Marriage On The Edge

What tale of woe? His marriage was breaking up. Well, so what? Divorce had been a part of his childhood. Back then, only his brothers, and then Caitlin, had understood. Now—now, it was an everyday thing.

Enough of feeling sorry for himself. He needed to think about something else. Clear his head, so he could approach things logically. Today was a business day, same as any other. He had appointments, meetings, probably a lunch scheduled with somebody or other.

The ever-efficient Rosa had centered his appointment book, open, on his desk. A neat stack of faxes lay to its left. To the right were half a dozen “while you were out” memos.

The vellum envelope had landed on top of them.

Gage pushed it aside, picked up the memos and leafed through them. Words ran together in a senseless pattern. He frowned, dumped the memos in the wastebasket and reached for the faxes, but he couldn’t get past the first sentence on any of them.

“Damn,” he said, and dropped them, too.

How was he supposed to keep his mind on work? How was he supposed to concentrate on anything but what was happening in his personal life?

He shoved back his chair, got to his feet and drew open the vertical blinds that covered the wall of glass behind him. Below, sun-worshiping guests lazed around the Windsong’s pool, which had been designed in the spirit of a lazy river, complete with waterfalls that flowed over hidden grottoes. Beyond, a stretch of white sand led to the emerald sea.

Everything he’d busted his tail to create was out there. Well, there and beyond, in a dozen places around the globe. Under his command, the sorry excuse for a hotel he’d almost hocked his soul to buy had become a world-famous, five-star resort, the center of what the financial wizards had taken to calling Baron’s Kingdom.

He was a successful, happy man.

At least, he had been, until last night.

Gage sank down into his chair again, propped his elbows on the desk and held his head.

What to do? What to do?

There had to be a way around this. Two people didn’t just walk away from a marriage after they’d invested ten years of their lives in it.

It wasn’t logical. Wasn’t practical. It was pointless and wasteful and foolish. Okay. He’d tell Natalie that, give her the chance to change her mind…

Was he crazy? Give her the chance to cut him to shreds again, was more like it. Besides, he wanted out. How come he kept forgetting that?

He muttered an oath, a creative one dredged up from those long-ago days when he’d worked with his hands, not with his head.

“Got to keep busy,” he muttered, “got to stop thinking.”

His gaze fell on the vellum envelope. Okay, even reading a hokey ad for an overpriced car or maybe a boat, considering that this was Florida, might be good for a distraction.

He ripped open the envelope flap, extracted a heavy formal notecard. His brows rose as he read it.

Your presence is requested at

The eighty-fifth birthday celebration

Of Mr. Jonas Baron

Saturday and Sunday, June the 14th and 15th

At the Baron Ranch

‘Espada’

Brazos Springs, Texas

R.S.V.P.

A note was scrawled beneath the perfectly executed calligraphy.

“Gage,” it read, “you’d damn well better come if you know what’s good for you. No excuses, you hear?”

The brusque words were followed by a bold capital C—and softened with the drawing of a tiny heart.

A grin spread across Gage’s face. Catie never changed. Tough as nails on the outside, soft and sweet inside, though she’d probably have slugged him if he’d ever dared say something like that to her face.

His grin faded.

Now his morning was perfect. First the confrontation with Natalie and now this demand that he attend a command performance at Espada. Oh, yeah. Today was shaping up to be a gem.

Jonas, pushing eighty-five. Was it really possible? He hadn’t seen his father in a year. Two, maybe. But in his mind’s eye, Jonas was ageless, with a body as tough and straight as an ironwood tree and silver eyes that could stare down a hawk.

He put down the vellum card. Eighty-five. That was quite a number. Well, he’d have to phone on the—what day was it, anyway? The fourteenth of June? The fifteenth? Either way, he’d call the ranch, wish the old man a happy birthday. And send him a gift, of course, though what you could send a man who had everything he wanted and disdained everything else was beyond him.

Gage’s expression softened. He’d make a separate call, to Caitlin. Explain that, much as he wanted to, he couldn’t possibly break away and—

His private phone rang. The sound startled him. No one had that number except—

“Baby,” he said, grabbing the phone. “Natalie, I love you so—”

“And I love you, too, precious,” a falsetto voice warbled, “but my husband’s starting to get suspicious.”

Gage jerked upright in his chair. “Travis? Trav, is that you?”

A deep, masculine chuckle sounded over the line. “I know it’s probably disappointing as all get-out but yeah, it’s me. Good morning.”

A slow smile spread across Gage’s lips.

“Good morning?” He glanced at his watch and gave a soft whistle. “My, oh, my, I am impressed, Travis. Why, it’s hardly seven o’clock, your time. I didn’t think you West Coast big shots turned over in bed until us hardworkin’ Easterners were darned near havin’ lunch.”

“I already told him that,” another deep, lazy voice said.

Gage’s smile became a grin. “Slade?”

“The one and only,” Slade Baron replied.

“Hell, I don’t believe this! What are you two guys doin’? Havin’ a reunion out there in Malibu? Or are you both in Boston, livin’ it up in that big old house on Beacon Hill my little brother calls home?”

“I’m in Boston,” Slade said.

“And I’m in Malibu,” Travis said. “This three-way brotherly phone call is comin’ to you courtesy of the marvels of modern-day science.”