"What's the date?" Cam demanded as he glanced over his shoulder.
"Like the thirty-first." Seth shoved up his wraparound sunglasses and stared at the dock. He was hoping for a glimpse of Grace. He wanted to wave to someone he knew.
"Crab season starts tomorrow. Hot damn. Guarantee you tomorrow Ethan brings home a bushel of beauties. We'll eat like kings. You like crabs, right?"
"I dunno."
"What do you mean you don't know?" Cam popped the top of a Coke and guzzled. "Haven't you had crab before?"
"No."
"You'd better prepare your mouth for a treat, then, kid, because you'll have it tomorrow." Mirroring Cam's move, Seth reached for a soft drink himself. "Nothing you cook's a treat." It was said with a grin and received with one. "I can do crab just fine. Nothing to it. Boiling water, lots of spices, then you pop those snapping bastards into the pot—"
"Alive?"
"It's the only way."
"That's sick."
Cam merely shifted his stance. "They aren't alive for long. Then they're dinner. Add a six-pack of beer and you got a feast. Another few weeks, and we're talking soft-shell blues. You plop 'em between a couple pieces of bread and bite in."
This time Seth actually felt his stomach roll. "Not me."
"Too squeamish?"
"Too civilized."
"Shit. Sometimes on Saturday in the summer Mom and Dad used to bring us down to the docks. We'd get us some soft-shell crab sandwiches, a tub of peanut oil fries, and watch the tourists try to figure out what to eat. Laughed our asses off."
The memory made him suddenly sad, and he tried to shake off the mood. "Sometimes we sailed down like this. Or we'd cruise down to the river and fish. Mom wasn't much on fishing, so she'd swim, then she'd head to shore and sit on the bank and read."
"Why didn't she just stay home?"
"She liked to sail," Cam said softly. "And she liked being there."
"Ray said she got sick."
"Yeah, she got sick." Cam blew out a breath. She had been the only woman he'd ever loved, the only woman he'd ever lost. The missing of her could still creep up and cut him off at the knees.
"Come about," he ordered. "Let's head down the Annemessex and see if anything's biting." It didn't occur to either of them that the three hours they spent on the water was the most peaceful interlude either had experienced in weeks.
And when they returned home with six fat striped bass in the cooler, they were for the first time in total harmony.
"Know how to clean them?" Cam asked.
"Maybe." Ray had taught him, but Seth was no fool. "I caught four of the six, that ought to mean you clean them."
"That's the beauty of being boss," Cam began, then stopped dead when he saw sheets snapping on the ancient clothesline. He hadn't seen anything hanging out on the line since his mother had gotten sick. For a moment he was afraid he was having another hallucination, and his mouth went dry. Then the back door opened, and Grace Monroe stepped out on the porch.
"Hey, Grace!"
It was the first time Cam had heard Seth's voice raised in happiness and pure boyish pleasure. It surprised him enough to make him look over sharply, then nearly drop the cooler on his foot as Seth let go of his end and dashed forward.
"Hey, there." She had a warm voice that contrasted with cool looks. She was tall and slim, with long limbs she'd once dreamed of using as a dancer.
But Grace had learned to put most of her dreams aside.
Her hair was boyishly short, and that was for convenience. She didn't have the time or energy to worry about style. It was a dark, honey blond that was often streaked with paler color during the summer. Her eyes were a quiet green and all too often had shadows dogging them.
But her smile was pure and sunny and never failed to light up her face, or to set the dimple just beside her mouth winking.
A pretty woman, Cam thought, with the face of a pixie and the voice of a siren. It amazed him that men weren't throwing themselves at her feet.
The boy all but did, Cam noted, surprised when Seth just about ran into her open arms. He hugged and was hugged—this prickly kid who didn't like to be touched. Then he flushed and stepped back and began to play with the puppy, who'd followed Grace out of the house.
"Afternoon, Cam." Grace shielded her eyes from the sun with the flat of her hand. "Ethan came by the pub last night and said y'all could use a hand around here."
"You're taking over the housework."
"Well, I can give you three hours two days a week until—''
She got no farther, for Cam dumped the cooler, took the steps three at a time, and grabbed her into a loud, enthusiastic kiss. It set Seth's teeth on edge to see it, even as Grace stuttered and laughed.
"That's nice," she managed, "but you're still going to have to pay me."
"Name your price. I adore you." He snatched her hands and planted more kisses there. "My life for you."
"I can see I'm going to be appreciated around here—and needed. I've got those pink socks soaking in some diluted bleach. Might do the trick."
"The red sock was Phil's. He's responsible. I mean, what reasonable guy even owns a pair of red socks?"
"We'll talk more about sorting laundry—and checking pockets. Someone's little black book went through the last cycle."
"Shit." He caught her arched-brow look down at the boy and cleared his throat. "Sorry. I guess it was mine."
"I made some lemonade, and I was going to put a casserole together, but it looks like you may have caught your supper."
"Tonight's, but we could do with a casserole too."
"Okay. Ethan wasn't really clear about what you'd need or want done. Maybe we should go over things."
"Darling, you do whatever you think we need, and it'll be more than we can ever repay." She'd already seen that for herself. Pink underwear, she mused, dust an inch thick on one table and unidentified substances sticking to another. And the stove? God only knew when it had last been cleaned. It was good to be needed, she thought. Good to know just what had to be done. "We'll take it as it goes, then. I may have to bring the baby along sometimes. Julie minds her at night when I'm working at the pub, but I can't always find somebody to take her otherwise. She's a good girl."
"Like the thirty-first." Seth shoved up his wraparound sunglasses and stared at the dock. He was hoping for a glimpse of Grace. He wanted to wave to someone he knew.
"Crab season starts tomorrow. Hot damn. Guarantee you tomorrow Ethan brings home a bushel of beauties. We'll eat like kings. You like crabs, right?"
"I dunno."
"What do you mean you don't know?" Cam popped the top of a Coke and guzzled. "Haven't you had crab before?"
"No."
"You'd better prepare your mouth for a treat, then, kid, because you'll have it tomorrow." Mirroring Cam's move, Seth reached for a soft drink himself. "Nothing you cook's a treat." It was said with a grin and received with one. "I can do crab just fine. Nothing to it. Boiling water, lots of spices, then you pop those snapping bastards into the pot—"
"Alive?"
"It's the only way."
"That's sick."
Cam merely shifted his stance. "They aren't alive for long. Then they're dinner. Add a six-pack of beer and you got a feast. Another few weeks, and we're talking soft-shell blues. You plop 'em between a couple pieces of bread and bite in."
This time Seth actually felt his stomach roll. "Not me."
"Too squeamish?"
"Too civilized."
"Shit. Sometimes on Saturday in the summer Mom and Dad used to bring us down to the docks. We'd get us some soft-shell crab sandwiches, a tub of peanut oil fries, and watch the tourists try to figure out what to eat. Laughed our asses off."
The memory made him suddenly sad, and he tried to shake off the mood. "Sometimes we sailed down like this. Or we'd cruise down to the river and fish. Mom wasn't much on fishing, so she'd swim, then she'd head to shore and sit on the bank and read."
"Why didn't she just stay home?"
"She liked to sail," Cam said softly. "And she liked being there."
"Ray said she got sick."
"Yeah, she got sick." Cam blew out a breath. She had been the only woman he'd ever loved, the only woman he'd ever lost. The missing of her could still creep up and cut him off at the knees.
"Come about," he ordered. "Let's head down the Annemessex and see if anything's biting." It didn't occur to either of them that the three hours they spent on the water was the most peaceful interlude either had experienced in weeks.
And when they returned home with six fat striped bass in the cooler, they were for the first time in total harmony.
"Know how to clean them?" Cam asked.
"Maybe." Ray had taught him, but Seth was no fool. "I caught four of the six, that ought to mean you clean them."
"That's the beauty of being boss," Cam began, then stopped dead when he saw sheets snapping on the ancient clothesline. He hadn't seen anything hanging out on the line since his mother had gotten sick. For a moment he was afraid he was having another hallucination, and his mouth went dry. Then the back door opened, and Grace Monroe stepped out on the porch.
"Hey, Grace!"
It was the first time Cam had heard Seth's voice raised in happiness and pure boyish pleasure. It surprised him enough to make him look over sharply, then nearly drop the cooler on his foot as Seth let go of his end and dashed forward.
"Hey, there." She had a warm voice that contrasted with cool looks. She was tall and slim, with long limbs she'd once dreamed of using as a dancer.
But Grace had learned to put most of her dreams aside.
Her hair was boyishly short, and that was for convenience. She didn't have the time or energy to worry about style. It was a dark, honey blond that was often streaked with paler color during the summer. Her eyes were a quiet green and all too often had shadows dogging them.
But her smile was pure and sunny and never failed to light up her face, or to set the dimple just beside her mouth winking.
A pretty woman, Cam thought, with the face of a pixie and the voice of a siren. It amazed him that men weren't throwing themselves at her feet.
The boy all but did, Cam noted, surprised when Seth just about ran into her open arms. He hugged and was hugged—this prickly kid who didn't like to be touched. Then he flushed and stepped back and began to play with the puppy, who'd followed Grace out of the house.
"Afternoon, Cam." Grace shielded her eyes from the sun with the flat of her hand. "Ethan came by the pub last night and said y'all could use a hand around here."
"You're taking over the housework."
"Well, I can give you three hours two days a week until—''
She got no farther, for Cam dumped the cooler, took the steps three at a time, and grabbed her into a loud, enthusiastic kiss. It set Seth's teeth on edge to see it, even as Grace stuttered and laughed.
"That's nice," she managed, "but you're still going to have to pay me."
"Name your price. I adore you." He snatched her hands and planted more kisses there. "My life for you."
"I can see I'm going to be appreciated around here—and needed. I've got those pink socks soaking in some diluted bleach. Might do the trick."
"The red sock was Phil's. He's responsible. I mean, what reasonable guy even owns a pair of red socks?"
"We'll talk more about sorting laundry—and checking pockets. Someone's little black book went through the last cycle."
"Shit." He caught her arched-brow look down at the boy and cleared his throat. "Sorry. I guess it was mine."
"I made some lemonade, and I was going to put a casserole together, but it looks like you may have caught your supper."
"Tonight's, but we could do with a casserole too."
"Okay. Ethan wasn't really clear about what you'd need or want done. Maybe we should go over things."
"Darling, you do whatever you think we need, and it'll be more than we can ever repay." She'd already seen that for herself. Pink underwear, she mused, dust an inch thick on one table and unidentified substances sticking to another. And the stove? God only knew when it had last been cleaned. It was good to be needed, she thought. Good to know just what had to be done. "We'll take it as it goes, then. I may have to bring the baby along sometimes. Julie minds her at night when I'm working at the pub, but I can't always find somebody to take her otherwise. She's a good girl."
