‘‘What difference does that make?’’ She met Ethan’s furious stare blandly. ‘‘He shouldn’t be allowed to take chances.’’

‘‘You can’t mix him in with me this way.’’

‘‘I don’t see why. You both come from similar situations. In fact, there are far too many cases that come through social services nationally that slip into parallel categories. I wonder if we can pass a law to prevent children of abusers from marrying and having children of their own. Think of the risks we’d avoid.’’

‘‘Why don’t you just geld them?’’ he said viciously.

‘‘That’s an interesting concept.’’ She leaned forward. ‘‘Since you’re so determined not to pass on any unhealthy genes, Ethan, have you considered a vasectomy?’’

The instinctive and purely male cringe nearly made her laugh. ‘‘That’s enough, Anna.’’

‘‘Is that what you would recommend to Seth?’’

‘‘I said that’s enough.’’

‘‘Oh, it’s more than enough,’’ she agreed. ‘‘But answer this last question. Do you think that bright, troubled child should be denied a full and normal life as an adult because he had the bad luck to be conceived by a heartless, perhaps even evil woman?’’

‘‘No.’’ His breath shuddered out. ‘‘No, that’s not what I think.’’

‘‘No buts this time? No qualifications? Then I’ll tell you that in my professional opinion, I couldn’t agree with you more. He deserves everything he can grab, everything he can make, and everything we can give him to show him that he’s his own person and not the damaged product of one vile woman. And neither are you, Ethan, anything but your own man. Stupid, maybe,’’ she said with a smile as she rose. ‘‘But admirable, honorable, and incredibly kind.’’

She went to him, put an arm around his shoulders. When he sighed, turned his face to press it against her midriff, tears stung her eyes.

‘‘I don’t know what to do.’’

‘‘Yes, you do,’’ she murmured. ‘‘Being you, you’ll have to think about it for a while. But do yourself a favor this time, and think fast.’’

‘‘I guess I’ll go down to the boatyard and work until I get it clear in my head.’’

Because she was feeling suddenly maternal toward him, she bent and kissed the top of his head. ‘‘Do you want me to pack you some food?’’

‘‘No.’’ He gave her a squeeze before he rose. When he saw that her eyes were damp, he patted her shoulder. ‘‘Don’t cry. Cam’ll have my head if he finds out I made you cry.’’

‘‘I won’t.’’

‘‘Well, then.’’ He started out, hesitated, then turned back briefly to study her as she stood in the kitchen, her lashes wet, her hair tangled from being out in the breeze. ‘‘Anna, my mother—my real mother,’’ he added, because Stella Quinn was in his mind all that was real—‘‘would have loved you.’’