Dawn in Eclipse Bay

flaky side.”
    “And here we thought my flakiness was a closely held family secret.”
    Mitchell ignored that, busy with his own logic. “Well, makes sense, when you think about it. I reckon you’re the only choice left now that Hannah’s fixin’ to open the inn with Rafe, and your brother quit the company to write those mystery novels.”
    “As a matter of fact, I’m not going to go to work for my father. I closed Private Arrangements so that I could paint full time.”
    “Paint what?” Mitchell looked nonplussed. “Houses? Cars?”
    “Pictures.”
    “Pictures.” If he had looked nonplussed a moment ago, he was clearly floored now. “You mean real paintings? The kind they put in museums?”
    “I should be so lucky.” Lillian drummed her fingers on her mug, aware that Gabe was watching her with an odd expression. “Octavia Brightwell is going to give me my first show in Portland in a few weeks.”
    Mitchell shook his head. “Well, shoot and damn. If that don’t beat all. Bet your folks and your grandfather are climbing the walls about now. Bad enough having a writer in the family. Now they’ve got themselves a real live artist.”
    “I haven’t told them yet that I plan to paint full time,” Lillian said carefully. “In fact, they don’t even know that I’ve closed Private Arrangements.”
    “Don’t worry, they won’t hear it from me,” he said.
    “But I sure would pay big bucks to be a fly on the wall when you tell ’em that you’re going to quit working to paint pictures.”
    Lillian stiffened. “They’ll understand.”
    “They may understand, but they sure as hell aren’t going to be real thrilled about it.” Mitchell was almost chortling. “Sullivan sweated blood putting Harte Investments together after our company went under. And your father has worked in the business his whole life. Everyone figured one of you three kids would take over and manage it for another generation. Now, one by one, you’re all peeling off to do your own thing.”
    He was right, she thought. But she didn’t need the guilt trip this morning.
    “Nick’s son, Carson, may develop an interest in the business when he gets older,” she said.
    Mitchell snorted. “Your brother’s boy is only, what? Four? Five?”
    “Five.”
    “It’ll be twenty years at least before he’s even ready to think about taking on a job like running Harte Investments, assuming he wants to do it in the first place.” Mitchell squinted. “Your dad’s in his early sixties. He can’t wait that long to turn the company over to the next generation.”
    “It’s no secret that Dad plans to retire sometime in the next couple of years,” she admitted. “He and Mom want to establish a charitable foundation aimed at teaching disadvantaged young people how to run a business.”
    “If he wants out, he’ll have to sell or merge the company.” Mitchell pursed his lips. “Probably make a truckload of money, but for all intents and purposes, Harte Investments will come to an end with this generation.”
    “It’s just a business,” Lillian blurted.
    “Just a business, my left, uh, foot.” Mitchell took another sip of coffee and lowered his mug very slowly. “This is Harte Investments we’re talking about.”
    Lillian became aware of the fact that Gabe had turned away from the window. He was watching her intently. She looked at him and then back at Mitchell. Both pairs of green eyes were identical. It sent a chill down her spine.
    It occurred to her that the success of Harte Investments over the years had been more of a thorn in the sides of the Madison men than anyone in her family had ever fully understood.

    Ten minutes later, Gabe stood with Lillian on the front porch and watched Mitchell climb into the SUV. Bryce put the behemoth into gear and drove off toward the main road.
    They watched the rain fall for a while.
    “I’m thinking about giving you a break,” Gabe said.
    Lillian folded her arms. “What kind of a break?”
    “You know that sixth date you owe me?”
    “That sixth date is a figment of your obsessive imagination. It will never happen.”
    “I’m serious.”
    “So am I.”
    He watched the SUV disappear into the trees. “I need a date for that banquet in Portland I mentioned the other night at dinner. The one scheduled to honor a former professor of mine. Are you free?”
    She turned halfway around, searching his face with an unreadable expression. “This is your idea of a real date? A