Free Inner Harbor by Nora Roberts

thought I’d take you up on the offer of a tour.”
    â€œI was hoping you would.”
    â€œSo . . .” Deliberately, she shifted her gaze to the hull. It was safer, she decided, than looking into those tawny eyes for any length of time. “That’s a boat?”
    â€œIt’s a hull. Or will be.” He took her hand, drew her forward. “It’s going to be a sport’s fisher.”
    â€œWhich is?”
    â€œOne of those fancy boats men like to go out on to act manly, fish for marlin, and drink beer.”
    â€œHey, Sybill.” Cam shot her a grin. “Want a job?”
    She looked at the tools, the sharp edges, the heavy lumber. “I don’t think so.” It was easy to smile back, to look over at Ethan. “It looks like the three of you know what you’re doing.”
    â€œWe know what we’re doing.” Cam wiggled his thumb between himself and Ethan. “We keep Phillip around for entertainment.”
    â€œI’m not appreciated around here.”
    She laughed and began to circle the hull. She could understand the basic shape but not the process. “I assume this is upside down.”
    â€œGood eye.” Phillip only grinned when she cocked aneyebrow. “After she’s planked, we’ll turn her and start on the decking.”
    â€œAre your parents boatbuilders?”
    â€œNo, my mother was a doctor, my father a college professor. But we grew up around boats.”
    She heard it in his voice, the affection, the not-quite-settled grief. And hated herself. She’d intended to ask him more about his parents in some detail, but couldn’t. “I’ve never been on a boat.”
    â€œEver?”
    â€œI imagine there are several million people in the world who haven’t.”
    â€œWant to?”
    â€œMaybe. I’ve enjoyed watching the boats from my hotel window.” As she studied it, the hull became a puzzle she needed to solve. “How do you know where to begin to build this? I assume you work from a design, blueprints or schematics or whatever you call it.”
    â€œEthan’s been doing the bulk of the design work. Cam fiddles with it. Seth draws it up.”
    â€œSeth.” Her fingers tightened on the strap of her purse. Props, she thought again. “Didn’t you say he was in middle school?”
    â€œThat’s right. The kid’s got a real talent for drawing. Check these out.”
    Now she heard pride and it flustered her. Struggling for composure, she followed him to a far wall, where drawings of boats were roughly framed in raw wood. They were good—very, very good. Clever sketches done with pencil and care and talent.
    â€œHe . . . A young boy drew these?”
    â€œYes. Pretty great, huh? This is the one we just finished.” He tapped a hand on the glass. “And this one’s what we’re working on now.”
    â€œHe’s very talented,” she murmured around the lump in her throat. “He has excellent perspective.”
    â€œDo you draw?”
    â€œA little, now and then. Just a hobby.” She had to turn away to settle herself. “It relaxes me, and it helps in my work.” Determined to smile again, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and aimed a bright, easy one at Phillip. “So, where’s the artist today?”
    â€œOh, he’s—”
    He broke off as two dogs raced into the building. Sybill took an instinctive step back as the smaller of the two made a beeline in her direction. She made some strangled sound of distress just as Phillip jabbed out a finger and issued a sharp command.
    â€œHold it, you idiot. No jumping. No jumping,” he repeated, but Foolish’s forward motion proved too much for all of them. He was already up, already had his paws planted just under Sybill’s breasts. She staggered a bit, seeing only big, sharp teeth bared in what she took for fierceness rather than a