Dawn in Eclipse Bay

cleaning the last of her brushes. It was the start of a portrait of Gabe based on the sketch she had made of him in her Portland studio. All brooding shadows and hard, bright light, it was the first real work she had done since she had arrived in town. She was pleased with it. She had been in the zone this afternoon. About time.
    She set the brushes in a holder to dry and looked at her watch. She was startled to see that it was nearly two o’clock. Gabe had said he would come over around noon for lunch. As usual, she had lost all track of time while she was in that other place where the vision reigned supreme.
    Maybe he had been delayed by business or a phone call.
    She looked out the window. There were whitecaps on the bay and no rain in sight. She could use some fresh air after such a long stretch of work. The overstimulated sensation that always followed a particularly good session in the studio was making her restless. She needed to get out and work it off. A walk along the bluffs would do the trick. She would probably run into Gabe on his way here.
    She indulged herself in a brief, romantic picture of herself flying into his arms on the top of a windswept bluff. Gulls would be wheeling overhead. His dark hair would be ruffled by the crisp breeze. She would be sexy and free-spirited in a gossamer dress and bare feet.
    That image made her wonder if she ought to take time to change out of her paint-stained jeans and long-tailed denim shirt. Then she remembered that it was only about fifty-three degrees outside and that there was a lot of rough gravel on the bluff path. Forget the gossamer dress and bare feet.
    She put on a pair of scuffed running shoes, took a black denim jacket out of the hall closet and left the house through the mudroom door.
    Outside, the scene on the bluffs was very much as she had envisioned it, blustery and invigorating. The bay was a dramatic sweep of quietly churning seawater. The town was picturesque in the distance. The air was clear and bright. The only thing missing was Gabe. There was no sign of him on the path.
    An uneasy feeling coiled around her, pushing aside the zesty anticipation. By the time she emerged from the trees and found herself near the back porch of the old Buckley place a dark foreboding had settled on her.
    She walked around the side of the house to see if Gabe’s car was in the drive. It was. So was another vehicle, a dark limo complete with a driver behind the wheel. The chauffeur did not notice her. He was deep into a paperback.
    She told herself to relax. Obviously business from out of town had caught up with Gabe. But for some obscure reason the anxiety didn’t dissipate. Things felt wrong.
    She returned to the back door, opened it quietly and moved stealthily into the kitchen. If Gabe was wheeling and dealing with an important client she did not want to interrupt.
    The low rumble of voices from the other room made her stop short. She knew those voices. Both of them.
    Suddenly everything made sense. Outrage flared. She rushed to the doorway.
    Sullivan and Gabe were seated on the sofa. A leather-bound binder and a stack of computer printouts were arrayed on the low table in front of them.
    “Granddad, how dare you?”
    Sullivan looked up swiftly, peering at her through a pair of reading glasses. She could have sworn that he turned red.
    “Lillian.”
    Gabe said nothing. He took one look at her and lounged back into the corner of the sofa, one arm stretched out along the top of the cushions.
    She ignored him. Her entire attention was focused on Sullivan.
    “What in the world are you doing?” Her voice cracked. “No, don’t bother explaining. I know exactly what you’re doing.”
    Sullivan blinked owlishly behind the spectacles. “You do?”
    “It’s as obvious as those papers on the table.” She walked a few steps closer. “You’re here to try to buy off Gabe. Or maybe you want to scare him off. Which is it?”
    “Now, honey,” Sullivan said in placating tones.
    She was vaguely aware of the sound of a large vehicle arriving in the drive. She ignored it.
    “You think he wants to marry me so that he can get his hands on a chunk of Harte, don’t you? What are you offering him to get out of my life? Or are you threatening him?”
    The front door crashed open. Mitchell stormed into the house.
    “Who’s threatening my grandson?” he roared. He came to a halt, brows bristling, jaw clenched, and glowered at Sullivan. “What do you think you’re