Blood Ties (6 page)

"So your father is John Jr.?"

"They call him Little John."

"And I suppose you're John, as well." She was beginning to feel like the straight half of a comedy team.

"Yep

"So you had to be-"

He grinned. "Anything but John. My younger
brother Nate used to climb on my back, kick me in the
ribs, and yell, "Buck! Buck!"

She chuckled. "In a perverse way, it suits you."

They sat there in companionable silence until twilight settled over the harbor. Across the narrow inlet,
lights winked on in the houses. Boats rocked rhythmically on their mooring ropes, and the gulls' raucous
cries faded. A single star glowed faintly over the bay.

"Do you swim as well as you ride?" he asked.

"Try me."

He nodded. "I'd like to." Standing, he kicked off his
shoes, unzipped his jeans, and stepped out of them.
Buck had a horseman's legs, lean and hard-muscled,
and his belly was flat. "Last one in ..." Without finishing, he dove off the dock into the river.

Her top and shorts landed close to his jeans. She hit
the water only seconds after he did. She'd remembered to unbuckle her watch, but hadn't taken the
time to remove her Victoria's Secret thong.

It was deeper than she'd expected, the current
strong, but she somersaulted a dozen feet down and
came up within arm's reach of Buck. The water was
surprisingly warm. It felt like liquid velvet on her skin.

"Glad I didn't bet money against your taking that
plunge," he said.

She kicked hard, but the tide pushed her steadily
away from the mouth of the inlet and the dock. When
he gathered her in his arms and kissed her, she
wrapped her legs around his waist.

He kissed as good as he smelled. Not greedy, but
slow and tantalizing.

"I think I like you, Abbie Night Horse."

"I'll reserve judgment." He tasted of peppermint.

He kissed her again, but made no attempt to grope
her naked breasts or run an exploring hand between her thighs. She hadn't decided yet how far she'd let
him go, but his self-control surprised her. She hadn't
expected him to hesitate.

Something alive in the water brushed her bare foot,
and she gasped.

"Shark?" he joked.

"Crab, probably."

"Don't know," he teased. "Some great whites have
been caught off this pier."

"Right." She splashed water in his face. "Tell it to the
tourists, cowboy."

He laughed and splashed her back.

"Race you to the other side!" She twisted free and
began to swim.

Buck beat her to the far dock by six feet. Still laughing, he heaved himself out of the water and stretched
out on his stomach. She found a ladder, climbed out,
and wrung the water from her hair.

"I like your mother's long braid," he said. "It would
suit you."

"Too much work." She ran her fingers through her
chin-length bob. "Lots of archaeological sites are in
dry country."

"Most men like long hair on women."

"And you, Chief Davis?"

"I like variety."

"In women or hair styles?"

"Both."

She dropped onto the weathered walkway beside
him and propped her chin up with her fists. The
boards were still warm from the late afternoon sun
and smelled of salt and seaweed. "You never said if you
were married," she reminded him.

"Nope."

"Not married, or not saying?"

He caught her hand, turned it over, and traced slow circles on her palm with a callused thumb. Shivers of
pleasure bubbled in Abbie's belly. Buck Davis, she decided, was no country yokel. He was smooth, funny,
and very sexy.

"Miss Emma would have thrown a net over me at
dinner if my affections were otherwise engaged. She's
a force to be reckoned with on Tawes."

"Funny, she doesn't strike me as a particularly righteous woman, but she is odd."

His voice grew serious. "Emma's different, that's for
certain."

"In more than one way?"

"She's one tough lady, and we respect individuality
on Tawes. We've always protected our own. Some
things haven't changed in two hundred years."

"How conservative can the island be if the sole officer of the law is skinny-dipping in the heart of town?"

"Conservative, but practical. You and I are consenting adults. We're alone, and I'd say I'm properly
dressed for the sport in which I'm engaged."

"Swimming."

"Exactly."

She smiled. Part of her wanted more, and part of
her was enjoying the novelty of a different kind of
man. She was no prude, but she was particular. It had
been two months since she'd spent that long weekend
on Santorini with Arri. It had been fun, but Arri had
proved a better dancer than a lover. Like a lot of men,
he put his own pleasure first, and was too quick to
sprint to the finish line.

"If you're serious about giving me a tour of the island, I could take you up in the Robinson tomorrow."

"I'd like that. We could fly over the dig site. You
could judge if there's any landing place closer than
Bailey's farm."

"What time?"

"I'm expecting an important call around ten. How
about we go up as soon as it gets light? That will give
me time to get back to the office for my call."

She nodded. She had the feeling that they weren't
going to score tonight. She wasn't sure why, and she
didn't know whether she was pleased or slightly
piqued. He'd seemed interested enough. She wondered why he'd backed off.

"You and your mother are not like any archaeologists I've ever known."

Abbie gave a sound of amusement. "Do you know
many?"

"No. One was a tall, skinny man with knobby knees,
and the other a dignified female scholar of mature
years."

"I've got another year and a half of work before I get
my doctorate-if it doesn't take longer."

"Your mother's anything but stuffy."

"She's neat, isn't she? And she's smart. She knows
her stuff."

"See?" he remarked. "You are different. A mother
and daughter who respect one another."

"It's more than that," Abbie replied. "It may be an
old cliche, but Mom is my best friend."

"Is your father living?"

"He lives in Oklahoma. They separated when I was
two. Mom always made certain I spent part of the year
with him. They alternated holidays. She didn't want me
to lose touch with my tribal roots. We're DelawareLenape. Dad's big into the Indian thing."

"And you?"

"It's good. It's where I came from, but it's my past,
not my future." She shrugged. "I'm a hopeless romantic. I can't think of anything I'd rather do than spend
a summer in hundred-and-ten degree heat, sifting
through four-thousand-year-old ruins."

"Did you go to school in Oklahoma?"

"Home-schooled, mostly. Or you might say, siteschooled. Wherever Mom was working a dig. Formal
school? Let's see. I think I spent four months at a
Navaho kindergarten, part of third grade on a Montana res. Mom was recording some rock paintings
there. Seventh grade, a Catholic girls' school in New
Mexico. Freshman undergraduate-London. Loved
the city, hated the climate."

"And the rest?"

"Finished undergraduate and my master's at Penn.
And you?"

"I started in West Virginia, Morgantown, then transferred to the University of Delaware."

"You always wanted to be in law enforcement?"

"I didn't know what I wanted. Started out as a biology
major, switched to psychology, and finally to physics. It
took me nearly six years to get my bachelor's degree."

"But you like this? What you're doing now?"

"So far." He grinned. "I like it a lot tonight. Not so
much yesterday when I had to call that boy's folks and
ask them to identify the body."

"Somebody has to do it."

"That's what I keep telling myself." He stood up.
"You up for the swim back? I don't want to leave Toby
there too long. He's liable to get ideas about slipping
his bridle off and going home without me."

"He's done that before?"

"Twice."

They dove in side by side. The current wasn't nearly
as swift as it had been, and the swim was easy. Buck
scooped up his clothing, turned his back, and dressed.
The golden retriever materialized out of the darkness
and sniffed at Abbie as she tied her shoes.

"Hey, there, Bess." Buck produced a dog biscuit from his jeans pocket. "Bess is usually down here nosing around the docks."

They mounted Toby and rode back through the
quiet streets of town to Emma's house. Buck walked
Abbie to the porch. "I had fun," she said. "Thanks."

"Me too. See you at ten."

She waited for him to kiss her, but he didn't. Buck
got back on the horse and rode off into the foggy
night, leaving her with more questions than answers.

"They're a bunch of fools," Will Tawes said. "And
Matthew Catlin is the worst of the lot."

"I have to agree with you." Forest McCready poured
a measure of Wild Turkey into a pewter stirrup cup
and passed it to Will. The two were seated on the stern
of Gone Fishing, the attorney's 32-foot Grady White,
moored to Will's private dock. It was half past midnight and so dark and cloudy that Forest couldn't
make out a single star. Far off, from the western shore
of the bay, thunder rumbled and an occasional lightning bolt illuminated the sky. "That's why I skipped tonight's meeting."

"I wanted to, but Bailey was bound and determined
for me to go. Daniel weaseled out of it. Something
about repairing a loose towel bar in Bailey's fancy new
bathroom. I should have told her it was a two-man job."

"That niece of yours winds you around her little finger. Just like Beth always did."

Will snorted. "Don't I know it? Wanting me to mix
more with folks. Act civil to that yellow skunk of a preacher. It sticks in my craw to shake Matthew's hand,
I'll tell you that."

"At least you're not shooting at him." Forest sipped
at the whiskey. Bailey had drawn Will farther back into
the community than Forest had ever expected, but his
friend's temper hadn't mellowed much with age.
There was bad blood between the Catlin and the
Tawes families, a stain so deep that no amount of
scrubbing could ever wash it clean. Will was capable of
violence, and he had good reason for disliking
Matthew. So long as he didn't drag the minister into
the Chesapeake and drown him, Forest guessed they
were making ground.

He offered the bottle, but Will declined. "We need
Matthew as a figurehead," Forest said. "Being a member of the clergy carries respectability with the public.
We have to convince the media and politicians that the
majority of the islanders are against development.
Give the dispute a David-and-Goliath slant."

"Since the first settlers came to Tawes in the early
sixteen hundreds, we've been invaded by hostile Indians, redcoats, and deserters from one army or another. Now it's these damned mainland pirates."

"What worked in the past won't fly now," Forest cautioned. "You can't start taking potshots at tourists."

"Don't see why not," Will grumbled. "A few wellplaced bullets might dampen their enthusiasm."

"Now that we have this archaeologist here, I can
continue to delay the sale." Forest set his cup on the
table. "Believe me, Will, I don't want development any
more than you do. I need time to prove that Tom
Sherwood's grandfather never owned that farm. I believe he was always a tenant, and I'm tracing old records and property transfers to prove it."

"Who paid the taxes?"

"The island fund. Sherwood's taxes never amounted to much, and no one wanted trouble from outsiders.
He didn't pay a cent out of pocket."

"I've heard that before-that old T.J., Tom's granddad, was just a squatter. And you have to be careful
about bringing up the fund in court. That money's not
something we want the law to know about."

Forest shook his head. "You don't have to worry
about that. As far as the tax offices are concerned, the
property taxes were paid from a trust." The men in
Forest's family had always studied the law, and they
had instilled in him the knowledge that with position
and personal wealth came responsibility.

The emergency fund had been created by the islanders before there was a welfare system or Social Security, even before Tawes men marched off to fight in
the French and Indian War. The McCreadys might not
have been smugglers or moonshiners, but for two and
a half centuries they'd collected, invested, and administered tithes on all illegal activity. Fortunately, there'd
been a lot of it.

If a man fell ill and couldn't bring in his crop,
neighbors stepped in to fill the gap. If the fishing was
bad, or the rains didn't come, the fund paid the taxes
on farms and the payments on boats. No child went
hungry on Tawes, and no widow had to do without
medicine or a warm coat. And because the islanders
had contributed the money, no one felt the shame of
taking charity. By the same token, since Forest knew
the strengths and weaknesses of each man and
woman, sloth, drink, laziness, or stupidity were no excuse to profit from the labor of others.