Dawn in Eclipse Bay (8 page)

There had been no hard feelings on his part, Gabe reflected. He certainly couldn't fault her decision. It had been a sensible, businesslike move. Trevor had been on the fast track in the political world. It was obvious even back then that he had the charisma, the glibness and the looks required to grab and hold the media's and the public's attention. It was clear that, barring some major disaster, he would go far, maybe all the way to Washington, D.C. All he required was money. Lots of it. Marilyn's family had supplied the missing commodity. Everyone had agreed that it made sense to invest in a son-in-law who was on his way to becoming a major political powerhouse.

There had been an unexpected bonus for Thornley in the arrangement. Marilyn had proven to be a brilliant campaign strategist. With the help of the politically astute staff of the Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute, she had orchestrated every step of Trevor's career. Under her guidance, he had moved up steadily through the political ranks. Last fall, he had announced that he was making a bid for the U.S. Senate.

To everyone's surprise, he had pulled out of the race shortly before Thanksgiving. The only explanation Gabe had seen in the papers was the ubiquitous
personal reasons
.

“What about Marilyn?” Gabe asked.

“Haven't you heard? She and Thornley have filed for divorce. She moved into her folks' summer place here in town last month. She's got an office at the institute.”

“A staff position?”

Rafe shook his head. “She's getting set to launch her own career in politics.”

“Huh. Doesn't surprise me. She was born for politics.”

“Yeah. Just one problem.”

“What's that?” Gabe asked.

“Word is she burned through a big pile of her family's money financing Thornley's career. Apparently her folks have declined to invest any more cash in politics for a while. Rumor has it they won't be backing her. At least not until she's proven that she can win.”

“In other words, she needs money.”

“Yeah. Lots and lots of it,” Rafe said knowingly. “I mention this because it occurs to me that you have what she wants. Expect you'll be hearing from her as soon as she learns that you're back in town.”

“Thanks for the heads-up. But don't worry about it. One thing I can spot real quick is a woman who's after my money.”

Rafe looked out over the dark bay. “The two of you were once an item.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Sure.” Rafe shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Consider yourself forewarned.”

“Okay.”

There was another pause. Gabe could feel his brother shifting mental gears.

“You really rented the old Buckley place for an entire month?” Rafe asked after a while.

“Yes.”

“Got to admit, it does seem a little uncharacteristic for you to do something like that. You think maybe Lillian is right? You burned out or something?”

“Madisons don't do burnout. You ever heard of a Madison burning out?”

Rafe thought about that. “No. Heard of one or two exploding. Couple have imploded. Of course you've got your occasional cases of spontaneous combustion in the family. But never heard of any burnout.”

“Right.”

“What's with you and Lillian, anyway?”

“What makes you think there's anything between us?”

“I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the most sensitive, intuitive, perceptive guy around.”

“Course not. You're a Madison.”

“But even I could see that every time you looked at Lillian tonight you had the same expression you get when you've got a major deal going down at Madison Commercial.”

“Like you said, you're not real sensitive, intuitive, or perceptive.”

“I'm not real stupid, either,” Rafe reminded him. “I've never seen that particular look when you were with any other woman.”

“Lillian's not a business deal.”

“Hold on to that thought, because I've got a hunch that if you treat her like you would an M.C. investment you're gonna have some serious problems.”

Gabe looked at Winston. “My brother, the advice columnist.”

Winston cocked his head and looked intelligent. It was an expression he did very well.

Rafe contemplated the empty drive. “Always figured you'd go off the rails someday.”

“Being a Madison and all.”

“Probably inevitable. Question of genetic destiny or something. You know, I'm a little sorry Hannah and Winston and I are leaving town tomorrow. Would have been interesting to see it.”

“What?”

“The train wreck.”

The storm came and went during the night. The morning dawned bright and mild for the time of year. The temperature was somewhere in the high fifties.

Gabe came to a halt at the top of the small bluff and looked down into Dead Hand Cove. The tide was out, exposing the five finger-shaped rocks that had given the cove its name. There were a number of dark holes and voids in the base of the cliffs. They marked a series of small caverns and caves that nature had punched into the rock.

He saw Lillian perched on one of the carelessly strewn boulders near the water's edge. The winter sun gleamed on her dark hair. The keen edge of expectation that shafted through him heightened all his senses. He felt the now-familiar tightness in his lower body.

She wore a pair of snug black leggings that emphasized the neat curve of her calves and trim ankles. The neckline of an orange-gold sweater was visible above the collar of a scarlet jacket. Her hair was coiled into a knot at the back of her head.

She was bent intently over an open sketchbook propped on her knees.

Last night at Rafe and Hannah's he had learned the terrible truth. She wasn't just an arty type. She was a for real artist.

He watched the deft, economical movements of her hand as she worked on the drawing. There was a supple, controlled grace in the way she wielded the pencil that fascinated him. A sorceress at work on a magical spell.

A gull screeched overhead, breaking the trance that held him still at the top of the short cliff.

He pulled the collar of his black-and-tan jacket up around his ears and went down the pebbled path, moving quickly, perversely eager to get closer to his own doom. Probably a Madison thing, he thought.

She became aware of his presence when he reached the rocky patch of ground that formed the tiny sliver of beach. Lillian looked up quickly, turning her head to watch him. She seemed to go very still there on the rock. Sorceress caught in the act. He could sense the cool caution in her.

Maybe she was right to be wary of him. He sure as hell didn't understand what was happening here, either. He forced himself to move more slowly as he neared her perch, trying for the laid-back, easygoing, nonthreatening look.

“How long were you standing up there spying on me?” she asked.

“You sure know how to make a man feel welcome.”

“I thought I was alone. You startled me.”

“Sorry. I usually work out in the mornings. There's no gym in the vicinity so I thought I'd take a long walk, instead.”

“You just decided to walk in this direction?”

He smiled. “Is it me or do you always wake up in this charming mood?”

She hesitated and then returned his smile. “My turn to apologize. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I've been feeling a little edgy lately.”

“What a coincidence. So have I.”

“I'm not surprised.” She looked wise and all-knowing. “Probably the burnout.”

“You've got me all analyzed and diagnosed, don't you?” He lowered himself onto a nearby rock. “Are you on edge because I'm here in Eclipse Bay?”

“No,” she said.

“Liar.”

She shot him an irritated look. “It's the truth. I'm on edge for a lot of reasons that have nothing to do with you.”

“Such as?”

“You want a list?”

“Let's hear it.”

Her mouth firmed. “Well, let's see. There's the fact that I'm not currently employed because I just closed my business.”

“Your own fault.”

“Thank you for reminding me. I'm also nervous about how well my show at the gallery will be received.”

He couldn't think of anything to say to that so he let it go.

“Also, I had a couple of rather unpleasant scenes before I left Portland. I've been worrying about them. Wondering if I handled them properly.”

“What kind of scenes?”

She looked out toward the five finger rocks. “Anderson came to see me. He did not take it well when I told him I didn't want to work on his book.”

“I'll bet he didn't. Did you mention that you had seen him in his red underwear?”

“Of course not.”

“Just as well. I wouldn't worry too much about that scene, if I were you. What was the other one?”

“A man named Campbell Witley stopped me on the street to tell me that I had no business messing around in other people's lives.”

Something in the tone of her voice made him look at her more closely. “This Witley guy scared you?”

She hesitated. “Maybe. A little.”

“Who is he?”

“The disgruntled ex-boyfriend of one of my clients. He didn't like the fact that I had matched her with someone else, even though it's obvious that Witley and Heather were not meant for each other.”

He searched her face. “Did he threaten you?”

“No.”

“I'll have him checked out.” He reached for the cell phone in the pocket of his jacket. “Madison Commercial keeps an investigation agency on retainer.”

“Thanks, but that's not necessary. I had Townsend Investigations run a quick background check. Witley has no history of violence or abuse.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes. It's okay, really. Nella Townsend knows what she's doing. The guy was just mad. I think what bothered me the most is that he had a point.”

“Bullshit.”

“He accused me of messing around with people's lives and that's exactly what I did. As a professional matchmaker I assumed a massive responsibility. What if I had made a terrible mistake? I could have seriously impacted someone's future negatively.”

“Stop beating yourself up over this. You were a consultant. People paid you for advice. You gave it. They made their own decisions. A simple business transaction. You have absolutely no reason to feel guilty.”

She was silent for a moment, considering his words. Then her voice brightened.

“You do have a way of boiling things down to the bare essence, Madison.”

“One of the things I'm good at.” He leaned a little to get a look at the drawing on her lap. “Can I see what you're working on there?”

She handed the sketchpad to him without comment.

He examined the drawing for a while and discovered that the longer he studied it, the more he wanted to look at it.

It was a picture of Dead Hand Cove but it was the cove as he had never really seen it, at least not consciously. There was a riveting intensity about Lillian's rendering of this small chunk of nature—a dark promise of potent, primordial power. It called to something deep within him—made him aware that he was forever linked on the cellular level to these wild forces of life.

Damn. All that in a simple sketch. It was worse than he had thought. She was good. Very, very good.

“One thing's for sure,” he said finally. “You were wasting your time in the matchmaking business. You're an artist, all right. This is your calling.”

“Doesn't mean my work will sell,” she said.

“No.” He handed the sketchpad back to her. “It also doesn't change the fact that this is what you were born to do. Can I ask you a question?”

“What is it?”

“Could you stop doing your art?”

“Stop? You mean, just call it quits?”

“Say someone came along and said he'd give you a million bucks if you agreed to never draw or paint again. Could you take the money and keep your promise?”

“No.” She looked down at the sketch. “Sooner or later, I'd have to go back to it. It's a compulsion, not a choice.”

“That's what I figured.” He exhaled deeply. “So you'll keep doing it, even if you have to get another day job.”

“Yes.”

“You're an artist.”

“Yes,” she said again. “I guess so.”

She sounded a little startled. Thoughtful. As if he had surprised her.

He listened to the seawater tumble in the cove. The tide was returning. Soon only the tips of the fingers would be visible.

“Madison Commercial must have been like that for you all these years,” Lillian said slowly. “A compulsion. Something you had to do.”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“Who knows?” He picked up a small stone and sent it spinning out into the foaming water. “Maybe I just wanted to prove that a Madison could do what you Hartes seemed to do so well.”

“What's that?”

“Not screw up.”

She looked toward the point where the stone had disappeared into the water. “Are you telling me that everything you've accomplished, all your success, happened just because you felt a sense of competition with my family?”

He shrugged. “That was part of it. At least at first. I grew up knowing that you Hartes were smart enough not to make the mistakes we Madisons have always been so good at. Your businesses prosper. Your families are solid. Hell, your parents were actually married. What a concept.”

She did not respond to that. There was no need. They both knew each other's family histories as well as they knew their own. His father, Sinclair, had been a sculptor with a passion for his art and his model, Natalie. Gabe and Rafe had been the result of that union.

The relationship between his parents had lived up to the expectations of everyone familiar with the Madison clan. The long-running affair had been fiery and tempestuous. Sinclair had never seen any reason to burden himself with the petty strings of marriage. Gabe was pretty sure his parents had loved each other in their own stormy fashion, but family life had not been what anyone could call stable, let alone normal.

He and Rafe had each learned to cope in their own ways with their erratic, eccentric, larger-than-life father and their beautiful, temperamental mother. Rafe had chosen to pretend to himself and everyone else that he did not give a damn about his own future. “Live for the moment” had been his motto, at least until he'd come within a hair's breadth of getting himself arrested for murder.

Gabe knew that he, on the other hand, had probably gone to the other extreme. Control and a sense of order had been his bulwarks against the shifting tides of fortune and emotion that had roiled his childhood. In putting together Madison Commercial he had done everything he could to carve his own future out of granite.

“What's the rest?” Lillian asked.

“The rest?”

“I don't believe you could have accomplished so much just because you were inspired by a sense of competition with my family.”

He shook off the brooding sensation that had settled around him like an old, well-worn coat. “I'm not the introspective type.”

“Oh, yes that's right. How could I forget? You made that fact very clear on the questionnaire that you filled out for Private Arrangements.”

“Probably.”

“As I recall,” she continued, “on the portion of the form reserved for ‘Other Comments,' you wrote that you considered yourself pragmatic and realistic by nature. You instructed me not to waste your valuable time with any elitist academics or fuzzy-brained New Age thinkers.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lillian closed the sketchpad with a snap. “You also noted that you did not want to be matched with what you called
arty types
.”

Well, hell
.

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” Lillian said, “but I got the impression that the ‘other comments' section of the questionnaire was one of the few places on the form where you were actually more or less truthful in your responses. Or did you shade those answers, too?”

Definitely time to change the subject.

“You got anything to eat back in your cottage?” he asked.

She blinked and refocused. “You're hungry?”

“Starving. I woke up this morning and realized I didn't have any coffee in the house. Nothing to eat, either. Forgot to stop at a grocery store last night.”

“You expect me to feed you breakfast?”

“Why not? Be the neighborly thing to do. If I had coffee and toast and maybe some peanut butter, I'd invite you to my place.”

“Peanut butter?”

“Be amazed at what you can do with peanut butter.”

“I see. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I didn't pick up anything yesterday, either. I'm planning to drive into town in a few minutes to get something from that bakery Rafe raved about last night.”

“Incandescent Body?” He got to his feet. “Good idea. My brother knows food.”

She was not sure why she had allowed herself to get talked into accompanying Gabe into town. Something to do with the odd mood she was in, no doubt. But when she walked through the doors of the bakery a short time later, the heavenly fragrance of freshly baked bread quickly resolved any doubts about her decision. She suddenly realized that she was ravenous.