Blood Ties (9 page)

"Hmm." Will tossed a morsel of crab to Puzzle under the table. "Not like Daniel to break his word.
Something must have come up.

Bailey pushed back an uneasy twinge. Last summer,
when she'd first come to Tawes, the something that had
come up had nearly cost them their lives. Daniel had
recently retired from the G.I.A. and a stint in the Far
East, and there were people who hadn't wanted him
to quit.

"Nothin' to worry yourself over."

He covered her hand with his, and Bailey noticed
how similar in shape their hands were. For a moment,
her apprehension over Daniel's unexplained absence
was overwhelmed by her affection for Will.

"I love you," she whispered, gazing into eyes that
were almost identical to her own.

Will blinked, gave her hand a quick squeeze, and
cleared his throat brusquely. "You stop worryin'.
Daniel's not going to get himself into any more trouble. All that is past and done with."

"I hope so."

"He gave me his word when he said he wanted to
marry you."

"We had words over the marina project," she admitted. "After I got back from the meeting. Daniel believes that development will ruin Tawes. He's violently
opposed to it."

Will didn't answer, and she knew that he agreed
with Daniel. "Things can't remain the same forever," She said. "New people would mean jobs, more children in our schools, more tax revenue for the island."

"No use us chewing over the same old bone. You don't
know what's at stake here, what can be lost forever."

"Daniel thinks that if I'd grown up on Tawes, I'd
look at development differently. I think he's being
pigheaded."

"He's a good man-in spite of being born a Catlinbut he won't be easy to live with. Keep that in mind,
girl. Daniel's always going to have secrets he can't share
with you. The places he's been, the things he's had to
do. . ." Will's stare grew hard. 'You think about it, darlin'. What you're takin' on if you decide to be his wife."

"I love him."

"I loved your grandmother, but she knew better
than to marry me."

"Daniel's a good man. We just don't see eye to eye
on this issue. If we can't increase enrollment, we could
lose the elementary school. And if it closes, some of
the younger families will move off the island. Cathy
agrees with me. She said that she and Jim haven't spoken a civil word to each other for a week."

"This island is a little like an egg warm from the
nest. It's sound, maybe smudged some, but solid.
Once there's a crack in the shell, it will go bad in no
time. A lot of people have shed blood for Tawes. It's
not so easy to see it handed over to strangers."

"If Onicox Realty buys Mr. Sherwood's land, they
have a right to develop their property."

Will's countenance darkened. "Thanks for the meal.
It was fine." He stood.

"Wait, don't go you haven't had your blueberry pie."

Will took his hat off the back of the chair. "Best you
remember you were born a Tawes. You don't want to
take sides against your own."

"I have a right to my own opinion."

"You do. But you're carryin' a baby and there may
be trouble. If it comes, lay low and stay out of the line
of fire."

"Don't talk like that. You scare me." She put her arm
on his shoulder.

He brushed her off and walked to the door before
glancing back. "I mean what I say, Bailey. There'll be
no condominiums and no marina built on my island.
Not so long as I draw breath. And you can put that in
your pipe and smoke it."

Matthew Catlin couldn't sleep. He'd taken his nightly
glass of sherry, all of his medicines, and the blue sleeping pill that he found in a container at the back of the
medicine cupboard ... one prescribed for Grace by a
doctor two years ago. Still, he lay awake, eyes wide,
thoughts churning in his head, staring up at a cobweb
on the ceiling.

He really should go downstairs, get the broom, and
sweep away the spider and the struggling fly trapped in
the web. Grace would have insisted, if she'd seen it. She
couldn't abide spiders or other vermin in her house.
But getting up, putting on glasses and slippers, finding
his robe, and going all the way downstairs to the pantry
seemed overwhelming. Then, after he disposed of the
spider web, he would have to reverse the whole process. Two trips downstairs-and it was after ten o'clock.
Instead, Matthew stared idly at the spider and worried
if Grace would approve of his sharing his father's Irish
treasures with Dr. Knight and her daughter.

"It seemed the right thing to do, Grace," he murmured. "Father always said that the Irish came here
long before the Vikings. Some of the Indians had gray
eyes. Did you know that? I know I've told you that before. Father believed that the Irish might have estab lished a colony here on the Chesapeake. And if we can
prove it, no one can come here and make Tawes into
another Kent Island. Don't you agree?"

Grace didn't reply, but she rarely did. It wasn't that
she was ignoring him; it was simply difficult for her to
bridge the gap that stretched between them.

"They seem very nice, the archaeologists. They're
Indians, I understand, but they don't wear feathers or
beads. They look just like everyone else-perhaps
their skin is a little darker, reddish really. I suppose
that's why they call them redmen." Matthew chuckled at
his own joke. "I don't know why they don't say redwomen? The daughter's name is Abigail Night Horse.
Isn't that an odd name? Horse?"

Nothing.

"Are you put out with me, dear?"

No answer.

Precious whined and hopped up on the bed.

"No, no. In your basket," Matthew said firmly. "You
know how Mother feels about you on the bed." The
terrier nipped at him with needle-sharp teeth as he
caught it and lowered it gently to the floor. "No bitey!
Naughty! Naughty, Precious." A drop of blood welled
up from the teeth marks on his finger, and Matthew
sucked it away. "That's it. Go night night. There's a
good Precious."

The sunflower-shaped night-light cast a yellow glow
over a section of one wall. Matthew never went to bed
without his night-light. If he needed to use the toilet,
he didn't want to fumble for the lamp, and it wasn't
safe to wander about the house in the dark. Besides,
the small light comforted him. He didn't like sleeping
alone. Precious was company, but not the same as having his dear wife share his bed.

Sometimes, Matthew got through the nights imagining Grace standing in the shower soaping her long white legs and standing wet and dripping on the bathroom rug, toweling herself off, and powdering her underarms, her breasts, and bare bottom. Sinful, he
supposed, thinking about his wife that way ... thinking about her dusting powder in the pink hollows between her toes.

From the first night of their marriage, Matthew had
discovered what a modest woman Grace was. Naturally, he'd respected her wishes. Not once had they
shared marital privileges in the daylight or undressed
in front of each other. The night light was the only
daring deviation Grace permitted. She always came to
their bed decently covered in a long flannel night
gown, summer or winter. Her shyness, he supposed,
came of being raised so strictly.

So, his imagining Grace naked in her bath, picturing in his mind's eye her tight little upright nipples
slippery with soap, her shell-like belly button, and her
long, creamy-white feet covered in silky baby powder
were naughty indulgences, but they helped, keeping
him from other sins. Abuse. Self-stimulation. Dirty
magazines. And other unclean practices best not mentioned aloud in a parsonage.

Abbie and Buck had ridden on horseback to an isolated sand beach surrounded by old-growth woodland.
Now that the sun had gone down, the temperature
had dropped into the seventies-heavenly after the
heat of the dig site at the marsh.

"I'm flying Mom to Philly early tomorrow," Abbie
said as she dismounted. Bailey Tawes had loaned her a
sweet gaited black horse to use as long as she remained on the island. "Anati has a friend at Penn
who's an expert on Irish Bronze Age. She's going to
examine Matthew's artifacts."

Buck caught her around the waist before her feet touched the ground. His hands were strong, and the
feel of his fingers on her bare midriff made her breath
catch in her throat.

He lowered her to the grass and turned her around
to face him. The black horse nosed against her back
and she glanced down, surprised to find the reins still
clutched in her hands. She felt her cheeks grow warm
as she gazed into Buck's amused eyes.

Abbie had enjoyed a long shower and washed her
hair before Emma's evening meal, but the cool tingle
of her skin had been supplanted by a growing heat.

It really had been too long since she'd made love to
a man.

A slow grin creased his features. Damn, but he was
good at seducing a woman ... and he knew it. She
waited, expecting him to make the first move, but he
kept devouring her with those intense blue eyes ...
eyes that invited her to lose herself in them.

"No great discoveries today?" He broke the spell
teasingly. They'd left Emma's sometime after eight
and ridden for at least three-quarters of an hour. She
supposed it must be close to nine, because deep shadows from the trees laid dark patterns over the mirrored surface of the water.

Wild mint grew where the path left the woods and
entered the clearing. The horses' hooves had crushed
it, and the heady scent mingled with the smell of salt
and leather. She noticed a tiny nick on Buck's cheek
where he must have cut himself shaving. Just below it
on his rightjawline ran a thin white scar.

"You're a beautiful woman, Abbie Night Horse." He
took the reins from her hand. "He'll stand. They both
will."

Funny how Buck's deep voice struck a chord in the
pit of her stomach, making her feel as though she'd
been downing glasses of champagne instead of sweet tea over ice. "Mom started one pit, but the earth had
been disturbed well below the level of the plow line. I
staked out a second pit a few yards away." Her own
words sounded breathy, her speech stilted. "We're
hoping to find hearth material, pottery ... some indication that this was more than a hunting camp."

He pulled his T-shirt off over his head. "Ready if you
are. There's a nice bottom here."

Abbie glanced toward the water and then back at
him. He had great shoulders, sinewy and hard without
being artificially built up by steroids. His broad chest
was freckled and bore a light dusting of fair hair that
darkened to a tawny gold below his belt line. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she unsnapped her denim
shorts. This time she hadn't bothered with underwear.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured. "The water's fine."
He slowly traced her lower lip with two fingers before
trailing them down to brush the rise of her breasts at
the vee of her bra. "All my life, folks referred to the Indian site as a burial ground. You have reason to believe it's not?"

"No, I-"

He leaned close and kissed the hollow of her throat.
She sighed with pleasure as the tip of his velvet tongue
flicked against her skin.

"I don't have any opinion yet," she managed. She
unzipped the zipper on his shorts and slipped her
hand inside. He hadn't bothered with underwear either. "Give me time."

He inhaled sharply. "All the time you need, darlin'."

She stroked the length of his erection, pleased by
the raggedness of his breathing. "Construction companies may go in with backhoes, but my favorite tool is
a trowel I picked up at a yard sale."

He groaned and kissed her mouth. "Maybe I can
change that," he said when they broke for breath.

"If you don't have a-" she began.

"Don't worry. I do."

She heard the rip of a foil packet and caught the distinctive odor of a condom being opened. "Let me help
you with that."

"I thought you'd never ask."

She laughed with him as they took the necessary
precaution. It wasn't the first time she'd done this, but
it felt like it. Buck was a big man, and her heart raced
like a hormone-driven teenager's. He was no stranger
to kissing, and as their caresses intensified, she parted
her lips and drew him in to savor the taste and texture
of his tongue. Other than the lap of waves against the
beach, the rasp of his breath, and the thudding of her
heart, the cove was absolutely quiet.

"The horses?"

"They'll be fine." His arms tightened around her,
and one hand caressed her buttocks.

She must have taken a step backward, because suddenly she became aware of the heat and solid bulk of
the horse behind her. Buck's hands were all over her,
gentle and teasing, driving her crazy with need. She
stroked him harder. He was more than ready, and she
could feel the tension knotting in the pit of her belly.

"Are you wet, darlin'?"

She was. All she could think of was having him inside her.

"Let's see?" He slipped a finger into her vagina and
she moaned with pleasure, clenching around him,
wanting more. He lowered his head, nuzzling aside
her bra and drawing a nipple between his lips to
suckle it.

The first tide of sweet pleasure surged through her.
"Please," she begged him. 1. .."

He dropped back onto the sand, pulling her with
him. She yanked her bra off and arched against him, offering her breasts to be kissed and laved and sucked.
He wiggled out of his shorts, seized her hips, and lowered her down on top of him. He slid into her sheath,
deep and then deeper.

Buck groaned and clutched her against him. Slowly
she withdrew and then with an abandoned cry, slid
down over his swollen length. After what seemed an
eternity, they found a mutual rhythm. Quickly, she climaxed, shaken by multiple tremors of pure physical
joy. Still, they hurtled on, caught in a maelstrom of
hot, sweaty passion, until finally Buck gave a great
shudder and she came again. This time, the peal was
even brighter and more intense than before.