He didn't move. He knew if he did, there'd be no telling what he'd do.
She splashed water ineffectually in his direction, missing him by yards. It was just to make her point. "Of course, if you're chicken..."
And there was a gleam in her eyes—he finally saw it—that told him she knew damned well what would happen if she succeeded in goading him into the water.
"Piper—"
"It's not that cold, even for a Southerner."
That did it. He raced in after her, the water shockingly cold against his overheated skin. He caught her around the middle, and at her howl of laughter, acquainted the rest of her with Cape Cod Bay.
Only she had experience with this sort of thing. She had older brothers, nephews, friends who'd grown up on the water, and she knew where, and how, to place a strategic kick that would buckle him at the knees. He went down and under, and when he popped up, spitting salt water, freezing vital parts solid, she was practically doubled over with laughter.
"Proud of yourself, are you?"
She tossed her head, virtually every strand of chestnut hair still dry. "Next time don't underestimate me."
"Damned straight I won't."
Being of an arrogant Yankee nature, she proceeded under the assumption that next time wouldn't be within the next ten seconds. Which was to underestimate him.
As much as he wanted to get out of the icy water, he swooped in on her, caught her low, and dragged her into the bay with him.
"Uh-uh, no, you don't," she yelled and hooked her legs around him, determined that he should go wherever he meant her to go.
He could have pried her loose and dunked her good and proper in a dozen different ways, but instead he went down with her, into the next swell, knowing they'd end up a tangle of arms and legs on the sand.
"Oh, hell," he murmured, breathless, as he stared down into the dark green of her mercurial eyes.
His mouth covered hers. He tasted salt, the cold of her lips contrasting with the heat of her tongue as she greedily plundered, flicked, explored. They were both soaked to the bone, chilled, shivering, and the breeze off the water only made them colder, but as their kiss deepened and their pulses raced, he knew the cold wouldn't stop them.
He felt her body—soft breasts, firm stomach and thighs— beneath him, felt the smooth silk of her legs. She smelled of sand and sea, her crazy aunt's bug repellent washed off in the bay.
"You know I want you," he said in a ragged drawl, "don't you?"
She smiled, trailed fingers up his thigh. "I'd say that's evident."
"Here, now."
"Yes."
His mouth found hers again, his body pressing hard into hers, as if there were no clothes between them. He kissed her throat, tasted salt as he descended lower. She arched under him, and he could sense her urgency even as his own threatened to explode beyond his control. His hands skimmed her breasts. With her wet clothes, she might have been naked.
But he gritted his teeth, sucked in a breath, and rolled off her, sand clinging to his feet, his legs, his rear end. He raked a hand through his wet hair. "Hell."
She sat up, reaching back to lift her twill shirt and give it a shake. "Common sense intrudes, does it?"
He glanced at her, saw her weak smile, her breathlessness. "Making love out here on the sand, in daylight."
She screwed up her face. "Blame those long June days. Yeah, there are too many people out on the water I might know. It'd get around town fast—Piper Macintosh and that rogue Tennessean out here on the beach." She glanced at her watch. "And besides, my brothers will be here any minute."
"Nice timing."
"Nothing new there. But they can't see us from the house."
"Good. Then they won't shoot."
She climbed to her feet, dusting off sand as best she could. "I don't keep a gun in the house."
The cold wind froze his clothes to him. "I didn't want this to happen."
"Oh, really? That's a hell of a compliment." There was little outrage in her tone; she was amused, disbelieving. "Maybe I will sic my brothers on you."
"You know what I meant. I didn't come up north with the intention of having a mad affair with my next-door neighbor."
She grinned at him and scooped up her sandals. "I figured that from the No Trespassing signs."
He got stiffly to his feet, nowhere near as matter-of-fact about freezing his ass off as Piper seemed to be. Damned Cape Codders. She'd already started up the path through the marsh. "I'll go on back to my house and get dry clothes on," he called to her. "Tell your brothers about Hannah's treasure, the tincture, the shoebox, the calls. Everything, Piper."
She stopped in her tracks, glanced back at him. "Or you will?"
"No. I'm just giving you unsolicited advice." Using his toes, he peeled off one shoe, then the other. He hadn't taken them off before chasing into the water after Piper. Now they were stiff and squishy with salt water and sand. "But I'd tell them."
"I don't know enough—"
"You know plenty." He snatched up his shoes and walked toward her in his bare feet, the sand a bit warmer away from the water. "You could be in danger, Piper. You don't know who's placing those calls, who dug in my yard last night."
"In danger?
Me?'
She scoffed, but he could see the spark of fear. "The only danger I'm in is of being annoyed and harassed to distraction. I've lived in this town most of my life, Clate. I know these people."
"So?"
She stared back at him. "I'm not as hard and cynical as you are."
"Maybe that's a good thing, maybe not. You don't have the perspective I do. You can't be objective."
"I'm not that naive. Look, I know Hannah makes people mad.
I
make people mad. But that doesn't mean either of us is in any real danger."
Clate didn't relent. "Tell your brothers, Piper."
Ignoring him, she about-faced and continued up through the marsh. Clipped pace. A bit of a stomp to it. Hated getting advice, Piper Macintosh did.
But he wasn't finished. "One more thing."
She didn't turn around.
"There's no treasure under my wisteria." He emphasized the myjust enough to get her back up.
It worked. She flew around, nearly sailing her sandals into the marsh. "Because you don't want there to be any treasure under
your
wisteria or because you know that for a fact?"
"Because I dug a damned three-foot hole and didn't find anything."
She grinned suddenly, devilishly, the orange glow of the sunset bringing out the red highlights in her hair. "Not so hard and cynical as you think, are you, Mr. Jackson?"
Sarcastic, enjoying herself. Clate resisted the temptation to dish her out some of her own medicine. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this thing, Piper. Whatever's at the bottom, I'm going to get to it." He went ahead and made himself sound hard and cynical. He meant what he was saying. "Be ready."
Andrew stood at Piper's back door. "Was that Clate Jackson?"
He and Benjamin, who'd started across the yard to meet her, were both frowning, adding to her self-consciousness. She had sand between her toes, in her hair, all over her wet clothes. "Yes, it was." She kept her tone matter-of-fact as she dropped her sandals on the stone terrace and dragged out the hose. "He saw me down on the beach and came over to say hello. I'm still not used to having a mobile neighbor. Hannah seldom made it that far."
Andrew muttered a
bullshit
under his breath, but Benjamin, being the slightly more diplomatic of the two, touched his younger brother's arm. It wasn't above either of them, Piper knew, to have already examined her sink strainer for signs she hadn't dined alone. Clate Jackson had them on high alert. Well, her, too.
"We're not sure we trust that guy," Benjamin said.
"No kidding." Just enough sarcasm to assert her ability to handle the situation. She turned on the water spigot and hosed down her sandals, glancing behind her at her brothers. Neither was moving. "Something up? Why the family powwow?"
"You know why," Andrew said with a snarl. If he'd arrived with any patience, it had exhausted itself by now. Clate was the sort of out-of-towner that rubbed Andrew the wrong way. Rich, secretive, using Frye's Cove as his personal refuge. Andrew welcomed newcomers provided they made an attempt to be a part of the community, didn't treat it as a fantasy but a real place populated by real people.
But suddenly Piper sensed he and Benjamin hadn't come about her neighbor. She turned off the hose, switched off the spigot, and tried to ignore a sense of dread. "You're here about Hannah."
"She's got to stop," Andrew said darkly.
Benjamin's expression softened. "We don't want her to hurt herself or anyone else. She's a sweet woman. We know that."
"But she can't go around thinking she's conjuring up men for you," Andrew said, "and she's got to leave Stan Carlucci alone. Jesus, Piper. Agrimony and—what the hell was it?"
"Bistort," she said. "It's a common tincture."
Andrew fisted his big hands. "It's
harassment?'
"There's no proof."
"This isn't a goddamned court of law, Piper. We don't care about proof. We care about stopping Hannah before she lands her little old fanny in jail or somebody else in the hospital."
Benjamin picked up Piper's abandoned hose and wound it into a neat pile, never one to stand a mess. "We're worried about her, kid."
She nodded. "So am I. Who told you about the tincture?"
"We dragged it out of Paul Shepherd," Benjamin said.
If possible, Andrew's frown deepened. "Guess we can't rely on our own sister to tell us what the hell's going on."
"Hannah's our aunt, too, Piper." Benjamin moved from the hose back next to his brother. "We care about what happens to her. No need for you to handle this thing alone."
"Paul and Stan spoke to me in confidence."
Andrew snorted in disgust. "And you can't talk to us in confidence?"
"Well, I—" She sighed. "I just wasn't sure what to do. I did talk to her, and she denies she left the tincture for Carlucci."
"You believe her?" Benjamin asked.
"Yes, I do. That's not because I'm taking her side, either. She's just so open about her herbal remedies, so committed to their safe use, it doesn't make sense that she'd be so sneaky. If she thought tincture of bistort and agrimony would help Stan, she'd hand him a bottle and give him a lengthy lecture on how to use it and why he needs it." Piper threw up her hands in frustration, letting them drop to her wet, sandy sides. "Come on, guys. You know that's what she'd do."
"Unless she's slipping," Andrew said, and for an instant, Piper could see that the prospect of their great-aunt, a steady presence in all their lives, losing it bothered him.
"Stan could have made up the incident just to save face by making Hannah look worse. Or someone else in town decided to capitalize on the tea story and get his goat."
"A copycat poisoning? I doubt it, Piper."
"It wasn't a poisoning in either case. Hannah's tea didn't agree with Stan."
"I'm not going to argue with you," Andrew snarled.
Benjamin gestured at his sister, taking in her disheveled state. "You should go in and change before you freeze to death."
"Why'd you go swimming in your clothes?" Andrew demanded, his tone suggesting it was just the sort of thing his moronic little sister would do. Then his eyebrows drew together. "Jesus. You and Jackson jump into the bay together?"
"No, we did not jump into the bay together, not that it's any of your damned business." She launched herself to her back door.
Tell your brothers, Piper.
Yeah, right. "I'm going in. You two done?"
Benjamin glanced uncomfortably at Andrew. "You want me to tell her?"
"Go ahead."
Benjamin breathed out, shifting back to his sister. "Clate Jackson or someone from his company has been making discreet inquiries into land development on this part of the Cape."
The flush of embarrassment she'd felt a moment ago cooled to ice. "What? How do you know?"
"We hear things," Andrew said before Benjamin could give her a better answer. Payback time for Piper holding out on them. But his expression softened. "Look, it's on good authority, but I don't know if any of it's true. It just seems to me this guy's got a different agenda from yours, that's all. We just wanted to give you a heads-up."
Too late, she thought, remembering the feel of Clate's hard body on hers in the wet sand, the aching need to touch, taste, explore every inch of him, remembering his interest in her, who she was, how she lived, what she wanted out of life, over dinner. No wonder her brothers were warning her. She was out of her mind.
She gave them a faltering smile. "Thanks. I guess I'd do the same for you."
Andrew smiled. "Damned straight you would."
"You go on and get cleaned up," Benjamin said. "Andrew and I will drop in on Hannah tomorrow, see what she says, and draw our own conclusions." At Piper's start, he added, "Don't worry, we'll be subtle. Liddy's going to stop by tomorrow with the boys, too. Maybe we haven't been paying enough attention to her lately."
Piper gave him a noncommittal smile. "Hannah always enjoys seeing Liddy and the boys—and you and Andrew, of course. Pop going with you?"
"We haven't told him all this yet," Andrew said. He was still leaning back on his heels, studying her suspiciously. "Piper, does Hannah have you on some other mission since the valerian root?"
She hated lying, but she couldn't tell them the truth. She'd promised Hannah her discretion, and if they doubted their aunt on the tincture of bistort and agrimony, her brothers would never believe her on buried Russian treasure. "I'm taking the Fifth."
Andrew swore under his breath.
"She doesn't need to get into any more trouble, Piper," Benjamin said, "and neither do you. Remember that, okay? Now, go get cleaned up. We'll talk tomorrow."
If she played the tape from her message machine for them, they'd talk right now. They'd never leave. They'd call their father, have a Macintosh-male powwow, decide her next moves from then on, until they had everything sewn up and resolved. Clate might not know how her brothers worked, but she did.