Dawn in Eclipse Bay

your family could create a profitable business like Madison Commercial?”
    “Gotta say that Octavia sure knows how to give a party.” Mitchell helped himself to a cheese canapé. “First class all the way, too. Lot of people here tonight wouldn’t have noticed or cared if she had served cheap champagne and second-rate food. But she pulled out all the stops, same as she did for the Portland crowd.”
    “Showing respect for the locals.” Sullivan nodded. “Very smart. Good public relations.”
    “She’s a smart young woman. But she’s real, too, if you know what I mean. She didn’t put on this bash just for publicity purposes. She did it because she really wanted to show folks that she appreciates them as much as she does the Portland crowd.”
    Sullivan took a sip of his champagne. “I’ll buy that.”
    “Huh.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Can’t help noticing that she and your grandson, Nick, are having themselves a mighty serious conversation over there.”
    Sullivan followed his gaze, searching for the pair over the heads of the crowd. He spotted Nick, dressed in formal black and white, standing with Octavia on the far side of the gallery.
    The conversation looked more than serious, he thought. It had a close, intimate quality. Nick had one hand casually flattened on the wall behind Octavia’s head. He leaned slightly in toward her, his broad shoulders angled in a way that subtly but effectively cut her off from the crowd around them. Sullivan recognized the body language and knew that every other man in the room understood it too, if only on a subconscious level. It was a clear statement of possession, a this-woman-is-mine-tonight message.
    “Oh, brother,” he said softly. “Here we go again.”
    “I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you,” Mitchell said cheerfully. “Like I said, Octavia’s a nice young woman.”
    “Red hair.”
    “So what? You got a problem with red hair?”
    “There’s something familiar about her, Mitch.”
    “You’ve seen her before. She attended Hannah and Rafe’s wedding. And you met her at the Portland reception last week.”
    “No, I mean something really familiar.”
    “Like what?”
    “The red hair, the profile. The way she holds herself. Take a good look, man. She remind you of anyone?”
    Mitchell studied Octavia for a long time.
    “Well, shoot and damn,” he said at last. “She’s a dead ringer, isn’t she? Funny, I never noticed before.”
    “Might explain why you took to her right off, though.”
    “Well, shoot and damn,” Mitchell said again, this time sounding dazed. “What the hell is going on here?”
    “Beats me,” Sullivan said. “But I figure this isn’t a coincidence.”
    “Nope.” An expression of bemused wonder gleamed in Mitchell’s eyes. “No coincidence. Tell you one thing, Nick better behave himself with her.”
    “What business is it of yours, how he behaves?”
    “Octavia’s alone in the world. No family to protect her.”
    “So you’re going to take on the job, is that it?” Sullivan asked.
    “Someone’s gotta do it. That grandson of yours has a reputation for playing it fast and loose with the ladies.”
    “He just hasn’t found the right woman to take Amelia’s place.”
    “Way I hear it, he’s not lookin’ real hard for a wife,” Mitchell observed. “Seems like he prefers a more casual arrangement with his lady friends, one that doesn’t involve rings and a ceremony and a commitment. I hear tell they call him Hardhearted Harte in some circles.”
    “Damn it, my grandson’s love life isn’t any of your business.”
    “I won’t let him take advantage of Octavia, got that?” Mitchell set his jaw. “She’s not gonna be just another one of his short-term flings. You better set him real straight on that score or there’ll be hell to pay.”
    Glumly, Sullivan studied the pair on the other side of the room.
    “This could get complicated,” he said.
    “Sure could.”
    Sullivan didn’t know precisely what Mitchell was thinking, but he was willing to bet his companion was recalling the same scene he himself remembered so well. It was a scene out of their shared past: an eerie, unsettling memory of the day a flame-haired woman in a short skirt and high heels opened the door of their little office on Bay Street and told them she would make them both very rich.
    They both stared, fascinated at Octavia. No doubt about it, Sullivan thought, she bore an uncanny resemblance to