Grand Passion

settled.” Max turned the Jaguar into the parking lot. “We'll get started right away.”
    “Could we wait until after dinner?” Cleo asked. “I'm sure the family will have a lot of questions, and Ben and Trisha will probably want to talk about their wedding plans. I'd like to have a chance to go through the new bookings, and maybe O'Reilly will have some news for us.”
    Max smiled ruefully. “If you insist, I guess we can wait until after dinner.”
    Everything was going to be okay, he thought. So why did he feel this disturbing sense of unease beneath the satisfaction he was experiencing, he wondered.
    But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. He was still on dangerous ground. After all, he knew better than anyone else that he had pushed Cleo into the engagement just as he had once pushed Kimberly. And now he had pushed Cleo into another commitment.
    Maybe he was pushing too hard in his effort to force his way into her life. He knew that he didn't have a good track record when it came to this kind of thing. It was the one area in which he always screwed up.
    He probably should have held back, Max thought, suddenly worried about his own successful pressure tactics. Something was wrong.
    The things he wanted most in life always seemed to elude him just as he was reaching for them.

    Three hours later Max watched, amused, as O'Reilly put his feet up on a wicker footstool in the solarium and lounged contentedly in one of the fanback chairs.
    “Playing pasha?” Max asked.
    O'Reilly looked at him with knowing eyes. “I think I've finally figured out why you changed jobs, Max. Just be careful you don't put on weight eating chocolate chip cookies.”
    “I'll work it off. There's always something that needs doing around an old place like this.”
    “Yeah. Found that out fast. I helped Ben with a couple of leaking faucets while you were gone. Ben thinks you leap tall buildings in a single bound, by the way.”
    “I don't know why,” Max said. “I haven't leaped any lately.”
    “I guess we all have to find our heroes where we can.” O'Reilly grinned. “Sammy supervised the plumbing repairs.”
    “Sammy's good at supervision.”
    O'Reilly looked pleased. “He's a great little kid, isn't he?”
    “Yes.”
    “Smart as a whip,” O'Reilly said.
    “Talented, too,” Max said, remembering the crayon drawing that was hanging in the attic.
    “What kind of a father would run off and leave Sammy and a fine woman like Sylvia on their own?” O'Reilly asked.
    “A real jerk of a father.”
    “Some guys don't know when they've got it made, do they?” O'Reilly mused.
    “No,” Max said. “Some guys don't.”
    O'Reilly gave him a level look. “But some guys, guys like you and me, for instance, are a little brighter. We know a good thing when we see it.”
    Max's attention was caught by the unfamiliar undercurrent he thought he detected in O'Reilly's voice. He had known the other man for a long time. Since the death of O'Reilly's wife and child, it had been rare to hear any emotion other than unrelenting, completely superficial amusement in his voice.
    “Yes,” Max said. “Some of us know a good thing when we see it.” He glanced toward the French doors as they opened. Ben walked into the room. “Come on in, Ben. We've been waiting for you.”
    “What's up?” Ben glanced at Max and then at O'Reilly. “You said we needed to have a strategy session?”
    “Right. Sit down.” Max waved him to a seat. “I figure this is something the three of us should discuss before we talk to the rest of the family. I don't want everyone worrying unnecessarily.”
    O'Reilly chuckled. “Translated, that means Max thinks this is a job for the men of the household. I'm warning you, the ladies will have a fit if they find out we're making plans behind their backs.”
    “Gotcha.” Ben dropped down on a nearby seat, obviously proud to be included in the strategy session. “I take it we're going to talk about what you found out while Cleo and Max were gone?”
    “I've got my notes here somewhere.” O'Reilly rummaged around in his pants pockets and pulled out a small notebook. “I'd better bring Max up to speed first.”
    Max watched him intently. “Anything interesting?”
    “Nothing for certain, but when you lay it all out some intriguing questions arise.”
    Before Max could ask what those questions were, the French doors opened again.
    “What's going on in here?” Cleo demanded from the doorway.