Rising Tides (10 page)

E
THAN WOULD HAVE BEEN
stunned and mortally embarrassed, if he’d been able to read Seth’s thoughts. But the boy was an expert at keeping them to himself. On that level, he and Ethan were as close as twins.

It might have crossed Ethan’s mind that Village Pizza was only a short block from Shiney’s Pub, where Grace would be starting her shift, but he didn’t mention it.

Couldn’t take the boy into a bar anyway, Ethan mused as they headed into the bright lights and noise of the local restaurant. And Seth was bound to complain, loudly, if Ethan asked him to wait in the car for just a couple minutes while he poked his head in. Likely Grace would complain, too, if she caught on that he was checking on her.

It was best to let it go and concentrate on the matters at hand. He tucked his hands into his back pockets and studied the menu posted on the wall behind the counter. ‘‘What do you want on it?’’

‘‘You can forget the mushrooms. They’re gross.’’

‘‘We’re of a mind there,’’ Ethan murmured.

‘‘Pepperoni and hot sausage.’’ Seth sneered, but he spoiled it by bouncing a little in his sneakers. ‘‘If you can handle it.’’

‘‘I can take it if you can. Hey, Justin,’’ he said with a smile of greeting for the boy behind the counter. ‘‘We’ll take a large, pepperoni and hot sausage, and a couple of jumbo Pepsis.’’

‘‘You got it. Here or to go?’’

Ethan scanned the dozen tables and booths offered and noted that he wasn’t the only one who’d thought to celebrate the last day of school with pizza. ‘‘Go nab that last
booth back there, Seth. We’ll take it here, Justin.’’

‘‘Have a seat. We’ll bring the drinks out.’’

Seth had dumped his backpack on the bench and was tapping his hands on the table in time to the blast of Hootie and the Blowfish from the juke. ‘‘I’m going to go kick some video ass,’’ he told Ethan. When Ethan reached back for his wallet, Seth shook his head. ‘‘I got money.’’

‘‘Not tonight you don’t,’’ Ethan said mildly and pulled out some bills. ‘‘It’s your party. Get some change.’’

‘‘Cool.’’ Seth snagged the bills and raced off to get quarters.

As Ethan slid into the booth, he wondered why so many people thought a couple hours in a noisy room was high entertainment. A huddle of kids was already trying to kick some video ass at the trio of machines along the back wall; the juke had switched to Clint Black—and that country boy was wailing. The toddler in the booth behind him was having a full-blown tantrum, and a group of teenage girls were giggling at a decibel level that would have made Simon’s ears bleed.

What a way to spend a pretty summer night.

Then he saw Liz Crawford and Junior with their two little girls at a nearby booth. One of the girls—that must be Stacy, Ethan thought—was talking quickly, making wide gestures, while the rest of the family howled with laughter.

They made a unit, he mused, their own little island in the midst of the jittery lights and noise. He supposed that’s what family was, an island. Knowing you could go there made all the difference.

Still the tug of envy surprised him, made him shift uncomfortably on the hard seat of the booth and scowl into space. He’d made his mind up about having a family years before, and he didn’t care for this sharp pull of longing.

‘‘Why, Ethan, you look fierce.’’

He glanced up as the drinks were set on the table in
front of him, straight into the flirtatious eyes of Linda Brewster.

She was a looker, no question about it. The tight black jeans and scoop-necked black T-shirt hugged her well developed body like a coat of fresh paint on a classic Chevy. After her divorce was final—one week ago Monday—she’d treated herself to a manicure and a new hairdo. Her coral-tipped nails skimmed through her newly bobbed, streaky blond hair as she smiled down at Ethan.

She’d had her eye on him for a time now—after all, she had separated from that useless Tom Brewster more than a year before and a woman had to look to the future. Ethan Quinn would be hot in bed, she decided. She had instincts about these things. Those big hands of his would be mighty thorough, she was sure. And attentive. Oh, yes.

She liked his looks, too. Just a little tough and weathered. And that slow, sexy smile of his . . . when you managed to drag one out of him, just made her want to lick her lips in anticipation.

He had that quiet way about him. Linda knew what they said about still waters. And she was just dying to see just how deep Ethan Quinn’s ran.

Ethan was well aware where her eye had wandered, and he was keeping his peeled as well. For running room. Women like Linda scared the hell out of him.

‘‘Hi, Linda. Didn’t know you were working here.’’ Or he’d have avoided Village Pizza like the plague.

‘‘Just helping my father out for a couple of weeks.’’ She was flat broke, and her father—the owner of Village Pizza—had told her he’d be damned if she was going to sponge off him and her mother. She should get her sassy butt to work. ‘‘Haven’t seen you around lately.’’

‘‘I’ve been around.’’ He wished she’d move along. Her perfume gave him the jitters.

‘‘I heard you and your brothers rented that old barn of Claremont’s and are building boats. I’ve been meaning to come down and take a look.’’

‘‘Not much to see.’’ Where the hell was Seth when he needed him? Ethan wondered a little desperately. How long could those damn quarters last?

‘‘I’d like to see it anyway.’’ She skimmed those slick-tipped nails down his arm, gave a low purr as she felt the ridge of muscle. ‘‘I can slip out of here for a while. Why don’t you run me down there and show me what’s what?’’

His mind blanked for a moment. He was only human. And she was running her tongue over her top lip in a way designed to draw a man’s eyes and tickle his glands. Not that he was interested, not a bit, but it had been a long time since he’d had a woman moaning under him. And he had a feeling Linda would be a champion moaner.

‘‘Copped top score.’’ Seth plopped into the booth, flushed with victory, and grabbed his Pepsi. He slurped some up. ‘‘Man, what’s keeping that pizza? I’m starved.’’

Ethan felt his blood start to run again and nearly sighed with relief. ‘‘It’ll be along.’’

‘‘Well.’’ Despite annoyance at the interruption, Linda smiled brilliantly at Seth. ‘‘This must be the new addition. What’s your name, honey? I can’t quite recollect.’’

‘‘I’m Seth.’’ And he sized her up quickly. Bimbo, was his first and last thought. He’d seen plenty of them in his short life. ‘‘Who’re you?’’

‘‘I’m Linda, an old friend of Ethan’s. My daddy owns the place.’’

‘‘Cool, so maybe you could tell them to put a fire under that pizza before we die of old age here.’’

‘‘Seth.’’ The word and Ethan’s quiet look were all it took for the boy to close his mouth. ‘‘Your daddy still makes the best pizza on the Shore,’’ Ethan said with an easier smile. ‘‘You be sure to tell him.’’

‘‘I will. And you give me a call, Ethan.’’ She wiggled her left hand. ‘‘I’m a free woman these days.’’ She wandered away, hips swinging like a well-oiled metronome.

‘‘She smells like the place at the mall where they sell all that girl stuff.’’ Seth wrinkled his nose. He hadn’t liked
her because he’d seen just a shadow of his mother in her eyes. ‘‘She just wants to get in your pants.’’

‘‘Shut up, Seth.’’

‘‘It’s true,’’ Seth said with a shrug, but happily let the subject drop when Linda came back bearing pizza.

‘‘Y’all enjoy, now,’’ she told them, leaning over the table just a little farther than necessary in case Ethan had missed the view the first time around.

Seth snagged a piece and bit in, knowing it was going to scorch the roof of his mouth. The flavors exploded, making the burn more than worth it. ‘‘Grace makes pizza from scratch,’’ he said around a mouthful. ‘‘It’s even better than this.’’

Ethan only grunted. The thought of Grace after he’d entertained—however unwillingly—a brief and sweaty fantasy about Linda Brewster made him twitchy.

‘‘Yeah. We ought to see if she’d make it for us one of the days she comes to clean and stuff. She comes tomorrow, right?’’

‘‘Yeah.’’ Ethan took a piece, annoyed that most of his appetite had deserted him. ‘‘I suppose.’’

‘‘Maybe she’d make one up before she goes.’’

‘‘You’re having pizza tonight.’’

‘‘So?’’ Seth polished off the first piece with the speed and precision of a jackal. ‘‘You could, like, compare. Grace ought to open a diner or something so she wouldn’t have to work all those different jobs. She’s always working. She wants to buy a house.’’

‘‘She does?’’

‘‘Yeah.’’ Seth licked the side of his hand where sauce dripped. ‘‘Just a little one, but it has to have a yard so Aubrey can run around and have a dog and stuff.’’

‘‘She tell you all that?’’

‘‘Sure. I asked how come she was busting her butt cleaning all those houses and working down at the pub, and she said that was mostly why. And if she doesn’t make enough, she and Aubrey won’t have a place of their own
by the time Aub starts kindergarten. I guess even a little house costs big bucks, right?’’

‘‘It costs,’’ Ethan said quietly. He remembered how satisfied, how proud he’d been when he’d bought his own place on the water. What it had meant to him to know he’d succeeded at what he did. ‘‘It takes time to save up.’’

‘‘Grace wants to have the house by the time Aubrey starts school. After that, she says how she has to start saving for college.’’ He snorted and decided he could force down a third piece. ‘‘Hell, Aubrey’s just a baby, it’s a million years till college. Told her that, too,’’ he added, because it pleased him for people to know he and Grace had
conversations.
‘‘She just laughed and said five minutes ago Aubrey had gotten her first tooth. I didn’t get it.’’

‘‘She meant kids grow up fast.’’ Since it didn’t look as though his appetite would be coming back, Ethan closed the top on the pizza and took out bills to pay for it. ‘‘Let’s take this back to the boatyard. Since you don’t have school in the morning, we can put in a couple more hours.’’

H
E PUT IN MORE THAN A
couple. Once he got started, he couldn’t seem to stop. It cleared his mind, kept it from wandering, wondering, worrying.

The boat was definite, a tangible task with a foreseeable end. He knew what he was doing here, just as he knew what he was doing out on the Bay. There weren’t so many shadow areas of maybes or what ifs.

Ethan continued to work even when Seth curled up on a drop cloth and fell asleep. The sound of tools running didn’t appear to disturb him—though Ethan wondered how anyone could sleep with the best part of a large sausage-and-pepperoni pizza in his stomach.

He started work on the ends and corner posts for the cabin and cockpit coaming while the night wind blew lazily
through the open cargo doors. He’d turned the radio off so that now the only music was the water, the gentle notes of it sliding against the shore.

He worked slowly, carefully, though he was well able to visualize the completed project. Cam, he decided, would handle most of the interior work. He was the most skilled of the three of them at finish carpentry. Phillip could handle the rough-ins; he was better at sheer manual labor than he liked to admit.

If they could keep up the pace, Ethan calculated that they could have the boat trimmed and under sail in another two months. He would leave figuring the profits and percentages to Phillip. The money would feed the lawyers, the boatyard, and their own bellies.

Why hadn’t Grace ever told him she wanted to buy a house?

Ethan frowned thoughtfully as he chose a galvanized bolt. Wasn’t that a pretty big step to be discussing with a ten-year-old boy? Then again, he admitted, Seth had asked. He himself had only told her she shouldn’t be working herself so hard—he hadn’t asked why she insisted on it.

She ought to make things up with her father, he thought again. If the two of them would just bend that stiff-necked Monroe pride for five minutes, they could come to terms. She’d gotten pregnant—and there was no doubt in Ethan’s mind that Jack Casey had taken advantage of a young, naive girl and should be shot for it—but that was over and done.

His family had never held grudges, small or large. They’d fought, certainly—and he and his brothers had often fought physically. But when it was done, it was over.

It was true enough that he’d harbored some seeds of resentment because Cam had raced off to Europe and Phillip had moved to Baltimore. It had happened so fast after their mother died, and he’d still been raw. Everything had changed before he could blink, and he’d stewed over that.

But even with that, he would never have turned his back
on either of them if they’d needed him. And he knew they wouldn’t have turned their backs on him.

It seemed to him the most foolish and wasteful thing imaginable that Grace wouldn’t ask for help, and her father wouldn’t offer it.

He glanced at the big round clock nailed to the wall over the front doors. Phillip’s idea, Ethan remembered with a half grin. He’d figured they’d need to know how much time they were putting in, but as far as Ethan knew, Phillip was the only one who bothered to mark down the time.