us?” The question came at her gruff and strained, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask but was nonetheless desperate to know. She could help him there. Make thing easier for everyone.
“I think he wants to meet his father. Ask him what happened all those years ago.”
“He looking for someone to blame?”
She hesitated, not the least because she’d wondered about that too. “Nash’s mother was a hard woman to come to grips with. Not real plugged in to reality, you know? I think maybe he’s just looking to understand her a little more.”
“Can’t other family members help with that? Grandparents? Aunts or uncles?”
“There aren’t any. His grandmother is dead and Nash never once met her. No aunts or uncles that he knows of. Nash knows squat about his mother’s family. They never came near her. Or him.”
Cutter shook his head.
“New question,” she said. “Say you have three words to describe yourself. Which words would you choose?”
“You’re not going to tattoo them around my neck are you? What if I change my mind?”
“Just choose. First words that comes to mind.”
“Firstborn,” he said.
Yeah. He was going to need to rethink that one. “What about captain?” she suggested instead.
“Sometimes I’m not.”
“Boss?”
“Voting system.”
Right. “What about brother?”
“That’ll work.” He knew what she was doing; she could see it in his eyes, even as he played along. She was trying to make him redefine himself in the wake of recent events.
“Good, that’s good. You have one word so far. What else?”
“Loyal.”
“To what?”
“To me and mine.”
“How do you know what’s yours?”
“That used to be an easy question. Now it’s not.” He stopped the winch, took his gloves off and slung them into a plastic crate alongside the empty beer and water bottles and then gestured for her gloves too.
“Can I take your shirt off now?” she asked as she handed them to him.
“Are you still in the sun?”
“I’m thinking overprotective might be your third word,” she offered as she shrugged out of the soft shirt that smelled of sea spray and him. She hadn’t minded wearing it. Quite the opposite. She handed it to him a little reluctantly, along with a smile and the crazy fishbone hat with the floppy brim. They too went in the crate, which he then picked up with one hand.
“That’s not my third word,” he said as he headed for the gangplank that would put them back on solid ground.
“So what is it?”
He reached the jetty and turned and held out his other hand to help her take that last step. She didn’t think it was a conscious gesture. More like an automatic one that came as naturally to him as breathing. She took his hand and felt the zing, the flame, the strength of it.
His smile came fast and smug, and there was the bravado he’d packed away while he worked.
“Hung,” he murmured.
“Hmmm,” she murmured back. “Well, fancy that.”
Chapter Six
S unday came around too soon for Cutter. He hadn’t heard back from his father and he’d fallen down when it came to spending time with Nash and Mia. He should have asked them to Friday afternoon drinks at the marina but he’d wanted one last chance to relax before the onslaught of questions.
Why he’d thought his friends and crew wouldn’t have already heard about Jackson Nash—the newcomer to the Bay who was a dead-ringer for Cutter—was anyone’s guess.
There’d been questions and then more questions, and some he’d been able to answer and some he’d simply spread his hands and shrugged. The only good thing to come of Friday’s question time was that there’d be fewer questions to answer today.
He hoped.
So here they were, Sunday family BBQ with at least fifty or sixty extras of all shapes and ages. Could be he’d gone overboard on the ‘invite a few friends’ directive, but so too had Caleb, Eli, Zoey and Bree. Zoey’s sister was here. Bree’s parents. Every last one of them
“I think he wants to meet his father. Ask him what happened all those years ago.”
“He looking for someone to blame?”
She hesitated, not the least because she’d wondered about that too. “Nash’s mother was a hard woman to come to grips with. Not real plugged in to reality, you know? I think maybe he’s just looking to understand her a little more.”
“Can’t other family members help with that? Grandparents? Aunts or uncles?”
“There aren’t any. His grandmother is dead and Nash never once met her. No aunts or uncles that he knows of. Nash knows squat about his mother’s family. They never came near her. Or him.”
Cutter shook his head.
“New question,” she said. “Say you have three words to describe yourself. Which words would you choose?”
“You’re not going to tattoo them around my neck are you? What if I change my mind?”
“Just choose. First words that comes to mind.”
“Firstborn,” he said.
Yeah. He was going to need to rethink that one. “What about captain?” she suggested instead.
“Sometimes I’m not.”
“Boss?”
“Voting system.”
Right. “What about brother?”
“That’ll work.” He knew what she was doing; she could see it in his eyes, even as he played along. She was trying to make him redefine himself in the wake of recent events.
“Good, that’s good. You have one word so far. What else?”
“Loyal.”
“To what?”
“To me and mine.”
“How do you know what’s yours?”
“That used to be an easy question. Now it’s not.” He stopped the winch, took his gloves off and slung them into a plastic crate alongside the empty beer and water bottles and then gestured for her gloves too.
“Can I take your shirt off now?” she asked as she handed them to him.
“Are you still in the sun?”
“I’m thinking overprotective might be your third word,” she offered as she shrugged out of the soft shirt that smelled of sea spray and him. She hadn’t minded wearing it. Quite the opposite. She handed it to him a little reluctantly, along with a smile and the crazy fishbone hat with the floppy brim. They too went in the crate, which he then picked up with one hand.
“That’s not my third word,” he said as he headed for the gangplank that would put them back on solid ground.
“So what is it?”
He reached the jetty and turned and held out his other hand to help her take that last step. She didn’t think it was a conscious gesture. More like an automatic one that came as naturally to him as breathing. She took his hand and felt the zing, the flame, the strength of it.
His smile came fast and smug, and there was the bravado he’d packed away while he worked.
“Hung,” he murmured.
“Hmmm,” she murmured back. “Well, fancy that.”
Chapter Six
S unday came around too soon for Cutter. He hadn’t heard back from his father and he’d fallen down when it came to spending time with Nash and Mia. He should have asked them to Friday afternoon drinks at the marina but he’d wanted one last chance to relax before the onslaught of questions.
Why he’d thought his friends and crew wouldn’t have already heard about Jackson Nash—the newcomer to the Bay who was a dead-ringer for Cutter—was anyone’s guess.
There’d been questions and then more questions, and some he’d been able to answer and some he’d simply spread his hands and shrugged. The only good thing to come of Friday’s question time was that there’d be fewer questions to answer today.
He hoped.
So here they were, Sunday family BBQ with at least fifty or sixty extras of all shapes and ages. Could be he’d gone overboard on the ‘invite a few friends’ directive, but so too had Caleb, Eli, Zoey and Bree. Zoey’s sister was here. Bree’s parents. Every last one of them
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