Summer in Eclipse Bay (20 page)

She turned the key in the ignition, pulled the door shut, and drove away into the night.

Nick knew it was going to be a bad day when he drove into the parking lot of the Incandescent Body bakery the following morning shortly after ten and saw the black limo sitting near the front door. The driver was behind the wheel, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.

“I don't need this,” Nick said to himself while Carson scrambled out of the backseat. “I definitely do not need this.”

Carson looked up at him. “What don't you need, Dad?”

“You'll find out in a minute.” He closed the rear door and started toward the entrance to the bakery.

“I'm gonna have hot chocolate and an orange muffin this time,” Carson announced with relish. “And we can get some coffee and a muffin for Miss Brightwell, too, okay?”

“I'm gonna have to think about that.” He was still feeling pretty pissed off by her parting remarks last night, he thought. She'd had a lot of nerve suggesting that he take the lead in repairing his shattered friendship with Jeremy.

Carson looked startled. “How come? We always bring her some coffee and a muffin.”

“The situation is getting complicated.”

“But we gotta take her coffee and a muffin. We always take her that stuff. She 'spects it now. Dad, you promised you wouldn't do anything to make her mad.”

“Okay, okay, we'll get her coffee and a muffin.”

He opened the door of the bakery. Carson spotted the two men sitting at the small table immediately. Excitement galvanized him into motion. He raced forward at full speed.

“Great-Granddad.”
Carson looked back over his shoulder. “Dad, it's
Great-Granddad.
He's here.”

“I noticed,” Nick said. He met Sullivan's eyes over the top of Carson's head. Then he flicked a glance at Mitchell, who was looking smug. “What a surprise.”

He took his time following Carson to the table where the two men sat together over coffee. Two canes were propped against one of the chairs. Misleading, those canes, Nick thought. At first glance you might make the mistake of assuming that they indicated weakness. Nothing could be further from the truth.

He had seen photos of Mitch and Sullivan when they had been in the military together decades earlier. They had been young men in their prime at the time, strong and competent, ready to take on their futures. But the picture had been taken shortly after they had survived the hell of combat in a far-off jungle, and the experience had left an indelible imprint on them. If you looked closely, you could still see it in their eyes today. These were two very tough men, the kind you wanted at your back if you decided to walk down a dark alley.

They were also both stubborn as hell and downright bloody-minded when it came to getting their own way. But in fairness, Nick thought, those traits ran through every generation of both the Madison and the Harte families.

Sullivan grinned at Carson when the boy barreled to a halt at his chair. He gave Carson a hug and ruffled his hair affectionately.

“Hello there, sport, how are you doing?”

“Hi,” Carson replied. “Did you come to see my picture in the art show? Cause if you did, you'll have to wait for a few days. The show isn't until next weekend. I did a picture of Winston.”

“I won't miss the show,” Sullivan assured him. He gave Carson a gentle push toward the front counter. “Go get yourself a muffin on me.”

“Okay.” Carson hurried away.

Nick looked at Mitchell. “This is your doing, I assume?”

“Just thought your grandfather oughta be made aware of what was going on here in Eclipse Bay,” Mitchell said with malevolent good cheer.

“I hear you've been busy lately, Nick.” Sullivan picked up his coffee. “Trying to find a painting that used to belong to Thurgarton and seeing Octavia Brightwell on the side.”

“Not necessarily in that order, but, yeah, that pretty much sums up my summer vacation so far.” Accepting the inevitable, Nick grabbed a chair and sat down. “But I've got hopes that the situation will improve.”

After lunch at Dreamscape and some hurried conversation with Rafe and Hannah, who were busy with a crowd in the restaurant, Nick and Sullivan took Carson and Winston down to the beach below the old mansion.

Sullivan watched his great-grandson dart all over the landscape, following Winston from one tide pool to another.

“One of these days you're going to have to get that boy a dog of his own,” he said.

“When he turns six,” Nick agreed.

“That's next month.”

“Yeah, I know. Carson reminds me just about every day.”

“Six years old.” Sullivan shook his head in wonder. “Where the hell did the years go? I remember when I used to walk on this same beach with you and Hamilton and a dog named Joe.”

“If this is another one of those little grandfatherly chats on the subject of how the years are slipping away and how Carson needs a mother and how it's time I got married again,” Nick said, “could we just skip to the end? I've heard it so many times that I've got it memorized.”

“Take it easy. We're all worried about you and Carson. Harte men are family men, you know that.”

“Carson and I have plenty of family. Every time I turn around, I'm running into family. Take this morning, for example. I walk into the local bakery to get a cup of coffee and what do I see? Family.”

“Not like a Harte to be playing the field at your age.”

“I do not play the field.”

“What do you call it when you have relationships with several different women?”

“I call it a social life. And for the record, I did not have those relationships simultaneously. Hell, I've only dated maybe a half dozen different women in the past three years. I don't think that's excessive.”

“Your mother and your grandmother and your sisters do.”

“They're all obsessed with the idea of getting me married again.”

“They think you've got some kind of psychological block. They've all decided that you've got a problem with getting serious about another woman because you're afraid of losing her the way you lost Amelia.”

Nick watched Carson poke at a hole in the sand with a long stick while he tried to decide how to respond to that. “What do you think?” he said at last.

“Me?” Sullivan seemed surprised to be asked for his opinion. He halted beside a rock. “I think you just haven't found the right woman.”

Nick realized he had been braced for a lecture. He allowed himself to relax slightly. “Yeah, that's sort of how I see it, too.”

“But Octavia is different, isn't she?”

So much for letting down his guard. “Mitchell sent for you, didn't he? That's why you're here.”

“Mitch feels protective toward Octavia Brightwell.”

“Octavia can take care of herself.”

“What about you?” Sullivan asked quietly.

It took Nick a beat or two to grasp that. “Don't tell me that you're afraid that I'm the one who might be in trouble here.”

Sullivan's gaze rested on Carson and Winston, who had moved on to explore the entrance of a shallow cave. “Got one question for you.”

“What?”

“Did you give Octavia The Talk?”

“Damn. I'm starting to think that everyone in the Northwest knows all the details of my social life. A guy could get paranoid.”

“You didn't answer my question. Did you give Octavia your patented lecture on the subject of keeping things light?”

“You know what? I'm not going to answer that question.”

Sullivan nodded. “Things went wrong this time around, didn't they? Mitch was right.”

“I think we'd better change the subject, Granddad.”

“Probably a good idea. Relationship counseling isn't exactly my forte. But for what it's worth, I came here to see what was going on, not to put pressure on you. I figure you can handle your own love life without my interference.”

Nick raised his brows. “I'm stunned. Since when did anyone in our family ever hesitate to apply pressure whenever the opportunity arose?”

Sullivan exhaled heavily. “I put enough pressure on you when you were growing up. Always figured you'd take over Harte Investments, you know.”

“I know.”

“I didn't handle it well that day when you came to me and told me that you were leaving the company. Lost my temper. Said some things I shouldn't have said.”

“We both did,” Nick said quietly.

“Hamilton cornered me in my office that same afternoon. He was mad as hell. Angrier than I'd ever seen him. Told me to back off and leave you alone. Told me that you and Lillian and Hannah all had the right to make your own choices in life the same way I'd made mine and that he wasn't going to stand by and let me pressure any of you into doing what I wanted you to do. He really let me have it that day.”

“Dad said all that?” Nick was surprised. He had known that he'd had his father's support when he made the decision to leave the company but he hadn't realized that Hamilton had gone toe-to-toe with Sullivan over the issue.

“Yes. Looking back, I can see that he was trying to protect you and your sisters from the kind of pressure I'd put him under when he was growing up. I didn't mean to force anyone into a mold, you know. It's just that I had always had this vision of H.I. descending down through the family. I couldn't believe that my grandson didn't want what I had spent so much of my life creating.”

“The thing is,” Nick said, groping for the words he needed, “Harte was your creation. I needed something that was all mine.”

“And you found it in your writing. I understand that now.” Sullivan's jaw tightened. “Something I've always wondered, though.”

Nick glanced at him warily. “What?”

“Was it your leaving Harte after your first book was published that put the strain on your marriage?”

Nick sucked in a deep breath. “How did you know?”

“I didn't. It was your grandmother who guessed that things weren't going so well between you and Amelia there at the end. She had a hunch that the problems started when you decided to quit Harte. She always felt that, for Amelia, the company was part of the deal.”

He did not know what to say, Nick thought. He had never realized that anyone had known about the fault line in his marriage.

“Grandmother is right,” he said after a moment. “Amelia was having an affair with the man who was flying the plane that day. I think that, if she had lived, there would have been a divorce. She wanted out.”

“And you wouldn't have been able to handle her cheating. You're a Harte.”

“Yeah.”

“Figured it was something like that.” Sullivan kept his attention on Carson and Winston. “That's the real reason why you've been so cautious about getting serious with another woman. Got burned once and you're a mite nervous about sticking your finger back in the fire.”

“Shit. Seems like everyone is trying to psychoanalyze me these days.”

Sullivan's brows bristled into a sharp frown. “Who's everyone? Far as I know, only Rachel figured out the problems between you and Amelia. We never mentioned them to anyone else in the family or outside, for that matter.”

“I told Octavia about how it was between Amelia and me. She leaped to the same conclusion that Grandma did.”

“Huh. Women. Always trying to analyze what makes a man tick.”

“Yeah.”

“If only they knew how simple we really are.”

“Better to keep 'em guessing,” Nick said. “Probably makes us appear more interesting.”

“True.” Sullivan dug the tip of his cane into the coarse sand and started walking again. “Well, I think we've exhausted that subject. Tell me about this missing painting. You really trying to play private eye like that guy, John True, in your books?”

“I got into it because Virgil, A.Z., and Octavia asked me to look around a bit.” Nick fell into step beside him. “They didn't think Valentine was looking in the right places, and they may have had a point. He suspects one of the Heralds probably took it and arranged to unload it in Seattle or Portland. He figures it's long gone.”

“Mitch told me that much.”

“I got a lot more serious about the situation after I heard the rumor that Octavia had been voted Most Likely Suspect.”

“Octavia?” Sullivan scowled. “Now, that's interesting.”

“I thought so.” Never let it be said that the old man was losing it mentally, Nick thought. Sullivan had grasped the implications immediately. “Especially when you consider that she's well-liked here in town. It would have been a lot easier to cast suspicion on the Heralds, who are viewed as the local weirdos and outsiders.”

“You figure it's personal, don't you? Someone is out to pin the blame on Octavia for some specific reason.”