Chapter One
He was coming home.
Maryland's Eastern Shore was a world of marshes andmudflats, of wide fields with row crops straight as soldiers. It wasflatland rivers with sharp shoulders, and secret tidal creeks wherethe heron fed.
It was blue crab and the Bay, and the watermen who harvestedthem.
No matter where he'd lived, in the first miserable decade of hislife, or in the last few years as he approached the end of his thirddecade, only the Shore had ever meant home.
There were countless aspects, countless memories of thathome, and every one was as bright and brilliant in his mind as thesun that sparkled off the water of the Chesapeake.
As he drove across the bridge, his artist's eye wanted to capturethat moment-the rich blue water and the boats that skimmed itssurface, the quick white waves and the swoop of greedy gulls. Theway the land skimmed its edge, and spilled back with its brownsand greens. All the thickening leaves of the gum and oak trees,with those flashes of color that were flowers basking in thewarmth of spring.
He wanted to remember this moment just as he rememberedthe first time he'd crossed the bay to the Eastern Shore, a surly,frightened boy beside a man who'd promised him a life.
He'd sat in the passenger seat of the car, with the man hehardly knew at the wheel. He had the clothes on his back, and afew meager possessions in a paper sack.
His stomach had been tight with nerves, but he'd fixed what hethought was a bored look on his face and had stared out the window.
If he was with the old guy, he wasn't with her. That was asgood a deal as he could get.
Besides, the old guy was pretty cool.
He didn't stink of booze or of the mints some of the assholesGloria brought up to the dump they were living in used to coverit up. And the couple of times they'd been together, the old guy,Ray, had bought him a burger or pizza.
And he'd talked to him.
Adults, in his experience, didn't talk to kids. At them, aroundthem, over them. But not to them.
Ray did. Listened, too. And when he'd asked, straight out, ifhe-just a kid-wanted to live with him, he hadn't felt that stranglingfear or hot panic. He'd felt like maybe, just maybe, he wascatching a break.
Away from her. That was the best part. The longer they drove,the farther away from her.
If things got sticky, he could run. The guy was really old. Big,he was sure as shit big, but old. All that white hair, and that wide,wrinkled face.
He took quick, sidelong glances at it, began to draw the facein his mind.
His eyes were really blue, and that was kind of weird becauseso were his own.
He had a big voice, too, but when he talked it wasn't likeyelling. It was kind of calm, even a little tired, maybe.
He sure looked tired now.
"Almost home," Ray said as they approached the bridge."Hungry?"
"I dunno. Yeah, I guess."
"My experience, boys are always hungry. Raised three bottomlesspits."
There was cheer in the big voice, but it was forced. The childmight have been barely ten, but he knew the tone of falsehood.
Far enough away now, he thought. If he had to run. So he'dput the cards on the table and see what the fuck was what.
"How come you're taking me to your place?"
"Because you need a place."
"Get real. People don't do shit like that."
"Some do. Stella and I, my wife, we did shit like that."
"You tell her you're bringing me around?"
Ray smiled, but there was a sadness in it. "In my way. She diedsome time back. You'd've liked her. And she'd have taken one lookat you and rolled up her sleeves."
He didn't know what to say about that. "What am I supposedto do when we get where we're going?"
"Live" Ray told him. "Be a boy. Go to school, get in trouble.I'll teach you to sail."
"On a boat?"
Now Ray laughed, a big booming sound that filled the car andfor reasons the boy couldn't understand, untied the nerves in hisbelly. "Yeah, on a boat. Got a brainless puppy-I always get thebrainless ones-I'm trying to housebreak. You can help me withthat. You're gonna have chores, we'll figure that out. We'll laydown the rules, and you'll follow them. Don't think because I'man old man I'm a pushover."
"You gave her money."
Ray glanced away from the road briefly and looked into eyes thesame color as his own. "That's right. That's what she understands,from what I can see. She never understood you, did she, boy?"
Something was gathering inside him, a storm he didn't recognizeas hope. "If you get pissed off at me, or tired of having me around,or just change your mind, you'll send me back. I won't go back."
They were over the bridge now, and Ray pulled the car to theshoulder of the road, shifted his bulk in the seat so they were face-to-face."I'll get pissed off at you, and at my age I'm bound to gettired from time to time. But I'm making you a promise here andnow, I'm giving you my word. I won't send you back."
"If she-"
"I won't let her take you back," Ray said, anticipating him."No matter what I have to do. You're mine now. You're my familynow. And you'll stay with me as long as that's what you want.A Quinn makes a promise," he added, and held out a hand, "hekeeps it."
Seth looked at the offered hand, and his own sprang damp. "Idon't like being touched."
Ray nodded. "Okay. But you've still got my word on it." Hepulled back onto the road again, gave the boy one last glance. "Almosthome," he said again.
Within months, Ray Quinn had died, but he'd kept his word.He'd kept it through the three men he'd made his sons. Those menhad given the scrawny, suspicious and scarred young boy a life.
They had given him a home, and made him a man.
Cameron, the edgy, quick-tempered gypsy; Ethan, the patient,steady waterman; Phillip, the elegant, sharp-minded executive.They had stood for him, fought for him. They had saved him.
His brothers.
The gilded light of the late-afternoon sun sheened themarsh grass, the mudflats, the flat fields of row crops. With the windowsdown he caught the scent of water as he bypassed the littletown of St. Christopher.
He'd considered swinging into town, heading first to the oldbrick boat-yard. Boats by Quinn still custom-made wooden boats,and in the eighteen years since the enterprise had started-on adream, on guile, on sweat-it had earned its reputation for qualityand craftsmanship.
They were probably there, even now. Cam cursing as he finishedup some fancywork in a cabin. Ethan quietly lapping boards.Phil, up in the office conjuring up some snazzy ad campaign.
He could go by Crawford's, pick up a six-pack. Maybe they'dhave a cold one, or more likely Cam would toss him a hammerand tell him to get his ass back to work.
He'd enjoy that, but it wasn't what was drawing him now. Itwasn't what was pulling him down the narrow country roadwhere the marsh still crept out of the shadows and the trees withtheir gnarled trunks spread leaves glossy with May.
Of all the places he'd seen-the great domes and spires of Florence,the florid beauty of Paris, the stunning green hills of Ireland-nothingever caught at his throat, filled up his heart, like theold white house with its soft and faded blue trim that sat on abumpy lawn that slid back into quiet water.
He pulled in the drive, behind the old white 'Vette that hadbeen Ray and Stella Quinn's. The car looked as pristine as the dayit had rolled off the showroom floor. Cam's doing, he thought.Cam would say it was a matter of showing proper respect for anexceptional machine. But it was all about Ray and Stella, all aboutfamily. All about love.
The lilac in the front yard was smothered with blooms. Thatwas a matter of love, too, he reflected. He'd given Anna the littlebush for Mother's Day when he was twelve.
She'd cried, he remembered. Big, beautiful brown eyes floodedwith tears, laughing and swiping at them the whole time he andCam planted it for her.
She was Cam's wife, and so that made Anna his sister. But inside, he thought now, where it counted, she was his mother.
The Quinns knew all about what was inside.
He got out of the car, into the lovely stillness. He was nolonger a scrawny boy with oversized feet and a suspicious eye.
He'd grown into those feet. He was six-one with a wiry build.One that could go gawky if he neglected it. His hair had darkenedand was more a bronzed brown than the sandy mop of his youth.He tended to neglect that as well and, running a hand through itnow, winced as he recalled his intention to have it trimmed beforeleaving Rome.
The guys were going to rag on him about the little ponytail,which meant he'd have to keep it for a while; out of principle.
He shrugged and, dipping his hands into the pockets of hisworn jeans, began to walk, scanning the surroundings. Anna's flowers,the rockers on the front porch, the woods that haunted theside of the house and where he'd run wild as a boy.
The old dock swaying over the water, and the white sailingsloop moored to it.
He stood looking out, his face, hollow-cheeked and tanned,turned toward the water.
His lips, firm and full, began to curve. The weight he hadn'trealized was hanging from his heart began to lift.
At the sound of a rustle in the woods, he turned, enough ofthe wary boy still in the man to make the move swift and defensive.Out of the trees shot a black bullet.
"Witless!" His voice had both the ring of authority and easyhumor. The combination had the dog skidding to a halt, all floppingears and lolling tongue as it studied the man.
"Come on, it hasn't been that long." He crouched, held out ahand. "Remember me?"
Witless grinned the dopey grin that had named him, instantlyflopped down and rolled to expose his belly for a rub.
"There you go. That's the way."
There had always been a dog for this house. Always a boat atthe dock, a rocker on the porch and a dog in the yard.
"Yeah, you remember me." As he stroked Witless, he lookedover to the far end of the yard where Anna had planted a hydrangeaover the grave of his own dog. The loyal and much-lovedFoolish.
"I'm Seth," he murmured. "I've been away too long."
He caught the sound of an engine, the sassy squeal of tiresfrom a turn taken just a hair faster than the law allowed. Even ashe straightened, the dog leaped up, streaked away toward the frontof the house.
Wanting to savor the moment, Seth followed more slowly. Helistened to the car door slam, then to the lift and lilt of her voiceas she spoke to the dog.
Then he just looked at her, Anna Spinelli Quinn, with thecurling mass of dark hair windblown from the drive, her arms fullof the bags she'd hefted out of the car.
His grin spread as she tried to ward off the desperate affectionfrom the dog.
"How many times do we have to go over this one, simplerule?" she demanded. "You do not jump on people, especially me.Especially me when I'm wearing a suit."
"Great suit," Seth called out. "Better legs."
Her head whipped up, those deep brown eyes widened andshowed him the shock, the pleasure, the welcome all in one glance.
"Oh my God!" Heedless of the contents, she tossed the bagsthrough the open car door. And ran.
He caught her, lifted her six inches off the ground and spunher around before setting her on her feet again. Still he didn't letgo. Instead, he just buried his face in her hair.
"Hi."
"Seth. Seth." She clung, ignoring the dog that leaped andyipped and did his best to shove his muzzle between them. "I can'tbelieve it. You're here."
"Don't cry."
"Just a little. I have to look at you." She had his face framedin her hands as she eased back. So handsome, she thought. Sogrown-up. "Look at all this," she murmured and brushed a handat his hair.
"I meant to get some of it whacked off."
"I like it." Tears still trickled even as she grinned. "Very bohemian. You look wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."
"You're the most beautiful woman in the world."
"Oh boy." She sniffled, shook her head. "That's no way to getme to stop all this." She swiped at tears. "When did you get here?I thought you were in Rome."
"I was. I wanted to be here."
"If you'd called, we would've met you."
"I wanted to surprise you." He walked to the car to pull thebags out for her. "Cam at the boat-yard?"
"Should be. Here, I'll get those. You need to get your things."
"I'll get them later. Where's Kevin and Jake?"
She started up the walk with him, glanced at her watch as shethought about her sons. "What day is this? My mind's still spinning."
"Thursday."
"Ah, Kevin has rehearsal, school play, and Jake's got softballpractice. Kevin's got his driver's license, God help us, and isscooping up his brother on his way home." She unlocked the frontdoor. "They should be along in an hour, then peace will no longerlie across the land."
It was the same, Seth thought. It didn't matter what color thewalls were painted or if the old sofa had been replaced, if a newlamp stood on the table. It was the same because it felt the same.
The dog snaked around his legs and made a beeline for thekitchen.
"I want you to sit down." She nodded to the kitchen table, underwhich Witless was sprawled, happily gnawing on a hunk ofrope. "And tell me everything. You want some wine?"
"Sure, after I help you put this stuff away." When her eyebrowsshot up, he paused with a gallon of milk in his hand. "What?"
"I was just remembering the way everyone, including you, disappearedwhenever it was time to put groceries away."
"Because you always said we put things in the wrong place."
"You always did, on purpose so I'd kick you out of the kitchen."
"You copped to that, huh?"
"I cop to everything when it comes to my guys. Nothing getsby me, pal. Did something happen in Rome?"
"No." He continued to Unpack the bags. He knew whereeverything went, where everything had always gone in Anna'skitchen. "I'm not in trouble, Anna."
But you are troubled, she thought, and let it go for now. "I'mgoing to open a nice Italian white. We'll have a glass and you cantell me all the wonderful things you've been doing. It seems likeyears since we've talked face-to-face."
He shut the refrigerator and turned to her. "I'm sorry I didn'tget home for Christmas."
"Honey, we understood. You had a showing in January. We'reall so proud of you, Seth. Cam must've bought a hundred copiesof the issue of the Smithsonian magazine when they did the articleon you. The young American artist who's seduced Europe."
He shrugged a shoulder, such an innately Quinn gesture, shegrinned. "So sit," she ordered.
"I'll sit, but I'd rather you caught me up.
Continues...
Excerpted from Chesapeake Blueby Nora Roberts Copyright © 2004 by Nora Roberts. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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