Dawn in Eclipse Bay

the next generation. As if it didn’t matter a damn.
    It had taken him a long time to realize that, to Hampton, Harte Investments was just a business. Running the company was nothing more than a job to him. He had done it extraordinarily well but he could walk away tomorrow and never look back.
    In fact, walking away from H.I. was precisely what Hampton planned to do. Sometime in the next two years. Sullivan swore under his breath and reached for his cane. He still could not believe that after having worked so hard to take the company to another level, his son was looking forward to retiring so that he could start a charitable foundation.
    As far as he was concerned, Sullivan thought, charity began at home.
    Just a business .
    What the hell was the matter with everyone else in the family? Didn’t they understand that a company like Harte Investments was a work of art? It had required vision and sweat to bring it to life. It was the result of a lot of carefully calculated risks and farsighted strategy. It had heart. It had struggled and fought and survived in a jungle where other businesses, large and small, got eaten alive.
    And now, because none of his grandchildren had any interest in the company, it would be sold or swallowed up by some other, larger, predator.
    He rapped the tip of the cane sharply against the cool terra-cotta tiles of the living room floor. The small gesture did nothing to release his pent-up frustration.
    Just a business .
    He stopped at the bank of floor-to-ceiling French doors that overlooked the pool.
    Rachel was on her last lap. He watched her glide through the turquoise water and felt some of his anger fade. He became aware of the quiet sense of connection that he always experienced when he saw her. It calmed him and gave him a centered feeling that he could not explain. The older he got, the more he realized that Rachel helped define him. A great deal of what he knew about himself he had learned from living with her all these years.
    He opened one of the glass-paned doors and went out onto the patio. It was late afternoon. The long rays of the desert sun were blocked by the walls of the house. The pool lay in comfortable shadow. In the distance the mountains were very sharp against the incredibly blue Arizona sky.
    He selected two bottles of chilled springwater from the small refrigerator he had installed near the outdoor grill and lowered himself onto a lounger. He unscrewed the cap of one of the bottles, took a long swallow, and waited for Rachel to emerge from the jeweled pool. Talking to her always helped him put things into perspective.
    She reached the steps and walked up out of the sparkling water. He watched her peel her swim cap off her short, silver-blond hair and admired her figure in the black-and-white bathing suit. After all this time he still felt the quiet heat of sexual attraction. She was only five years younger than he but somewhere along the line she had stopped aging, at least to him. He would want her until the day he died. And probably after that, too.
    Her mouth curved as she walked toward him across the patio. “I can see that the discussion with Hampton did not go well.”
    “I don’t know where he gets that stubborn streak.”
    “Certainly not from you.”
    She picked up her white terrycloth robe, wrapped it around herself and sat down beside him. He handed her one of the bottles of cold water. She removed the cap and took a sip. They sat and watched the sunlight on the mountains. Sullivan relaxed into the lounger.
    “Hampton and Elaine think that Gabe will try to marry her in order to get his hands on a chunk of Harte,” he said after a while.
    “What do you think?”
    “No Madison I ever knew had enough common sense to marry for money.”
    “Good point. But everyone says that Gabe is a different kind of Madison. His company is his passion. He built it to prove something to himself and everyone else. It’s as important to him as Harte Investments is to you.”
    “I know.” Sullivan grimaced. “Just wish one or two of my grandkids felt the same way about H.I. It’s Hampton’s fault that none of them ever showed much interest in the company.”
    “He didn’t want them to feel the same kind of pressure he got from you when he was growing up.”
    “Pressure, hell. I just guided him a little, that’s all.”
    “You groomed him for Harte from the day he was born. Made him think he owed it to you and that he had to prove he wouldn’t turn out to