourself a studio.”
“Thanks.” He took her hand, held it. Ringless, he thought again. Long, faerie fingers and unpainted nails. “Given any thought to posing for me?”
“No.”
His grin flashed at her flat, precise answer. “I’ll talk you into it.”
“I’m not easily swayed. Let’s clear this all up before we start on what should be a mutually satisfying business relationship.”
“Okay, let’s. You have a strong, beautiful face. As an artist, as a man, I’m drawn to the qualities of strength and beauty. The artist wants to translate them. The man wants to enjoy them. So, I’d like to paint you, and I’d like to spend time with you.”
Despite the breeze that danced through the open door, she felt entirely too alone with him. Alone, and boxed in by the way he held her hand, held her gaze.
“I’m sure you’ve had your quota of women to translate and enjoy. Such as the buxom blonde in black you were cozied up with at the bar.”
“Who. . . ?”
Humor exploded on his face. It was, Dru thought, like light bursting through shadows.
“Buxom Blonde in Black,” he repeated, seeing it as a title. “Jesus, she’ll love that. There’ll be no living with her. That was Aubrey. Aubrey Quinn. My brother Ethan’s oldest daughter.”
“I see.” And it made her feel like an idiot. “It didn’t seem to be a particularly avuncular relationship.”
“I don’t feel like her uncle. It’s more a big-brother thing. She was two when I came to Saint Chris. We fell for each other. Aubrey’s the first person I ever loved, absolutely. She’s got strength and beauty, too, and I’ve certainly translated and enjoyed them. But not in quite the same way I’d like to do with yours.”
“Then you’re going to be disappointed. Even if I were interested, I don’t have the time to pose, and I don’t have the inclination to be enjoyed. You’re very attractive, Seth, and if I were going to be shallow—”
“Yeah.” Another brilliant, flashing grin. “Let’s be shallow.”
“Sorry.” But he’d teased a smile out of her again. “I gave it up. If I were going to be, I might enjoy you. But as it stands, we’re going to settle for the practical.”
“We can start there. Now, since you asked me a question earlier, I get to ask you one.”
“All right, what?”
He saw by the way her face turned closed-in and wary that she was braced for something personal she wouldn’t care to answer. So he shifted gears. “Do you like steamed crabs?”
She stared at him for nearly ten seconds and gave him the pleasure of watching her face relax. “Yes, I like steamed crabs.”
“Good. We’ll have some on our first date. I’ll be by in the morning to sign the lease,” he added as he walked to the open door.
“The morning’s fine.”
He looked down as she leaned over to lock the door behind them. Her neck was long, elegant. The contrast between it and the severe cut of the dark hair was sharp and dramatic. Without thinking, he skimmed a finger along the curve, just to sample the texture.
She froze, so that for one instant they made a portrait of themselves. The woman in the rich-colored suit, slightly bent toward a closed door, and the man in rough clothes with a fingertip at the nape of her neck.
She straightened with a quick jerk of movement, and Seth let his hand drop away. “Sorry, irritating habit of mine.”
“Do you have many?”
“Yeah, afraid so. That one wasn’t anything personal. You’ve got a really nice line back there.” He stuck his hands in his pockets so it wouldn’t become personal. Not yet.
“I’m an expert on lines, nice or otherwise.” She breezed by him and down the steps.
“Hey.” He jogged after her. “I’ve got better lines than that one.”
“I’ll just bet you do.”
“I’ll try some out on you. But in the meantime . . .” He opened her car door. “Is there any storage space?”
“Utility room. There.” She gestured toward a door under the steps. “Furnace and water heater, that sort of thing. And some storage.”
“If I need to, can I stick some stuff in there until I get the space worked out? I’ve got some things coming in from Rome. They’ll probably be here Monday.”
“I don’t have a problem with that. The key’s inside the shop. Remind me to give it to you tomorrow.”
“Appreciate it.” He closed the door for her when she’d climbed in, then he knocked on the window. “You know,” he said when she rolled down the window, “I like spending time with a smart, self-confident woman who knows what she wants and goes out and gets it. Like you got this place. Very sexy, that kind of direction and dedication.”
He waited a beat. “That was a line.”
She kept her eyes on his as she rolled the glass up between their faces again.
And she didn’t let herself chuckle until she’d driven away.
THE best thing about Sundays, in Dru’s opinion, was waking up slowly, then clinging to that half-dream state while the sunlight shivered through the trees, slid through the windows and danced on her closed lids.
Sundays were knowing absolutely nothing had to be done, and countless things could be.
She’d make coffee and toast a bagel in her own kitchen, then have her breakfast in the little dining room while she leafed through catalogues for business.
She’d putter around the garden she’d planted—with her own hands, thank you—while listening to music.
There was no charity luncheon, no community drive, no obligatory family dinner or tennis match at the club cluttering up her Sundays now.
There was no marital spat between her parents to referee, and no hurt feelings and sorrowful looks because each felt she’d taken the side of the other.
All there was, was Sunday and her lazy enjoyment of it.
In all the months she’d lived here, she’d never once taken that for granted. Nor had she lost a drop of the flood of pleasure it gave her to stand and look out her own windows.
She did so now, opening the window to the cool morning. From there she could admire her own private curve of the river. There were no houses to get in the way and make her think of people when she only wanted to be.
There was the speckled leaves of the liverwort she’d planted under the shade of oaks, its buds a cheery pink. And lily of the valley, with its bells already dancing. And there, the marsh grass and rushes with the little clearing she’d made for the golden-yellow iris that liked their feet wet.
She could hear the birds, the breeze, the occasional plop of a fish or a frog.
Forgetting breakfast, she wandered through the house to the front door so she could stand on the veranda and just look. She wore the boxers and tank she’d slept in, and there was no one to comment on the senator’s granddaughter’s dishabille. No reporter or photographer looking for a squib for the society page.
There was only lovely, lovely peace.
She picked up her watering can and carried it inside to fill while she started the coffee.
Seth Quinn had been right about one thing, she thought. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and went out and got it. Perhaps it had taken her some time to realize what that thing was, but when she had, she’d done what needed to be done.
She’d wanted to run a business where she could feel creative and happy. And she’d been determined to be successful, in her own right. She’d toyed with the idea of a small nursery or gardening service.
But she wasn’t fully confident in her skills there. Her gardening ventures had been largely confined to her little courtyard in Georgetown, and potted plants. And while she’d been very proud of her efforts there and delighted with the results, it hardly qualified her as an expert.
But she knew flowers.
She’d wanted a small town, where the pace was easy and the demands few. And she’d wanted the water. She’d always been pulled to the water.
She loved the look of St. Christopher, the cheerful tidiness of it, and the ever changing tones and moods of the Bay. She liked listening to the clang from the channel markers, and the throaty call of a foghorn when the mists rolled in.
She’d grown accustomed to and nearly comfortable with the casual friendliness of the locals. And the goodheartedness that had sent Ethan Quinn over to check on her during a storm the previous winter.
No, she’d never live in the city again.
Her parents would have to continue to adjust to the distance she’d put between them. Geographically and emotionally. In the end, she was certain it was best for everyone involved.
And just now, however selfish it might be, she was more concerned with what was best for Drusilla.
She turned off the tap and, after sampling the coffee, carried it and the watering can outside to tend to her pots.
Eventually, she thought, she would add a greenhouse so that she could experiment with growing her own flowers to sell. But she’d have to be convinced she could add the structure without spoiling the fanciful lines of her home.
She loved its peaks and foolishly ornate gingerbread trim. Most would consider it a kind of folly, with its fancywork and deep blue color out here among the thickets and marsh. But to her it was a statement.
Home could be exactly where you needed, exactly what you needed it to be, if you wanted it enough.
She set her coffee down on a table and drenched a jardiniere bursting with verbena and heliotrope.
At a rustle, she looked over. And watched a heron rise like a king over the high grass, over the brown water.
“I’m happy,” she said out loud. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
She decided to forgo the bagel and catalogues and changed into gardening clothes instead.
For an hour she worked on the sunny side of the house where she was determined to establish a combination of shrubbery and flower bed. The bloodred blooms of the rhododendrons she’d planted the week before would be a strong contrast to the blue of the house once they burst free. She’d spent every evening for a month over the winter planning her flowers. She wanted to keep it simple and a little wild, like a mad cottage garden with columbine and delphiniums and sweet-faced wallflowers all tumbled together.
There were all kinds of art, she thought smugly as she planted fragrant stock. She imagined Seth would approve of her choices of tone and texture here.
Not that it mattered, of course. The garden was to please herself. But it was satisfying to think an artist might find her efforts creative.
He certainly hadn’t had much to say for himself the day before, she remembered. He’d whipped in just after she opened the doors, handed over the agreed amount, looped his signature on the lease, snatched up the keys, then bolted.
No flirtation, no persuasive smile.
Which was all for the best, she reminded herself. She didn’t want flirtations and persuasions right at the moment.
Still, it would have been nice, on some level, to imagine holding the option for them in reserve.
He’d probably had a Saturday-morning date with one of the women who’d pined for him while he’d been gone. He looked like the type women might pine for. All that scruffy hair, the lanky build.
And the hands. How could you not notice his hands—wide of palm, long of finger. With a rough elegance to them that made a woman—some women, she corrected—fantasize about being stroked by them.
Dru sat back on her heels with a sigh because she knew she’d given just that scenario more than one passing thought. Only because it’s the first man you’ve been attracted to in . . . God, who knew how long?
She hadn’t so much as had a date in nearly a year.
Her choice, she reminded herself. And she wasn’t going to change her mind and end up with Seth Quinn and steamed crabs.
She would just go on as she was, making her home, running her business while he went about his and painted over her head every day.
She’d get used to him being up there, then she’d stop noticing he was up there. When the lease was up, they’d see if . . .
“Damn it. The key to the utility room.”
She’d forgotten to give it to him. Well, he’d forgotten to remind her to give it to him.
Not my problem, she thought and yanked at a stray weed. He’s the one who wanted to use the storage, and if he hadn’t been in such a hurry to go, she would’ve remembered to give him the key.
She planted cranesbill, added some larkspur. Then, cursing, pushed to her feet.
It would nag at her all day. She’d obsess, she admitted as she stalked around the house. She’d worry and wonder about whatever it was he had coming in from Rome the next day. Easier by far to take the duplicate she had here at home, drive over to Anna Quinn’s and drop it off.
It wouldn’t take more than twenty minutes, and she could go by the nursery while she was out.
She left her gardening gloves and tools in a basket on the veranda.
SETH grabbed the line Ethan tossed him and secured the wooden boat to the dock. The kids leaped out first. Emily with her long dancer’s body and sunflower hair, and Deke, gangly as a puppy at fourteen.
Seth caught Deke in a headlock and looked at Emily. “You weren’t supposed to grow up while I was gone.”
“Couldn’t help it.” She laid her cheek on his, rubbed it there. “Welcome home.”
“When do we eat?” Deke wanted to know.
“Guy’s got a tapeworm.” Aubrey leaped nimbly onto the dock. “He ate damn near half a loaf of French bread five minutes ago.”
“I’m a growing boy,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m going to charm Anna out of something.”
“He actually thinks he’s charming,” Emily said with a shake of her head. “It’s a mystery.”
The Chesapeake Bay retriever Ethan called Nigel landed in the water with a happy splash, then bounded up onshore to run after Deke.
“Give me a hand with this, Em, since the jerk’s off and running.” Aubrey grabbed one end of the cooler Ethan had set on the dock. “Mom may water up,” she said to Seth under her breath. “She’s really anxious to see you.”
Seth stepped to the boat, held out his hand and closed it around Grace’s. If Aubrey had been the first person he’d loved, Grace had been the first woman he’d both loved and trusted.
Her arms slid around him as she stepped on the dock, and her cheek rubbed his with that same female sweetness as Emily’s had. “There now,” she said quietly, on a laughing sigh. “There now, that feels just exactly right. Now everything’s where it belongs.”
She leaned back, smiled up at him. “Thank you for the tulips. They’re beautiful. I’m sorry I wasn’t home.”
“So was I. I figured I’d trade them for some of your homemade fries. You still make the best.”
“Come to dinner tomorrow. I’ll fix some for you.”
“With sloppy joes?”
She laughed again, reached back with one hand to take Ethan’s. “Well, that hasn’t changed, has it? With sloppy joes. Deke will be thrilled.”
“And chocolate cake?”
“Guy expects a lot for a bunch of flowers,” Ethan commented.
“At least I didn’t swipe them from Anna’s garden, then try to blame it on innocent deer and bunny rabbits.”
Ethan winced, sent a wary look toward the house to make certain Anna wasn’t within hearing distance. “Let’s not bring that up again. Damn near twenty years ago, and she’d still scalp me for it.”
“I heard you got them from the very pretty florist on Market Street.” Grace tucked her arm around Seth’s waist as they walked toward the house. “And that you’ve rented the place above the shop for a studio.”
“Word travels.”
“Fast and wide,” Grace agreed. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”
“Nothing to tell, yet. But I’m working on it.”
SHE was running behind now, and it was her own fault. There was no reason, no sane reason she’d felt compelled to shower, to change out of her grubby gardening clothes. Certainly no reason, she thought, irritated with herself, to have spent time on her precious Sunday fussing with makeup.
Now it was past noon.
Didn’t matter, she told herself. It was a lovely day for a drive. She’d spend two minutes on Seth Quinn and the key, then indulge herself at the nursery.
Of course now she’d have to change back into her gardening clothes, but that was neither here nor there. She’d plant, then make fresh lemonade and sit and bask in the glow of a job well done.
Feel the air! Brisk with spring, moist from the water. The fields on either side of the road were tilled and planted, and already running green in the rows. She could smell the sharp edge of fertilizer, the richer tones of earth that meant spring in the country.
She made the turn, caught the glint of the sun off the mudflats before the trees took over with their deep shadows.
The old white house was perfect for its setting. Edged by woods, with water hemming its back, and the tidy, flower-decked lawn skirting its front. She’d admired it before, the way it sat there, so cozy and comfortable with its front porch rockers and faded blue shutters.
While she felt the whimsy and the privacy of her own home suited her perfectly, she could admire the character of the Quinn place. It gave a sense of order without regimentation. The kind of home, she reflected, where feet were allowed to prop on coffee tables.
No one would have dreamed to rest a heel on her mother’s Louis XIV. Not even her father.
The number of cars in the drive made her frown. A white Corvette—vintage, she assumed—a sturdy SUV of some sort that appeared to have some hard miles on it. A snappy little convertible, a dented, disreputable-looking hatchback that had to be twenty years old, a manly pickup truck and a sleek and muscular Jaguar.
She hesitated, then mentally assigned the vehicles. The SUV was the family car. The ’Vette was undoubtedly former race-car driver Cameron Quinn’s—as would be the truck as work vehicle, giving Anna the convertible and the old hand-me-down to the oldest boy, who must be old enough to drive.
The Jag was Seth’s. She’d noticed it, with some admiration, the night before. And if she hadn’t, she’d heard all about his recent acquisition from chatting customers in her shop.
She nosed up behind it.
Two minutes, she reminded herself, and grabbed her purse as she turned off the engine.
Instantly, she heard the blast of music. The teenagers, she figured as she started toward the front door, her steps unconsciously timed to the beat of Matchbox 20.
She admired the pots and tubs of flowers on the porch. Anna, she knew, had a clever hand for mixing flowers. She knocked briskly, then bumped it up to a pound before she sighed.
No one was going to hear her over the music, even if she used a battering ram.
Resigned, she stepped off the porch and started toward the side of the house. She heard more than music now. There were shouts, squeals and what she could only describe as maniacal laughter.
The kids must be having a party. She’d just go back, pass off the key to one of Anna’s boys and be on her way.
The dog came first, a cannonball of black fur with a lolling tongue. He had a bark like a machine gun, and though she was very fond of dogs, Dru stopped on a dime.
“Hi there. Ah, nice dog.”
He seemed to take that as an invitation to race two wild circles around her, then press his nose to her crotch.
“Okay.” She put a firm hand under his jaw, lifted it. “That’s just a little too friendly.” She gave him a quick rub, then a nudge, and managed one more step before the boy streaked screaming around the side of the house. Though he held a large plastic weapon in his hand, he was in full retreat.
He managed to veer around her. “Better run,” he puffed out, an instant before she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye.
An instant before she was shot dead in the heart, by a stream of cold water.
The shock was so great that her mouth dropped open but she couldn’t manage a sound. Just behind her the boy murmured, “Uh-oh.”
And deserted the field.
Seth, the water rifle in his hand, his hair dripping from the previous attack, took one look at Dru. “Oh, shit.”
Helpless, Dru looked down. Her crisp red shirt and navy pants were soaked. The splatter had managed to reach her face, making the time she’d spent fiddling with it a complete waste.
She lifted her gaze, one that turned from stunned to searing when she noted that Seth looked very much like a man struggling not to laugh.
“Are you crazy?”
“Sorry. Really.” He swallowed hard, knowing the laugh fighting to burst out of his throat would damn him. “Sorry,” he managed as he walked to her. “I was after Jake—little bastard nailed me. You got caught in the cross fire.” He tried a charming smile, dug a bandanna out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Which proves there are no innocent bystanders in war.”
“Which proves,” she said between her teeth, “that some men are idiots who can’t be trusted with a child’s toy.”
“Hey, hey, this is a Super Soaker 5000.” He lifted the water gun but, catching the gleam in her eyes, hastily lowered it again. “Anyway, I’m really sorry. How about a beer?”
“You can take your beer and your Super Soaker 5000 and—”
“Seth!” Anna rushed around the house, then let out a huge sigh. “You moron.”
“Jake,” he said under his breath and vowed revenge. “Anna, we were just—”
“Quiet.” She jabbed a finger at him, then draped an arm around Dru’s shoulder. “I apologize for the idiot children. You poor thing. We’ll get you inside and into some dry clothes.”
“No, really, I’ll just—”
“I insist,” Anna interrupted, herding her toward the front of the house. “What a greeting. I’d say things aren’t usually so crazy around here, but I’d be lying.”
Keeping a firm hand on Dru—Anna knew when someone was poised for escape—she guided her into the house and up the stairs.
“It’s a little crazier today as the whole gang’s here. A welcome-home for Seth. The guys are about to boil up some crabs. You’ll stay.”
“I couldn’t intrude.” Her temper was rapidly sliding toward embarrassment. “I just stopped by to drop off the utility-room key for Seth. I really should—”
“Have some dry clothes, some food, some wine,” Anna said warmly. “Kevin’s jeans ought to work.” She pulled a blue cotton shirt out of her own closet. “I’ll just see if I can find a pair in the black hole of his room.”
“It’s just a little water. You should be down with your family. I should go.”
“Honey, you’re soaked and you’re shivering. Now get out of those wet things. We’ll toss them in the dryer while we eat. I’ll just be a minute.”
With this, she strode out and left Dru alone in the bedroom.
The woman hadn’t seemed so . . . formidable, Dru decided, on her visits to the flower shop. She wondered if anyone ever won an argument with her.
But the truth was, she was chilled. Giving up, she stripped off the wet shirt, gave a little sigh and took off the equally wet bra. She was just buttoning up when Anna came back in.
“Success.” She offered Dru a pair of Levi’s. “Shirt okay?”
“Yes, it’s fine. Thank you.”
“Just bring your wet things down to the kitchen when you’re ready.” She started out again, then turned back. “And, Dru? Welcome to bedlam.”
Close enough, Dru thought. She could hear the shouts and laughter, the blast of music through the open window. It seemed to her half of St. Christopher must be partying in the Quinns’ backyard.
But when she snuck a peek out, she realized the noise was generated by the Quinns all by themselves. There were teenagers of varying sizes and sexes running around, and two, no three dogs. Make that four, she noted as an enormous retriever bounded out of the water and raced over the lawn to shake drops on as many people as possible.
The young boy Seth had been chasing was doing precisely the same thing. Obviously, Seth had managed to catch up with him.
Boats were tied to the dock—which explained, she supposed, why the number of cars in the drive didn’t match the number of picnickers.
The Quinns sailed.
They were also loud, wet and messy. The scene below was nothing like any of her parents’ outdoor social events or family gatherings. The music would have been classical, and muted. The conversations would have been calm and ordered. And the tables would have been meticulously set with some sort of clever theme.
Her mother was brilliant with themes, and dictated her precise wishes to the caterer, who knew how to deliver.
She wasn’t certain she knew how to socialize, even briefly, in the middle of this sort of chaos. But she could hardly do otherwise without being rude.
She changed into the Levi’s. The boy—Kevin, she thought Anna had said—was tall. She had to roll up the legs a couple of times into frayed cuffs.
She glanced in the pretty wood-framed mirror over the bureau and, sighing, took a tissue to deal with the mascara smudges under her eyes caused by her unexpected shower.
She gathered the rest of her wet things and started downstairs.
There was a piano in the living room. It looked ancient and well used. The red lilies she’d sold Seth stood in a cut-crystal vase atop it, and spilled their fragrance into the air.
The sofa appeared new, the rug old. It was, Dru thought, very much a family room, with cheerful colors, cozy cushions, a few stray dog hairs and the female touches of the flowers and candles. Snapshots were scattered here and there, all in different frames. There had been no attempt at coordination, and that was the charm of it, she decided.
There were paintings—waterscapes, cityscapes, still lifes—that she was certain were Seth’s. But it was a lovely little pencil sketch that drew her over.
It was the rambling white house, flanked by woods, trimmed by water. It said, with absolute simplicity: This is home. And it touched a chord in her that made her yearn.
Stepping closer, she studied the careful signature in the bottom corner. Such a careful signature, she recognized it as a child’s even before she read the date printed beneath.
He’d drawn it when he was a child, she realized. Just a little boy making a picture of his home—and already recognizing its value, already talented and insightful enough to translate that value, that warmth and stability with his pencil.
Helplessly, her heart softened toward him. He might be an idiot with an oversized water pistol, but he was a good man. If art reflected the artist, he was a very special man.
She followed the sound of voices back into the kitchen. This, she recognized immediately, was another family center, one captained by a female who took cooking seriously. The long counters were a pristine white making a bright, happy contrast to the candy-apple-red trim. They were covered with platters and bowls of food.
Seth stood with his arm around Anna’s shoulders. Their heads were close together, and though she continued to unwrap a bowl, there was a unity in their stance.
Love. Dru could feel the flow of it from across the room, the simple, strong, steady flow of it. The din might have continued from outside, people might have winged in and out the back door, but the two of them made a little island of affection.
She’d always been attracted to that kind of connection, and found herself smiling at them before the woman—that would be Grace—backed out of the enormous refrigerator with yet another platter in hand.
“Oh, Dru. Here, let me take those.”
Grace set the bowl aside; Anna and Seth turned. And Dru’s smile dimmed into politeness.
Her heart might have softened toward the artist, but she wasn’t about to let the idiot off the hook too easily.
“Thanks. They’re only damp really. The shirt got the worst of it.”
“I got the worst of it.” Seth tipped his head toward Anna before he stepped forward. “Sorry. Really. I don’t know how I mistook you for a thirteen-year-old boy.”
The stare she aimed at him could have frozen a pond at ten paces. “Why don’t we just say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and leave it at that.”
“No, this is the right place.” He took her hand, lifted it to his lips in what she imagined he thought of as a charming gesture. And damn it, it was. “And it’s always the right time.”
“Gack,” was Jake’s opinion as he swung through the back door. “Crabs are going in,” he told Seth. “Dad says for you to get your ass out there.”
“Jake!”
Jake sent his mother an innocent look. “I’m just the messenger. We’re starving.”
“Here.” Anna stuffed a deviled egg in his mouth. “Now carry this outside. Then come back, without slamming the door, and apologize to Dru.”
Jake made mumbling noises around the egg and carried the platter outside.
“It really wasn’t his fault,” Dru began.
“If this wasn’t, something else was. Something always is. Can I get you some wine?”
“Yes, thanks.” Obviously, she wasn’t going to be able to escape. And the fact was, she was curious about the family that lived in a young artist’s pencil sketch. “Ah, is there something I can do to help?”
“Grab whatever, take it out. We’ll be feeding the masses shortly.”
Anna lifted her eyebrows as Seth grabbed a platter, then pushed the door open for Dru and her bowl of coleslaw. Then Anna wiggled those eyebrows at Grace. “They look cute together.”
“They do,” Grace agreed. “I like her.” She wandered to the door to spy out with Anna. “She’s always a little cool at first, then she warms up—or relaxes, I guess. She’s awfully pretty, isn’t she? And so . . . polished.”
“Money usually puts a gleam on you. She’s a bit stiff yet, but if this group can’t loosen her up, nothing can. Seth’s very attracted.”
“So I noticed.” Grace turned her head toward Anna. “I guess we’d better find out more about her.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She went back to fetch the wine.
THE Quinn brothers were impressive examples of the species individually. As a group, Dru decided, they were staggering. They might not have shared blood, but they were so obviously fraternal—tall, lanky, handsome and most of all male.
The quartet around the huge steaming pot simply exuded manhood like other men might a distinctive aftershave. She didn’t doubt for a moment that they knew it.
They were what they were, she thought, and were pretty damned pleased about it.
As a woman she found that sort of innate self-satisfaction attractive. She respected confidence and a good, healthy ego. When she wandered around to the brick pit where they steamed the crabs to deliver, at Anna’s request, a foursome of cold beer, she caught the end of a conversation.
“Asshole thinks he’s Horatio fucking Hornblower.” From Cam.
“More like Captain fucking Queed.” Muttered by Ethan.
“He can be anybody he wants, as long as his money’s green.” Delivered with a shrug by Phillip. “We’ve built boats for assholes before, and will again.”
“One fuckhead’s the same as—” Seth broke off when he spotted Dru.
“Gentlemen.” She never batted an eyelash. “Cold beer for hot work.”
“Thanks.” Phillip took them from her. “Heard you’ve already cooled off once today.”
“Unexpectedly.” Relieved of the bottles, she lifted her wineglass to her lips, sipped. “But I prefer this method to the Super Soaker 5000.” Ignoring Seth, she looked at Ethan. “Did you catch them?” she asked, gesturing to the pot.
“Deke and I, yeah.” He grinned when Seth cleared his throat. “We took him along for ballast,” he told Dru. “Got blisters on his city hands.”
“Couple days in the boatyard might toughen him up,” Cam speculated. “Always was puny though.”
“You’re just trying to insult me so I’ll come in and do the hot fifty-fifty work.” Seth tipped back his beer. “Keep dreaming.”
“Puny,” Phillip said, “but smart. Always was smart.”
“I wonder if I could come in sometime, take a look around at your work.”
Cam tilted his head toward Dru. “Like boats, do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why don’t we go for a sail,” Seth asked her.
She spared him a glance that was on the edge of withering. “Keep dreaming,” she suggested and strolled away.
“Classy,” was Phillip’s opinion.
“She’s a nice girl,” Ethan said as he checked the pot.
“Hot,” Cam commented. “Very, very hot.”
“You want to cool off, I’ll be happy to stick the Super Soaker 5000 up your ass,” Seth told him.
“Got a bead on her?” Cam shook his head as if in pity. “She looks out of your league to me, kid.”
“Yeah.” Seth gulped more beer. “I’m a big fan of inter-league play.”
Phillip watched Seth wander off, then chuckled. “Our boy’s going to be spending a hell of a lot of money on flowers for the next little while.”
“That particular bloom’s got some long stems on her,” Cam remarked.
“Got careful eyes.” Ethan gave the traditional Quinn shoulder jerk when Cam frowned at him. “Watches everything, including Seth, but it’s all one step back, you know. Not because she’s shy—the girl isn’t shy. She’s careful.”
“She comes from big money and politics.” Phillip considered his beer. “Bound to make you careful.”
“Saint Chris is a funny place for her to end up, isn’t it?” To Cam’s mind, family forged you—the family you were born to or the family you made. He wondered how Dru’s had forged her.
SHE’D intended to stay no more than an hour. A polite hour while her clothes dried. But somehow she was drawn into a conversation with Emily about New York. And one with Anna about gardening. Then there were the mutual acquaintances with Sybill and Phillip from D.C.
The food was wonderful. When she complimented the potato salad, Grace offered her the recipe. Dru wasn’t quite sure how to announce that she didn’t cook.
There were arguments—over baseball, clothes, video games. It didn’t take her long to realize it was just another kind of interaction.
Dogs sidled up to the table and were ordered firmly away—usually after someone snuck food into a canine mouth. The breeze blew in cool over the water while as many as six conversations went on at the same time.
She kept up. Early training had honed her ability to have something to say to everyone and anyone in social situations. She could comment about boats and baseball, food and music, art and travel even when the talk of them and more leaped and swirled around her.
She nursed a second glass of wine and stayed far longer than she’d intended. Not just because she couldn’t find a polite way to leave. Because she liked them. She was amused by and envious of the intimacy of the family. Despite their numbers and the obvious differences—could sisters be less alike than the sharp-tongued, sports-loving Aubrey and Emily, the waiflike ballerina?—they were all so firmly interlinked.
Like individual pieces of one big, bold puzzle, Dru decided. The puzzle of family always fascinated her. Certainly her own continued to remain a mystery to her.
However colorful and cheerful they seemed on the surface, Dru imagined the Quinn puzzle had its share of shadows and complications.
Families always did.
As did men, she thought, turning her head deliberately to meet Seth’s dead-on stare. She was perfectly aware that he’d watched her almost continuously since they’d sat down to eat. Oh, he was good at the conversation juggling, too; she’d give him that. And from time to time he’d tune his attention fully on someone else. But his gaze, that straight-on and vivid blue gaze, would always swing back to her.
She could feel it, a kind of heat along her skin.
She refused to let it intrigue her. And she certainly wasn’t going to let it fluster her.
“The afternoon light’s good here.” His eyes still on Dru, he scooped up a forkful of pasta salad. “Maybe we’ll do some outdoor work. You got anything with a long, full skirt? Strapless or sleeveless to show off your shoulders. Good strong shoulders,” he added with another scoop of pasta. “They go with the face.”
“That’s lucky for me, isn’t it?” She dismissed him with a slight wave of her hand and turned to Sybill. “I enjoyed your last documentary very much, the studies and examples of blended family dynamics. I suppose you based some of your findings on your own experiences.”
“Hard to get away from it. I could study this bunch for the next couple of decades and never run out of material.”
“We’re all Mom’s guinea pigs,” Fiona stated as she handily picked out another crab. “Better watch out. You hang out around here, Seth’ll have you naked on a canvas and Mom’ll have you analyzed in a book.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Aubrey gestured with her drink. “Annie Crawford hung around here for months, and Seth never did paint her—naked or otherwise. I don’t think Sybill ever wrote about her either, unless I missed the one about societal placement of brainless bimbos.”
“She wasn’t brainless,” Seth put in.
“She called you Sethie. As in, ‘Oh, Sethie, you’re a regular Michael Dee Angelo.’ ”
“Want me to start trotting out some of the guys you hung with a few years back? Matt Fisher, for instance?”
“I was young and shallow.”
“Yeah, you’re old and deep now. Anyway”—he shifted that direct gaze to Dru again—“you got a long, flowy thing? Little top?”
“No.”
“We’ll get something.”
Dru sipped the last of her wine, tilted her head slightly to indicate interest. “Has anyone ever declined to be painted by you?”
“No, not really.”
“Let me be the first.”
“He’ll do it anyway,” Cam told her. “Kid’s got a head like a brick.”
“And that comes from the most flexible, most reasonable, most accommodating of men,” Anna declared as she rose. “Anybody got room for dessert?”
They did, though Dru didn’t see how. She declined offers of cakes, pies, but lost the battle of wills over a double fudge brownie that she nibbled on before changing back into her own clothes.
She folded the borrowed shirt and jeans, set them on the bed, took one last look around the cozy bedroom, then started down.
Dru stopped short in the kitchen doorway when she spotted Anna and Cam in front of the sink in an embrace a great deal more torrid than she expected from parents of teenagers.
“Let’s go upstairs and lock the door,” Dru heard him say—and wasn’t sure where to look when she noted Cam’s hands slide around possessively to squeeze his wife’s butt. “No one will miss us.”
“That’s what you said after dinner last Thanksgiving.” There was both warmth and fun in her voice when Anna linked her arms around Cam’s neck. “You were wrong.”
“Phil was just jealous because he didn’t think of it first.”
“Later, Quinn. If you behave, I might just let you . . . Oh, Dru.”
From the easy grins on their faces, Dru concluded she was the only one of the trio who was the least bit embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to thank you for the hospitality. I really enjoyed the afternoon.”
“Good. Then you’ll come again. Cam, let Seth know Dru’s leaving, will you?” And damned if she didn’t give his butt a squeeze before easing out of his arms.
“Don’t bother. You have a wonderful family, a beautiful home. I appreciate your letting me share them today.”
“I’m glad you dropped by,” Anna said, giving Cam a silent signal as she laid an arm over Dru’s shoulder to walk her to the front door.
“The key.” Shaking her head, Dru dug into her purse. “I completely forgot the reason I came by in the first place. Would you give this to Seth? He can store whatever he needs to in there for the time being. We’ll work out the details later.”
Anna heard the kitchen door slam. “You might as well give it to him yourself. Come back,” she said, then gave Dru a quick, casual kiss on the cheek.
“Taking off?” A little winded, Seth hurried up to catch Dru on the front porch. “Why don’t you stay? Aubrey’s getting a softball game together.”
“I have to get home. The key.” She held it out while he only stood looking at her. “Utility room? Storage?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He took it, stuffed it in his pocket. “Listen, it’s early, but if you want to split, we can go somewhere. A drive or something.”
“I have things to do.” She walked toward her car.
“We’ll have to try for less of a crowd on our second date.”
She paused, looked back at him over her shoulder. “We haven’t had a first date yet.”
“Sure we did. Steamed crabs, just as predicted. You get to pick the menu and venue for date number two.”
Jiggling the car keys in her hand, she turned to face him. “I came by to give you the key, got blasted with a water gun and had a crab feast with your large, extended family. That doesn’t make this a date.”
“This will.”
He had a smooth move—so smooth she never saw it coming. Maybe if she had, she’d have evaded. Or maybe not. But that wasn’t the issue as his hands were cupped on her shoulders and his mouth was warm and firm on hers.
He lifted her, just slightly. He tilted his head, just a little. So his lips rubbed hers—a seductive tease—and his hands cruised down her body to add an unexpected punch of heat.
She felt the breeze flutter against her cheeks, and heard the blast of music as someone turned the stereo up to scream again. And when the hard line of him pressed against her, she realized she’d been the one to move in.
The long, liquid tugs deep in her belly warned her, but still she shot her fingers through that thick, sun-streaked hair and let his hands roam.
He’d meant to suggest with a kiss, to tease a smile or a frown out of her so he could have the pleasure of watching either expression move over her face.
He’d only intended to skim the surface, perhaps to show them both hints of what could lie beneath. But when she’d leaned into him, locked around him, he sank.
Women were a dazzling array of colors for him. Mother, sister, lover, friend. But he’d never had another woman strike him with such brilliance. He wanted to steep in it, in her until they were both drenched.
“Let me come home with you, Drusilla.” He skimmed his lips over her cheek, down to her throat, back up and along the finger-brush indentation in her chin, and to her mouth. “Let me lie down with you. Be with you. Let me touch you.”
She shook her head. She didn’t like speed, she reminded herself. A smart woman never turned a corner until she’d looked at the map for the entire route—and even then, she went forward only with caution.
“I’m not impulsive, Seth. I’m not rash.” She put her hands on his shoulders to nudge him away, but her gaze was direct. “I don’t share myself with a man just because there’s heat.”
“Okay.” He pressed his lips to her forehead before he stepped back. “Stay. We’ll play some ball, maybe go for a sail. We’ll keep it simple today.”
With some men, the suggestion would have been just another ploy to persuade her into bed. But she didn’t sense that with him. He meant what he said, she decided. “I might actually like you after a while.”
“Counting on it.”
“But I can’t stay. I left a number of things undone to come by, and I’ve stayed much longer than I intended.”
“Didn’t you ever ditch school?”
“No.”
He braced a hand on the car door before she could open it, and his face was sincerely shocked. “Not once?”
“Afraid not.”
“A rule player,” he considered. “Sexy.”
She had to laugh. “If I said I’d skipped school once a week, you’d have called me a rebel and said that was sexy.”
“Got me. How about dinner tomorrow night?”
“No.” She waved him away from the car door. “I need to think about this. I don’t want to be interested in you.”
“Which means you are.”
She slid behind the wheel. “Which means I don’t want to be. I’ll let you know if I change my mind. Go back to your family. You’re lucky to have them,” she said, then closed the car door.
He watched her back out, then drive away. His blood was still warm from the kiss, and his mind too full of her and the possibilities for him to take notice of the car that eased from the shoulder of the road by the trees, then followed after Dru’s.