Sanctuary

and with a fluid shift of bodies their mouths tangled. It was the kind of hotly intimate kiss that made it obvious they’d been spending time doing a lot more to each other.
    And how was he supposed to feel about that?
    Time was, young people wouldn’t neck right out in the open that way. He remembered when he’d been courting Annabelle, the way they’d snuck off like thieves. They’d done their groping in private. Why, if Belle’s daddy had ever come across them this way, there’d have been hell to pay.
    He walked on, making sure his footsteps were loud enough to wake the dead and the dreaming. Didn’t even have the courtesy to jerk apart and look guilty, Sam thought. They just eased apart, linked hands, and turned toward him.
    “There’s guests inside the house, Jo Ellen, and they ain’t paying for a floor show.”
    Surprised, she blinked at him. “Yes, Daddy.”
    “You want to be free with your affections, do it someplace that won’t set tongues wagging from here to Savannah.”
    Wisely, she swallowed the chuckle, lowered her eyes before he caught the gleam of laughter in them, and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
    Sam shifted his feet, planted them, and looked at Nathan. “Seems to me you’re old enough to strap down your glands in a public place.”
    Following Jo’s lead and warned by the quick squeeze of her hand, Nathan kept his tone sober and respectful. “Yes, sir.”
    Satisfied, if not completely fooled, by their responses, Sam frowned up at the sky. “Storm coming,” he muttered. “Going to give us a knock no matter what the weatherman says.”
    He was making conversation, Jo realized, and shoved her shock aside to fall in. “Carla’s category two, and on dead aim for Cuba. They’re saying it’s likely she’ll head out to sea.”
    “She doesn’t care what they say. She’ll do as she pleases.” He turned his gaze on Nathan again, measuring. “Don’t get knocked by hurricanes much in New York City, I expect.”
    Was that a challenge? Nathan wondered. A subtle swing at his manhood?
    “No. I was in Cozumel when Gilbert pummeled it, though.” He nearly mentioned the tornado he’d watched sweep like vengeance across Oklahoma and the avalanche that had thundered down the mountain pass near his chalet when he’d been working in Switzerland.
    “Well, then, you know,” Sam said simply. “I hear that you and Giff got a mind to do that sunroom Kate’s been pining for.”
    “It’s Giff’s project. I’m just tossing in some ideas.”
    “Guess you got ideas enough. Why don’t you show me then what y’all have in mind to do to my house?”
    “Sure, I can give you the general layout.”
    “Fine. Jo Ellen, I suspect your young man figures on finagling dinner. Go tell Brian he’s got another mouth to feed.”
    Jo opened her mouth, but her father was already walking away. She could do no more than shrug at Nathan and turn to the house.
    When she stepped into the kitchen, Brian was busy at the counter de-heading shrimp. And singing, she realized with a jolt. Under his breath and off-key, but singing.
    “What’s come over this place?” she demanded. “Daddy’s holding full conversations and asking to see solarium plans, you’re singing in the kitchen.”
    “I wasn’t singing.”
    “You were too singing. It was a really lousy rendition of ‘I Love Rock and Roll,’ but it could be loosely described as singing.”
    “So what? It’s my kitchen.”
    “That’s more like it.” She went to the fridge for a beer. “Want one of these?”
    “I guess I wouldn’t turn it down. I’m losing weight just standing here.” He swiped the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead and took the bottle she’d opened for him. He took a long swallow, then tucked his tongue in his cheek. “So, is Nathan able to walk without a limp today?”
    “Yeah, but I bloodied his lip.” She reached into the white ceramic cookie jar and dug out a chocolate-chip. “A brother with any sense of decency would have bloodied it for me.”
    “You always said you preferred fighting your own battles. How in God’s name can you chase cookies with beer? It’s revolting.”
    “I’m enjoying it. You want any help in here?”
    It was his turn to experience shock. “Define ‘help.’ ”
    “Assistance,” she snapped. “Chopping something, stirring something.”
    He took another pull on his beer as he considered her. “I could use some carrots, peeled and grated.”
    “How many?”
    “Twenty dollars’