Family Man

well, I shall try not to be overwhelmed by the gracious hospitality the two of you are extending.” Katy sailed briskly through the door and set her leather briefcase down on the ancient linoleum floor. She started unfastening the buttons of her sunshine-yellow jacket.
    She had worn a yellow silk blouse and a business-like, pencil-slim green skirt for this interview. It had been impossible to guess precisely how to dress for a confrontation with Justine's mysterious grandson, but Katy had known enough about Gilchrists in general to wear her highest heels.
    “You're wasting your time, you know,” Luke said.
    “I'll be the judge of that.” She pointedly held out the bright yellow jacket.
    Luke eyed the splash of sunshine in her hand with obvious distaste. He made no move to take it from her. “No reason to hang it up. You won't be here long. Toss it over a chair in the front room.”
    Katy gritted her teeth and folded her jacket over her arm. She picked up her briefcase and followed her unwilling host down the hall. Luke Gilchrist was even more impossible than she had been led to believe.
    Then again, what had she expected from a man who had not bothered to have any real contact with his grandmother, uncle, and cousins since the day he was born? His father, Thornton Gilchrist, had defied Justine to marry Luke's mother, Cleo, and the rest of the family had referred to Luke as “the Bastard” ever since his conception.
    He certainly fit the title.
    Luke had his back to her as he went down the hall, so Katy took the opportunity to examine him more thoroughly. The impression of height that she had had when she first saw him was slightly misleading. Maybe he was only five-eleven or possibly six feet, after all. No big deal, she told herself. Her seventeen-year-old brother, Matthew, was nearly that tall.
    But there was a breadth to Luke's shoulders and a hard, lean quality about the rest of him that was worlds apart from Matt's youthful physique. It was the difference between boy and man, and that difference was spelled power .
    Luke's sleek, flat-stomached body would have looked good on a young warrior, Katy decided, but his eyes were those of an old sorcerer. She shivered for no apparent reason.
    Behind Katy the front door shuddered as the Pacific storm struck in full force. By the time she followed Luke into the shabbily furnished living room the rain was sheeting down the windows. Zeke was sprawled on the floor near the fire. His bowl was lying next to him. He opened one eye when Katy appeared, then promptly closed it.
    “Have a seat.” Luke picked up a pile of Wall Street Journals that had been stacked on an armchair. He tossed them down onto a coffee table that was already littered with recent issues of Fortune, Barron's , and a variety of small, independent financial newsletters.
    “Thank you.” Katy sat down cautiously, not wanting to raise the cloud of dust she feared was embedded in the threadbare cushions.
    She glanced covertly around the room as she set down her briefcase. It was hard to believe Luke Gilchrist made money as easily as most people lost it. The room showed no sign of what she knew must have been a considerable income. He certainly didn't bother to spend any of it on his home.
    Katy was shocked in spite of herself. She did her best to conceal it. Every Gilchrist she had ever known had a taste for the finer things in life. Other than the black Jaguar she had seen in the drive, there was no evidence that Luke had inherited that particular family trait.
    True, this house, which was perched on a bluff overlooking the raw Oregon coast, had a terrific view, but that was about all it had going for it. Luke had clearly not invested a dime toward refurbishing the aging structure.
    The furniture appeared to be composed of leftovers from a garage sale. The drapes were floral in pattern, and faded. The flowers on them were no longer recognizable. The fabric must have been at least thirty years old. A seriously stained braided rug lay beneath the wobbly metal legs of the scarred coffee table.
    “You've come this far,” Luke said as he sprawled gracefully in the sagging armchair across from Katy. “Say what you have to say, and then you can leave.”
    Katy's mouth tightened. He was making her nervous, but she was not about to let him bully her. Not even Justine was allowed that privilege. “I suspect you have a very good idea of why I'm here, Mr. Gilchrist.”
    “Call me Luke. I'm sure as hell