Seth Quinn is finally home.
It's been a long journey. After a harrowing boyhood with his drug-addicted mother, he'd been taken in by the Quinn family, growing up with three older brothers who'd watched over him with love.
Now a grown man returning from Europe as a successful painter, Seth is settling down on Maryland's Eastern Shore, surrounded once again by Cam, Ethan, and Phil, their wives and children, all the blessed chaos of the extended Quinn clan. Finally, he's back in the little blue-and-white house where there's always a boat at the dock, a rocker on the porch, and a dog in the yard.
Still, a lot has changed in St. Christopher since he's been gone--and the most intriguing change of all is the presence of Dru Whitcomb Banks. A city girl who's opened a florist shop in this seaside town, she craves independence and the challenge of establishing herself without the influence of her wealthy connections. In Seth, she sees another kind of challenge--a challenge that she can't resist.
But storms are brewing that are about to put their relationship to the test. Dru's past has made her sensitive to deception--and slow to trust. And Seth's past has made him a target of blackmail--as a secret he's kept hidden for years threatens to explode, destroying his new life and his new love. . . .
A Note From Nora Roberts
I was born and raised in Maryland and have lived there all my life. I love the diversity of this small statefrom its rolling wooded hills in the west, its sprawling cities and charming small towns, to its long, lovely shores and eastern beaches. The Eastern Shore of Maryland is a world unto itselfits landscape, its culture, its people.
I've always had a fascination and affection for this area, for its thriving bay and busy marshes, the long, flat fields and pretty towns. It was a great pleasure for me to settle there in my mind when writing about the Quinns, and an even deeper one to go back, to visit the Shore, the people, when writing Chesapeake Blue. I hope readers will enjoy it as much as I did.
He was coming home.
Maryland's Eastern Shore was a world of marshes and mudflats, of wide fields with row crops straight as soldiers. It was flatland rivers with sharp shoulders, and secret tidal creeks where the heron fed.
It was blue crab and the Bay, and the watermen who harvested them.
No matter where he'd lived, in the first miserable decade of his life, or in the last few years as he approached the end of his third decade, only the Shore had ever meant home.
There were countless aspects, countless memories of that home, and every one was as bright and brilliant in his mind as the sun that sparkled off the water of the Chesapeake.
As he drove across the bridge, his artist's eye wanted to capture that momentthe rich blue water and the boats that skimmed its surface, the quick white waves and the swoop of greedy gulls. The way the land skimmed its edge, and spilled back with its browns and greens. All the thickening leaves of the...
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