Rising Tides (13 page)

He took a closer look and hissed through his teeth. The radiator was a dead loss, and if she was entertaining the idea of replacing it, he’d just have to talk her out of it.

He would find her a decent secondhand car. Fix it up for her—or ask Cam, who knew engines like Midas knew gold, to tune it up. He wasn’t having her driving around
in a wreck like this, and with the baby, too.

He caught himself, took a couple steps back. It wasn’t any of his business. The hell it wasn’t, he thought, with an uncharacteristic flash of temper. She was a friend, wasn’t she? He had a right to help out a friend, especially one who needed some looking after.

And God knew—whether or not Grace did—that she needed some looking after. He got back in his truck and drove home with a scowl on his face.

He’d nearly slammed the screen door before he saw Aubrey curled up on the couch. The scowl didn’t have a chance. He eased the door shut and walked quietly over to her. Her hand was bunched into a fist on the cushion. Unable to resist, he took it gently and marveled at those tiny, perfect fingers. She had a bow around one of her curls, a little ribbon of blue lace that he imagined Grace had tied on that morning. It was lopsided now, and only sweeter for it.

He couldn’t help hoping that she woke before he had to head out again.

But now, he needed to find Aubrey’s mother and discuss reliable transportation.

He cocked his head, decided it was too quiet for her to be upstairs doing whatever it was she did up there. He walked into the kitchen and noted that the signs of a hurried breakfast were still in evidence. She hadn’t gotten to that yet. But the washing machine was humming, and he caught a glimpse of clothes flapping in the breeze on the line outside.

The minute he stepped to the door he saw her. And hit full panic. He didn’t know what he thought, only that she was lying on the grass. Terrible images of illness and injury crowded into his head as he rushed outside. He was barely one full stride away from her when he realized she wasn’t unconscious. She was sleeping.

Curled up much as her daugher was inside. One fist bunched near her cheek, her breathing slow and deep and
even. He gave in to his weakened knees and sat down beside her, waited for his heartbeat to return to something approaching normal.

He sat, listening to the clothes flap on the line, to the water lick the eelgrass, and to the birds chatter while he wondered what the hell he was going to do with her.

In the end, he simply sighed, rose, then bending down gathered her up into his arms.

She stirred in them, snuggled, made his blood run a little too fast for comfort. ‘‘Ethan,’’ she murmured, turning her face into the curve of his neck and inciting the bright fantasy of rolling over that sun-warmed grass with her.

‘‘Ethan,’’ she said again, skimming her fingers along his shoulder. And making him hard as iron. Then again, ‘‘Ethan,’’ only this time in a squeak of shock as she jerked her head up and stared at him.

Her eyes were dazed with sleep and bright with surprise. Her mouth made a soft
O
that was gloriously tempting. Then color flooded her cheeks.

‘‘What? What is it?’’ she managed over a stomach-churning combination of arousal and embarrassment.

‘‘You’re going to take a nap, you ought to have as much sense as Aubrey and take it inside out of the sun.’’ He knew his voice was rough. He couldn’t do anything about it. Desire had him by the throat with gleefully nipping claws.

‘‘I was just—’’

‘‘Scared ten years off me when I saw you lying there. I thought you’d fainted or something.’’

‘‘I only stretched out for a minute. Aubrey was sleeping, so—Aubrey! I need to check on Aubrey.’’

‘‘I just did. She’s fine. You’d have shown more sense if you’d stretched out on the couch with her.’’

‘‘I don’t come here to sleep.’’

‘‘You were sleeping.’’

‘‘Just for a minute.’’

‘‘You need more than a minute.’’

‘‘No, I don’t. It’s just that things got complicated today, and my brain got tired.’’

It almost amused him. He stopped in the kitchen, still holding her, and looked into her eyes. ‘‘Your brain got tired?’’

‘‘Yeah.’’ It nearly shut off entirely now. ‘‘I needed to rest my mind a minute, that’s all. Put me down, Ethan.’’

He wasn’t ready to, not quite yet. ‘‘I saw your car about a mile down the road from here.’’

‘‘I called Dave and told him. He’s going to get to it as soon as he can.’’

‘‘You walked from there to here, carting Aubrey?’’

‘‘No, my chauffeur drove us in. Put me down, Ethan.’’ Before she exploded.

‘‘Well, you can give your chauffeur the rest of the day off. I’ll drive you home when Aubrey wakes up.’’

‘‘I can get myself home. I’ve barely started on the house. Now I need to get back to it.’’

‘‘You’re not walking two and a half miles.’’

‘‘I’ll call Julie. She’ll run down and pick us up. You must have work to do yourself. I’m . . . behind schedule,’’ she said, desperately now. ‘‘I can’t catch up if you don’t put me down.’’

He considered her. ‘‘There’s not much to you.’’

The shimmer of need wavered into annoyance. ‘‘If you’re going to tell me I’m skinny—’’

‘‘I wouldn’t say skinny. You’ve got fine bones, that’s all.’’ And smooth, soft flesh to cover them. He set her on her feet before he forgot he intended to look after her. ‘‘You don’t have to worry with the house today.’’

‘‘I do. I need to do my job.’’ Her nerves were a jittery mess. The way he was looking at her made her want to take one flying leap back into his arms and also made her want to hightail it out the back door like a rabbit. She’d never experienced such a dramatic tug-of-war on her system, and could only stand her ground. ‘‘I can do it quicker if you aren’t underfoot.’’

‘‘I’ll get out of your way as soon as you call Julie and see if she’ll come by and get you.’’ He reached up and brushed some dandelion fluff out of her hair.

‘‘Okay.’’ She turned, punched in numbers on the kitchen phone. Maybe it would be best, she thought wildly as the phone started to ring, if Anna didn’t want her around after she got home. It seemed she couldn’t be with Ethan for ten minutes anymore without getting jumpy. If it kept up, she was bound to do something to embarrass them both.

E
THAN DIDN’T MIND PUT
ting in long hours on the boat at night. Especially when he could work alone. It hadn’t taken much persuasion for him to agree to let Seth camp out with the other boys in their backyard. It gave Ethan an evening alone—a rarity now—and time to work without having to tune in to questions and comments.

Not that the boy wasn’t entertaining, Ethan mused. The fact was, he was firmly attached to Seth. Accepting Seth into his life had been natural because Ray had asked it of him. But the affection, the appreciation, and the loyalty had grown and solidified until it simply was.

But that didn’t mean the kid couldn’t wear down his energies.

Ethan kept it to handwork tonight. Even if you
felt
awake and alert at midnight, the odds were you’d be a bit sluggish, and he didn’t want to risk losing a finger to the power tools. In any case, it was soothing to work in the
quiet, to hand-sand edges and planes until you felt them go smooth.

They would be ready to seal the hull before the week was out, and he could start Seth on sanding the rubrails. If Cam dived right in on dealing with belowdecks, and if Seth didn’t bitch too much about working with putty and caulk and varnish over the next week or two, they’d do well enough.

He checked his watch, saw that time was getting away from him, and began to put away his tools. He swept up, since Seth wasn’t there to wield the broom.

By quarter after one, he was parked outside of the pub. He didn’t intend to go inside anymore than he intended to let Grace walk the mile and a half home when she clocked out. So he settled back, switched on his dome light, and passed the time reading his dog-eared copy of
Cannery Row
.

I
NSIDE, IT WAS LAST CALL.
The only thing that would have made Grace happier would have been if Dave had told her that all she needed to get her car up and running was some used chewing gum and a rubber band.

Instead he’d told her it would cost the equivalent of three years’ worth of both, and then she’d be lucky if the old bucket ran another five thousand miles.

It was something she would have to worry about later; at the moment, she had her hands full dealing with an overly insistent customer who was stopping off in St. Chris on his way down to Savannah and was sure Grace would like to be his form of entertainment for the night.

‘‘I got me a hotel room.’’ He winked at her when she stooped to serve his final drink of the night. ‘‘And it’s got a big bed and twenty-four-hour room service. We could have us a hell of a party, honey pie.’’

‘‘I don’t do a lot of partying, but thanks.’’

He grabbed her hand, pulled it just enough to throw off her balance so she had to grip his shoulder or tumble into his lap. ‘‘Then now’s your chance.’’ He had dark eyes, and he aimed them leeringly at her breasts. ‘‘I got a real fondness for long-legged blondes. Always treat them special.’’

He was tiresome, Grace thought as he breathed one more beer into her face. But she had handled worse. ‘‘I appreciate that, but I’m going to finish up my shift and go home.’’

‘‘Your place is fine with me.’’

‘‘Mister—’’

‘‘Bob. You just call me Bob, baby.’’

She had to yank to get free. ‘‘Mister, I’m just not interested.’’

Of course she was, he thought, sending her a smile he knew was dazzling. He’d paid two grand to get his teeth bonded, hadn’t he? ‘‘The hard-to-get routine always turns me on.’’

Grace decided he wasn’t worth even a single disgusted sigh. ‘‘We’re closing in fifteen; you’re going to need to settle your tab.’’

‘‘Okay, okay, don’t get bitchy.’’ He smiled widely and pulled out a money clip thick with bills. He always salted it with a couple of twenties on the outside, then filled it with singles. ‘‘You figure what I owe, then we’ll . . . negotiate your tip.’’

Sometimes, Grace decided, it was best to keep your mouth firmly shut. What wanted to come out was vicious enough to get her fired. So she walked away and took her empties to the bar.

‘‘He giving you trouble, Grace?’’

She smiled weakly at Steve. It was just the two of them working now. The other waitress had clocked out at midnight, claiming a migraine. Since she’d been pale as a ghost, Grace had shooed her out and agreed to cover.

‘‘He’s just another of those gifts to womankind. Nothing to worry about.’’

‘‘If he’s not gone by closing, I’ll wait until you’re locked in your car and headed home.’’

She made a noncommittal humming noise. She hadn’t mentioned her lack of transportation because she knew Steve would insist on driving her home. He lived twenty minutes away, in the opposite direction. And had a pregnant wife waiting for him.

She cashed out tables, cleared them, and noted with relief that her problem customer finally rose to leave. He paid his $18.83 bar bill with cash, leaving $20 on the table. Though he’d managed to monopolize most of her time and attention for the past three hours, Grace was too tired to be annoyed at the pitiful tip.

It didn’t take long for the pub to empty. The crowd had been mostly college students, out for a couple of beers and conversation on a weekday night. By her calculations they’d turned about ten tables no more than twice since her shift had started at seven. Her tips for the evening weren’t going to make much of a dent in the new car she would have to buy.

It was so quiet, they both jumped like rabbits when the phone rang. Even while Grace laughed at their reaction, the blood drained out of Steve’s face. ‘‘Mollie,’’ was all he said as he leaped on the phone. He answered it with a stuttering, ‘‘Is it time?’’

Grace stepped forward, wondering if she was strong enough to catch him if he keeled over. When he began nodding rapidly, she felt her smile spread wide.

‘‘Okay. You—you call the doctor, right? Everything’s ready to go. How far apart . . . Oh, God, oh, God, I’m on my way. Don’t move. Don’t do anything. Don’t worry.’’