Dawn in Eclipse Bay

generations. Gabe was living proof that the past had the power to haunt.
    “I feel I have lived up to my part of the arrangement,” she said. “I have sent you out on five dates in the past three weeks.”
    “Big deal. Five dates. I paid for six.”
    “You have complained about all five dates. In my opinion a sixth date would be a total waste of everyone’s time.”
    “Those five bad dates were your fault.” His jaw tightened. “Or maybe the fault of your computer program. Doesn’t matter. The point is, they weren’t good matches.”
    “Really?” She gave him a small, brightly polished smile. “I can’t imagine how they could have been anything but perfect matches. According to my computer analysis the women I paired you with met over eighty-five percent of your requirements.”
    “Only eighty-five percent? Well, there’s your problem.” He grinned humorlessly. “The real issue here is that you and your computer aren’t doing a very good job. You haven’t found me any one hundred percent matches.”
    “Get real, Gabe.” She put the pen down very precisely using both fingers. “There is no such thing as a one hundred percent perfect match. I use a computer program, not a magic wand.”
    “So, go for ninety-five.” He spread his hands. “I’m flexible.”
    “Flexible?” She stared at him, completely nonplussed for two or three seconds, and then she swallowed a laugh.
    “No offense, but you’re about as flexible as one of those steel beams they use in high-rise construction projects.”
    And just as tough, she thought. His hallmark uniform—expensive steel-gray suits, charcoal-gray shirts, silver-and-onyx cuff links, and striped silver-and-black ties—had taken on near-legendary status in the Northwest business community, which tended toward a more relaxed look. But the classy attire was poor camouflage for an iron will that had been forged in a strong fire.
    The evidence of that will was plain to see. At least, it was obvious to her. It was there in the way he moved with the unconscious grace of a natural hunter. It was clear in the way he held himself and in the cool, remote, watchful expression in his eyes. Always on the alert, even when he appeared to be relaxed. There was a centered quality to him that was so strong it formed an invisible aura around him. This was a man who did nothing on impulse. A man in control.
    What worried her the most, she admitted silently, was that she found him both compelling and fascinating.
    In one sense she had known Gabe all of her life. He hailed from Eclipse Bay on the coast of Oregon where her family had always maintained a summer and vacation home. Growing up she had encountered him from time to time in the small town—but he was a Madison. Everyone knew that Madison males were trouble. Nice girls might indulge a few fantasies, but they didn’t date Madisons. That, coupled with their complicated family history and the fact that he was five years older than she, had formed a huge barrier. The stone wall had not been breached until the wedding of her sister, Hannah, to his brother, Rafe, a few months ago. The event had shocked and delighted the entire town, leading to much speculation about whether or not the infamous Harte-Madison feud had finally ended. The question was still unanswered in most quarters.
    Meeting Gabe at the reception had left her unsettled and unaccountably restless. She had told herself she would get over it. But when he had walked into her office a few weeks later she had realized that, on some level, she had been waiting for him. She could not explain her anticipation but it had come as a cold shock to learn that he was there on business. His only goal had been to sign up as a client.
    Still, she had allowed herself a few interesting daydreams.
    Then, of course, he had filled out the lengthy questionnaire she used to feed client data into her program and she had realized just how hopeless it all was. No arty types . It was, she reflected, one of the few places on the form where she was pretty certain he had been completely candid in his responses.
    “It’s not my fault you picked five bad matches in a row,” he said.
    “I picked five excellent matches.” She raised one hand, fingers bunched into a loose fist. “They were all college-educated.” She extended one finger. “They were all within the age span that you specified.” She extended a second finger. “They all had successful careers and were financially