Title Page

RISING

TIDES

NORA ROBERTS

Copyright

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.

RISING TIDES

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1998 by Nora Roberts.
Excerpt from Inner Harbor copyright © 1999 by Nora Roberts.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any
form without permission.
Making or distributing electronic copies of this book
constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the
infringer to criminal and civil liability.
For information address:
The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam
Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ISBN: 1-101-14609-5

A JOVE BOOK®
Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. JOVE and the “J” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin
Putnam Inc.

Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Appendix : Inner Harbor

Dear Reader

DEAR READER,

The heart and soul of the Maryland Eastern Shore are its watermen, the men who make their livings on the Chesapeake Bay and its channels.They face hardships, storms, short seasons.Day after day, year after year, they ply the waters—setting their crab pots, dredging for oysters, and are privy to a world many of us will never know.Seeing the red dawn break over dark water, watching a storm roll in slow and black from the east.In their rubber boots and thick gloves they pilot their workboats through frigid dawns or sweltering afternoons searching for the blue crab the area is famous for.

Ethan Quinn is a waterman.He wasn’t born to the tradition, but has embraced it.He’s a quiet man whose heart runs as deep as the waters he loves.In Rising Tides he’ll face more than the challenge of making his living on the Bay or struggling to make the .edgling boatbuilding business he and his brothers began a success.

There’s a young boy who needs him, and a woman and child he loves but never believed he could have. To shape his life around them, Ethan must face his own dark past, accept not only who he is but what he hopes to become.

Turn to the back of this book for a special SNEAK
PREVIEW of the next book in Nora Roberts’s
Quinn Brothers Trilogy . . .

INNER HARBOR

Available in paperback from Jove Books

DON’T MISS NORA ROBERTS’S STUNNING
DREAM TRILOGY . . .

Margo, Kate, and Laura were brought up as sisters amid the peerless grandeur of Templeton House. Though they came from different backgrounds, they were united by friendship, loyalty, family—and dreams . . .

DARING TO DREAM

The daughter of Templeton’s housekeeper, Margo Sullivan had always wanted to make her mark in the world. But when her life fell apart, she returned to the onlyhome she had ever known, to .nd herself—and love ...

HOLDING THE DREAM

Rather than languish among the luxuries of Templeton House, Kate Powell made her own way, rising to the top of the .nance business.But when she was faced with a professional impropriety, Kate was forced to look deep within herself, only to .nd something missing in her life—and in her heart ...

FINDING THE DREAM

The daughter of a wealthy hotelier, Laura Templeton had always known comfort, privilege, and security.But by the age of thirty, her storybook marriage had dissolved, leaving her emotionally and .nancially devastated.Laura had always de.ned herself as a wife, a daughter, or a mother.Now, she had to discover Laura the woman . . .

PRAISE FOR NORA ROBERTS’S SWEEPING
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

MONTANA SKY

‘‘Roberts paints a vivid picture of the raw beauty of Big Sky country.’’

—Chicago Tribune

‘‘[An] epic tale of love, lust, and overpowering passions.’’

—Booklist

‘‘Exciting, romantic, great fun.’’

—Cosmopolitan

‘‘Sexual tension and sexy dialogue ...suspense ... humor ...a good read.’’

—Kirkus Reviews

‘‘A rich narrative ...Roberts balances the tension ... with three romances, crackling dialogue, and a snappy infusion of humor.’’

—Publishers Weekly

‘‘If it is passion, suspense, and emotional power you want, Montana Sky has them all.’’

—Tulsa World

‘‘NORA ROBERTS JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER AND BETTER.’’

—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

DON’T MISS NORA ROBERTS’S EXQUISITE
TRILOGY OF THREE MODERN WOMEN
OF IRELAND . . .

The Concannon sisters are women of ambition and talent,
bound by the timeless spirit and restless beauty
of their land.

BORN IN FIRE

Maggie Concannon is a glassmaker, whose stunning works re.ect her spirit.But when she is swept away by romance, her reclusive world opens to a .ery love that can forgive her dark past ...

BORN IN ICE

Brianna Concannon’s bed-and-breakfast became a cold and empty place when a harsh winter descended upon Ireland.But then a restless wanderer with a painful past came into her life—and Brianna learned that sometimes fate has a plan of its own ...

BORN IN SHAME

A talented graphic artist, Shannon Bodine’s life turned upside down when she traveled to Ireland to meet the family she never knew she had.And amid the lush landscape, she discovered the possibility of a love that was meant to be ...

‘‘MOVE OVER SIDNEY SHELDON: THE WORLD HAS A NEW MASTER OF ROMANTIC SUSPENSE, AND HER NAME IS NORA ROBERTS.’’

—REX REED

ALSO BY NORA ROBERTS . . .

HIDDEN RICHES

Antique dealer Dora Conroy has a passion for the .ner things in life—but sometimes spossession can be a lethal obsession . . . ‘‘This latest treasure from Roberts stars a heroine who’ll charm readers.’’

—USA Today

‘‘A sure winner!’’

—Library Journal

PRIVATE SCANDALS

In the world of television talk shows, dark secrets hide behind its brightest stars . . . ‘‘The incomparable Nora Roberts once again delivers ...tense, compelling, and riveting.’’

—Romantic Times

‘‘A fun read!’’

—Publishers Weekly

‘‘Top-notch ...First-rate reading.’’

—Rendezvous

HONEST ILLUSIONS

The daughter of a world-renowned magician, Roxy Nouvelle has inherited her father’s talents—and his penchant for jewel thievery. ‘‘Roxy and Luke will steal your heart.They are magic ... ’’

—CATHERINE COULTER

‘‘A captivating story.You’ll fall in love with these wonderful characters just as I did.’’

—JULIE GARWOOD

‘‘ Honest Illusions is pure magic.’’

—EILEEN GOUDGE

Titles by Nora Roberts

• HOT ICE
• SACRED SINS
• BRAZEN VIRTUE
• SWEET REVENGE
• PUBLIC SECRETS
• GENUINE LIES
• CARNAL INNOCENCE
• DIVINE EVIL
• HONEST ILLUSIONS
• PRIVATE SCANDALS
• BORN IN FIRE
• BORN IN ICE
• BORN IN SHAME
• HIDDEN RICHES
• TRUE BETRAYALS
• DARING TO DREAM
• HOLDING THE DREAM
• FINDING THE DREAM
• MONTANA SKY
• SEA SWEPT
• RISING TIDES
• INNER HARBOR
• SANCTUARY
• HOMEPORT
• THE REEF

FROM THE HEART
( anthology )
ONCE UPON A CASTLE
( anthology with Jill Gregory, Ruth Ryan Langan,
and Marianne Willman )

RIVER’S END
in hardcover from G. P. Putnam’s Sons

Titles written as J. D. Robb
NAKED IN DEATH
GLORY IN DEATH
IMMORTAL IN DEATH
RAPTURE IN DEATH
CEREMONY IN DEATH
VENGEANCE IN DEATH
HOLIDAY IN DEATH
CONSPIRACY IN DEATH

SILENT NIGHT
( anthology with Susan Plunkett, Dee Holmes, and Claire
Cross )

For the witty and delightful Christine Dorsey
Yes, Chris, I mean you.

PROLOGUE

ETHAN CLIMBED OUT OF his dreams and rolled out of bed. It was still dark, but he habitually started his day before night yielded to dawn. It suited him, the quiet, the simple routine, the hard work that would follow.

He’d never forgotten to be grateful that he’d been able to make this choice and have this life. Though the people responsible for giving him both the choice and the life were dead, for Ethan, the pretty house on the water still echoed with their voices. He would often find himself glancing up from his lone breakfast in the kitchen expecting to see his mother shuffle in, yawning, her red hair a wild tangle from sleep, her eyes half blind with it.

And though she’d been gone nearly seven years, there was a comfort in that homey morning image.

It was more painful to think of the man who had become his father. Raymond Quinn’s death was still too fresh after a mere three months for there to be comfort. And the circumstances surrounding it were both ugly and unexplained. His death had come in a single-car accident in broad daylight on a dry road, on a March day that had only hinted of spring. The car was traveling fast, with its driver unable—or unwilling—to control it on a curve. Tests had proven that there had been no physical reason for Ray to crash into the telephone pole.

But there was evidence of an emotional reason, and that lay heavy on Ethan’s heart.

Ethan thought of it as he readied himself for the day— giving his hair, still damp from the shower, a cursory swipe with his comb, which did nothing to tame the thick waves of sun-bleached brown. He shaved in the foggymirror, his quiet blue eyes sober as he scraped lather and a night’s worth of beard from a tanned, bony face that held secrets he rarely chose to share.

There was a scar that rode along the left of his jawline—courtesy of his oldest brother and patiently stitched up by his mother. It had been fortunate, Ethan thought as he rubbed a thumb absently over the faded line, that their mother had been a doctor. One of her three sons was usually in need of first aid.

Ray and Stella had taken them in, three half-grown boys, all wild, all damaged, all strangers. And had made them a family.

Then months before his death, Ray had taken in another.

Seth DeLauter belonged to them now. Ethan never questioned it. Others did, he knew. There was talk buzzing through the little town of St. Christopher’s that Seth was not just another of Ray Quinn’s strays but his illegitimate son. A child conceived with another woman while his wife was still alive. A younger woman.

Ethan could ignore the talk, but it was impossible to ignore the fact that ten-year-old Seth looked at you with Ray Quinn’s eyes.

There were shadows in those eyes that Ethan also recognized. The wounded recognized the wounded. He knew that Seth’s life, before Ray had taken him on, had been a nightmare. He’d lived through one himself.

The kid was safe now, Ethan thought as he pulled on baggy cotton pants and a faded work shirt. He was a Quinn now, even if the legalities hadn’t been completely worked out. They had Phillip to deal with that. Ethan figured his detail-mad brother would handle that end of things with the lawyer. And he knew that Cameron, the eldest of the Quinn boys, had managed to form a tenuous bond with Seth.

Fumbled his way to it, Ethan thought with a half smile. It had been like watching two angry tomcats spit and claw. Now that Cam had married the pretty social worker, things might just settle down some.

Ethan preferred a settled life.

They had battles yet, with the insurance company refusing to honor Ray’s policy because there was suspicion of suicide. Ethan’s stomach clutched, and he took a moment to will himself relaxed again. His father would never have killed himself. The Mighty Quinn had always faced his problems and had taught his sons to do the same.

But it was a cloud over the family that refused to blow away. There were others, too. The sudden appearance in St. Christopher’s of Seth’s mother and her accusations of sexual molestation, made to the dean of the college where Ray had taught English literature. That hadn’t held— there’d been too many lies, too many shifts in her story. But there was no denying that his father had been shaken. There was no denying that shortly after Gloria DeLauter had left St. Chris again, Ray had gone away, too.

And he’d returned with the boy.

Then there was the letter found in the car after Ray’s accident. An obvious blackmail threat from the DeLauter woman. There was the fact that Ray had given her money, a great deal of money.

Now she had disappeared again. Ethan wanted her to stay gone, but he knew the talk wouldn’t stop until all the answers were clear.

Nothing he could do about it, Ethan reminded himself. He stepped out into the hall, gave a quick knock on the door opposite his. Seth’s groan was followed by a sleepy mutter, then an annoyed curse. Ethan kept going, heading downstairs. He had no doubt that Seth would bitch again about getting up so early. But with Cam and Anna in Italy on their honeymoon, and Phillip in Baltimore until the weekend, it was Ethan’s job to get the boy up, to get him headed over to a friend’s house to stay until it was time to leave for school.

Crabbing season was in full swing, and a waterman’s day started before the sun. So until Cam and Anna returned, so did Seth’s.

The house was silent and dark, but he moved through it easily. He had a house of his own now, but part of the deal in gaining guardianship of Seth had been for the three brothers to live under the same roof and share the responsibilities.

Ethan didn’t mind responsibilities, but he missed his little house, his privacy and the ease of what had been his life.

He flicked on the lights in the kitchen. It had been Seth’s turn to clean it up after dinner the evening before, and Ethan noted that he’d done a half-assed job. Ignoring the cluttered and sticky surface of the table, he moved directly to the stove.

Simon, his dog, stretched lazily out of his curl. His tail thumped on the floor. Ethan set the coffee to brew,greeting the retriever with an absent scratch on the head.

The dream was coming back to him now, the one he’d been caught in just before waking. He and his father, out on the workboat checking crab pots. Just the two of them. The sun had been blinding bright and hot, the water mirror-clear and still. It had been so vivid, he thought now, even the smells of water and fish and sweat.

His father’s voice, so well remembered, had carried over the sounds of engine and gulls.

‘‘I knew you’d look after Seth, the three of you.’’

‘‘You didn’t have to die to test that out.’’ There was resentment in Ethan’s tone, an underlying anger he hadn’t allowed himself to admit while awake.

‘‘It wasn’t what I had in mind, either,’’ Ray said lightly, culling crabs from the pot under the float that Ethan had gaffed. His thick orange fisherman’s gloves glowed in the sun. ‘‘You can trust me on that. You got some good steamers here and plenty of sooks.’’

Ethan glanced at the wire pot full of crabs, automatically noting size and number. But it wasn’t the catch that mattered, not here, not now. ‘‘You want me to trust you, but you don’t explain.’’

Ray glanced back, tipping up the bright-red cap he wore over his dramatic silver mane. The wind tugged at his hair, teased the caricature of John Steinbeck gracing his loose T-shirt into rippling over his broad chest. The great American writer held a sign claiming he would work for food, but he didn’t look too happy about it.

In contrast, Ray Quinn glowed with health and energy, ruddy cheeks where deep creases only seemed to celebrate a full and contented mood of a vigorous man in his sixties with years yet to live.

‘‘You’ve got to find your own way, your own answers.’’ Ray smiled at Ethan out of brilliantly blue eyes, and Ethan could see the creases deepen around them. ‘‘It means more that way. I’m proud of you.’’

Ethan felt his throat burn, his heart squeeze. Routinely he rebaited the pot, then watched the orange floats bob on the water. ‘‘For what?’’

‘‘For being. Just for being Ethan.’’

‘‘I should’ve come around more. I shouldn’t have left you alone so much.’’

‘‘That’s a crock.’’ Now Ray’s voice was both irritated and impatient. ‘‘I wasn’t some old invalid. It’s going to piss me off if you think that way, blame yourself for not looking after me, for Christ’s sake. Same way you wanted to blame Cam for going off to live in Europe—and even Phillip for going off to Baltimore. Healthy birds leave the nest. Your mother and I raised healthy birds.’’

Before Ethan could speak, Ray raised a hand. It was such a typical gesture, the professor making a point and refusing interruption, that Ethan had to smile. ‘‘You missed them. That’s why you wanted to be mad at them. They left, you stayed, and you missed having them around. Well, you’ve got them back now, don’t you?’’

‘‘Looks that way.’’

‘‘And you’ve got yourself a pretty sister-in-law, the beginnings of a boatbuilding business, and this . . .’’ Ray gestured to take in the water, the bobbing floats, the tall, glossily wet eelgrass on the verge where a lone egret stood like a marble pillar. ‘‘And inside you, you’ve got something Seth needs. Patience. Maybe too much of it in some areas.’’

‘‘What’s that supposed to mean?’’

Ray sighed gustily. ‘‘There’s something you don’t have, Ethan, that you need. You’ve been waiting around and making excuses to yourself and doing not a damn thing to get it. You don’t make a move soon, you’re going to lose it again.’’

‘‘What?’’ Ethan shrugged and maneuvered the boat to the next float. ‘‘I’ve got everything I need, and what I want.’’

‘‘Don’t ask yourself what, ask yourself who.’’ Ray clucked his tongue, then gave his son a quick shoulder shake. ‘‘Wake up, Ethan.’’

And he had awakened, with the odd sensation of that big, familiar hand on his shoulder.

But, he thought as he brooded over his first cup of coffee, he still didn’t have the answers.

ONE

‘‘ GOT US SOME NICE peelers here, cap’n.’’ Jim Bodine culled crabs from the pot, tossing the marketable catch in the tank. He didn’t mind the snapping claws—and had the scars on his thick hands to prove it. He wore the traditional gloves of his profession, but as any waterman could tell you, they wore out quick. And if there was a hole in them, by God, a crab would find it.

He worked steadily, his legs braced wide for balance on the rocking boat, his dark eyes squinting in a face weathered with age and sun and living. He might have been taken for fifty or eighty, and Jim didn’t much care which end you stuck him in.

He always called Ethan Cap’n, and rarely said more than one declarative sentence at a time.

Ethan altered course toward the next pot, his right hand nudging the steering stick that most waterman used rather than a wheel. At the same time, he operated the throttle and gear levels with his left. There were constant small adjustments to be made with every foot of progress up the line of traps.

The Chesapeake Bay could be generous when she chose, but she liked to be tricky and make you work for her bounty.

Ethan knew the Bay as well as he knew himself. Often he thought he knew it better—the fickle moods and movements of the continent’s largest estuary. For two hundred miles it flowed from north to south, yet it measured only four miles across where it brushed by Annapolis and thirty at the mouth of the Potomac River. St. Christopher’s sat snug on Maryland’s southern Eastern Shore, depending on its generosity, cursing it for its caprices.

Ethan’s waters, his home waters, were edged with marshland, strung with flatland rivers with sharp shoulders that shimmered through thickets of gum and oak.

It was a world of tidal creeks and sudden shallows, where wild celery and widgeongrass rooted.

It had become his world, with its changing seasons, sudden storms, and always, always, the sounds and scents of the water.

Timing it, he grabbed his gaffing pole and in a practiced motion as smooth as a dance hooked the pot line and drew it into the pot puller.

In seconds, the pot rose out of the water, streaming with weed and pieces of old bait and crowded with crabs.

He saw the bright-red pincers of the full-grown females, or sooks, and the scowling eyes of the jimmies.

‘‘Right smart of crabs,’’ was all Jim had to say as he went to work, heaving the pot aboard as if it weighed ounces rather than pounds.

The water was rough today, and Ethan could smell a storm coming in. He worked the controls with his knees when he needed his hands for other tasks. And eyed the clouds beginning to boil together in the far western sky.

Time enough, he judged, to move down the line of traps in the gut of the bay and see how many more crabs had crawled into the pots. He knew Jim was hurting some for cash—and he needed all he could come by himself to keep afloat the fledgling boat-building business he and his brothers had started.

Time enough, he thought again, as Jim rebaited a pot with thawing fish parts and tossed it overboard. In leapfrog fashion, Ethan gaffed the next buoy.

Ethan’s sleek Chesapeake Bay retriever, Simon, stood, front paws on the gunwale, tongue lolling. Like his master, he was rarely happier than when out on the water.

They worked in tandem, and in near silence, communicating with grunts, shrugs, and the occasional oath. The work was a comfort, since the crabs were plentiful. There were years when they weren’t, years when it seemed the winter had killed them off or the waters would never warm up enough to tempt them to swim.

In those years, the watermen suffered. Unless they had another source of income. Ethan intended to have one, building boats.

The first boat by Quinn was nearly finished. And a little beauty it was, Ethan thought. Cameron had a second client on the line—some rich guy from Cam’s racing days—so they would start another before long. Ethan never doubted that his brother would reel the money in.

They’d do it, he told himself, however doubtful and full of complaints Phillip was.

He glanced up at the sun, gauged the time—and the clouds sailing slowly, steadily eastward.

‘‘We’ll take them in, Jim.’’

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