He went through the ancient kitchen and opened the back door.
Lillian stood inside the glass-enclosed rear porch, a large, well-stuffed grocery bag in her arms. She wore the hooded iridescent rain cloak he’d seen in Portland, although it had not yet begun to rain. The cloak was unfastened, revealing the black turtleneck and black trousers she had on underneath. The tunic-length top was slashed with a lightning bolt of intense turquoise.
“I thought you were going to drive over,” he said.
“Walking seemed faster.”
“It’s almost dark.”
“So what? This is Eclipse Bay, not the big bad city.”
“Listen, tough lady, you ought to know better than to run around an unlit, sparsely inhabited stretch of coastline after dark.”
“You want to help me with this grocery sack or would you rather stand there and lecture me for a while?”
“Give me the damn sack.”
“My, you’re in a swell mood tonight.”
“Uninvited company.” He took the sack from her and stood back. “Marilyn Thornley. She won’t be staying long.”
“That’s good, because I didn’t bring enough food for three.”
The weight of the grocery sack belied that claim, but he did not argue the point. He set it on the counter without comment.
Marilyn appeared in the kitchen doorway. She gave Lillian the same glowing grin she’d used on Gabe.
“Lillian. It’s been ages. Good to see you again.”
“Hello, Marilyn. Been a while,” she responded sweetly.
“I didn’t mean to intrude on your little dinner party,” Marilyn said. “I heard Gabe was in town. Thought I’d stop in and say hello.”
“Doing a little fund-raising?” Lillian asked smoothly. “Rumor has it that you’re going into politics on your own, now that Trevor is no longer in the picture.”
There was a short, brittle silence during which neither woman’s smile faltered.
“Gabe and I were just talking about how fast word travels in this town,” Marilyn said with a slight edge on her voice.
“I ran into Pamela McCallister at Fulton’s Supermarket this afternoon,” Lillian said. “Her husband, Brad, is on the faculty at Chamberlain but he has a joint appointment at the institute. He says you’ve already got your campaign staff organized and that you’ve put Claire Jensen in charge.”
“You know Claire?”
“Yes. I haven’t seen much of her in recent years but we worked together at a local restaurant one summer when we were both in college. She always said she wanted to go into politics.”
“Claire worked very hard on Trevor’s staff. She’s had a lot of experience. I think she’s ready to head up a campaign.”
“I hear you’ve got your sites on a seat in the U.S. Senate.”
There was another brittle pause. Gabe helped Lillian with her rain cloak.
“Yes,” Marilyn said.
“Expensive,” Lillian murmured.
“Yes,” Marilyn said again. “Politics is an expensive pursuit.”
Lillian went to the counter, reached into the grocery sack and removed a plastic bag containing a head of dark-green broccoli. “Probably not a lot of money left over after Trevor bowed out of the race last fall.”
“No.”
“The Thornley campaign did a lot of media, as well. The television commercials must have cost a fortune.”
“You’re right,” Marilyn said in a low voice. “The ads wiped out most of the war chest. We knew going in that they would be expensive, but you can’t win elections without television.” She paused. “There were also some additional, unplanned expenses toward the end.”
The sudden anger in her voice made both Gabe and Lillian look at her.
“We were so close. So damned close,” Marilyn said bitterly.
“I’m sorry it all fell apart,” Lillian said quietly. “I know it must have been a blow.”
“You don’t have to pretend that you don’t know what happened,” Marilyn said. “I’m sure you heard the rumors about the videos.”
Gabe exchanged a glance with Lillian. They were both aware of the story behind the videos that had disappeared when the former editor of the Eclipse Bay Journal had been arrested a few months ago. The missing films purported to show Trevor Thornley cavorting in high heels and ladies’ undergarments.
“I heard that those tapes, assuming they ever actually existed, were destroyed,” Gabe said neutrally. “No one I know has ever seen them.”
“That bastard, Jed Steadman, lied about having destroyed them without looking at them. He made copies.” Marilyn’s voice roughened with tightly controlled rage. “He blackmailed Trevor from jail. Said he needed the money for his trial.”
Gabe exhaled slowly. “That was the unexpected additional campaign expense you mentioned? Blackmail payments to Jed Steadman?”
“Steadman was too smart to approach me,” Marilyn said. “He contacted Trevor. And that idiot paid him off. I couldn’t believe it. When I discovered that he was actually making blackmail payments I knew the campaign was finished. But Trevor thought he could keep it all hushed up. He did not even begin to comprehend what we were up against.”
“You walked out and Trevor was forced to quit the race,” Lillian said.
“There wasn’t any other viable option. It was obvious that Trevor was going down, but that didn’t mean that I had to go down with him.” Marilyn looked at Gabe. “Politics is a lot like any other business. You have to know when to cut your losses.”
“Sure,” Gabe said, keeping his voice very even. “I can see the parallels.”
Marilyn blinked rapidly once or twice, realizing she’d gone too far. “So much for catching up on my personal news. It’s getting late. I’ll leave you two to your private little dinner party. Nice to see you both.”
She turned away from the kitchen and started toward the front door.
Gabe looked at Lillian. She raised her brows but said nothing.
“I’ll walk you out to your car,” he called to Marilyn.
He caught up with her and together they went out onto the porch. The fast-moving storm clouds had cut off what little was left of the sunset’s afterglow. He switched on the porch light. The wind had grown stronger while they had been inside the cottage. The limbs of the fir trees at the edge of the drive were stirring briskly.
Marilyn put up a well-manicured hand to keep her hair in place. She looked at her Mercedes, not at him.
“Do you ever wonder how things might have worked out for us if we hadn’t broken up?” she asked in a pensive voice.
“ ‘Never look back’ is about the closest thing we Madisons have to a family motto.”
“You’ve never married.”
“Been busy for the past few years.”
“Yes, I know. So have I. Sure wish I could adopt your family motto.” Her mouth twisted sadly. “When I think of all the time I invested in Trevor’s career, I feel almost physically ill. Looking back, I can’t believe I made such a huge mistake. How could I have been so stupid, Gabe?”
“We all make the best choices we can with the information we have available at the time we have to make them. None of us ever has enough information to be absolutely sure we’re making the right choice.”
“We’ve followed separate paths for a while,” she said. “But now we seem to be circling back toward each other. Strange how life works, isn’t it?”
“Strange, all right.”
She unfolded her arms and reached up to touch his cheek very lightly with her fingertips. “Enjoy your dinner with Lillian.”
“Thanks. I will.”
“You know, if anyone had suggested a few days or months or years ago that you might find her attractive, I would have laughed. But now that I’m going through the breakup of my marriage, I view male-female relationships in a different light.”
“Light is funny. Did you know that if you put it into corn bread dough, it makes terrific muffins?”
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“I understand the appeal that Lillian has for you, Gabe.”
“You might want to take it easy on the way back to the main road. The rains must have been heavy last month. They washed out a chunk of the drive.”
“Your family and hers have a very tangled history.”
“I think I hear my cell phone ringing.” He patted his pockets.
“Don’t forget, I know you well from the old days. I remember very clearly how you measured your own success against that of Harte Investments. I can only imagine how tempting it would be for you to marry Lillian and graft a third of her family’s company onto Madison Commercial. In a way, it would be the ultimate triumph for you, wouldn’t it?”
“Must have left the damn thing in the house.”
He took a step back toward the partially opened door.
“I know you probably aren’t interested in any advice from me,” Marilyn said. “But for the sake of the past we share, I’m going to give you some, anyway. Don’t marry just to prove something to yourself or because you think it would be worth it to add a chunk of Harte Investments to your empire. I married Trevor for reasons that had nothing to do with love. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”
She went down the steps, got into the Mercedes and drove away.
He watched the taillights until they disappeared, listening to the wind, aware of the oncoming storm.
“Going to donate to her campaign?” Lillian questioned.
He turned around slowly, wondering how long she had been standing there on the other side of the screen door.
“Don’t think so.” He opened the door and walked into the warmth of the house. “Ready to work on dinner?”
“Sure. I’ve worked up quite an appetite. Spent the day setting up my studio in the spare bedroom at the cottage. I’m starving.”
She turned and disappeared into the kitchen.
Had she overheard Marilyn’s crack about marrying her to get a chunk of Harte Investments?
He went to stand in the doorway of the kitchen. A variety of vegetables, including the broccoli, stood on the counter. A wedge of parmesan cheese wrapped in plastic and a package of pasta were positioned nearby.
“Looks like some assembly required,” he said.
“We’re both smart people. I think we can get this done.” She picked up a small knife and went to work on a yellow bell pepper. “Why don’t you pour us a glass of wine? Probably make things go more smoothly.”
“Good idea.” He moved out of the doorway, opened a drawer and removed a corkscrew.
Lillian concentrated on the bell pepper.
He should probably say something, he thought. But he wasn’t sure what she expected from him. How much had she overheard?
“Marilyn just showed up a few minutes before you got here,” he said. “Out of the blue.”
“She’ll be back. You’ve got something she wants.”
“I know. Money. You’re not the first one to warn me.”
Lillian dumped the sliced pepper into a bowl. “It’s not your money she wants.”
“Sure it is. She needs cash to fuel her campaign.”
“I’m not saying that she wouldn’t find your money useful. But what she really wants is someone she can trust completely, a man who will support her ambitions. She wants someone who will add strength and influence to her power base. Someone whose goals won’t conflict with hers and who will not try to compete with her.”
The cork came out of the bottle with a small pop. “You could tell all that in the five minutes you spent talking to her?”
“Sure. I’m a former matchmaker, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, right. I keep forgetting about your famous matchmaking intuition.”
“Go ahead, mock me at your own peril. But I’m here to tell you that you’ve got a lot of what she’s looking for in a husband.” Lillian paused, head tipped slightly to the side. “And you know what?”
“What?”
“She’s got a lot of what you stated you wanted on the Private Arrangements questionnaire. Say, maybe you were a tad more honest in your responses than I thought.”
He poured two glasses of the cabernet, grimly pleased that his hand remained steady. “Marilyn and I already tried the couple thing. It didn’t work out.”
“I’m serious.” Lillian put down the knife and picked up one of the wineglasses. “Marilyn meets a lot of the requirements you listed. There’s money in her family. Even if they have cut off her campaign allowance for the moment, she’ll inherit a nice bit of the Caldwell fortune someday. She’s not an elitist academic or a fuzzy-brained New Age thinker.” She paused a beat. “And she’s not the arty type.”
He leaned against the refrigerator and swirled the wine in his glass. “You didn’t answer my question. Think she and I would be a good match if we gave it another try?”
She reached for the box of pasta. “No.”
“Decisive. I like that in a matchmaker. Why don’t you think she and I would be a good match?”
“Because you lied on the questionnaire.”
“In your opinion.”
“Mine is the only one that counts here,” she said coolly. “I’m the professional, remember?”
chapter 7
The storm crashed ashore shortly after ten o’clock. Time to go, Lillian thought. The edgy intimacy that had been thickening the atmosphere all evening was getting to her. She could no longer ignore the vibes. If she hung around any longer she might embarrass herself by making a pass at Gabe.
She put down her cards. “Gin.”
“Damn. Not again.” Gabe tossed his cards onto the cushion between them. He sprawled against the back of the sofa and regarded her with a malevolent expression. “Didn’t realize you were the competitive type.”
“I’m a Harte, remember? We’re all competitive in some ways. Besides, it was your idea to play gin rummy.”
“I wasn’t concentrating. Had my mind on other things.”
“Yeah, sure. They all say that when they lose to me.” She looked out the window into the heavy darkness. “I’d better be on my way. That rain is going to get worse before it gets better.”
He uncoiled from the depths of the sagging sofa. “I’ll drive you back to your cottage.”
He didn’t have to sound quite so eager to get rid of her, she thought. But it was probably for the best. At least his mood seemed lighter now. Her mission of mercy was accomplished.
“Thanks.” She rose quickly, a sense of urgency pulsing through her.
She had left it too long, she thought. It was past time to leave. She was not sure when or how it had happened but she was suddenly, intensely aware of the heavy blanket of sensual awareness that enveloped her. It had settled around her slowly and lightly over the course of the evening, the warm, thick folds practically weightless until now.
She wondered if Gabe felt anything at all. If he did, he was doing a terrific job of concealing it.
He was already at the door, her rain cloak in his hand. Obviously she was the only one who could feel the energy of the storm gathering here inside this room.
The smartest thing she could do tonight was leave right now and go straight home to her own bed.
She touched the back of a chair briefly to steady herself, took a deep breath and walked deliberately toward him.
“One thing I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said when she reached the place where he waited with her cloak.
She turned her back to him so that he could help her into the garment. “What’s that?”
“Did you invite yourself over here tonight just because you thought I needed cheering up or did you have something else in mind?”
She froze, her hands slightly raised to take the edges of the cloak from him.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the neighborly gesture,” he said.
“We were both at loose ends this evening.” She was irritated now. “And we are neighbors. Sort of. And you did seem a little moody this morning. Dinner
together sounded reasonable. If you’ve got a problem with that, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Ouch. You’ve got teeth, don’t you?”
“I’m a Harte.”
“Right. I just wanted to let you know that I don’t need any do-gooder nurturing. I’d much rather you had another agenda.”
He draped the cloak around her shoulders. When he was finished he did not release her and step back. Instead he stayed there, so close that she could feel the heat of his body. He rested his hands on her, letting her feel the weight and strength of them.
“Another agenda?” She twitched the cloak into place, fussing with it a bit to cover her awkwardness. “Such as exploring various strategies we can use to help A.Z. prove that a secret government agency is planning to move frozen space aliens into the institute?”
He tightened his hands on her shoulders. “I was thinking more along the lines of you seducing me.”
She opened her mouth. And closed it immediately when she realized she did not know what to say.
“You know, just to help lift my mood.” His voice roughened a little. Getting dangerous. “Wouldn’t be too much different from inviting yourself over for dinner so that I wouldn’t be alone. Just another little act of charity.”
“I already gave at the office.”
“So much for small acts of random kindness.”
His lifted her hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck. Electricity went down her spine. The room dissolved into a thousand different hues. She was inside the rainbow.
“Gabe.”
“And here I thought you felt sorry for me,” he said against her nape. “I thought you were genuinely concerned about my burnout problem.”
“Look, Gabe—”
“Got another question for you,” he said.
“Forget it.”
“Can’t. It’s been eating at me for weeks. I’ve got to know. Did you ever fill out one of your own questionnaires and run it through your computer program to see if you could find the perfect match for yourself?”
The question blindsided her. It caught her up with the force of a heavy wave, sweeping her off her feet and roiling her senses. She pulled herself together with an effort.
Dawn in Eclipse Bay Page 10