Winston gnawed happily on the tidbit as he hurried after Rafe. Together they crossed the hall toward the sunroom, where Hannah and Mitchell were sharing a glass of wine and the view of evening fog moving in over the bay.
Rafe glanced at the bowl of hummus and pita toast points arranged on the tray, double-checking the visual appeal of the hors d’oeuvres. The trickle of uneasiness he felt was disconcerting. He was usually confident of his cooking. He knew he had a keen sense of how to blend flavors into intriguing combinations and a flair for presentation. He had planned this meal with great care. He knew everything was perfect. It was the first time he had ever cooked for Mitchell, and he did not want any screwups.
Mitchell’s low growl stopped him just as he was about to enter the room.
“. . . Don’t you worry. Rafe will do right by you,” Mitchell said. “I’ll see to it.”
Rafe froze in the doorway. Winston stopped, too, cocking his head with an inquiring look.
“What the heck does that mean?” Hannah sounded baffled and more than a little wary. “Are you going to force him to give up his claim on this house?”
“Never could force that bullheaded boy to do anything he didn’t want to do, and I’m pretty sure he won’t give up Dreamscape. Seems to have his heart set on turning it into an inn and a restaurant.”
“He certainly does.” Hannah’s voice was clipped.
“When a Madison’s got his heart set on something,” Mitchell warned with gruff gentleness, “it isn’t easy persuading him to change course.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
“He’s got the cash to make it happen. Made himself a bundle in the market, you know.” Mitchell sighed. “Always did have a head for business.”
“Apparently.” Hannah’s tone was becoming grim.
“Barring a tsunami or an earthquake or a volcanic eruption that wipes out this section of the coast, I reckon Rafe will see his plans through.” Mitchell paused. “Thing is, he’s a lot like me when it comes to going after what he wants.”
Hannah was quiet for a time. Rafe realized that his hands were clenched around the handles of the hors d’oeuvres tray. He could not seem to move through the doorway. He was waiting for something, but he was not sure what that something was.
“So what did you mean when you said you’d see to it that he would do right by me?” Hannah asked eventually.
“Lord above, woman, don’t play dumb with me. There isn’t any such thing as a dumb Harte, and we both know it. I’m talking about marriage, naturally.”
“Marriage!” Hannah’s voice rose to a shrill squeak. “Rafe and me?”
“Well, sure. What did you think I was talking about?”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Hear me out, now, Hannah. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this, and I’m pretty sure I can swing it.”
“Pretty sure? Pretty sure?”
“Okay, damn sure. Pardon my language. Not quite the same thing as making him give up Dreamscape, of course. That would be a real case of hitting my head against a brick wall. But this fear of marriage that he’s got, that’s just a case of bad nerves.”
“Nerves,” Hannah repeated in a dazed voice.
“Right. He’s convinced that Madison men have a bad time with marriage.”
“Well, you do have a history of disastrous marriages in your clan,” Hannah muttered. “And Rafe has already screwed up once.”
“Okay, so he made one little mistake.”
“Little?”
“These things happen.”
“You ought to know,” Hannah said much too sweetly. “How many times have you been married, Mr. Madison?”
“Don’t go tagging Rafe with my lousy track record. I admit that for a long time after Claudia Banner took off with the assets of Harte-Madison, I didn’t think real clearly when it came to women. Had a few problems.”
“That’s putting it mildly, from what I understand.”
Mitchell made a rude sound. “Can’t blame you for your opinion. You’ve been brought up to think the worst of me. I know that Sullivan has fed you a lot of wild stories over the years. What I’m trying to tell you is that Rafe and I are alike in a lot of ways but not in every way.”
“If you say so.”
“If that isn’t just like a Harte,” Mitchell said heatedly. “Throw a man’s mistakes back in his face and don’t bother to give him a chance to put things right. You got a lot in common with your granddad, young woman.”
“I think we’re straying from the point here.”
“Look, that divorce wasn’t Rafe’s fault. Don’t hold it against him. He learned from it.”
“Uh-huh. From what I can gather, he learned that he doesn’t want to get married again,” Hannah said dryly.
“Exactly what I’m trying to tell you,” Mitchell said quickly. “Like I said, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I’ve figured out Rafe’s problem. He’s got some sort of phobia about marriage, see.”
“You’ve concluded that he’s afraid of marriage?” Hannah’s voice was oddly weak.
“Right.” Mitchell sounded pleased that she had grasped the point so readily. “The way some folks are scared of spiders or snakes.”
“A charming analogy.”
“I can sort of see how it happened,” Mitchell continued earnestly. “I got to admit I didn’t set a good example for Sinclair, and things trickled on down to Rafe. But I figure I can get him past it. Figure I owe him that much, since it was me who was responsible for this phobia thing in the first place.”
“How do you intend to do that?” Hannah’s voice was stronger now, infused with morbid curiosity. “Get out your shotgun and march him to the altar?”
Rafe felt as though he’d been turned into a block of solid marble.
“Is that what you want?” Mitchell asked ingenuously.
“Good grief, no. Of course not.”
Rafe winced. Did she have to sound so positively negative about the idea?
“It might take a little push from me,” Mitchell allowed reflectively. “When it comes to phobias, sometimes you’ve got to force folks to face up to ’em.”
“You just told me that force didn’t work well with Rafe.”
“I’m thinking more in terms of applying a little pressure in the right spots.”
