"It's what we're going to do now. All of us," he said and waited for Seth's gaze to settle on his face again. "We'll go on as we've been going on, mostly. Phil will talk to the lawyer so we got that end covered."
"You tell him I'm not going back with her," Seth said furiously, shooting a desperate look at Phillip. "No matter what, I'm not going back."
"I'll tell him."
"Anna's going to write her a letter," Ethan continued.
"What kind of letter?"
"A smart one," Ethan said with the hint of a smile. "With all those fifty-dollar words and that official-sounding stuff. She'll be doing it as your caseworker, to let Gloria know we've got the system and the law behind us. It might give her pause to think."
"She hates social workers," Seth put in.
"Good." For the first time in more than an hour, Anna smiled and meant it. "People who hate something are usually afraid of it, too."
"One thing that would help, Seth, if you can do it—"
He turned back to Ethan. "What do I have to do?"
"If you could talk to Anna, tell her how things were before—as close to exact as you can manage."
"I don't want to talk about it. It's over. I'm not going back."
"I know." Gently, Ethan put his hands on Seth's trembling shoulders. "And I know talking about it can be almost like being there again. It took me a long time to be able to tell my mother—to tell Stella. To say it all out loud, even though she already knew most of it. It started to get better after that. And it helped her and Ray get the legal crap handled."
Seth thought of High Noon, of heroes. Of Ethan. "It's the right thing to do?"
"Yeah, it's the right thing."
"Will you come with me?"
"Sure." Ethan rose, held out a hand. "We'll go home and talk it through."
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"ready? mama? time to go?"
"Almost, Aubrey." Grace put the finishing touches on her potato salad, sprinkling paprika on to give it zest and color.
Aubrey had been asking her the same question since seven-thirty that morning. Grace decided the only reason she hadn't run out of patience with her daughter was because she felt just as anxious and eager as a two year old herself.
At the deep frustration in Aubrey's voice, Grace had to swallow a chuckle. "Let me see." Grace tucked the clear wrap tidily around the bowl before she turned and studied her little girl. "You look pretty."
"I have a bow." In a purely female gesture, Aubrey lifted a hand and patted the ribbon Grace had threaded through her curls.
"A pink bow."
"Pink." With a smile, Aubrey beamed up at her mother. "Pretty Mama."
"Thanks, baby." She hoped Ethan thought so. How would he look at her? she wondered. How should they behave? There would be so many people there, and no one—well, besides the Quinns—no one knew they were in love.
In love, she thought with a long, dreamy sigh. It was such a marvelous place to be. She blinked when little arms wrapped around her legs and squeezed.
Laughing, Grace hauled her up for a big hug and kiss. "All right. Let's go."
no general in the hours before a decisive battle ever ordered his troops into action with more authority and determination than Anna Spinelli Quinn.
"Seth, you set those folding chairs up under the shade trees over there. Isn't Phillip back with the extra ice yet? He's been gone twenty minutes. Cam! You and Ethan are putting those picnic tables too close together."
"Minute ago," Cam said under his breath, "they were too far apart." But he walked backward, hauling the table another foot.
"That's good. That's fine." Armed with bright red, white, and blue striped cloths, Anna hurried across the lawn. "Now you can move the umbrella tables, nearer the water, I think."
Cam narrowed his eyes. "You said you wanted them over by the trees."
"I changed my mind." She scanned the yard as she spread the tablecloths.
Cam opened his mouth to protest, but caught Ethan's warning shake of the head in time. His brother was right, he decided. Arguing wasn't going to change a thing.
Anna had been on a tear all morning, and when he said as much to Ethan as they moved out of earshot, it was with the irritation of the baffled.
"We're talking about a practical-minded, organized woman here," Cam added. "I don't know what's gotten into her. It's just a damn picnic."
"I guess women get that way over things like this," was Ethan's opinion. He remembered the way Grace had refused to let him take a shower in his own bathroom just because Cam and Anna were coming home. Who knew what went on in a female mind?
"She wasn't this bad over the wedding reception."
"I expect she had her mind on other things then."
"Yeah." Cam grunted as he picked up one of the round umbrella tables—again—and began to cart it toward the sun-dazzled water. "Phil's the smart one. He got the hell out of the house."
"He's always had a knack for it," Ethan agreed.
He didn't mind moving tables, or setting up chairs, or any of the dozens of chores—small and large—that Anna came up with. It helped keep his mind off weightier matters.
If he let himself think too much, he started to get a picture of Gloria DeLauter in his head. Because he'd never seen her, the image his brain conjured up was a tall, fleshy woman with tangled straw-colored hair, hard eyes smeared with sooty makeup, a mouth lax from too many trips to the bottle, too many matings with the needle.
The eyes were blue, like his own. The mouth, despite its slick coat of lipstick, shaped like his own. And he knew it wasn't Seth's mother's face he was seeing. It was his own mother's.
The picture wasn't dim and fuzzy as it had become over time. It was sharp and clear as yesterday.
It still had the power to ice his blood, to churn a sick animal fear in his stomach that was kin to shame.
It still made him want to strike out with bruised and bloodied fists.
He turned slowly as he heard the squeal of joy. And saw Aubrey racing over the lawn, her eyes bright as sunbeams. And saw Grace, standing by the porch steps, her smile warm and just a little shy.
You've got no right, the nasty little voice in his head hissed. No right to touch something so fine and bright.
But, oh, he had a need, one that swamped him like a storm surge and left him floundering. When Aubrey launched herself at him, his arms reached down, swung her up and around as she shrieked in delight.
He wanted her to be his. With a bone-deep longing, he wanted this perfect, this innocent, this laughing child to belong to him.
Grace's knees wobbled as she walked to them. The picture they made flashed into her mind, into her heart, where she knew it would imprint itself. The lanky man with big hands and a serious smile and the golden-bright child with a pink bow in her hair.
The sun poured over them as full and rich as the love that poured from her heart.
"She's been ready to come over since she opened her eyes this morning," Grace began. "I thought we could come a little early and I'd give Anna a hand." He was watching her so intently, so quietly, her nerves did a rapid dance under her skin. "There's not much left to do, but—"
She broke off because his arm had snaked out, wrapped around her fast and hard to pull her against him. She had time to draw in one startled breath before his mouth came down on hers. Rough and needy, it shot bolts of heat into her blood, sent her startled brain into a dizzying spin. Dimly she heard Aubrey's happy squeal.
Oh, yes, Grace thought, sprinting to catch up to this frantic pace he'd set. Please. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.
She thought she heard some sound from him, a sigh perhaps, that came from someplace too deep inside to make a sound. His lips softened. The hand that had clutched the back of her shirt like a man gripping his own life opened, stroked. This gentler, sweeter emotion that shimmered from him was n
o calmer than that first whip of greed; it only gilded the edges of the yearning he'd stirred.
She could smell him, heat and man. She could smell her daughter, powder and child. Her arms circled them both, instinctively making them a unit, holding there when the kiss ended and she could press her face into his shoulder.
He'd never kissed her in front of anyone. She knew Cam had only been a few feet away when Ethan had taken hold of her. And Seth would have seen… and Anna.
What did it mean?
"Kiss me!" Aubrey demanded, patting her hand against Ethan's cheek and puckering up.
He obliged her, then nuzzled at her neck where it would tickle and make her laugh. Then he turned his head and brushed his lips over Grace's hair. "I didn't mean to grab you that way."
"I was hoping you did," she murmured. "It made me feel you've been thinking about me. Wanting me."
"I've been thinking about you, Grace. I've been wanting you."
Because Aubrey was wiggling, he set her down and let her run off toward Seth and the dogs. "I meant I didn't mean to be rough with you."
"You weren't. I'm not fragile, Ethan."
"Yes, you are." When he saw Aubrey fall on Foolish so they could wrestle in the grass, he looked back at Grace, into her eyes. "Delicate," he said softly, "like the white china with pink roses we only use on Thanksgiving."
It made her heart flutter pleasantly that he would think so, even if she knew better. "Ethan—"