"It's cool." He muttered it because he couldn't trust his voice.
"She wanted to buy everyone shoes," Cam commented. "I had to stop her."
"So I only bought myself a half a dozen pair."
"I thought it was four."
She smiled. "Six. I snuck two by you. Phillip, I stumbled across Maglis. I could have wept."
"Armani?"
She sighed lustily. "Oh, yeah."
"Now I'm going to cry."
"You can sob over fashion later," Cam told them. "I'm starving."
"Grace was here." Seth wanted to try on his shirt right away but thought it would be too lame. "She cleaned everything—made us wash up in the Bay—and she fried chicken."
"Grace made fried chicken?"
"And potato salad."
"There's no place like home," Cam murmured and headed for the kitchen. Seth waited a few seconds, then followed.
"I guess I could eat another piece," he said casually.
"Get in line." Cam pulled the platter and bowl out of the fridge.
"Don't they give you stuff to eat on the plane?"
"That was then, this is now." Cam heaped a plate with food, then leaned back against the counter. The kid looked tanned and healthy, he noted. The eyes were still wary, but his face had lost that rabbit-about-to-run look. He wondered if it would surprise Seth as much as it had himself to know he'd missed the smart-mouthed brat. "So, how's it been going?"
"Okay. School's done, and I've been helping Ethan out on the boat a lot. Pays me slave's wages there and at the boatyard."
"Anna's going to want to know what you got on your report card."
"A's," Seth muttered around a mouthful of drumstick, and Cam choked.
"All?"
"Yeah—so what?"
"She's going to love that. Want to make more points with her?"
Seth jerked a shoulder again, narrowing his eyes as he considered what he would be asked to do to please the woman of the house. "Maybe."
"Put the soccer shirt on. It took her damn near half an hour to pick out the right one. Major points if you wear it the same night she gives it to you."
"Yeah?" As easy as that? Seth thought and relaxed into a grin. "I guess I can give her a thrill."
"he really liked his shirt," Anna said as she meticulously tucked away the contents of one suitcase. "And the book. I'm so glad we thought of the book."
"Yeah, he liked them." Cam figured the next day, even next year, was soon enough to unpack. Besides, he liked stretching out on the bed and watching her—watching his wife, he thought with an odd little thrill—fuss around the room.
"He didn't freeze up when I hugged him. That's a good sign. And his interaction with Ethan and Phillip is easier, more natural, than it was even a couple of weeks ago. He was anxious to see you again. He's feeling a little threatened by me. I change the dynamics around here just at the point where he was getting used to how things worked. So he's waiting, and he's watching for what'll happen next. But that's good. It means he considers this his home. I'm the intruder."
"Miz Spinelli?"
She turned her head, arched a brow. "That's Mrs. Quinn to you, buster."
"Why don't you turn off the social worker until Monday?"
"Can't." She slipped one of her new shoes out of its bag and nearly cooed at it in delight. "The social worker is very pleased with the status of this particular case. And Mrs. Quinn, the brand-new sister-in-law, is determined to win Seth's trust, and maybe even his affection."
She slipped the shoe back into the bag and wondered how long she should wait before asking Cam to customize their closet. She knew just what she had in mind, and he was good with his hands. Considering, she studied him. Very, very good with his hands.
"I suppose I could finish unpacking tomorrow."
He smiled slowly. "I suppose you could."
"I feel guilty about it. Grace has this place so spotless."
"Why don't you come over here. We'll work on that guilt."
"Why don't I?" She tossed the shoe over her shoulder and, with a laugh, jumped him.
"she's coming along."
Cam studied the boat. It was barely seven in the morning, but his internal clock was still set to Rome. Since he'd awakened early, he hadn't seen the point in letting his brothers sleep the day away.
So the Quinns stood, under the hard, bright lights of the boatyard, contemplating the job at hand. Seth mimicked their stance—hands in pockets, legs spread and braced, face sober.
It would be the first time the four of them had worked on the boat together; He was wildly thrilled.
"I figured you could start belowdecks," Ethan began.
"Phillip estimates four hundred hours to finish the cabin."
Cam snorted. "I can do it in less."
"Doing it right," Phillip put in, "is more important than doing it fast."
"I can do it fast and right. The client'll have this baby under sail and the galley stocked with champagne and caviar in less than four hundred hours."
Ethan nodded. Since Cam had come through with another client, who wanted a sport fishing boat, he dearly hoped that was true. "Then let's get to work."
And work kept his mind off things his mind had no business being on. The brain had to be focused to use the lathe—if you were fond of your hands. Ethan turned the wood slowly, carefully, forming the mast. Ear protectors turned the hum of the motor and the hot rock blasting from the radio into a muffled echo.
He imagined there was conversation going on behind him, too. And the occasional ripe curse. He could smell the sweet scent of wood, the sting of epoxy, the stench of tar used to coat bolts.
Years ago, the three of them had built his workboat. She wasn't fancy, and he couldn't claim she had a pretty face, but she was sound and she was game. They'd built his skipjack as well because he'd been determined to dredge oysters in the traditional craft. Now the oysters were nearly gone, and his boat joined the other handful in the Bay, pulling in extra money during the summer by giving tours.
He rented it to Jim's brother during tourist season, because it helped them both and was the practical thing to do. But it bothered him some to see the fine old vessel used that way. Just as it bothered him some to know other people lived and slept in the house that was his.
But when push came to shove, money mattered. Seth's laugh snuck through his ear protectors and reminded him why it mattered now more than ever.
When his hands cramped from the work, he turned off the lathe to give them a rest. Noise filled his ears when he took off the protectors.
He could hear the pounding of Cam's hammer echoing from belowdecks. Seth was coating the centerboard with Rust-Oleum so the steel plate gleamed with wet. Phillip had the nastier job of soaking the inside of the centerboard case with creosote. It was good old-growth red cedar, which should discourage any marine borers, but they'd decided not to take chances.
A boat by Quinn was built to last.
He felt a stir of pride watching them and could almost imagine his father standing beside him, big hands fisted on his hips, a wide grin on his face.
"It makes a picture," Ray said. "The kind your mother and I loved to study. We had plenty of them put aside, to take out and look over again once you all grew up and went off your own ways. We never really had the chance because she left first."
"I still miss her."
"I know you do. She was the glue that kept us all together. But she did a good job of it, Ethan. You're still stuck."
"I guess I'd have died without her, without you. Without them."
"No." Ray laid a hand on Ethan's shoulder, shook his head. "You were always strong, heart and mind. You came out the other side of hell as much because of what's inside you as what we did. You should remember that more often. Just look at Seth. He handles things differently than you did, but he's got a lot of the same qualities inside him. He cares, deeper than he wants to. He thinks deeper than he lets on. And his wants go deeper than he'll admit even to
himself."
"I see you in him." It was the first time Ethan had allowed himself to say it, even to himself. "I don't know how to feel about it."
"Funny, I see each one of you in him. The eye of the beholder, Ethan." Then he gave Ethan a quick slap on the back. "That's a damn fine boat coming along there. Your mother would have gotten a kick out of this."
"Quinns build to last," Ethan murmured.
"Who're you talking to?" Seth demanded.
Ethan blinked, felt his head go light, filled with thoughts thin as strands of cotton. "What?" He pushed a hand up his forehead, into his hair, knocking his cap back. "What?"
"Man, you look weird." Seth cocked his head, fascinated. "How come you're standing here talking to yourself?"
"I was…" Asleep on my feet? he wondered. "Thinking," he said. "Just thinking out loud." Suddenly the noise and smells seemed to roar into his dizzy brain. "I need some air," he muttered and hurried out through the cargo doors.
"Weird," Seth said again. He started to say something to Phillip, then was distracted as Anna came through the front door carrying an enormous hamper.
"Anybody interested in lunch?"
"Yeah!" Always interested, Seth made a beeline. "Did you bring the chicken?"
"What's left of it," she told him. "And ham sandwiches thick as bricks. There's a cooler of iced tea in the car. Why don't you go haul it in?"
"My hero," Phillip said, wiping his hands on his jeans before relieving her of the hamper. "Hey, Cam! There's a gorgeous woman out here with food."
The hammering stopped instantly. Seconds later, Cam's head popped up through the cabin roof. "My woman. I get first dibs on the food."