Her heart was still jumping, but she inhaled slowly, exhaled deliberately. “Why?”

“The marshland. It’s too far from the beaches for the developers to be very interested. It’s largely undisturbed. Just one of the Bay’s assets, one of the factors that makes it an estuary. A finer one for watermen than the fjords of Norway.”

She inhaled again, exhaled. “Why?”

“The shallows, for one thing. A good estuary needs shallows so the sun can nourish aquatic plants, plankton. And the marshlands, for another. They add the tidal creeks, the coves. There.” He brushed a kiss over the crown on her head. “Now you’re relaxing.”

With some surprise, she realized she wasn’t simply relaxing. She’d already gotten there. “So, you were appealing to the scientist.”

“Took your mind off your nerves.”

“Yes, it did.” Odd, she thought, that he would know so quickly which switch to throw. “I don’t think I have my sea legs yet, but it is a pretty view. Still so green.” She watched the passing of big, leafy trees, the deep pockets of shadows in the marsh. They sailed by markers topped with huge, scruffy nests. “What birds build those?”

“Osprey. Now they’re experts at those disassociation techniques. You can sail right by one when it’s sitting on its nest, and it’ll look right through you.”

“Survival instinct,” she murmured. She’d like to see that, too. An osprey roosting on that rough circular nest, ignoring the humans.

“See those orange buoys? Crab pots. The workboat putting down that gut? He’s going to check his pots, rebait. Over there, to starboard.” He nudged her head to the right. “The little outboard. Looks to me like they’re hoping to catch some rockfish for Sunday dinner.”

“It’s a busy place,” she commented. “I didn’t realize there was so much going on.”

“On and under the water.”

He adjusted the sails and, heeling in, skimmed around a thick line of trees leaning out from shore. As they cleared the trees, a narrow dock came into view. Behind it was a sloping lawn, flower beds just starting to lose their summer brilliance. The house was simple, white with blue trim. A rocker sat on the wide covered porch, and bronze-toned mums speared out of an old crockery tub.

Sybill could hear the light, drifting notes of music floating through the open windows. Chopin, she realized after a moment.

“It’s charming.” She angled her head, shifting slightly to keep the house in view. “All it needs is a dog, a couple of kids tossing a ball, and a tire swing.”

“We were too old for tire swings, but we always had the dog. That’s our house,” he told her, absently running his hand down her long, smooth ponytail.

“Yours?” She strained, wanting to see more. Where Seth lived, she thought, struck by dozens of conflicting emotions.

“We spent plenty of time tossing balls, or each other, in the backyard. We’ll come back later and you can meet the rest of the family.”

She closed her eyes and squashed the guilt. “I’d like that.”