Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (9 page)

She shifted
in her chair. “At the time, Clay’s mother hinted to several people that she had
a wealthy, well-connected lover. And in East Langden, that narrowed the field.
This isn’t a fashionable watering hole like Martha’s Vineyard or Kennebunkport,
you know.”

“So far,
all you’ve got is rumor and speculation. That’s not proof.” He sat back, trying
to contain his disgust when he thought of another question. “What happened to
his mother?”

“No one
knows.” Without asking, Gracie got him another beer. He hadn’t noticed he’d
finished the first one. She picked up some needlework and brought it over to
the table.

“How did
Clayton start out as the abandoned child of an unwed mother and end up a
doctor?”

She pushed
the needle through the taut fabric. “David gets most of the credit.”
Interesting.
She always smiled when she
said the old man’s name.

“Why? How?”

“He was
Lana’s cousin.” Her nimble fingers didn’t pause as she talked. When she
stitched to one side of the frame, she stitched her way back to the other,
occasionally stopping to count stitches. “Lana’s mother had MS and had been in
a nursing home for years, so David’s family kept an eye on Lana and Clay.

“The day
after she disappeared, David stopped by to take Clay to church. No one was
home. He finally tracked Clay down at the babysitter’s. When Lana hadn’t shown
up by the end of the day, he called the police chief.”

Dylan
remembered how lost and unsettled he’d felt after his father’s death. He tried
to imagine what his life would have been like without his mother too, but then
he stopped. Thoughts like that would have him feeling sorry for Clayton. That
was one emotion he was determined to avoid. Plenty of people already
sympathized with the jerk. Gracie, first and foremost.

“It wasn’t
unusual for her to be gone overnight, was it?” he asked. “The detective’s
report said she had a reputation as a party girl.”

“True, but
she always made arrangements for Clay. No one who knew her believed she’d
abandon him.”

“But that’s
what the police decided happened, isn’t it?”

“For lack
of any definitive information.” Gracie’s little pink tongue peeked out at the
corner while she threaded her needle. “Everyone expected her to come back one
day with some wild tale, but she never did.”

Dylan
reached for his beer. The second bottle was now empty, too.

“Since
David was a relative and the most interested party, he talked Social Services
into letting him keep Clay. He was well-known to them through his work with
abused children at County Hospital.”

“How do you
fit into the picture?”

“David and
my mother kept company for a long time before they got married. The four of us
spent a lot of time together. Mom or Gran watched Clay after school, or Clay
spent the night with us if David got called out. When we were older, Clay and I
worked in David’s office, afternoons and on weekends. Clay’s career choice
stems from a classic case of hero worship.”

“For you,
too?” Her own case of hero-worship for the good doctor seemed huge. He nodded
at the printing on her shirt.

“Probably.”
Her gaze shifted from her sewing to some point in the past. “Clay always liked the
science part of it. My interest was more empathetic. I knew early on that I
wanted to work with children and be a pediatrician.”

Her
accomplishments seemed unending to someone whose acquaintances specialized in
acquiring the latest gadgets and avoiding photographers at the hottest
nightspots. “How did you manage it?”

He basked
in a surprising pool of contentment while waiting for her answer. He couldn’t
remember the last time he’d asked a woman who didn’t work for him about her
job. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat in someone’s kitchen, having a
beer and shooting the breeze. Maybe during college with Ryan’s family in St.
Louis. And more recently, his friend Wyatt’s home was kitchen-centric.

Despite the
tension hovering between him and Gracie on the subject of his father and
Clayton, Dylan felt right at home.

“I always
had the emotional support of my family. The financial support, too, when they
could swing it. College was fun. Med school was a backbreaking grind, but once
I set a goal, I work hard on achieving it.”

Dylan
admired the hell out of Gracie’s commitment. While wondering why he was so
fascinated, he caught himself watching and waiting for the tip of her tongue to
reappear. Tongues that weren’t actively being used on his body had never
fascinated him before.

Unusually
relaxed after only two beers, he slouched lower in his chair and folded his
arms. “How does that scientific, medical part of your personality fit in with
all of this artistic stuff you do?”

She looked
up at him with her needle poised mid-stitch, a crease between her brows. “I’m
not good at artistic stuff.”

“Are you
kidding?” He twitched with annoyance that she dismissed her talents so lightly.

“If you’d
ever seen real artistry, you’d know.”

“I’ve seen
enough.”

“Really?”
The expectant look on her face revealed how important his answer was to her.

He’d never
have suspected her of needing reassurance. Gracie presented herself as the most
self-assured, opinionated, and independent woman he’d ever met.

“I don’t
know many people who possess the variety of skills you have.”

“That’s
sad.”

“Tell me
about it.” He slouched lower.

“What about
you? Do you have any worthwhile skills?”

“Not
compared to yours.” He’d never tell her, but he’d fainted after stumbling upon
Natalie’s cat having kittens when he was ten. “In my spare time I climb rocks
and mountains, race fast cars, and scuba-dive.”

Gracie
sniffed. “All that proves is that you have a healthy bank account, decent
athletic ability, and a daredevil’s disrespect for life and death situations.”

He wasn’t
sure she’d be any more impressed with his next revelation, but he offered up
the hobby he was most proud of. “I fly airplanes.”

Her needle stopped
mid-stitch, and her eyes widened with something akin to horror. “Why would you
want to do that?”

No one but
his mother had ever asked him that question. Tilting his head, he tugged on his
ear while he considered. “For the challenge, I guess. And the power. When you
pilot a plane, you’re in complete control. And the awesome beauty of the earth
from five-thousand feet manages to put all of life’s annoying details into
perspective.”

If her
disapproval made her any more rigid, she’d snap in two. “Hmm.” Her lips had
disappeared into a tight seam. She concentrated on her sewing for a few
moments, but finally admitted, “I’ve never enjoyed flying.”

“Why not?”

“It’s never
been diagnosed by a professional, but I guess it’s because my father was killed
in a plane crash.”

The
simplicity of the statement amplified the depth of her loss more forcefully
than a bout of histrionics. “That would probably do it.” Practical Gracie, with
her feet on the ground. No point in arguing with a mind closed by fear, but
surely she could see the boundaries she set for herself. “I’m surprised you let
the past limit you that way.”

“It’s not
just
because of my father. You have to
be aware of how many planes crash every year.”

“Which is
one of the reasons I prefer to fly myself. I have more confidence in my own
ability than I do in someone else’s.”

“I’m sure
most pilots feel that way, but what good does it do their family and friends if
the pilot is dead?” Her eyes flashed.

“Everything
in life is a risk. Do you know how many deaths occur on the highways?”

“You aren’t
seriously comparing the difficulty of driving an automobile with piloting an
aircraft, are you?”

“No, but
I’ve been flying since I was sixteen in all different kinds of airplanes. I’m
instrument-certified and a certified instructor, and I’ve logged thousands of
hours of flight time.”

“There are
still a lot of factors involved that you can’t control.”

“All pilots
from weekend hobbyists to NASA astronauts know it’s important to factor those
uncontrollable elements into the equation and then use their best judgment. We
do it because we love to fly, and we think the pleasure is worth the risk.” He
was annoyed to find himself trying to convince her instead of shutting the hell
up.

“If you’d
like to give it a try, I’d be happy to take you up with me.”
Where had that come from?
Flying was his
private domain. He rarely took anyone up with him.

“Yeah,
right.”

Since his
piloting skill hadn’t impressed her, he decided to move on to the one thing he
could do that most people found enviable. “Maybe you’ll like this one better,”
he said, although he doubted it. “I have an uncanny knack for investing other
people’s money.”

“Oh, yeah,
in your grandfather’s brokerage, right?” She leaned forward, ready to question
the golden goose for financial tips. The all-too-typical gleam of greed in her
eyes stabbed Dylan with disappointment.

“Almost
everyone around here works hard,” she said, “but many of the townspeople have a
hard time making ends meet. It would be great for them to have some tips from a
successful financial adviser. Would you consider speaking at a town meeting?”

The
knowledge that her interest in his moneymaking ability wasn’t self-serving sent
a burst of relief gushing through him. “It looks like the town’s undergoing a
revitalization without my help.” He considered getting another beer but decided
to stay where he was and watch for a tongue sighting instead.

“It was a
slow recovery after Old Maine Furniture closed.” Her tongue peeked out and a
sense of satisfaction washed over him at having his patience rewarded. “A lot
of people drifted away, but recently, some of the younger people have returned.
Coming home with fresh ideas, new perspectives.”

Without
anything more encouraging than an occasional grunt of agreement on his part,
she told him more about the town’s financial status than he cared to know.
After she’d ground to a halt, he realized she seemed to expect him to agree to
do something about it.

“Why should
I?” he mused, more to himself than to Gracie.

“It was
your family that closed Old Maine Furniture and put half the population out of
work. Just because it became inconvenient or unpleasant for them to come here
after—after—”

“After my
father’s death? Yes, that was unpleasant and inconvenient,” he said, laying on
the sarcasm.

He’d only
been a child at the time, but he knew his grandfather and uncles well enough to
know that they never based business decisions on sentiment.
Did they
?

Apparently,
all of the Liberty House guestrooms were assigned patriotic themes. Gracie had
installed Dylan in the Stars and Stripes suite the day before. The comfortable
room boasted a sitting area with a framed colonial American flag hanging over
the fireplace. But the panoramic view of the ocean beyond the double windows
was the room’s money spot. He studied the view as he talked to his uncle.

“Where are
you staying?” Uncle Arthur’s voice boomed over the speakerphone.

“At Liberty
House, a B&B about three miles from the cabin. An elderly couple named
Lattimer own it. You remember them?”

“The name
sounds familiar.”

“The old
man’s in the hospital. I haven’t met him, but apparently he worked at Old Maine
before it closed.”

His uncle
muffled a cough. “I’ve probably met him, but we closed that plant—what? More
than twenty years ago.”

“For some
of the people here, there’s still resentment about the lost employment.”

“I don’t
know why. We kept the place going as long as we could and gave them as fair a
shake as possible. If this Lattimer fellow owns a bed and breakfast out on the
bay, it doesn’t sound like he was hurt by it. That’s an expensive chunk of real
estate.”

“He works
hard, from what I hear. Most of the people do, but I can see how long it’s
taken the town to reverse the economic downturn.” Dylan hesitated before
bringing up a potentially touchy subject. The Senator was frequently touchy
about having his decisions questioned, and all of this happened so long ago.
“I’ve been wondering why the family closed the factory. Someone here suggested
it was because of my father’s death...”

“Indirectly,
I suppose it was. The cost of hardwood and labor kept going up. The demand for
expensive, custom furnishings wasn’t keeping pace. The place had been a tax
write-off for several years.”

Plausible,
but Dylan had his doubts.

“After your
father’s accident, Dad lost interest. Tommy’s talents lay elsewhere, and I was
gearing up for the Senate race. With all of that going on, we needed to divest
ourselves of some of the dead weight. And with Old Maine’s poor performance, it
was the first to go.”

“That’s
what I thought.” Dylan’s tone didn’t disguise the seed of doubt taking root.
“But I’d like to see the closing documents and final financial reports if
they’re still around somewhere. Do you know where they are?”

“You know
the drill. We’re only required to keep closing documents for seven years. Why
the sudden interest? You’ve never questioned any of the family business
decisions before.”

“Well, for
some reason, a whole town holds us to blame for a lot of things, and I’d like
to know the full story.”

“Honestly,
I doubt that the records still exist, but I’ll have someone at Bradford
International check. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“Thanks.
I’d appreciate it.”

“Are you
thinking of selling the East Langden property? I know a good realtor up that
way.”

“I’ll
probably sell it, but it suits me to start renovating the property first. No
one would buy the place as it stands.”

“Do you
want me to send up a crew of workers?”

That would
solve a lot of his problems, but it would create others, too. “Yeah, I do, but
hold off until next week, okay? If I can use the locals instead, I’d like to.”

“Whatever
works best for you.”

After
exchanging family news, Dylan prepared to disconnect the call when his uncle
stopped him. “Just a second, Dylan. Here’s some news that might interest you.”

“What’s
that?”

“After a
lot of discussion with Delia, Frank, and various political groups, I’m
considering running for president in the next election.”

“Great,
congratulations!” His uncle had always wanted to take this step, but the timing
had never been right. “Dad and Grandfather would be so proud of you.”

“I hope you
are, too, and that I can count on your support.”

“Of course,
I’ll do whatever I can.”

“I know this
will be a disruption for everyone, but I expect it to be worthwhile, too. We’ll
get together and plan strategy before the holidays. It’s still hush-hush, but I
wanted to warn you about what’s going on.”

Setting
aside the impact Arthur’s bid for the presidency would have on the family,
Dylan e-mailed his assistant, talked to his buddy Wyatt about their plans to
attend the upcoming NBA finals, checked the latest figures on the Dow, and made
a few trades before calling Natalie. After his brief and dismal report on the
Clayton situation, he kicked back to catch up with her.

“I’m fine,”
she said. “I went to the doctor yesterday, and he swears this child won’t make
an appearance for another four weeks. Although you’d think differently if you
could see how huge I am. If I were in Washington, tourists would mistake me for
the National Rotunda.”

“I don’t
believe it.” A tendency toward thinness passed from one generation of Bradfords
to the next along with big feet and perfect vision.

“I’m
swelled up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloon. My ankles are as
puffy as marshmallows.”

“Did that
happen when you had Josh?”

“No, but
the doctor said to stay off my feet and watch my salt intake. The usual stuff.
Oh, by the way, I talked to Linc’s cousin Victoria yesterday. She said—”
Natalie stopped short when he heard a crash and then a wail in the background.
“Sorry, I’ve got to go unearth Josh. Nothing serious. He just pulled some books
over. Talk to you later, okay?”