“Here we go again. It’s those conversations you had with your mother and Mitchell, isn’t it?” He opened the door of the Jag with a little more force than was necessary. “They messed with your mind.”

She slid into the dark cave that was the front seat. “It’s got nothing to do with them. I just need some quiet time.”

“Sure. Quiet time.”

“I told you earlier that I haven’t gotten any real painting done since I got here. If I go home with you tonight, I probably won’t get to work until noon or later.”

“Wouldn’t want to interfere with your best painting time.”

He closed the door. With a little more force than was necessary.

“It’s just a business,” Hampton said on the other end of the line.

“The hell it is.” He’d had enough of the familiar argument, Sullivan decided. He ended the call abruptly with a sudden punch of a button.

He ought to be used to this feeling after so many years of butting heads with his stubborn son. It was always like this whenever the subject of the future of Harte Investments arose. Hampton had done a brilliant job with the company, but he flatly refused to be concerned about what happened to it in the next generation. As if it didn’t matter a damn.

It had taken him a long time to realize that, to Hampton, Harte Investments was just a business. Running the company was nothing more than a job to him. He had done it extraordinarily well but he could walk away tomorrow and never look back.

In fact, walking away from H.I. was precisely what Hampton planned to do. Sometime in the next two years. Sullivan swore under his breath and reached for his cane. He still could not believe that after having worked so hard to take the company to another level, his son was looking forward to retiring so that he could start a charitable foundation.

As far as he was concerned, Sullivan thought, charity began at home.

Just a business.

What the hell was the matter with everyone else in the family? Didn’t they understand that a company like Harte Investments was a work of art? It had required vision and sweat to bring it to life. It was the result of a lot of carefully calculated risks and farsighted strategy. It had heart. It had struggled and fought and survived in a jungle where other businesses, large and small, got eaten alive.

And now, because none of his grandchildren had any interest in the company, it would be sold or swallowed up by some other, larger, predator.

He rapped the tip of the cane sharply against the cool terra-cotta tiles of the living room floor. The small gesture did nothing to release his pent-up frustration.

Just a business.

He stopped at the bank of floor-to-ceiling French doors that overlooked the pool.

Rachel was on her last lap. He watched her glide through the turquoise water and felt some of his anger fade. He became aware of the quiet sense of connection that he always experienced when he saw her. It calmed him and gave him a centered feeling that he could not explain. The older he got, the more he realized that Rachel helped define him. A great deal of what he knew about himself he had learned from living with her all these years.

He opened one of the glass-paned doors and went out onto the patio. It was late afternoon. The long rays of the desert sun were blocked by the walls of the house. The pool lay in comfortable shadow. In the distance the mountains were very sharp against the incredibly blue Arizona sky.

He selected two bottles of chilled springwater from the small refrigerator he had installed near the outdoor grill and lowered himself onto a lounger. He unscrewed the cap of one of the bottles, took a long swallow, and waited for Rachel to emerge from the jeweled pool. Talking to her always helped him put things into perspective.

She reached the steps and walked up out of the sparkling water. He watched her peel her swim cap off her short, silver-blond hair and admired her figure in the black-and-white bathing suit. After all this time he still felt the quiet heat of sexual attraction. She was only five years younger than he but somewhere along the line she had stopped aging, at least to him. He would want her until the day he died. And probably after that, too.

Her mouth curved as she walked toward him across the patio. “I can see that the discussion with Hampton did not go well.”

“I don’t know where he gets that stubborn streak.”

“Certainly not from you.”

She picked up her white terrycloth robe, wrapped it around herself and sat down beside him. He handed her one of the bottles of cold water. She removed the cap and took a sip. They sat and watched the sunlight on the mountains. Sullivan relaxed into the lounger.

“Hampton and Elaine think that Gabe will try to marry her in order to get his hands on a chunk of Harte,” he said after a while.

“What do you think?”

“No Madison I ever knew had enough common sense to marry for money.”

“Good point. But everyone says that Gabe is a different kind of Madison. His company is his passion. He built it to prove something to himself and everyone else. It’s as important to him as Harte Investments is to you.”

“I know.” Sullivan grimaced. “Just wish one or two of my grandkids felt the same way about H.I. It’s Hampton’s fault that none of them ever showed much interest in the company.”

“He didn’t want them to feel the same kind of pressure he got from you when he was growing up.”

“Pressure, hell. I just guided him a little, that’s all.”

“You groomed him for Harte from the day he was born. Made him think he owed it to you and that he had to prove he wouldn’t turn out to be the same kind of wastrel Mitchell’s son was. Hampton took over the firm to please you and you know it.”

“What’s wrong with that? He’s done a damn fine job of growing the company. He couldn’t have run it that well if he hadn’t had a talent for business.”

“Hampton has a talent, all right. But he wants to use it to set up that foundation of his. He’s had enough of H.I. and he doesn’t want any of our grandchildren to be forced into running it when he steps down.”

Sullivan groaned. “I knew Hannah and Lillian probably wouldn’t take on H.I. But I had hopes that Nick would take the helm eventually. Why he had to go off on his own to write mysteries is beyond me. Don’t know why anyone as smart as he is would want to waste time writing novels when he could be running a company the size of Harte Investments.”

“All three of them have followed their own stars and that’s the way it should be.” Rachel patted his shoulder. “Besides, you enjoy Nick’s mysteries and you know it.”

Sullivan brooded on that for a moment. “Little Carson may show some interest in business in a few years,” he said hopefully. “He’s a bright kid.”

“For heaven’s sake, he’s only five years old. It will be ages before Carson can even think of assuming such a responsibility. You certainly can’t expect Hampton to hold the reins for another two decades on the off-chance that your great-grandson might someday want to take over the business.”

Sullivan leaned his head against the back of the lounger and considered the problem.

“You’re always telling me what people will do and why,” he said eventually. “Do you think Gabe Madison would marry Lillian just to get his hands on Harte?”

To his surprise, Rachel hesitated briefly. A troubled frown creased her forehead.

“It’s a legitimate concern, under the circumstances,” she said finally. “Of the two boys, I think Gabe was more affected by all the baggage Mitchell carried because of the blowup of Harte-Madison. Proving to himself and everyone else that he could compete with a Harte has been a fierce source of motivation for Gabe for years. In addition, H.I. is one of his competitors.”