Summer in Eclipse Bay

Chapter 5

The middle-aged couple left a short time later with their newly acquired seascape wrapped in brown paper.

Octavia set the security alarm, locked the door of the gallery, and dropped her keys into the spacious bag that hung from her right shoulder.

Nick gave her an enigmatic smile and put on his sunglasses.

She would have given a lot to be able to read his mind at that moment, she thought. Then again, maybe it was better not to know what he was thinking. The knowledge would only have made her more tense. She was still wondering if this burst of recklessness was going to prove to be a disaster.

They walked together toward the parking lot. When they reached the BMW, he opened the door on the passenger side and held it for her. She searched his face quickly, looking for any concealed signs of triumph. She saw none. If anything, she thought, he seemed as wary as she felt.

Now that was an interesting development.

She collected the folds of her skirt in one hand and slipped into the front seat. "What did you do with Carson?"

"He's spending the evening with Rafe and Hannah out at Dreamscape," Nick said.

"Oh." She realized she had become accustomed to seeing Nick and Carson together during the past two weeks. "Will he be joining us for dinner later?" He smiled. "This is my date, not Carson's." He closed the car door very deliberately. She watched him walk around the front of the vehicle. He moved with an easy, fluid grace that was at once relaxed and purposeful. Probably the way most top-of-the-food-chain predators moved when they were going out to grab a gazelle for dinner, she thought. Fascinating, exciting. More than a little dangerous.

The sense of deep, sensual appreciation that swept through her caught her by surprise. She was still slightly awed by her decision to go out with him. Until tonight, the only big risks she had ever taken in life had involved the buying and selling of art. She trusted her intuition when it came to taking chances on unknown painters. But she had always been cautious when it came to men.

Nick got behind the wheel and closed the door. The interior of the BMW suddenly felt overwhelmingly intimate. She realized she was holding her breath.

"Couple of things you should know," she said carefully when he made to slip the key into the ignition. "The first is that, in case your grandfather hasn't told you, Claudia Banner was my great-aunt." Dead silence.

Nick did not fire up the engine. Instead, he twisted slightly in the seat and rested his right arm on the back. He watched her very steadily through his dark glasses.

"Want to run that past me again?" he said.

"I'm related to Claudia Banner. The woman who-"

"Trust me, I know who Claudia Banner is."

"Was. My aunt died a year and a half ago."

"I see." Nick waited a beat. "This is for real? Not a joke of some kind?"

"No, it's not a joke." She gripped her bag very tightly in her lap. "Does it change things? Do you want to call off the date?"

"My grandfather knows who you are?"

"Yes. Sullivan and Mitchell both know. They figured it out the night of Lillian's show." She cleared her throat. "Obviously they haven't told anyone else in either family yet."

"Yeah. Obviously." He tapped the key absently against the leather seat back. "Well, hell."

"Is this a problem for you?"

"I'm thinking," he said. "Give me a minute."

"Look, if you're that rattled, I can find my own way out to Thurgarton's place."

"It isn't a problem and I'm not rattled." He took off his dark glasses and examined her with cool, faintly narrowed eyes. "I just find this news a little unexpected, that's all. It raises a few questions."

"I know. I answered some of them for Mitchell and I can do the same for you." She glanced pointedly at her watch. "But not now. We need to get going. I promised Virgil I'd meet him and the others at six."

"Right." He turned back and twisted the key in the ignition. The powerful engine growled softly. "I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"The other shoe?"

"You said there were a couple of things I needed to know." He checked his mirrors and reversed out of the parking space.

"I'll be leaving town at the end of the summer."

He shot her a quick glance and she knew that the news had taken him by surprise.

"You're leaving Eclipse Bay?"

"Yes, I'm going to sell the gallery."

He seemed to relax slightly. He gave an understanding inclination of his head. "Not surprised the gallery here isn't working. Makes sense to concentrate on the Portland branch."

She watched the road through the windshield. "Both galleries are successful, as a matter of fact. But I'm going to sell both branches."

"Getting out of the art business altogether?"

"Not that easy." She smiled slightly. "It isn't just a business. More of a calling, I'm afraid. I can't imagine not being involved in art. A couple of months ago I was offered a position in a large gallery in San Diego. I don't have to give them my official decision until next month, but I'm leaning strongly toward accepting the offer."

"San Diego, huh?"

"It's not a certainty. There's also a possibility that I'm looking at in Denver."

"I see."

He drove in silence for a few minutes, piloting the BMW carefully through the small business district, past the pier, the town's single gas station, and the Incandescent Body bakery.

"Sounds like you're cutting a lot of ties all at once," Nick said eventually. "Is that wise?"

"I don't have any personal ties in the Northwest. I didn't even move to Portland or open the galleries until a couple of months after Aunt Claudia died."

"You've only been in the area a little more than a year?"

"That's right. Not long enough to put down roots. There's nothing holding me here." It was time to accept that truth, she thought. Time to get on with her life.

She looked out over the expanse of Eclipse Bay. The sun was low in the sky. It streaked the clouds gathering out on the horizon with ominous shades of orange and gold.

Nick drove without speaking for a while, concentrating on the road, although traffic was almost nonexistent on the outskirts of town.

"Why did you come to Eclipse Bay?" he asked finally. "Why go to all the trouble of starting up a business in a small town in addition to one in Portland? That was a major undertaking."

"It's not easy to explain. Aunt Claudia talked a lot about what happened here all those years ago. The memories bothered her a great deal toward the end. She felt guilty about her part in the feud. I promised her that I would come back to see if there was anything I could do to put things right."

"No offense, but just what the hell did you plan to do to mend a three-generation rift?" Nick asked dryly.

She winced. His obvious lack of faith in her feud-mending skills hurt for some obscure reason. The worst part was that he was right. She had been a fool to think she could do anything constructive.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I just decided to give it a whirl."

"I gotta tell you, that sounds damn flaky."

"I suppose it does. The thing is, after Aunt Claudia died there wasn't anything holding me in San Francisco."

"That's where you were living?"

"Yes."

"What about your job?" He flexed his hand on the wheel. "A significant other?"

"I had a position in a small gallery, but it wasn't anything special. And there was no particular significant other."

"Hard to believe."

"I was seeing someone before Claudia got so sick. But it wasn't that serious, and we drifted apart when I started spending more and more time with my aunt. He found someone else and I sort of went into hibernation. By the time I resurfaced after the funeral, I had no social life left to speak of."

"Family?"

"Not in the San Francisco area. My folks are separated. Dad lives in Houston. Mom's in Philadelphia. They've both got other families. Other lives. We're not what you'd call close."

"So you just up and moved to Oregon."

"Yes." She wrinkled her nose. "I suppose that sounds very flighty to a Harte."

"Hell, it sounds flighty for anyone, even a Madison."

That irritated her. Given his track record with women, he had a lot of nerve calling her flaky and flighty.

"I like to think of myself as a free spirit," she said. She rather liked the sound of that now that she thought about it. Free spirit definitely sounded better than flighty or flaky. More mysterious and exotic, maybe. She arched her brows. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Don't know," he said. "I've never actually met a free spirit before."

He was still pondering all the possible definitions of free spirit ten minutes later when he turned into the narrow, unpaved road.

"You know, I think you were right." Octavia leaned forward a little, peering through the window at the trees that loomed on either side of the rutted path. "I might have spent hours searching for this turnoff. Mr. Thurgarton certainly didn't believe in making his place easy to find, did he?"

He shrugged. "Thurgarton was one strange man. Just ask anyone."

She smiled fleetingly. "Sometimes I think that being a bit odd or eccentric is a requirement for renting or purchasing real estate in Eclipse Bay."

"I will admit that the people we're about to meet certainly exemplify the finest in that local tradition."

He eased the BMW deeper into the trees and brought it to a halt at the edge of a small clearing.

Arizona Snow's pickup truck was parked under a nearby tree. Virgil Nash's vintage sports car stood next to it.

A gray, weather-beaten cabin occupied the center of the open space. It was on the verge of crumbling into the ground. The front porch sagged and the windows were caked with grime. There was a worn-out quality to the old house, as if it were content to follow its owner into the grave.

"It doesn't look like Thurgarton took good care of his property," Octavia said.

The touch of feminine disapproval in her voice almost made him smile. He thought about her pristine gallery with its sparkling windows and carefully hung paintings. The interior of her little fairy cottage out on the bluffs probably looked just as neat and tidy.

"Thurgarton was not real big on home improvement projects," he said.

He switched off the engine and climbed out from behind the wheel. Octavia did not wait for him to show off his first-date manners. She got out of the front seat all on her own.

Free spirit.

Virgil Nash opened the front door of the cabin as Nick and Octavia started toward the porch steps.

"He certainly doesn't fit the stereotypical image of a porn shop proprietor, does he?" Octavia murmured in a very low voice.

Nick grinned. "Virgil's definitely one of a kind, and you've got to admit that his business offers a unique service to the community. Sort of like a library."

"Well, that is one way of looking at it, I suppose. There is something scholarly about him, isn't there? Maybe it's the frayed sweater vest."

"Could be."

It was true, Nick thought. With his gaunt frame, silver goatee, and preference for slightly frayed sweaters and vests, Virgil would have been at home in an academic environment. There was an old-fashioned, almost courtly air about him. No one knew where he had come from or what he had done before he had arrived in Eclipse Bay. His past was as shrouded in mystery as Arizona Snow's.

For as long as anyone could remember, Nash had operated Virgil's Adult Books amp; Video Arcade. The establishment was discreetly located a couple of hundred yards beyond the city limits and, therefore, just out of reach of ambitious civic reformers and high-minded members of the town council.

Virgil believed in the old saying that location was everything in real estate.

"Nick, this is a surprise." Virgil walked across the porch. "Good to see you again. Heard you were in town for the summer."

"Needed a change." Nick went up the steps and shook Virgil's hand. "Thought Carson would enjoy the beach."

"Good thing you drove Octavia out here." Virgil smiled ruefully at her. "I got to thinking later that it might not be easy for you to find this place, what with being new to the community and all."

"You were right," she said. "Left to my own devices, I'd probably still be looking for the turnoff."

"Thank you so much for coming all the way out here to look at the paintings. We certainly appreciate it."

"Happy to be of service," Octavia said. "Where's A.Z.?"

"Right here," Arizona boomed through the screen door. "You met Photon, here?"

"Yes, of course." Octavia nodded at the tall man in the long, flowing robes who stood behind Arizona. "Good evening, Photon."

"May the light of the future brighten your night, Miss Brightwell." Photon inclined his gleaming, shaved head in Nick's direction. "Light and peace, Mr. Harte."

"Thanks," Nick said. "Same to you, Photon."

Another resident eccentric, Nick thought. Photon was the leader of the New Age crowd that operated the Incandescent Body bakery. The group styled itself the Heralds of Future History. Their philosophy was a little vague, but their baking skills were outstanding. The incredible muffins, pastries, and cornbread produced at the bakery had gone a long way toward quelling local concerns that Eclipse Bay had been invaded by a cult.

"Come on inside." Arizona thrust open the screen door. "Got the paintings lined up here in the living room."

"We had to clear out two pickup loads of junk to make space to display them," Virgil said dryly.

Nick grinned. "There goes the inheritance, huh?"

"Let's put it this way," Virgil said. "It was nice of Thurgarton to think of us, but it's starting to look like being the beneficiaries of his will is more trouble than it's worth. The furniture is in such bad shape it isn't even worth the effort of putting on a yard sale. Other than the paintings, everything else is just junk. Personally, I'm not holding my breath that the pictures are worth much, either."

Nick ushered Octavia ahead of him into the cramped, dark living room. She came to an abrupt halt.

"Oh, my," she said. "This is really quite amazing."

"That's one word for it." Nick stopped just behind her and whistled softly at the sight of the truly monumental clutter. "The term firetrap also comes to mind."

Faded magazines and yellowed newspapers spilled from the tops of row upon row of cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling. Old suitcases were heaped in a corner. One of them was open, revealing a tangle of old clothes. The surface of the desk near the window was buried beneath piles of file folders and three-ring binders stuffed with notebook paper.

In addition to the desk and its accompanying chair, the only other furnishings in the room were a recliner and a reading lamp.

Octavia gave Virgil, Arizona, and Photon a quick, laughing smile. "And to think that this is all yours now."

Virgil chuckled softly. "You know, this is the first time anyone was thoughtful enough to remember me in his will."

"The property is worth something," Nick said, trying to be optimistic.

"Something," Photon agreed, "but not a lot. No view of the water. The house, itself, is a tear-down. The plumbing is in bad shape and the wiring is decades out of code."

Nick was mildly surprised by Photon's assured assessment of the house and land value. For the first time he wondered what the man had done before he became the leader of the Heralds of Future History. Everyone had a past.

"Hold on, here," Arizona said. "There's more to this than meets the eye. Only one reason Thurgarton would have left us in his will, and that's because he knew we were the only ones he could trust. He must have been working on something mighty big there at the end."

Nick exchanged a knowing glance with Octavia and Virgil. He was pretty sure they were both thinking the same thing he was thinking. Here we go with the ever popular, never dull Snow conspiracy theories.

Virgil cleared his throat. "A.Z. has concluded that Thurgarton stumbled onto a secret operation at the Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute." He motioned with one hand to indicate the piles of papers that surrounded them. "She believes that he collected all of this in an attempt to unravel the conspiracy."

"Most of this is just camouflage, of course," Arizona explained. "Thurgarton probably figured that if he piled enough out-of-date newspapers and magazines around the place, folks would write him off as a crackpot. They wouldn't realize that he had hidden the results of his investigation here."

"Camouflage?" Octavia picked up an ancient, tattered copy of Playboy and studied the bouncy-looking woman on the cover with grave interest. "That certainly explains some of these magazines. And it definitely beats the old line about just reading them for the articles."

"I resent that remark," Nick said. "In our younger days, my friends and I learned a lot from those magazines."

She gave him an arch look. "I don't think I'll ask you to tell me exactly what it was you learned."

"Examining all of these papers and magazines is gonna take some time, unfortunately," Arizona continued, ignoring the byplay. "Not like we aren't already plenty busy with Project Log Book, eh, Photon?"

"The light of future history will show us the way to accomplish all that must be done in due course," Photon said.

He was out of his real estate assessor's role and back into his fathomless serenity mode, Nick noticed.

He looked at Arizona. "What's Project Log Book?"

"Photon and I talked it over and we decided that the only safe way to ensure that none of the data in my logs gets destroyed by the operatives up at the institute is to put it all online," Arizona said.

"I thought you didn't trust computers," Nick said.

"I don't like 'em and that's a fact. But we've got to move with the times. Got to take advantage of technology if we're going to stay ahead of the bad guys. The Heralds are building a Web site and they're inputting the contents of my logs and journals as we speak. This is all real hush-hush, naturally, but I trust you and Octavia here to keep your mouths closed. And of course Virgil will keep it to himself."

"I won't tell a soul," Virgil promised.

"Loose lips sink ships," Octavia said solemnly.

Arizona nodded. "That's for damn sure."

"You've been keeping those logs and journals for years, A.Z.," Nick said. "You must have hundreds of them."

"The Heralds are working around the clock in shifts on the computer that we set up in my War Room. Logistics haven't been easy, I can tell you. Got to keep things running as usual at the bakery while we put the data online so we don't arouse suspicion. Don't want anyone up at the institute to come nosing around before we're ready to go live with the Web site."

"We expect to have Project Log Book completed by the end of the summer," Photon said.

"And now you've got to sort through all of this junk in addition to putting together a Web site project and operating the bakery." Nick shook his head at the enormousness of the task. "Don't envy you this job."

"We'll get it done," Arizona assured him with her customary can-do attitude. "No choice. Future of the country depends on making sure that the facts in my logs are available to the concerned citizens of this nation. The Internet is the only way to go."

"Uh, where are the pictures you wanted me to examine?" Octavia asked politely.

"Behind that row of boxes," Virgil said.

He led the way, forging a path through the maze of cartons and papers to the far side of the living room. Nick and Octavia followed him.

Four paintings in old, wooden frames were propped against the wall. In the gloom, Nick could see that the first three were landscapes. The fourth looked as if it had been splashed with a lot of dark paint.

Virgil switched on the reading lamp behind the recliner and aimed the beam at the paintings. "I suspect they're all worthless, but I wanted an expert opinion before we dumped them into the yard sale pile."

Nick watched Octavia's face as she studied the paintings. She had the same expression of rapt attention that she'd had when she looked at Carson's pictures. She was taking this seriously, he thought. Given that two of the people who had asked for her opinion were conspiracy freaks and the third ran an adult bookstore, it was going above and beyond the call of duty to show such respect.

She walked slowly past all four paintings and stopped in front of the one that looked as if it had been painted with a brush that had been dipped in chaos. She looked at it for a long time.

Then she crouched in front of it, heedless of the fact that the change of position caused her long, pale skirts to sweep across the dusty floorboards. She gazed intently at what looked like a scribble in the right-hand comer.

"Hmm," she said.

Everyone went very still. Nick was amused. He could feel the sudden tension that had leaped to life in the room.

"Does anyone know where or how Thurgarton got this picture?" Octavia asked, never taking her attention away from the painting.

Virgil shook his head. "We found it with the others in a closet. No way to tell how he came by it. Why?"

"I hesitate to say anything at this point because I don't want anyone to get too excited."

"Too late," Nick said. "We're excited. Is this thing valuable?"

Arizona frowned. "Looks like the artist dumped the contents of several tubes of paint on the canvas and smeared them around."

Virgil smiled. "That's mid-twentieth-century art for you."

Photon contemplated the abstract painting with a considering air. "The longer one looks at it, the deeper it appears. It is clearly an exploration of the absence of light."

Nick looked at him. "You think?"

"Yes." Photon inclined his gleaming head. "It is a statement of man's craving for light and his simultaneous fear of its power."

Octavia rose slowly to her feet and turned around to face the others.

"I agree with you, Photon," she said quietly. "And if we're right, it may be the work of Thomas Upsall. The signature certainly fits. He always signed his work in a very distinctive manner. And his technique was also quite unique. A very time-consuming method that required layer upon layer of paint."

"Wow," Nick said. "A genuine Thomas Upsall. Who would have believed it? Wait until this news hits the art world."

She gave him a reproving frown. "Very funny. Obviously you don't recognize the artist."

"Nope, can't say that I do."

"Me, either." Arizona looked hopeful. "This Thomas Upsall, was he famous or anything?"

"He produced most of his paintings in the nineteen-fifties," Octavia said. "His pictures were not very popular at the time, but in the past few years they have become extremely collectible. There isn't a lot of his work around because he destroyed a great quantity of it during the last year of his life. He died in the mid-eighties, alone and forgotten."

"What do you think this thing's worth?" Arizona asked.

Octavia looked at the painting over her shoulder. "If, and I stress the word if, it is a genuine Upsall, it could easily fetch a couple hundred thousand at auction. Maybe two hundred and fifty."

They all stared at her.

Virgil exhaled deeply. "A couple hundred thousand dollars?"

"Yes. The market for Upsall's work is hot at the moment and getting hotter." Octavia gave them all a warning look and held up one hand. "But to be on the safe side, I'd like to get a second opinion from a colleague of mine who specializes in mid-twentieth-century abstract art. She works in a museum in Seattle. Unfortunately, she's on vacation until next week."

"Think we can get her to take a look at the picture when she returns?" Arizona asked.

"Yes, for a fee," Octavia said. "She consults. She may even want to purchase it for her museum."

"That brings up the question of what to do with it until we can get your colleague here to examine it," Virgil said. "Now that we know it's worth two hundred grand or more, I don't like the idea of leaving it here."

"I could take it home with me," Arizona replied. "My security is top of the line. But the spies up at the institute keep a round-the-clock watch on me. If they see me take something from this place into my house, they might get curious. Don't want to draw any attention right now while we're at such a critical point in Project Log Book."

"I've got a security system for the paintings in my gallery," Octavia said slowly. "I suppose I could store the Upsall in my back room for a week."

"Good idea," Virgil agreed. "It should be fine in your back room. Not like Eclipse Bay is home to a lot of sophisticated art thieves."

Photon smiled benignly. "You illuminate us with the radiant light of your kindness." Chapter 6

The row of shops that lined the street across from the pier was dark and silent at this hour. The last rays of the summer sun were veiled behind the thickening layer of clouds. Whitecaps danced on the slate-gray waters of the bay.

Nick parked in the small lot. When he climbed out from behind the wheel, a snapping breeze tugged at his wind-breaker. Storm on the way, he thought. Summer squalls were not unusual for this time of year here on the coast.

Octavia was already out of the passenger seat. The bouncy wind whipped her hair into a froth and caused her long, full skirts to billow around her legs. She laughed a little as she grabbed a handful of her skirts to keep them from blowing up around her thighs. Her eyes were bright. He got the feeling that she was savoring the raw energy of the approaching storm. Maybe she tapped into it for her fairy magic or something. Seemed logical.

"We'd better hurry," she said. "The rain will hit any minute."

"Right."

With an effort he wrenched his attention away from her flying hair and skirts and opened the rear door of the BMW. He reached inside and hoisted the painting. Octavia had wrapped the picture in old newspapers before leaving Thurgarton's cabin.

Carrying the painting under one arm, he walked with her to the door of Bright Visions.

"You really think this thing is worth a quarter million?" he asked.

"Between you and me? Yes. But we'll all feel more secure once we've had a second opinion."

She continued to struggle with her skirts with one hand while she withdrew her keys from her shoulder bag. She opened the front door and stepped quickly into the darkened interior of the shop to punch in the code that deactivated the alarm system. Then she flipped some switches to turn on the lights.

"Who'd have believed that old Thurgarton would have possessed a valuable work of art?" He carried the painting into the shop. "He was no collector. You saw how he lived. How the heck do you suppose he got hold of it?"

"I haven't got a clue." She led the way across the showroom to the long counter. "As I told you, there isn't a lot of Upsall's work around. It's amazing to think that one of his pictures has been sitting out here on the coast all these years."

"Who says we're not a bunch of real sophisticated art lovers here in Eclipse Bay?"

"Certainly not me." She opened the back room and turned on more lights. "You can put it there with that stack of paintings leaning against the far wall."

He surveyed the crowded back room. Rows of paintings were stacked five and six deep against every wall. Empty frames of all shapes and sizes were propped in the corner. The workbench was littered with tools and matting materials.

"No offense," he said dryly, setting down the painting, "but this place looks almost as cluttered as Thurgarton's cabin."

"Gallery back rooms always look like this."

He straightened. "The finding of a previously unknown Upsall should make for an interesting story in some of the art magazines."

She smiled. "I can see the headline now. Conspiracy Buff, New Age Cult Leader and Porn Shop Proprietor Inherit Lost Upsall."

"Be interesting to see what they do with the money." He walked back to where she stood in the doorway. "Well, so much for tonight's thrilling adventure in the world of art. Are you ready for dinner? I'd take you to Dreamscape, but Carson is there and we wouldn't be able to talk in peace. How about the Crab Trap? It's not as good as Rafe's place, but it's not bad."

"You do realize that if we dine in any of the local restaurants, there will be a lot of talk tomorrow?"

"So what? Hartes are used to being talked about in this town."

"I know."

Belatedly it occurred to him that she was not accustomed to being the subject of local gossip. "Look, if this is a problem, we can go back to my place. I've got plenty of food in the house. Comes with having a growing boy around. I'm not saying that it will be what anyone would call gourmet, but-"

She cleared her throat. "I bought fresh asparagus and some salmon fillets this afternoon."

Fresh asparagus and salmon were not generally purchased on a whim. He considered the possibilities.

"You planned to invite me back to your place?" he asked finally.

"To be honest, it struck me that it would be more comfortable to eat there rather than in front of an audience composed of a lot of the good and extremely curious people of Eclipse Bay."

He smiled slowly. "Fresh asparagus and salmon sound great."

The atmosphere was making him very uneasy, but for the life of him, he could not figure out what was wrong. On the surface, everything was perfect.

Dinner had gone smoothly. He had taken charge of the salmon while Octavia had dealt with the asparagus and sliced some crusty bread. They had sipped from two glasses of chardonnay while they worked together in her snug, cozy kitchen. They had talked easily, for all the world as comfortable as two people who had prepared a meal together countless times.

It was almost as if they had already become lovers, he thought. A deep sense of intimacy enveloped them and it was starting to worry him. This was a far different sensation than he had known with other women in the past. It was not the pleasant, superficial sexual awareness he had experienced on previous, similar occasions. He did not understand the prowling tension that was starting to leave claw marks on his insides.

Maybe this had not been one of his better ideas. Then again, looking back, he was pretty sure he'd never had much choice. If you went hunting fairy queens, you took a few risks.

He stood at the sink in her gleaming, white-tiled kitchen and washed the pan that had been used to steam the asparagus. Nearby, Octavia, a striped towel draped over her left shoulder, went up on her tiptoes to stack dishes in a cupboard. When she raised her arms overhead, her breasts moved beneath the thin fabric of her blouse.

Damn. He was staring. Annoyed, he concentrated on rinsing the pan.

She closed the cupboard door and reached for the coffeepot. "Black, right? No cream or sugar?"

"Right."

She poured coffee into two cups and led the way into the living room. He dried his hands, slung the damp towel over a rack, and followed her, unable to take his eyes off the mesmerizing sway of her hips.

What the hell was wrong with this picture? he wondered. This was exactly how it was supposed to look, precisely how he had hoped it would look at this point.

She curled up in a corner of the sofa, one leg tucked under the curve of her thigh, mug gracefully cupped in her hands. The fire he had built earlier crackled on the hearth.

She smiled at him and he immediately felt every nerve and muscle in his body shift from Yellow Alert status to Code Red. An almost irresistible urge swept over him to pick her up off the sofa, carry her into the shadowy room at the end of the hall, and put her down on a bed. He flexed one hand deliberately to regain control.

It had been like this all evening, as though he were walking the edge of a cliff in a violent storm. One false step and he would go over into very deep water. It didn't help that outside the rain and the wind had struck land with a vengeance some forty minutes ago.

He crossed the living room to the stone fireplace, picked up an iron poker, and prodded the fire. The blaze didn't need prodding, but it gave him something to do with his hands.

"I've enjoyed your books," she said. "I've got all four in the series."

"I noticed." He put aside the poker, straightened, and glanced at the bookshelf where his novels were arranged between two heavy green glass bookends. "We authors tend to pick up on little details like that."

The bookends looked expensive, he thought. Dolphins playing in the surf. One-of-a-kind pieces of art glass, not cheap, utilitarian bookends picked up at a rummage sale.

There were other quietly expensive touches in the cottage. An exotically patterned carpet done in shades of muted greens and gold covered most of the hardwood floor in front of the dark-green sofa. The coffee table was a heavy sheet of green glass that rippled and flowed like a wave of clear lava. A couple of framed abstract paintings hung on the walls.

Not the kind of furnishings you expected in a weekend or summer house, he thought. He had the feeling that she had deliberately set out to make a home here. And now she was planning to depart for good.

"Tell me," she said, "was it difficult to make the decision to leave Harte Investments when you decided to write full time?"

"Making the decision was easy." He sat down on the sofa and reached for his coffee mug. "Getting out of the family business was a little more difficult."

"I'll bet it was. You were the firstborn and from all accounts you showed a talent for investments."

He shrugged. "I'm a Harte."

She gave him a fleeting smile. "There must have been a lot of pressure on you to take over the helm after your father retired."

"My parents were very understanding and supportive." He took a swallow of coffee and slowly lowered the mug. "But Sullivan went off like Mount Saint Helens."

"I believe it. Harte Investments was your grandfather's creation. Everyone around here knows what he went through to recover and build a new company after Aunt Claudia-" She broke off. "After Harte-Madison went under."

He wrapped both hands around the mug. "Dad tried to shield me from the worst of the blast but no one could have suppressed that explosion. Sullivan and I went a few rounds before he finally realized that I wasn't going to back down and change my mind."

"It must have been a difficult time."

"Yeah." He took another sip of coffee. "But we got through it."

"It's a tribute to the strength of your family bonds."

"Uh-huh." He did not want to talk any more about that time in his life. It was tied up too closely with Amelia's death. He glanced around the room. "Looks like you planned to stay here for a while."

She raised one shoulder in a tiny shrug. "Plans change."

He couldn't think of anything to say to that so he tried another topic. "Heard you've been seeing Jeremy Seaton."

"We've had dinner together a couple of times." She sipped her coffee.

He looked at her. "Mind if I ask if there's anything serious in that direction?"

She pursed her lips and tilted her head slightly. Thinking. "I would describe my relationship with Jeremy as friendly."

"Friendly." What the hell did friendly mean?

"Jeremy and I have a lot of interests in common."

He nodded once. "The art thing. Jeremy paints."

She gave him polite concern. "Is there a problem here?"

"You tell me." He put his mug down with great care. "Is Jeremy going to have a problem with you and me having dinner tonight?"

"I doubt it." She looked surprised by the question. "But if he says anything, I'll explain the situation to him."

"How, exactly, do you intend to explain it?"

"I'll tell him that we're just friends. He'll understand."

"Just friends," he repeated neutrally.

"What else?" She put down her own mug and looked pointedly at the clock. "Good heavens, it's getting late, isn't it? I have to go into the gallery early tomorrow to frame some of the children's pictures, and I'm sure you're anxious to pick up Carson."

"Kicking me out?"

"It's been a long day," she said by way of an apology and got to her feet.

"Sure." He rose slowly, taking his time.

She handed him his black windbreaker and opened the door for him. Smiling all the while. Friendly.

He went outside onto the front porch. The squall was dying fast, leaving behind crisp, still-damp air.

"Drive carefully," she said.

"I'll do that."

He pulled on his jacket but did not bother to fasten it. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stood looking out into the night. He could hear the distant rumble of waves crashing against the bottom of the bluffs behind the cottage.

He turned slowly back to Octavia.

In the porch light, her hair glowed the color of the flames on the hearth inside. He could feel the magic that swirled around her.

He'd had enough. He knew now what was wrong with this picture.

"Something you should understand before we go any further here," he said.

"What's that?"

He took two steps back across the porch, closing the distance between them. He kept his hands in the pockets of his jacket, not trusting himself to touch her.

"Whatever else this turns out to be," he said evenly, "it isn't about being just friends."

She blinked. Her lips parted but no words emerged.

Just as well because he did not want to talk.

He kissed her, hands still in his pockets, leaning forward a little to claim her mouth. She did not flinch or step back but he felt the shiver that went through her.

He deepened the kiss deliberately.

Her mouth softened under his. He got the feeling that she was tasting him; testing him, maybe. Or was it herself she was testing?

She made a tiny, unbelievably sexy little sound and his blood ran hot in his veins. His breathing thickened.

He raised his head slowly. Breaking off the kiss required a serious act of willpower.

"Definitely not just friends," he said.

He turned away, went down the steps, and got into his car.

A short time later he drove into the newly paved, heavily landscaped parking lot at Dreamscape and slotted the BMW into the empty space next to Rafe's Porsche. He glanced at his watch as he got out. It was after eleven. The restaurant had been closed for over an hour. The vehicles that remained in the lot belonged to the overnight guests. There were a number of them.

Dreamscape had been an immediate success from the first day of operation. In addition to tourists, the inn drew a steady clientele from the institute and Chamberlain College.

He walked up the steps of the wide veranda that surrounded the lower floor of the inn. The front door opened just as he reached out to lean on the little bell.

"Heard the engine," Rafe said. "Figured it was you." He stood aside to allow Nick into the front hall. "Want some coffee?"

"No, thanks. Just had some." He nodded at the balding, middle-aged man who emerged from the office behind the front desk. "'Evening, Eddie."

"Hello, Nick. Come to collect your boy?"

"Yes."

"How was the hot date with the charming Miss Brightwell?" Rafe asked.

"No comment."

Rafe gave him a commiserating look and closed the door. "That bad, huh? You know, I wondered if she was really your type."

"No comment means no comment. I thought you Madisons were real big on a no-kiss-and-tell policy."

"Hey, we're family now, remember?" Rafe grinned. "I'm just trying to show a little brotherly interest in your personal affairs, that's all."

"Brotherly interest, my ass, you're just-" He broke off at the sight of Hannah appearing in the opening that led to the central corridor and the solarium.

"About time you got here," she said.

"It's not that late," Nick said, feeling oddly defensive. "Just because you old married folks go to bed early doesn't mean the rest of us are obliged to keep the same boring hours."

"Good point." Rafe raised a brow. "It isn't even midnight, Cinderella. What are you doing here this early? I told you we'd be happy to let Carson stay the night if you got lucky."

Hannah turned on Rafe with a withering glare. "You told him that? You actually said something so extremely tacky?"

"He's a Madison," Nick reminded her. "He was born tacky. We can only pray that your classy Harte genes will overpower his unfortunate genetic inheritance when you two decide to start making babies."

Hannah gave him an odd look. Rafe's mouth curved but he refrained from comment. Nick got the feeling he was missing the joke.

"Well?" Hannah said in that tone of voice that meant she was deliberately changing the subject and everyone else had better go along. "How was the date with Octavia? Did you have a nice time? Where did you two have dinner?"

He studied his sister. There was something different about her lately. He hadn't been able to put his finger on it but it was almost as though she harbored a special secret. Marriage definitely agreed with her, he thought. But, then, with the glaring exception of himself, it agreed with Hartes, in general.

"Her place," he said neutrally.

"Oh, man," Rafe muttered. "You went back to her place and she kicked you out before eleven o'clock. Not good." He shook his head. "I'd be happy to give you a little brotherly advice on how to behave yourself on a first date with a nice lady, Harte. Least I could do, you being family and all."

"You can take your helpful dating advice down to the Total Eclipse Bar and Grill and stuff it where the sun don't shine."

"Touchy, are we? Okay, but it's your loss, pal."

He'd had enough, Nick decided. He looked at Hannah. "Got my son?"

"Sound asleep in the library." Her expression softened. "Winston is keeping an eye on him." She hesitated. "He seemed a little concerned about your relationship with Octavia."

"Winston is concerned about my personal life?"

"Not my dog. Your son. He mentioned several times this evening that he was afraid you might make her mad."

Rafe sighed. "Apparently even little Carson is aware of your lack of finesse with the ladies."

"My son is first and foremost a Harte," Nick said dryly. "His chief concern is making sure that nothing gets in the way of his current objective."

"And that objective would be?"

"Getting his picture of Winston exhibited in the Children's Art Show."

"A worthy ambition," Hannah murmured. "And I'm sure the portrait is stunning. Winston, after all, is an excellent subject. But what does your relationship with Octavia have to do with getting the picture exhibited?"

Nick grimaced. "Carson is afraid that if I annoy Octavia she might refuse to hang the portrait in the show."

"A reasonable cause for anxiety under the circumstances," Rafe said cheerfully.

Hannah looked startled. "Oh, I really don't think she'd take out her hostility on a little boy. She isn't the sort of person who would do that. Octavia is very nice."

"So," Rafe said a little too easily, "what, exactly, are you doing to annoy such a nice lady, Harte?"

"You know," Nick said, taking another look at his watch, "it really is getting late, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Hannah said. She swung around on her heel and disappeared down the long, central hall.

Nick and Rafe followed her. They all came to a halt at the entrance to a comfortable, book-lined room. The dark expanse of the bay filled the space behind the windows. The library lights had been turned down low. Music played softly. A number of the comfortable, overstuffed chairs were occupied by guests who were sipping after-dinner cordials and coffee and talking quietly.

In the corner two small figures sprawled across a mound of pillows. Several children's books were scattered on the rug beside them. Most of the stories featured dogs.

Nick crossed the room and looked down at Carson, who was dressed in jeans, running shoes, and a sweatshirt. The boy was sound asleep, one arm flung across Winston. The Schnauzer raised his head from his paws and regarded Nick with intelligent eyes.

"Thanks for looking after him, Winston. I'll take over now."

Nick scratched Winston behind the ears and then scooped up his son.

Relieved of his nanny duties for the evening, Winston got to his feet and stretched. He snuffled politely around Nick's shoes and then trotted briskly toward Hannah.

Carson stirred a little and settled comfortably against Nick. He did not open his eyes. "Dad?"

"Time to go home."

"You didn't make her mad, did you?"

"I worked very hard not to make her mad."

"Good." Carson went back to sleep.

They all trooped down the hall to the front door and out onto the wide veranda. Winston vanished discreetly into the bushes. Hannah arranged Carson's black wind-breaker-a miniature version of the one Nick wore-around the boy's sleeping form.

"We've got some news," she said softly.

"What's that?" Nick asked.

"We're pregnant."

"Hey, that's great." He grinned and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Congratulations to both of you."

"Thanks."

Rafe put his arm around Hannah and pulled her close against his side. His pride and happiness were apparent. "You're the first to know. We'll start phoning everyone else in both families tomorrow."

Nick smiled. "Nothing else like it, you know."

"Yeah, sorta figured that," Rafe said.

Nick looked down at Carson lying securely in his arms. "You just wish it was this easy to protect them forever."

They stood there for a moment. No one spoke.

After a while Nick hugged his son a little more tightly to him and went down the steps. At the bottom he paused briefly and looked back. "Almost forgot. I've got a little news of my own."

Hannah smiled encouragingly. "What?"

"Octavia Brightwell is related to our own local legend, Claudia Banner. Turns out that Claudia was her great-aunt."

Hannah's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

"Nope."

"What the hell is she doing here in Eclipse Bay?" Rafe asked.

"I don't think she knows the answer to that one, herself. She said something about coming here to see if there was anything that could be done to mend the damage her great-aunt did. But I've got a feeling it's more complicated."

"What do you mean?" Hannah replied.

"From what I can tell, she's been drifting since Claudia died a year and a half ago. No close family. No real roots anywhere. Coming here to repair the damage her aunt did gave her a goal. But she tells me that she plans to leave at the end of the summer because it's clear to her that the Hartes and the Madisons have ended the feud all by themselves."

"Yeah, the good times never last, do they?" Rafe said laconically. His expression turned serious. "Does my grandfather know who she is?"

"She said Sullivan and Mitchell have known since the night of Lillian's show. Obviously they chose to keep the information to themselves."

"Figures," Rafe said.

They waited together on the veranda while Winston finished his business in the damp shrubbery. Hannah watched the BMW disappear into the night.

"What do you think is going on here?" she said after a while.

"Damned if I know." Rafe wrapped his hands around the railing. "Maybe it's like Nick said. Maybe Octavia came to Eclipse Bay to carry out her aunt's dying wish and then discovered there was nothing to fix."

"Nick is getting serious about her. I can tell. Octavia is different from the other women he's been seeing in the past few years. He's acting odd, too. I wonder if he's given her The Talk yet?"

"Don't know about that, but one thing we can say for sure. The curse has not yet been lifted. Nick didn't stay the night at her place."

"That business about the curse is absolute nonsense. The reason Nick never spends the night with any of his lady friends is because of Carson. He doesn't like to leave him alone with a sitter all night."

"That excuse doesn't fly," Rafe said flatly. "It's true that Nick doesn't leave Carson with sitters all night, but you know as well as I do that the kid stays overnight with family at times. Trust me, Nick wouldn't have a serious problem arranging to remain in some woman's bed until breakfast if that's what he wanted to do. If you ask me, he's avoiding it."

"I suppose you're right. Waking up with someone in the morning is a little different. More intimate, somehow. He's probably afraid that if he spends the night, the lady in question might get the wrong idea in spite of The Talk. He's done his best to avoid getting entangled in a real relationship since Amelia died."

"It's one thing to have hot sex and leave while it's still dark," Rafe agreed. "It's another thing to face the lady across the breakfast table. Takes the relationship to a whole new level."

Hannah smiled and patted her tummy. "Certainly had that effect on our relationship. But then, you can cook. That made a huge difference."

Winston trotted up the steps and kept going toward the front door. Rafe turned his head to watch the dog disappear inside the hall.

"Uh-oh," he said.

"Something wrong?"

"Just realized that we left the door open."

"So?"

"So Eddie is still at the front desk. He must have over-heard everything we said when we talked to Nick a few minutes ago. Got a feeling he now knows just who Octavia Brightwell really is. Probably can't wait to tell everyone down at the post office first thing tomorrow morning."

Hannah groaned. "You're right. Uh-oh."

"What the heck. It was all bound to come out sooner or later. Not like there's any way to keep a secret in Eclipse Bay, after all."

"True." Hannah nibbled on her lower lip for a moment. "All the same, I think I'll give Octavia a call first thing in the morning and warn her. She's an outsider. She won't be prepared for what she's going to walk into tomorrow."

Rafe smiled. He said nothing.

She raised her brows. "What?"

"Just struck me that Octavia isn't that much of an outsider."

"What do you mean?"

"She's related to Claudia Banner, remember?" He tightened his arm around Hannah and steered her back toward the open door. "Her family has been involved in this thing from the beginning. Just like us Madisons and Hartes."