“What on earth do you suppose he plans to do with half of Dreamscape?” Lillian mused.
“Who knows?” Hannah frowned at the array of wedding photos that decorated her office wall. “But I have plans for Dreamscape, and I’m certainly not going to let him stand in my way.”
“You’re going to meet with him in Eclipse Bay, aren’t you?”
“Doesn’t look like I’ve got much choice. I want Dreamscape. Somehow I’ve got to talk him out of his share of the place.”
“We haven’t heard much about Rafe in recent years. Just that he got married and divorced.”
Hannah thought about her midnight conversation with Rafe. The men in my family aren’t much good when it comes to marriage. . . . Figure the odds are against me getting lucky . . .
“Divorce is a Madison family tradition,” she said quietly.
“Unfortunately, it’s a very common tradition for a lot of families these days.” Lillian made a tut-tut sound. “I don’t know why so many people refuse to see the obvious. Marriage is a partnership. It should be entered into the same way one would go into any serious business arrangement. All the factors should be examined from every angle before a commitment is made.”
“Lillian—”
“There’s a staggering amount of scientific evidence that suggests that couples who are properly matched using modern psychological tests and personality inventories are far more likely to succeed at marriage than those who let their emotions—”
“Enough, Lillian. I’ve heard your professional pitch before, remember?”
“Sorry. You know me. I get a little carried away sometimes.” Lillian hesitated. “About Rafe Madison—”
“What about him?”
“Think he’s changed?”
“How should I know?” Hannah rose, phone in hand, and went to the window. “Wonder if he achieved his big career objective?”
“Didn’t know he had one.”
“Oh, he had one, all right.” Hannah studied the view of the bridge-studded Willamette River. “His great ambition was to stay out of jail.”
“Given the direction in which everyone seemed to think he was headed eight years ago, that would have been a major accomplishment.”
“I’m sure we would have heard if he had gone to prison.” Hannah tightened her grip on the phone. “That kind of news would have been hot gossip in Eclipse Bay.”
“Ah, but as far as we know, he hasn’t been back to Eclipse Bay very often since Kaitlin Sadler died. According to Mom and Dad, he makes a couple of short weekend visits to see his grandfather every few months and that’s it. How would anyone know if he’d done time?”
“I think he was too smart to end up in prison,” Hannah said.
“Smart does not always equate with common sense. We’re both in the marriage business. We see smart people do dumb things every day.”
“True.”
Lillian paused. “You’re still serious about your plans for Dreamscape?”
“Very.”
“I was afraid of that. My advice is don’t let Rafe know you’ve got your heart set on turning Dreamscape into an inn.”
“Why not?”
Lillian made an exasperated sound. “Use your head. If he figures out just how badly you want the place, he’ll hold out for a whopping price for his half.”
“I’ll be careful how much I say. I’m a Harte, remember? I can be cool.”
“Do that,” Lillian said dryly. “You know, something tells me that it’s a good thing that Mom and Dad went on that monthlong cruise. If they knew that you were getting ready to go toe-to-toe with Rafe Madison over Dreamscape, they’d descend on Eclipse Bay like avenging angels.”
“Speaking of family interference, I’m counting on you to keep quiet about my decision to go to Eclipse Bay for a while. I want some time to work things out with Rafe. That won’t be possible if I’m inundated with helpful Hartes.”
“I’ll keep quiet,” Lillian sighed. “I still can’t imagine what Aunt Isabel was thinking. Ever since Rafe used you as his alibi for the night Kaitlin Sadler died, she was obsessed with the notion that the two of you were the Romeo and Juliet of the Harte-Madison feud.”
“Rafe didn’t use me as his alibi,” Hannah said. “I was his alibi.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Oh, yes,” Hannah said. “There’s a difference.”
chapter 2
The weird part was that he had never intended to come back for more than an occasional overnight stay, just the obligatory duty visits to check up on Mitchell. Now he was determined to carve out his future here in Eclipse Bay.
Go figure.
Rafe propped one sneaker-clad foot on the bottom rail of the second-story veranda that wrapped around the big house. He braced his elbows on the top rail and watched the sporty little lipstick-red Honda turn into the long drive.
He hadn’t had a lot of ambitions eight years ago. He’d only known that he had to stop screwing up. Something of a challenge, given where he was coming from. He’d achieved his primary objective, he thought, as he watched the rakish red car come closer. He’d managed to stay out of jail.
He wondered if Hannah would be impressed.
The crimson vehicle came to a halt next to his silver Porsche. An intense rush of anticipation swept through him. He watched the door on the driver’s side of the Honda open.
The first thing he noticed when Hannah got out of the car was that her amber-brown hair was shorter. Eight years ago it had fallen well below her shoulders. Today it was cut in a sleek, sophisticated curve that angled along the line of her jaw.
She didn’t look as if she had gained any weight in the intervening years, but there was something different about her figure. The black trousers and snug-fitting black top she wore revealed a fit, lithe body with a small waist, gently flared hips, and discreetly curved breasts. It took him a few seconds to decide that the difference was the sophisticated confidence with which she carried herself. She had seemed painfully young and naïve that night on the beach. Still a girl in some ways. She was a woman now.
She paused, holding the car door open, and leaned down slightly to speak to someone in the front seat. From his vantage point on the upper veranda he could not see who had accompanied her. Sharp disappointment gripped him. For some reason he had assumed that she would be alone. What the hell had he expected? He’d heard that her engagement had blown up a year ago, but that was no reason to think she hadn’t gotten serious about someone else in the meantime.
The passenger door did not open. Instead, Hannah stepped back to allow an elegantly trimmed gray Schnauzer to bound out of the car.
Relief whipped through Rafe. Not a boyfriend, after all. Just a mutt. He could handle a dog.
Sensing Rafe’s presence on the veranda, the Schnauzer came to a sudden halt and looked up at him. Rafe waited for the little beast to start yapping wildly in typical froufrou-dog style. But the Schnauzer did not bark. Instead, he gazed up at Rafe with an air of watchful stillness.
Okay, so maybe this was not a totally froufrou dog.
Hannah looked up to see what had captured her dog’s attention. The light of the late-afternoon sun glinted on her stylish sunglasses.
“Hello, Rafe.”
That cool reserve hadn’t been in her voice eight years ago, he thought.
“Been a while,” he said neutrally.
“Yes, it has,” she said. “I’ve been wondering, did you ever get a life?”
“Depends on your definition. What about you? The five-year plan turn out the way you expected?”
“Not exactly.” She moved one hand in a graceful gesture to indicate the big house. “You’re going to be difficult about his, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded. “Had a feeling you would.”
She went up the front steps and disappeared into the house. The Schnauzer gave Rafe one last, assessing look and followed Hannah inside.
He found her standing
in the solarium, arms folded beneath her breasts. She smiled coolly, but her shoulders were angled. She was braced for battle. When Rafe walked into the glass-walled room, the Schnauzer glanced up from an exploration of a potted palm.
“Nice dog.” Rafe crouched and held out his hand.
“His name is Winston,” Hannah said crisply.
“Hello, Winston.”
With great dignity, the Schnauzer crossed the tiled floor to where Rafe waited and sniffed politely. Apparently satisfied that the proprieties had been observed, he sat back on his haunches and looked up at Hannah.
Rafe got to his feet. “I think your dog likes me.”
She did not look pleased. “Winston is always well behaved. I wouldn’t read too much into it if I were you.”
“Right. Maybe he’s waiting until my back is turned to go for my throat. How long have you had him?”
“A couple of years.”
Rafe nodded. “Outlasted your fiancé, huh? Lucky dog.”
Her mouth tightened. “I’m not here to talk about Winston or my ex-fiancé.”
“Whatever. Want some coffee?”
She hesitated. “All right.”
“Don’t fall all over yourself.”
She trailed after him down the hall into the big, old-fashioned kitchen. Winston trotted briskly at her heels, pausing here and there to investigate a corner or a piece of furniture.
“How did you hear about my engagement?” Hannah asked. Irritation made the question as brittle as thin ice.
“You know how gossip travels between the Hartes and the Madisons.”
“In other words, Aunt Isabel told you.”
“Yeah.” He set the kettle on the stove. “Sent me a note right after the breakup. She seemed delighted. Guess Mr. Right fell a little short in her view.”
Hannah watched him intently. “How long have you been here at Dreamscape?”
“Got in late last night.” He spooned coffee into the tall glass pot.
She glanced at the French press coffeemaker he was using. “Isabel never made her coffee in one of those. She always used a regular drip machine.”
“This is mine. I brought it with me.”
“I see.” She eyed the gleaming stainless-steel vegetable steamer on the counter. “That’s not Isabel’s either.”
“No.”
Frowning, she walked to the pantry and opened the door. He knew what she saw inside. The supplies he had brought with him included several boxes of his favorite brand of dried pasta in a variety of shapes, a bottle of twelve-year-old balsamic vinegar, and a package of capers preserved in salt. There was also a supply of dried herbs and chiles and some French lentils.
Hannah closed the pantry door very firmly. “You’ve certainly made yourself right at home.”
“Why not? Half this place is mine now.”
“Lillian was right,” she said tightly. “I can’t imagine what Isabel was thinking when she made out her will.”
He poured boiling water into the pot. “You know damn well what she was thinking.”
“Romeo and Juliet.”
He set the kettle down. “With a more upbeat ending.”
“I am prepared to make you a fair-market offer for your share of Dreamscape.”
“Forget it.” He smiled slightly. “I’m not interested.”
She met his gaze across the width of the kitchen. There was steel in her eyes. “Do you intend to make me an offer for my half?”
He lounged against the counter. “Are you open to one?”
“No. I have plans for Dreamscape.”
“What a coincidence. So do I.”
She gave him a speculative look. “Looks like we have a problem.”
“Think so?”
“How long are you going to stay here in Eclipse Bay?”
He shrugged and turned back to finish the coffee. “As long as it takes.”
“You can afford to just drop everything and move back here to Eclipse Bay for an unspecified period of time?”
“Nothing holding me in San Diego.”
“That’s where you’ve been all these years?” Her tone was one of unwilling curiosity.
Just had to ask, he thought. As if she couldn’t help herself. Good sign. Maybe.
“For the most part,” he said easily.
He pressed the plunger down to trap the grounds in the bottom of the pot. Then he glanced at Hannah over his shoulder. She was watching him with an enigmatic expression.
“What about you?” he prodded softly. “How long do you intend to stay here in Eclipse Bay?”
Her brows rose. “For as long as it takes.”
“There are three floors. Plenty of bedrooms and baths. Take your pick.”
“You’re staying here?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Then I think I’ll use my folks’ place,” she said coolly.
What had he expected? That would have been too easy, anyway. Nothing ever came easy to him. He had a talent for doing things the hard way.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “But this is Eclipse Bay. You’re a Harte and I’m a Madison, and by now everyone knows Isabel left Dreamscape to both of us.”
“So?”
“So, people are going to talk, regardless of where you choose to sleep.”
She watched him pour the coffee. When he handed her the mug, her fingers brushed against his. He savored the small thrill, wondered if she felt anything at all.
She turned away a little too quickly and paced to the far end of the counter.
“Let’s go back into the solarium.” He led the way out of the kitchen. “We can sit down out there.”
Hannah said nothing, but she trailed after him. He watched her settle neatly onto a cushioned white wicker lounger. Winston sauntered into the sunroom, found a satisfactory place near the window, and flopped down on his belly. He rested his muzzle on his front paws and watched Rafe through feathery brows.
Hannah turned the mug between her palms. “What exactly do you plan to do with Dreamscape?”
“I’m going to open an inn and restaurant.”
Her mouth fell open. She stared at him, her eyes widening in astonishment.
“You’re going to do what?” Somewhere between a screech and a choking sound.
“You heard me,” he said mildly.
“You can’t be serious,” she sputtered. “That’s my plan. At least, the inn part is my plan.” She hesitated, frowning. “I hadn’t thought about adding a restaurant.”
“You should have thought about it. The reputation of any hotel is greatly enhanced by a high-quality restaurant.”
“No offense, but as I recall, your idea of a high-class establishment when you lived here was the Total Eclipse Bar and Grill. I seriously doubt that any place that uses the slogan Where the sun don’t shine is going to show up in your better grade of guidebook.”
“The Total Eclipse has its place in the grand scheme of things.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” She eyed him. “Just what do you know about running an inn and a restaurant?”
“I worked at a five-star place down in San Diego for a while.”
“Terrific.” She gave him an icy look. “You’ve worked in a hotel, so you think you can run one?”
“I’ll admit I’m stronger in the food-and-beverage area than I am on the innkeeping side.”
“What did you do at this five-star place in San Diego? Wait tables?”
“Among other things,” he said. “What about you? Know anything about the innkeeping business?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been taking intensive classes in hotel management for nearly a year. Ever since I got the idea of turning Dreamscape into an inn.”
“Is that so? And just where did you get the brilliant notion of converting this place into a hotel?”
She hesitated. “Aunt Isabel and I started talking about it a year ago.”
He whistled softly. “What an astonishing coincidence.”
“Do
n’t tell me.” Hannah’s jaw was very tight now. “She mentioned the idea to you at about the same time, right?”
“Right.”
Hannah tapped a neatly manicured nail against the side of her glass. “Let me make something very clear. This isn’t an impulse or a flash-in-the-pan idea for me. I’ve done a lot of thinking and planning during the past year. I’ve made my decision. I’m going to sell Weddings by Harte and open this inn. I’m absolutely committed to this project.”
“What a coincidence,” he said again.
“Let’s get real here. Sooner or later we’re going to have to come to some agreement about what to do with Dreamscape.”
He settled deeper into his chair and looked out over the bay. “I’m in no rush.”
She gave him a frozen smile. “I noticed.”
chapter 3
Snow’s Café had changed little in eight years. Whenever she stepped inside, Hannah always felt as if she had entered a time warp. The colorful posters on the walls were always the same—a mix of classic rock band ads and pithy sayings that reflected the conspiracy theories of the owner, Arizona Snow. The large one over the cash register summed up Arizona’s worldview. The illustration showed two bug-eyed space aliens in heavy-metal attire. They were armed with futuristic weaponry. The slogan underneath read, We’re from the government and we’re here to help.
The café was the main hangout for the faculty and students of nearby Chamberlain College. The Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute was not far away, but the think tank staff tended to avoid Snow’s. It was no secret that since the day the institute had opened its doors Arizona had viewed the facility with deep suspicion. She was convinced that whatever was going on there constituted a dangerous threat to all those who cherished a free society.
“Over here, Hannah.” Pamela’s face lit up in welcome. Pamela McCallister was now on the faculty of the English department at Chamberlain, and over the years her upwardly mobile path through the thorny territory of higher education had been marked by subtle but highly significant changes of fashion. She still wore a lot of black, but there was less of the romantic poetess about her now and more of the trendy professional. Her hair was much shorter, marking her shift from student to faculty status. The voluminous bag she carried was made of much more expensive material than the one she had favored eight years ago.
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