Thunder shook the sky, booming off the water like cannon fire. The light went dim as dusk, and those dark clouds burst wide to pour out solid sheets of rain. Still he didn’t hurry as he docked at his home pier. A little more wet, to his mind, wouldn’t kill him.

As if in agreement with the sentiment, Simon leaped out to swim to shore while Ethan secured the lines. He gathered up his lunch pail, and with his waterman’s boots thwacking wetly against the dock, headed for home.

He removed the boots on the back porch. His mother had scalded his skin often enough in his youth about tracking mud for the habit to stick to the man. Still, he didn’t think anything of letting the wet dog nose in the door ahead of him.

Until he saw the gleaming floor and counters.

Shit, was all he could think as he studied the pawprints and heard Simon’s happy bark of greeting. There was a squeal, more barking, then laughter.

‘‘You’re soaking wet!’’ The female voice was low and smooth and amused. It was also very firm and made Ethan wince with guilt. ‘‘Out, Simon! Out you go. You just dry off on the front porch.’’

There was another squeal, baby giggles, and the accompanying laughter of a young boy. The gang’s all here, Ethan thought, rubbing rain from his hair. The minute he heard footsteps heading in his direction, he made a beeline for the broom closet and a mop.

He didn’t often move fast, but he could when he had to.

‘‘Oh, Ethan.’’ Grace Monroe stood with her hands on her narrow hips, looking from him to the pawprints on her just-waxed floor.

‘‘I’ll get it. Sorry.’’ He could see that the mop was still damp and decided it was best not to look at her directly. ‘‘Wasn’t thinking,’’ he muttered, filling a bucket at the sink. ‘‘Didn’t know you were coming by today.’’

‘‘Oh, so you let wet dogs run through the house and dirty up the floors when I’m not coming by?’’

He jerked a shoulder. ‘‘Floor was dirty when I left this morning, didn’t figure a little wet would hurt it any.’’ Then he relaxed a little. It always seemed to take him a few minutes to relax around Grace these days. ‘‘But if I’d known you were here to skin me over it, I’d have left him on the porch.’’

He was grinning when he turned, and she let out a sigh.

‘‘Oh, give me the mop. I’ll do it.’’

‘‘Nope. My dog, my mess. I heard Aubrey.’’

Absently Grace leaned on the doorjamb. She was tired, but that wasn’t unusual. She had put in eight hours that day, too. And she would put in another four at Shiney’s Pub that night serving drinks.