Eclipse Bay

past it. Figure I owe him that much, since it was me who was responsible for this phobia thing in the first place.”
    “How do you intend to do that?” Hannah’s voice was stronger now, infused with morbid curiosity. “Get out your shotgun and march him to the altar?”
    Rafe felt as though he’d been turned into a block of solid marble.
    “Is that what you want?” Mitchell asked ingenuously.
    “Good grief, no . Of course not.”
    Rafe winced. Did she have to sound so positively negative about the idea?
    “It might take a little push from me,” Mitchell allowed reflectively. “When it comes to phobias, sometimes you’ve got to force folks to face up to ’em.”
    “You just told me that force didn’t work well with Rafe.”
    “I’m thinking more in terms of applying a little pressure in the right spots.”
    “As it happens,” Hannah said, sweet, sharp steel in every syllable, “I’m in the business of getting people married, and I can tell you that making a marriage work is hard enough when both parties go into it enthusiastically. Any marriage forged by outside pressure would be doomed before the vows even got said.”
    “You’re too young to be so pessimistic,” Mitchell complained.
    “Mitchell, I’m sure you mean well, but the very last thing I want to do is marry a man who doesn’t want to get married. Are we clear on that?”
    “Now don’t let Rafe’s bad nerves put you off the notion,” Mitchell replied. “It’s true the Madison men have a lousy track record when it comes to marriage, but the right woman could change all that.”
    “Why do you want to change it?” Hannah demanded, thoroughly exasperated now. “What is this all about, anyway? Why do you want Rafe and me to get married?”
    Still stuck in the doorway, Rafe waited for the other shoe to drop.
    “Because it’s the right thing to do,” Mitchell snapped, evidently out of patience himself. “It’s the only way to stop people from talking.”
    “Since when did you start worrying about local gossip?” Hannah asked.
    “There’s gossip and there’s gossip,” Mitchell declared. “Everyone in town is saying he’s carrying on with you because he wants to get his hands on the other half of this place. That’s a damned lie. Reminds me of the talk that went around town the night Kaitlin Sadler died. All those rumors about how he’d seduced you just to get himself an alibi. Pure garbage.”
    “They certainly were,” Hannah said quietly.
    “Hell, I know that.” Mitchell’s voice rang with conviction. “Rafe had nothing to do with that poor girl’s death. Madison men got problems when it comes to dealing with the opposite sex, but no Madison man has ever laid a hand on a woman in anger. No man in this family would ever assault a female, by God. And no Madison would seduce an innocent girl like you to cover his own tracks, and that’s a fact.”
    A loud silence gripped the sunroom.
    “I know that,” Hannah said quietly.
    Rafe remembered to take a breath.
    “I’m not saying Rafe might not have argued with Kaitlin Sadler,” Mitchell continued. “He’s a Madison. He’s got a temper. But if he had been with Kaitlin that night and if there had been some terrible accident, he’d have gone for help and then he’d have told the flat-out truth about what happened.”
    “I know that, too,” Hannah said again. Her voice was very even. “I’m a Harte, remember? Lord knows that we’re well aware that Madisons have their faults, but no one in my family has ever accused anyone in your clan of lying.”
    “Damn right,” Mitchell agreed.
    Rafe glanced down at the tray of hummus and pita bread points he held. Mitchell had believed him all those years ago. The old man disapproved of just about everything he’d ever done in his life, but he had never doubted Rafe’s word about what had happened the night Kaitlin Sadler died.
    Rafe discovered that he could move again. He walked into the sunroom and set the tray down on a table. He noticed that Hannah’s cheeks were flushed. She avoided his eyes. He knew she was wondering how much of the conversation he had overheard.
    “The hummus looks wonderful,” she said a little too brightly.
    “Thanks.” Rafe picked up the small glass pitcher of very good, very expensive olive oil that sat on the tray. He poured a liberal stream of the rich, fruity oil over the hummus.
    “What’s that?” Mitchell studied the hummus with curiosity. “Some kinda bean