“Nope.” Mitchell snapped off another dead flower.
Rafe knew that was the end of that conversation. Gabe would have been better at this, he thought
Mitchell squinted at him. “What the hell are you and Hannah Harte going to do with that damned house?”
“We haven’t decided.”
“Huh. Just like Isabel to do something crazy like this in her will. She had some romantic notion about you and Hannah patching up the old feud. Told her she was an idiot.”
“Telling her that she was an idiot was probably not real helpful.”
Mitchell grunted again. “Nobody more contrary than a Harte.”
“Except a Madison.”
Mitchell didn’t deny it. “You look pretty friendly with Hannah.”
“I wouldn’t say we’ve reached the friendly stage, but her dog likes me. That’s a start.”
“Heard she built herself a nice little business in Portland. Organizes weddings or some such nonsense.”
“Yeah. She says she gets a lot of repeat clients.”
“She’s a Harte, and that’s not an easy fact to overlook. But I’ve got to admit that she’s got gumption.” A thoughtful expression gleamed in Mitchell’s eyes. “Never forgot what she did eight years ago. Always felt like we owed her something for the way she backed you up.”
“I know.”
“There was some nasty talk around town for a while. The folks who believed her when she said she’d been with you on the beach that night assumed you’d seduced her just to score some points against the Hartes.”
“I heard that.”
Mitchell tapped his cane absently against the base of the sundial. “There are still one or two who think Hannah Harte flat out lied for you that night. They think you really did push Kaitlin Sadler off that cliff.”
Rafe felt the tension knot deep inside him. He’d always wondered if Mitchell had been one of those who secretly believed that he had been responsible for Kaitlin’s fall.
“Bottom line,” Mitchell continued, “is that we’re beholden to Hannah Harte.”
“Yeah.”
“Hate being beholden to a Harte,” Mitchell sighed. “Like a bur under a saddle.”
Rafe looked at him. “Didn’t know it bothered you all this time.”
“It did.”
“It’s not your problem. It’s mine.”
“You can say that again.” Mitchell narrowed his eyes. “What are you going to do about it? Give up your half of Isabel’s house?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.” Mitchell started off in the direction of the greenhouse. “Come on. I’ll show you my new hybrids.”
Rafe glanced back at the screen door. There was no sign of rescue. Reluctantly he trailed after Mitchell.
“I talked to Gabe a few days ago,” Mitchell said.
Rafe steeled himself. “Did you?”
“He said he could find a place for you at Madison Commercial.” There was not a lot of hope in Mitchell’s voice.
“Give me a break. Would you work for Gabe?”
“Hell, no.” Mitchell’s brows bristled. “He expects everyone to jump when he gives an order.”
“That pretty much sums up my problem with him, too.”
Mitchell grunted. “Well, it was worth a try.”
They walked the length of the garden in silence. Just before they reached the greenhouse, Mitchell launched a salvo in an entirely new direction.
“Don’t you think it’s about time you got married?” he said.
Rafe felt as if he’d been hit in the head with a ball peen hammer. It took him several seconds to recover. He spent the intervening time with his mouth open.
“Married?” he finally managed. “Are you out of your mind? I tried it once, remember? It didn’t work.”
“You’re going to have to bite that bullet again, sooner or later. You’ve put it off long enough. If you wait too much longer you’ll be so set in your ways you won’t be able to adjust to marriage.”
“Since when did you become an expert on marriage?”
“I’ve had some experience.”
“You can say that again,” Rafe muttered. “For your information, I’m already set in my ways.”
“Bullshit. You’re still young enough to be flexible.”
The door on the back porch opened. Both men spun around so quickly that Rafe was sure they looked guilty of something.
An ethereal-looking woman with a mane of fiery red curls stood in the opening.
“Coffee’s ready,” Octavia Brightwell called cheerfully.
Rafe did not hesitate. He noticed that Mitchell didn’t pause either. He figured his grandfather was just as relieved by the timely interruption as he was.
Side by side, they went swiftly back along the path toward the house.
Hannah slid her key into the front-door lock. “Not that you’ve got any reason to consider my opinion on the subject, but I liked Octavia.”
Beside her Rafe shrugged. “So did I. So what? She’s still way too young for him. Gabe’s right. It’s embarrassing.”
Hannah was amused. “That’s almost funny, coming from a Madison. No offense, but the men of your family aren’t known for feeling shy or awkward about their sex lives.”
“It’s different when it’s your grandfather’s sex life,” Rafe said glumly.
Hannah listened to the sound of dog claws prancing madly on the hardwood floor on the other side of the door. “Well, if it’s any consolation to you, Octavia told me that she and your grandfather are just friends. I believe her.”
“Yeah?”
She gave him a quick, searching glance as she opened the door. He had been in a strange mood since returning from the after-dinner walk in the garden. Rafe had never been an easy man to read, but now there was a dark, brooding aura emanating from him that had not been present earlier in the evening. She wondered what had been said between him and his grandfather.
Winston bounced through the open door, torn as always, between the demands of professional dignity and blatant emotionalism.
“Such a handsome dog.” She bent down to pat him. “The finest specimen of Schnauzerhood in the known universe.”
Winston glowed.
Rafe watched them with an expression of morbid interest. “He actually believes you when you say that, you know.”
“So what? It’s true.” She stood back to allow Winston to trot across the porch and down the steps. The dog paused briefly to thrust his nose into Rafe’s hand, and then he disappeared discreetly into some bushes.