Dawn in Eclipse Bay (14 page)

“Tell me that the next time you cash your quarterly dividend check.”

“Stop talking about money.” Mitchell whacked the cane against a post. “We're talking about getting your priorities straight.”

“Madison Commercial is a success because I've had my priorities straight all along.”

“If you'd had 'em straight, you'd have been married by now. I'd have me some grandkids.”

“Don't tell me how to run my life, Mitch.”

“Someone's gotta do it.”

“And you think you're qualified?”

The door opened.

Gabe went still. He was vaguely aware that Mitchell did the same.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Lillian said from the other side of the screen. “Lovely day, isn't it?”

Gabe shoved his hand through his hair. Just what he needed.

There was nothing but acute silence from his grandfather. He wondered how he was going to take this turn of events.

Mitchell stood transfixed. He gazed at Lillian as if she were a mermaid who had just appeared at the edge of the bay.

Gabe switched his attention back to Lillian and did a quick assessment. She was dressed in the black trousers and the turquoise-slashed sweater she had worn last night. A little dressy for day wear but it just might pass, especially with Mitchell, who didn't pay attention to the nuances of fashion. Her hair was caught up in a neat twist. She wasn't wearing any makeup, but there was nothing unusual in that. In his experience she never wore much.

With luck Mitchell would assume that Lillian had just walked over from her place to join him for breakfast.

She looked out at the two silent men with an expression of amused interest.

“Am I interrupting anything?” she asked politely.

Neither said a word.

“It's a little chilly out there,” she said. “Why don't you both come inside? I'm making coffee.” She turned away from the screen. “Don't forget to bring Bryce with you,” she called over her shoulder.

Bryce collected his cup of coffee with a short, brusque “Thank you, ma'am” and went back out to the SUV.

“Bryce isn't real keen on socializing,” Mitchell said.

Lillian sank down onto the sofa. “I can tell.”

Nonchalantly she watched Gabe where he stood at the window, his mug gripped in both hands. He had disappeared into the bedroom while she had poured coffee. When he reappeared a few minutes later he wore a dark flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his strong forearms. The neckline of a black crew-neck tee was visible at his throat. Must have been a little chilly out there on the porch, she thought.

The tension in the tiny front room was charged with remnants of the quarrel she had interrupted.

When she had awakened to the sound of the heated argument, her first instinct had been to get dressed and slip out the back door. She was fairly certain that was the course of action Gabe would have preferred.

She might have done just that, sparing everyone, including herself, this awkward scene. But halfway down the hall she had overheard Gabe.
Fooling around with Madison Commercial? Is that what you call what I've been doing all these years?

The frustration and stark pain in his words had stopped her in her tracks, canceling all thought of disappearing out the back door.

Mitchell studied Lillian. “Heard you were in town. Going to be here for a while?”

She took a sip of coffee. “Yes.”

“Your family's place isn't far from here.”

“No. A short walk along the bluffs.”

A speculative gleam appeared in Mitchell's eyes. “So, you walked on over here for coffee, is that it?”

“I walked over here, yes,” Lillian said.

At the window, Gabe tensed a little, as though preparing himself for battle.

Lillian pretended to ignore him. What she had told Mitchell was the truth as far as it went. Admittedly, it was the truth unencumbered by pesky little details such as those pertaining to the exact time and day she had made the trek, but that was not her problem. Mitchell had obviously decided to play inquisitor, but he was a Madison and she was a Harte. She was under no obligation to tell him everything he wanted to know.

Mitchell angled his chin toward the gray mist outside the window and looked concerned. “Pretty wet out there to be taking a walk.”

“Yes, it is quite damp this morning,” she agreed. “But what else can you expect this time of year?”

Gabe took a swallow of coffee. He did not speak, but she knew that Mitchell's blunt questioning was stoking the flames of his anger. She could only hope that he would have enough sense not to lose his temper again.

“A real coincidence, you and Gabe both deciding to take a little vacation here in Eclipse Bay at the same time, isn't it?” Mitchell said.

“Just one of those things,” Lillian said.

“How long you going to be here?” Mitchell asked.

Gabe turned around at that. “What business is it of yours how long she intends to stay here?”

Mitchell glowered. “Just trying to make polite conversation.”

“Sure,” Gabe said. “That's you, all right. Polite.”

Lillian cleared her throat. “As a matter of fact, I'm going to be here for quite a while, I've closed my business in Portland.”

Mitchell's attention snapped back to her. “You shut down your matchmaking operation?”

“Yes.”

Mitchell looked thoughtful. “So you're the one.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Mitchell shrugged. “The one your dad's going to groom to take over Harte Investments. Never figured it would be you. No offense, but you always seemed to be a little on the flaky side.”

“And here we thought my flakiness was a closely held family secret.”

Mitchell ignored that, busy with his own logic. “Well, makes sense, when you think about it. I reckon you're the only choice left now that Hannah's fixin' to open the inn with Rafe, and your brother quit the company to write those mystery novels.”

“As a matter of fact, I'm not going to go to work for my father. I closed Private Arrangements so that I could paint full time.”

“Paint what?” Mitchell looked nonplussed. “Houses? Cars?”

“Pictures.”

“Pictures.”
If he had looked nonplussed a moment ago, he was clearly floored now. “You mean real paintings? The kind they put in museums?”

“I should be so lucky.” Lillian drummed her fingers on her mug, aware that Gabe was watching her with an odd expression. “Octavia Brightwell is going to give me my first show in Portland in a few weeks.”

Mitchell shook his head. “Well, shoot and damn. If that don't beat all. Bet your folks and your grandfather are climbing the walls about now. Bad enough having a writer in the family. Now they've got themselves a real live artist.”

“I haven't told them yet that I plan to paint full time,” Lillian said carefully. “In fact, they don't even know that I've closed Private Arrangements.”

“Don't worry, they won't hear it from me,” he said.

“But I sure would pay big bucks to be a fly on the wall when you tell 'em that you're going to quit working to paint pictures.”

Lillian stiffened. “They'll understand.”

“They may understand, but they sure as hell aren't going to be real thrilled about it.” Mitchell was almost chortling. “Sullivan sweated blood putting Harte Investments together after our company went under. And your father has worked in the business his whole life. Everyone figured one of you three kids would take over and manage it for another generation. Now, one by one, you're all peeling off to do your own thing.”

He was right, she thought. But she didn't need the guilt trip this morning.

“Nick's son, Carson, may develop an interest in the business when he gets older,” she said.

Mitchell snorted. “Your brother's boy is only, what? Four? Five?”

“Five.”

“It'll be twenty years at least before he's even ready to think about taking on a job like running Harte Investments, assuming he wants to do it in the first place.” Mitchell squinted. “Your dad's in his early sixties. He can't wait that long to turn the company over to the next generation.”

“It's no secret that Dad plans to retire sometime in the next couple of years,” she admitted. “He and Mom want to establish a charitable foundation aimed at teaching disadvantaged young people how to run a business.”

“If he wants out, he'll have to sell or merge the company.” Mitchell pursed his lips. “Probably make a truckload of money, but for all intents and purposes, Harte Investments will come to an end with this generation.”

“It's just a business,” Lillian blurted.

“Just a business, my left, uh, foot.” Mitchell took another sip of coffee and lowered his mug very slowly. “This is Harte Investments we're talking about.”

Lillian became aware of the fact that Gabe had turned away from the window. He was watching her intently. She looked at him and then back at Mitchell. Both pairs of green eyes were identical. It sent a chill down her spine.

It occurred to her that the success of Harte Investments over the years had been more of a thorn in the sides of the Madison men than anyone in her family had ever fully understood.

Ten minutes later, Gabe stood with Lillian on the front porch and watched Mitchell climb into the SUV. Bryce put the behemoth into gear and drove off toward the main road.

They watched the rain fall for a while.

“I'm thinking about giving you a break,” Gabe said.

Lillian folded her arms. “What kind of a break?”

“You know that sixth date you owe me?”

“That sixth date is a figment of your obsessive imagination. It will never happen.”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

He watched the SUV disappear into the trees. “I need a date for that banquet in Portland I mentioned the other night at dinner. The one scheduled to honor a former professor of mine. Are you free?”

She turned halfway around, searching his face with an unreadable expression. “This is your idea of a real date? A rubbery-chicken business dinner complete with long, boring speeches?”

“I'll be giving one of those long, boring speeches. Do you want to come with me or not?”

“I'll think about it.”

“Think fast. I'm going to drive into Portland Monday morning so that I can get some time in at the office before the dinner. I plan to stay overight and drive back here Tuesday.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

She shrugged. “Going into Portland for the night would give me a chance to stop by my studio and pick up some odds and ends that I left behind. Yes, I can see where the trip might be marginally worthwhile for me.”

“Okay, I get the point. It wasn't a real romantic invitation, was it?”

“I can live with the unromantic part. Just so we're clear that this is not to be considered as your sixth, contractually arranged, bought-and-paid-for Private Arrangements date.”

“Call it whatever you want.”

“I'll do that,” she said curtly and opened the screen door. “And another thing you should know before we drive into Portland for this big evening on the town.”

“What's that?”

“I feel that we both need to give ourselves a chance to evaluate the future direction of this relationship.”

He stilled. “What the hell does that mean?”

“In simple terms?”

“Yeah, I do best with simple terms.”

“It means no more sex, at least not for a while. I want some time to think about what's going on here. I believe that you should do some thinking about it, too.”

He said nothing. Just looked at her.

“Is that a problem for you?” she asked.

“Hell, no. I can think. Do it all the time. Sometimes I have two or three whole thoughts in the course of a day.”

“I thought you could probably handle it.”

“What I'm thinking now is that this decision not to have any more sex for a while has something to do with that scene that just took place with Mitchell.”

She hesitated. “Maybe his sudden appearance on the doorstep first thing this morning did help to put some things into perspective. But don't blame him. They were things that I should have thought about last night.”

“Like what?”

“Do you have to get obsessive about this, too?”

“I just want some answers.”

She put one hand flat on the screen. “I want us both to be sure that we know what we're doing.”