Chesapeake Blue
Page 29

"Fine. So go hound him."
"No. I want you to go hound him."
"Me?" Cam whisked back the curtain enough to stare at her. "Why me?"
"Because. Mmm, you sure are cute when you're wet and annoyed."
"That's not going to work."
"Maybe I should come in there and wash your back," she said and began to unbutton her blouse.
"Okay, that's going to work."
Chapter Seven
CAM JOGGED DOWNSTAIRS. There was nothing like a spin in the shower with Anna to brighten his mood. He poked a head in the den where his youngest son and Seth were waged in deadly, bloody battle. There were curses, grunts, shouts.
Some of them were from the animation on-screen.
As usual, Cam found himself drawn into the war. Axes swung, blood flew, swords clashed. And he lost track of reality until Jake let out a triumphant cry.
"I kicked your ass."
"Shit, you got lucky."
Jake pumped his joystick in the air. "I rule, baby. Bow to the king of Mortal Kombat."
"In your dreams. Let's go again."
"Bow to the king," Jake repeated joyously. "Worship me, lesser mortal."
"I'll worship you."
Seth made his grab. Cam watched them wrestle for a moment.
More grunts, impossible threats, a young boy's dopey giggles. Seth and Jake, he thought, weren't so different in age than he and Seth. But Jake had an innocence Seth had never been allowed. Jake had never had to question who he was, or if the hands reaching for him meant him harm. Thank God for it. Cam leaned lazily against the doorjamb and yelled, "Come on, Anna, they're just fooling around." At the mention of her name, Seth and Jake rolled apart and shot twin looks of panic and guilt toward the doorway. "Got you," Cam barked with amusement. "That was cold, Dad."
"That's how to win a battle without a single blow. You." He pointed at Seth. "Let's go."
"Where ya going?" Jake demanded, scrambling up. "Can I go?"
"Have you cleaned your room, done your homework, found the cure for cancer and changed the oil in my car?"
"Come on, Dad," Jake whined.
"Seth, grab some beer and head outside. I'll be right along."
"Sure. Later, kid"—Seth tapped a fist in his palm—"I'm taking you out."
"You couldn't take me out if you brought me flowers and a box of chocolate."
"Good one," Cam commented as Seth snorted out a laugh and left the room.
"I've been saving it," Jake told him. "How come I can't go with you guys?"
"I need to talk to Seth."
"Are you mad at him?"
"Do I look mad at him?"
"No," Jake said after a careful study of his father's face. "But you can be sneaky about that stuff."
"I just need to talk to him."
Jake jerked a shoulder, but Cam saw the disappointment in his eyes—Anna's Italian eyes—before he plopped back on the floor and reached for his joystick.
Cam squatted. "Jake." He caught the scent of bubble gum and youthful sweat. There were grass stains on the knees of Jake's jeans. His shoes were untied.
It struck him unexpectedly, as it often did, that staggering slap of emotion that was love and pride and puzzlement rolled into one strong fist against his heart.
"Jake," he said again and ran his hand over his son's hair. "I love you."
"Jeez." Jake hunched his shoulders and, with his chin tucked, shifted his gaze up to meet his father's. "I know, and stuff."
"I love you," Cam repeated. "But when I get back, there's going to be a bloody coup, and a new king in Quinnland. And believe what I'm saying, you will bow to me."
"You wish."
Cam rose, pleased with the cocky expression on Jake's face. "Your days of rule are numbered. Start praying, pal."
"I'll pray that you don't slobber on me when you're begging for mercy." He had to admit, Cam decided as he walked toward the back door, he'd raised a bunch of wiseasses. It did a man proud.
"What's up?" Seth asked, tossing Cam a beer as he swung out the back door.
"Gonna take a little sail."
"Now?" Automatically, Seth looked up at the sky. "It'll be dark in an hour."
"Afraid of the dark, Mary?" Cam sauntered to the dock, stepped nimbly into the day sailer. He set the beer aside while Seth cast off.
As he had countless times in the past, Seth lifted the oar to push away from the dock. He hoisted the main, and the sound of the canvas rising was sweet as music. Cam manned the rudder, finessing the wind so they glided, smooth and nearly silent, away from shore.
The sun was low, its beams striking the water, sheening the marsh grass, dying in the narrow channels where the shadows went deep and the water went dark and secret.
They motored through, maneuvering between markers, down the river, through the sound. And into the Bay. Balanced to the sway, Seth hoisted the jib, trimmed the sails. And Cam caught the wind. They flew in the wooden boat with its bright work glinting and its sails white as dove's wings. There was salt in the air, and the thrilling roll, that rise and fall of waves as deeply blue as the sky. The speed, the freedom, the absolute joy of skating over the water while the sun went soft toward twilight drained every worry, every doubt, every sorrow from Seth's heart.
"Coming about," Cam called out, setting to tack to steal more wind, steal more speed. For the next fifteen minutes, they barely spoke.
When they slowed, Cam stretched out his legs and popped the top on his beer. "So, what's going on with you?"
"Going on?"
"Anna's radar tells her something's up with you, and she nagged me into finding out what it is." Seth bought some time by opening his own beer, taking the first cold sip. "I've just been back a couple weeks, so I've got a lot on my mind, that's all. Figuring things out, settling in, that kind of thing. She doesn't have to worry."
"I'm supposed to go back and tell her she doesn't have to worry? Oh yeah, that'll go down real smooth." He took another drink. "Look, we don't have to go through all that
you-know-you-can-talk-to-me-about-anything crap, do we? Going that route's only going to make us both feel like morons."