“How about this? You give me advice. If at the end of the month, the business is still sinking under my direction, I will sell it to you at a very fair price.”

A ghost of a smile whispered across Mac’s face.

For a moment, that smile made him look handsome, desirable. The kind of guy you’d sit down with at the end of a long day, with a glass of wine and a view of the water.

Good Lord. Now she was waxing romantic about the corporate raider who wanted to destroy her family’s pride and joy.

Savannah perched on the edge of the desk. “You know, if you agree to my plan, people might start to call you nice and charming.”

“That’s your best reason for why I should help you? To change public perception?”

“That, and earn a chunk of good karma points. Everyone needs those, even evil corporate raiders.”

His gaze locked on hers. “I’m not evil.”

She leaned in, closing the distance until she caught the scent of his cologne, something dark and mysterious, like the man who wore it. “Then prove it.”

* * *

The Barlow Brothers: Nothing tames a Southern man faster … than true love!

The Tycoon’s

Proposal

Shirley Jump

www.millsandboon.co.uk

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author SHIRLEY JUMP spends her days writing romance so she can avoid the towering stack of dirty dishes, eat copious amounts of chocolate and reward herself with trips to the mall. Visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com for author news and a booklist and follow her at facebook.com/shirleyjump.author for giveaways and deep discussions about important things like chocolate and shoes.

To my friends who are always there with a hug or a laugh when I need it most. You know who you are—and you know I’d do the same for you.

You make the hard times easier and the good times even better.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

When Mac Barlow was born, people claimed they heard his grandpa say, “That boy is gonna be somethin’ when he grows up. I can just see the fire burnin’ in his belly.” Grandpa Barlow had died twenty years ago, so there was no one to prove or disprove that moment when Earl Ray Barlow held his first grandson. But the rumor had stuck in the family, growing into a legend, embellished by aunts and uncles and siblings, like extra tinsel on a Christmas tree.

Of course, anyone who knew Mac Barlow knew he’d definitely grown up and into those words. His days did indeed revolve around a roaring fire in his gut for more, his life filled to the brim with long lists of things to do, people to call, deals to make. He’d started when he was a freshman in college, starting with a little seed money he’d accumulated working part-time at a car lot while he was in high school. From the day he’d collected his first paycheck, and had grown into one of this year’s Thirty Under Thirty touted in Forbes magazine.

So when he roared into Stone Gap, North Carolina, on a Sunday afternoon, it was to kill two birds with one stone—attend his brother Jack’s wedding and finalize a business purchase that would add to the Barlow Enterprises coffers.

A purchase that was being thwarted at every possible turn by one singularly stubborn woman. But Mac had never met an obstacle he couldn’t beat, a deal he couldn’t close, which was what had him here, in person, to get Savannah Hillstrand to see the light, literally, and sell to him. Today.

Mac roared down the streets of Stone Gap, a passing figure on a Harley some might think a ghost, considering he was dressed all in black and driving, as usual, at breakneck speed. He leaned into the curve, nearly kissing the asphalt as he turned on to the street where he’d grown up. These moments on the bike, too few for his liking, were when Mac was finally able to shed the skin of the executive he was during the week. No suit, no tie, no one calling him or emailing him or knocking on his door, wanting a decision. Just him, the bike and the road. It was about as close to a vacation as Mac Barlow got.

He passed through Stone Gap in a moment, like the blip it was. Parts of the town were still frozen in time like some antebellum reenactment of the gentrified pre–Civil War days. He barely slowed for the light downtown, hardly glanced at the buildings that hadn’t changed in decades. He kept on going, taking the Oak Street shortcut to the highway. Once he hit I-95, the road opened up and he pushed the throttle. The wind whipped past him, fighting the Harley every mile he rode. Ten miles up, he exited the highway and pulled into the parking lot of an office building.

For a meeting that was only going to end one way—with Mac getting what he wanted.

One lone car sat in the parking lot, a pale blue Toyota that had seen better days. Mac flipped out his cell phone and dialed Savannah’s cell. While he waited for her to answer, he glanced up at the glass building, which reflected the late-afternoon sun like a prism. Solar panels covered the roof, angled toward the midday light. The Hillstrand sign itself was powered by a quartet of solar panels, and shaped like a rising sun cresting over the horizon. Nice, Mac thought.

Four rings, five, then she finally answered. “Hello?”

She had a pleasant voice. Melodic. All their previous exchanges had been by email. The dulcet tones of her hello surprised him. “Miss Hillstrand, it’s Mac Barlow. I’m here for our meeting.”

“Of course. I’m glad you made it, and on time at that. I appreciate punctuality.” He pictured her on the other end, one of those librarian types with tortoiseshell glasses and her hair in one of those buns. Her emails had always been short and abrupt, all neat and organized the way he imagined she was. “Come on up. I’m in the main offices on the fifth floor.”

She gave him the code to the door, and directions for when he entered the building. He keyed in the numbers, then headed up the stairs, bypassing the elevator to climb to the top floor, where the corporate offices were located. Probably one of those overpriced corner spaces that most CEOs inhabited.

As he walked, he ran through the facts in his head. Hillstrand Solar, one of the top solar-power manufacturers in the South, run for years by Willy Jay Hillstrand, a local fixture who had taken the home-remodeling company started by his grandfather and shifted its direction into renewable energy. In the process, Willie Jay had turned the small family business into a behemoth. Mac had seen the notice about Willy Jay dying a few months back and how he’d left the company to his only child, his daughter. Mac had given her a month, then sent one of his managers out to make her an offer she couldn’t refuse.

Except she had refused. The first offer, the second and the third.

He’d let her struggle for another month, then sent another inquiry. She’d ignored him. He waited a third month, and she ignored him again.

A saner man would have moved on by now, but Mac needed this particular business. Willy Jay had had his hand in everything a solar panel could juice, from giant commercial factories to small backyard pools. If there was a solar panel anywhere between North Carolina and the southern tip of Florida, chances were it was made by Hillstrand.

And that was an industry Mac needed. He’d begun to shift his business in the past few years from immediately selling off the corporations he bought, to creating a package deal of sorts by combining companies that worked together. He could command a higher price and unload more inventory at once. Hillstrand Solar, with its expertise and command of the alternative energy market, was a gold mine for the right builder, and Mac had several potential buyers already lined up. Paired with the lumber company he had bought last month, a concrete company the month before and the real estate acquisition he’d made this past week, Hillstrand was the perfect bow on an already-strong package.

Savannah Hillstrand, the newly appointed head of the company, was barely treading water, Mac had heard from a number of his connections. She was struggling to hold on to her father’s dream. Which meant if she was smart, she’d sell to him.

He had a sense she was beginning to cave when she’d accepted his offer of a meeting today. A Sunday afternoon, the offices quiet, the phones silent, a time when he could make his strongest offer, in person. He could be in and out in an hour, and then on to the next project. At least four other companies were on his list to look at while he was down south.

Okay, and maybe part of him had welcomed the Sunday meeting because it gave him a reason to put off seeing his family while he was in town. He loved his brothers, he really did, but when it came to his parents—well, his father had made disapproval into an art.

Truthfully, his father was the last person Mac wanted to see. He had no idea how to approach him—let alone face him—after the whopper of a surprise he’d run into last week. Dropping a bomb such as, Hey Dad, I met my secret sibling, wasn’t likely to make him the favorite son at Sunday dinner.

Pushing thoughts of family out of his mind for the moment, Mac opened the heavy steel stairwell door on the fifth floor and walked into a boring, dull gray space. Faux carpeted cubicles blended so well with the gray carpet that it looked more like a boring ocean than an office. He had seen hundreds of offices like this, each about as exciting as watching paint dry. His own offices in Boston were bright, expansive, open. He’d designed them to encourage creative thinking, for his team to be able to collaborate freely and feel energized. Hillstrand Solar felt a lot like walking into a prison.

“Mr. Barlow. We meet in person finally.”

He spun around and saw a tall, beautiful blonde standing behind him. No bun, no granny glasses. In fact, Savannah Hillstrand was the exact opposite of what he had pictured.

She wore a tailored pantsuit in a slate gray with a silky pink shirt beneath the jacket. Her hair was in a loose ponytail with a few escaped tendrils curling along her neck and a pencil sticking upwards out of the elastic like a forgotten ornament. She wore a minimum of makeup, just a little mascara and a glossy pink lipstick that kept his gaze riveted on her mouth for far too long.

“Miss Hillstrand.” He strode forward, his hand outstretched, his voice businesslike and unemotional. But inside his chest his pulse was skipping a little. Had to be the meal he’d missed or the long hours on the road. “You aren’t quite...uh...what I had...expected.” He was stammering. He never stammered. What was up with that?

She shook with him, her grip firm and warm. All business. “Well, you sure aren’t what I expected, either. I thought you’d be more...corporate.”

Corporate—translation: stiff and dull. He didn’t know why it bothered him that she’d thought that was who he was. Of course, he’d thought she was a dour librarian, which probably made them even. “You caught me on a weekend,” he said. “Come Monday, it’s all suits and ties again. Or my version of a suit and tie, at least.”

Her gaze raked over him, taking in the leather jacket, the riding boots, the dark jeans, the white button-down peeking out from under the jacket, the only concession Mac made to conventional dress on the weekends. “And what is your version of a suit and tie? Leather chaps?”

He chuckled. “Not at all. Usually dark jeans, a button down and a tie. And a jacket if I’m forced to meet with a lawyer.”

She laughed, a nice, rich sound that sent a ribbon of heat through his veins. The leather chaps comment told him Miss Hillstrand had spunk, that was for sure, and that was something Mac found...intriguing. “So, shall we have a seat and talk about my offer?” he said.

“I’m happy to talk to you, but first I want to reiterate what I told you on the phone. Even though I was amenable to an in-person meeting, I’m not interested in any offer you have. I’m not selling.” Now the friendliness dropped from her face and she went all cold. “I made it clear that coming here would be a waste of time, but you insisted and I thought maybe face-to-face you would see how serious I am about not selling you Hillstrand Solar. Not now. Not ever.”

Mac had rarely met a mountain he couldn’t climb or a challenge he couldn’t win. Savannah was just one more mountain—well, maybe a few curvy hills—and one who simply needed to see that she wasn’t going to be able to keep this company running much longer. Profits had slipped as her longer-standing customers began to question the younger generation’s leadership abilities. “I am sure I can provide you with an equitable offer. You’ll be wealthy enough—”

“I don’t care about money.”

He scoffed. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t care about money. Everyone has a price, Miss Hillstrand.”

“I don’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin, as if daring him to disagree. “So you can come in here and try to charm the pants off me with this offer and that offer all you want, but I’m not selling.”

“I have no intentions of charming the pants off you.” His gaze flicked to said garment. The gabardine curved over her thighs like a second skin, dark and soft and tempting. For a second, he imagined those pants off, nothing but white lacey panties underneath, and her long, long creamy legs...

Holy hell. Where had that come from? Mac shook his head to clear the unbidden image, then directed his attention back to Savannah’s face. This was business, not personal, and he had no intention of mixing the two. Nothing good could ever come of that.

He cleared his throat. “I merely want to make you see the wisdom of selling while you can still fetch an equitable price for the company.”

“I am not selling. Period. End of sentence.”

“Then why bother to meet with me? That’s something you have made abundantly clear already in all your emails.”

“Because you refused to give up. I told you. If we met in person, then maybe you would finally see that I am dead serious about this. And I am. Dead serious.” She eyed him, her green eyes flashing, then took a step back. “Now that I’ve made my position clear, I have to get back to work. Good day, Mr. Barlow.”

She sat down at her desk—if he could call it a desk. It was really just a hoarder’s home away from home, one of those gray spaces in the sea of gray spaces, topped with a computer and a thousand pieces of paper scattered around the surface like crumbs. Chaos, that was what he’d call it. Definitely not the neat and tidy librarian he had imagined.

His own desk was usually close to spotless, the offices of Barlow Enterprises filled with little to no clutter, because it seemed the best thinking and ideas came in spaces that weren’t overstuffed. He almost wanted to suggest Savannah do a little tidying as a first step to helping her father’s company, but that would be helping her save the business, and his intention was to buy it.

Savannah pulled her chair into the desk, then turned away from him.

Well. Seemed Miss Hillstrand was going to be a tougher nut to crack then he’d expected. Mac leaned a hip on the desk across from hers. “You’re over your head here. You know it. I know it.”

“Are you saying you don’t think I’m smart enough to run this company?”

“I’m saying you don’t have the experience. You worked here summers during high school, then went off to college for a degree in history. Should we want to execute a repeat of the Napoleonic Wars, you’d be the first one I’d put in charge. But this is business, Miss Hillstrand, not a textbook, and that requires a certain level of...skills.”

“Skills you assume I don’t have.” She raised her chin.

“Skills I know you don’t have.” He’d researched her—well, his people had—and issued him a report. A report he could quote almost verbatim. Savannah Hillstrand had worked part-time in the factory throughout high school and college, filling nearly every role in production at one time or another. In between, she’d started a small remodeling business, restoring local homes to their former glory. She’d had a modicum of success at that business, but still returned to Hillstrand Solar in between projects.

It was possible that Daddy had financed her hobby of home flipping and just asked her to put in an appearance from time to time to keep up the family-owned business image. Either way, Willy Ray should have made his daughter at least get an MBA before he dropped the company into her lap.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said. “Or this company.”

“I know plenty,” Mac countered. “And the numbers don’t lie. Profits have dropped thirty-five percent since you took over. You’ve lost two of your biggest customers in the last month alone. Your line of credit was yanked by the bank after you were late on your last—”

She wheeled around. The pencil tumbled from her hair and landed on the carpet. “Are you spying on me?”

“Merely doing my research. I like to have all the facts before I buy a company.”

“Well, go dig up dirt on someone else.” Her cheeks flamed. “Hillstrand Solar is not for sale to your...chop shop.”

He arched a brow. “Chop shop?”

“Isn’t that what you do? Buy up companies and sell off the pieces? Regardless of how many people lose their jobs because you had to swallow one more little fish in your quest to be the biggest fish in the ocean.”

The truth stung a little, but Mac shrugged it off. Many of these companies were better off once he was done. And many of the owners were grateful to walk away with some money in their pockets. Soon, Savannah Hillstrand would be one of them. It was a matter of time before she agreed with him. “You are a fan of the simile, I see.”

“I just call it like I see it. Like my dad did.” She waved toward the door. “See yourself out. I don’t have time to argue with you.”

“You don’t have time not to listen to me.” The pencil lay on the carpet, a bright slash of yellow against slate gray. It seemed...lonely somehow. “Every day you insist on running this place is another day you are losing money. Let me guess...about twenty thousand a week?”

She stiffened and he knew he’d guessed correctly. “I have work to do. Work that pays the salaries of the people who work here, people who depend on me to keep that income rolling in.”

“Last I checked there was a classified section in the back of the newspaper. They’ll find other jobs.”

She jerked out of her chair and marched up to him now, her green eyes on fire. “Are you really that cold and callous?”

“I’m neither, I assure you. I’m a realist.”

“A realist.” She scoffed. “Another word for a corporate shark.”

He put up a hand. Her barbs weren’t anything he hadn’t heard before—and from his own father, at that. But for some reason it bothered him that Savannah thought he was that cold. “Before you condemn me as the devil incarnate, let me make this clear. This isn’t about your family legacy or some romantic notion of keeping a company afloat just because you inherited it. This is about business, plain and simple. My business is buying and selling. It’s smart financial sense for me to buy and for you to sell. You know that, deep in your heart. The company is struggling and it’s going to sink if you don’t climb in the lifeboat I’m offering.”

“But it’s my father’s legacy. Part of our family history.” Her voice wavered a little, her composure wobbled, a momentary break in the businesslike facade of Savannah Hillstrand. “He would be heartbroken if I sold it off.”

“And like I said, this isn’t personal.” He said the words, but there was something in him that was bothered by the tears welling in her eyes, that forlorn pencil on the floor. It had to be being back in the Stone Gap, because never before had Mac been so bothered by the decisions he made. Or the condemnation of one stubborn CEO. Stubborn and beautiful, he amended.

“The best time to sell is before the company runs itself into the ground,” Mac said, his tone growing gentle. “I understand you are trying to keep it afloat, and I admire you for that. I really do. But it’s better for you to give it a chance to keep on going with me than to watch it dissolve in the next few months.” He hesitated. “Look, I’d like to make you a fair offer based on the financials. Why don’t we go over the books together?”

Then he could deal with columns and numbers, instead of this heartbroken woman who wanted to hold on to an already-fading family legacy.

Her face fell, and Mac felt like a jerk. “I’m not saying you’re right, because I don’t think you are. But...” The fight had gone from her shoulders, the fire in her eyes extinguished. For a second, Mac wanted to take it all back, get on his motorcycle and leave town. But then he remembered his own mantra about this not being personal and steeled himself against that look in her eyes.

“Maybe it would be worth at least hearing you out,” Savannah said. “In case—and I mean that as a very slim just in case—I have a change of heart in the future.”

“It’s always better to be armed with information before you make a decision.” He was winning the argument but it wasn’t giving him any kind of satisfaction. Why? This was what he lived for—the pursuit, the capture, the success. But this time he didn’t want to win so much as he wanted to...

See Savannah Hillstrand smile again. Crazy thoughts.

She nodded. Then her gaze cut away. “My father’s computer is this one.”

“That mess is your father’s workspace?”

She smiled ruefully. “It’s organized chaos.”

“You got one word right,” he muttered. “He doesn’t have his own office?”

“My father never liked offices. He wanted to be with the people who worked so hard for him. So he opted to have a cubicle just like everyone else.” She ran a hand over the back of one of the chairs, almost as if Willy Jay were sitting in it right now. “He said he did it so he never forgot what was important.”

“And what was that?” Mac asked. Because, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, the answer to that question was impossibly important to him right now.

Savannah lifted her gaze to his, her deep green eyes reminding Mac of the dark, mysterious woods of North Carolina, where everything was lush and full. “That none of this was about business. It was personal. It was...family.”

Chapter Two

Savannah took the elevator down to the fourth floor, then went into the break room and stood in the darkened space for a long time beside the picture of her father, taken years ago at an employee picnic, before he’d gotten sick.

She had known this day would come, known it from the moment she had sat in her father’s chair and realized she had no idea what she was doing, but a part of her somehow had kept thinking maybe Mac Barlow would give up and she would find some miracle CEO knowledge in the back of her brain.

Not that she hadn’t thought about selling the company. Every time an offer came in from Mac Barlow, and the couple others that she had fielded from her competitors, she’d weighed it against the worries on her shoulders. From the day her father died, Savannah had been grieving and overwhelmed. Stepping into her father’s shoes had been a Herculean task. She’d loved her father dearly, but he had been the one person who knew how this company ticked. He’d always promised to take her under his wing and show her the ropes, but the heart attack that killed him had come while he was still relatively young and not ready.

Not that Savannah had ever really planned to be a part of the company. Her father had asked her time and time again to be a part of his dream, but her heart had led her in other directions. Savannah had worked in all facets of the company at one time or another, but had never been the one in charge; never wanted to be the one in charge. It wasn’t until she’d actually sat at her father’s desk that she’d realized how many millions of decisions had to be made on a daily basis. Tiny decisions that could alter the course of the profits, and big decisions that could send the business off a cliff.

And it was too late to ask him how to handle it all.

Now, four months later, she still hadn’t really found her groove. She was trying, but it was far harder than she’d expected to live up to her father’s example. To keep his Hillstrand Solar family together.

And that was what it was—her father’s family. Not hers. His dream—not hers. But she’d made a promise, and whatever it took, Savannah would keep that promise.

Now Mac Barlow wanted to break up the family. And he refused to give up, no matter how many times she told him no.

The problem was he had a point. When he’d talked about the company sinking and the lifeboat he was offering, she’d finally admitted the truth to herself. Her four months of floundering around like a fish out of water had done their damage to the bottom line. Thus far she’d held off laying off any employees, but truth be told she was losing money and customers at an alarming rate, and she wasn’t sure how to recover.

Maybe Mac was right. Maybe the company would be better off in his hands. But the people who worked here...

She leaned against the counter and took in several deep breaths. She needed a plan. Some time to think. She hadn’t taken off so much as an afternoon since her father died—hence being here on yet another Sunday—and that had left her feeling even more snowed under by a growing workload.

What she needed was a trip to the old house. A few hours along the water, where the air was clear and the worries seemed far away. Some time sanding down the damaged deck or scraping off the old paint on the dining room wainscoting. In those moments when she was deconstructing and rebuilding, uncovering and restoring, she found a kind of Zen. There was something calming about taking a house that was ready to crumble at the slightest gust of wind and bring it back to its former glory. Even now she itched to be there, to take a few minutes or a few hours to breathe life into those old, familiar walls. There she knew she could make some decisions. Maybe even come up with a plan to save everyone’s job going forward.

Except how was she supposed to do that? She could save historic homes, but she had no idea what to do when it came to saving her father’s legacy.

Promise me, you’ll keep it running, Willie Jay had said before he died. Those people depended on me, and now they’re gonna depend on you.

She touched the picture of her father. “Oh, Dad, I wish you were here.” She desperately needed a mentor, someone to help her navigate the choppy waters. Someone who had turned around companies before. Someone who knew how to make their profits grow.

Her father smiled back in the perpetual image of him standing in the center of a long line of Hillstrand Solar employees on a bright summer day. The photo had been one of his favorites. He had his arms stretched over the shoulders of the employees closest to him, all part of the circle. He had loved this company, every single inch of it, and loved every one of the people who worked here. No matter what decision she made, she had to make sure the employees kept their jobs.

Because they mattered to Willie Jay. Mattered more than anything else in his life. And maybe, just maybe, if she could keep that legacy alive, she could feel as though she’d mattered to her father, too.

“I’ll find a way to make this all work out, Dad,” she whispered. “I promise.”

His smile seemed to waver, but maybe that was just the tears in her eyes. She swiped them away, drew in a deep breath, then pulled a soda out of the fridge and headed back to the fifth floor.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass on the stairwell door. Good Lord, she looked the way she felt. Trying hard to be a sharp, sophisticated executive and failing miserably. A nice, neat suit, topped by a head of hair that looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed. At some point today, her long hair had gotten in her face while she worked, and she’d tied it back in a ponytail without a second thought. Just as she had a hundred thousand times on a job site. But here, with Mac Barlow, she’d wanted to be taken seriously, to be seen as a determined and capable CEO.

Nothing about that messy ponytail screamed force to be reckoned with. No wonder Mac kept saying she was in over her head. That was exactly the look she was sporting this afternoon.

She tugged out the ponytail and ran a hand through her long blond curls. She tugged the wisps of her bangs over her forehead, then did a quick glance to make sure the rest of her was shipshape. She wasn’t flirting with the guy, she reminded herself. Even if he did look like a cross between a bad boy and a millionaire. It would help her make her case. That was all.

On the short flight up to the top floor, she’d decided two things—she wasn’t going to sell to Mac Barlow no matter what he offered her. But before she told him that, she was going to see if she could find a way to get ideas from him as to what she could do. Somehow turn the conversation into one that gave her much-needed advice. Maybe then, if she could implement his thoughts, she could turn the company around herself. And send Mac on his way.

She needed a mentor, and she had one right here. The trick was getting him to give her concrete advice without realizing he was doing it.

She pasted a smile on her face, then strode across the office. Her steps faltered when she saw Mac sitting in the chair her father had always occupied, his attention riveted on the computer screen before him. Her father’s computer, the one she had been sitting at just moments before because it made her feel close to her dad, who she still missed as though she’d lost a limb. She wanted to yank Mac Barlow out of the chair. Instead, she forced that smile to stay in place and hoped it didn’t look as fake as it felt.

Okay, play nice. Try to engage him in a conversation that gives you what you need.

“We got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Barlow,” she said as she approached the desk. She held the soda in her hand toward him. “And I wanted to give you a...peace offering.”

He flicked a glance at the bottle. “I don’t drink soda.”

“Oh.” She took the bottle back, unscrewed the top and screwed it back on again. So much for that peace offering. “I’d like to talk to you about the company a little more.”

He kept clicking through the bookkeeping program, hardly giving her the time of day. “Miss Hillstrand, if this is another attempt to talk me out of—”

“Of course not,” she lied. Best to find a way to get him chatting about what he did, how he had become so successful, or at the very least, how he envisioned making Hillstrand Solar a good investment for his enterprise. Surely, running one business was like running another, and from that conversation, perhaps she could extract a few secrets to success, if there was such a thing. Give her a bathroom to restore or a kitchen that needed to be gutted and reconfigured, and Savannah was in her element. But here, at her father’s desk, with dozens of people looking to her for leadership and answers—she might as well have been running blind into a wall. Well, it was time for her to find her focus. “I merely thought you’d want an insider’s perspective. I’ve worked here practically since I could walk, and I’d love to give you some feedback. To help you make...a better decision.”

“And what decision would that be?” He swiveled in the chair. “Are you trying to talk me out of the purchase again?”

“Certainly not.” She screwed and unscrewed the bottle cap again, then chided herself for showing her nerves. A strong CEO never wavered, never showed doubt. Maybe if she played the part, it would eventually suit her. “I just wanted to get an idea of what you planned to do with the company, how you thought you would get it back on its feet if you bought it. Because we both know you can’t just flip it if it’s struggling.”

Mac returned to the computer and moved on to the next screen, peering down the list of receivables. “I rarely share my plans with other people.”

“I’m not other people. I’m the owner. And this company is like—” damn the catch in her throat “—family to me. I want to make sure it is taken care of and that everyone will be okay. That the family, so to speak, will remain intact.”

It wasn’t the company that was family, Savannah realized as she said the words. She knew the people who worked at Hillstrand Solar, of course. It was that the company, every last chair and slip of paper, was a part of her father. Willie Jay and Savannah had been like two peas in a pod, her mother had always said. He’d been her protector, her mentor, her hero, and without him in her life, a yawning cavern had opened in Savannah’s heart. Along with the sense that she’d never quite made him proud, never quite shown him what she could do. Taking care of the company filled that cavern. A little.

Mac scanned the list of jobs in production, then returned his attention to the receivables, probably doing the math to see if their monthly sales were up to snuff. She waited.

Finally, he let out a breath and pushed back from the computer. “I understand that need to want to protect everyone’s jobs, but sometimes that isn’t feasible.”

“But many of these employees have been here as long as my father was here. They depend on their paychecks. They’re honest and trustworthy and hardworking—”

“I’m not interviewing them, so save the résumés.” He waved toward the computer screen. “I’m looking at the bottom line. I make all my decisions based on the numbers. And the numbers are clear. You can’t support the amount of overhead you have.”

The sinking feeling in Savannah’s gut told her that Mac was right. Her father had been a great leader, but he had also been a softy, reluctant to fire anyone. “There must be a way to bring in more revenue.”

“There is. More sales. But your sales staff is already stretched pretty thin, and your biggest accounts have gone to your competitors. It takes time to woo them back, time to build up the sales again, time to get that money rolling in.”

“It’s easier to keep the bees you have with a strong hive than to go out and capture more.” She gave him a sad smile. “Something my dad used to say.”

His gaze met hers. She swore she saw a softening in his eyes, a connection between them. “My parents are big on sayings like that. Must be a Southern thing.”

“You don’t hear those sayings much up in Boston?”

He scoffed. “Not at all. Sometimes I miss...” He shook his head and the moment of connection, if there had really been one at all, disappeared. “Anyway, your hive right now is...weakening. It’s not completely fallen apart, but it’s got some structural damage from the last few months.” He brought up the accounting program and started leading her through the reports she’d already pored over herself. Every percentage he gave her, every figure he pointed to, told her the same thing.

She drew up a chair and perched on the edge. The numbers on the screen blended together, a confusing jumble that she barely understood on her best day. There were so many working parts to a business this size. Too many, it seemed, for one person to control. At least this particular person.

But if she didn’t sit in her father’s chair, then who would? Certainly not Mac Barlow, who would sell it off in pieces, dismantling the last remaining bits of Willy Jay Hillstrand. She was the only one who loved her father enough to keep it moving forward, to keep the legacy going.

When Mac had finished reviewing the reports with her, and thus depressing Savannah even more, she pushed back and let out a sigh. “Then what would you do if you were me?”

A grin quirked up the side of Mac’s mouth. It was a nice grin, made his eyes light up, softened everything about him. He went from being the evil corporate raider to...a guy. Just a guy. Okay, just a very handsome guy.

Which was the last thing she needed in her life. She’d fallen for more than one Southern charmer, only to realize charm didn’t equal gentleman. Savannah had sworn off dating, at least for the foreseeable future.

“I see what you’re doing.” The grin widened. “Are you asking me to help you rebuild your company so that you can keep it running?”

“And out of your evil clutches.” She smiled. Maybe if she asked him nicely he’d help her. Be the mentor she needed. Okay, so maybe she was being way too Pollyanna here, but Savannah was desperate for some guidance. Might as well be honest. “Yes, I am doing exactly that.”

“And why would I help you?”

“Because there is more to life than tearing down companies, Mac Barlow.” She leaned toward him and caught his blue-eyed gaze. She wanted to believe the nice guy she had glimpsed really existed. That he could be persuaded to help instead of destroy. “How about building one up instead?”

“You are reading me wrong, Savannah. I am not in the business of building things. I make money, plain and simple. As quickly as possible. I don’t nurture struggling firms along,” he said. “I buy, I sell, I make a profit and I move on.”

Yet he hadn’t sold the three firms he’d bought in the past six months. Nor had he said he was going to. And then there was the one tiny company he’d bought several years ago and restarted, a company he still owned as far as she could tell. She’d done her research on him, too, and she’d found it interesting that Mac was shifting gears. Why, she wasn’t sure, and he clearly wasn’t about to explain. But the information opened a tiny window of trust and hope for Savannah. Maybe there was a chance—a teeny one—that given enough time, she could convince Mac that his relentless pursuit of Hillstrand Solar was a waste of time. “Wouldn’t you like to do a good deed for the day?”

He chuckled. “Do I look like the Boy Scout type to you?”

“Maybe the renegade Boy Scout.”

That made him laugh again. She liked it when he laughed. It seemed to ease everything about him, and make an already-attractive man ten times more attractive. Not that she was interested in him, of course. Just his brain.

Uh-huh.

Amusement lit his features. “And what is this good deed you want me to do?”

“Just offer me some business advice.”

“That undermines my intentions.”

She shrugged. “Call it corporate goodwill.”

He scoffed. “You haven’t been a CEO for very long, Miss Hillstrand. In business, there is no such thing. Everything is driven by—”

“Money, yes, I know. You said that already.” She took a sip of the soda. She may be too late for all this, and in the end forced, as her father used to say, to sink the ship in order to save the passengers. But she had to at least try, or she’d hate herself for letting the company fall apart. “You already own several other green companies. Maybe those could partner with mine and—”

“That...wouldn’t be a good idea. I’m not trying to build a green empire here, just do what I do best. Buy and sell.”

She worried her bottom lip. “Okay, then how about this? While you are here in town, you meet with me, talk about the business, give me advice I can implement, and I will give it one month. If at the end of the month the business is still sinking under my direction, I will sell it to you at a very fair price.”

He considered her, his face dark and unreadable. Mac should have been a poker player, because nothing in his eyes or set of his mouth gave away what he was thinking. A long moment passed while she stood there trying not to fidget with the soda bottle.

“Help you. This week.”

“Yup.”

“I am supposed to spend time with my family while I’m here in Stone Gap.”

So Mac Barlow was from Stone Gap. His corporate bios she’d found on the web had mentioned the state, but not town he hailed from. She hadn’t lived in Stone Gap very long—only the past couple of years—but never had she thought that corporate raider Mac Barlow could be related to the nice Barlows she had met, including Luke, who ran the local auto-repair shop. “I didn’t realize you were related to the Barlows who live here.”

“Let me guess. You thought there was no way my charming brothers could have anything in common with someone like me, a coldhearted bastard who is all about the bottom line.”

A mind reader, too. “Well...if the description fits.”

He laughed. “I assure you, we are related. And as much as I love my family, I’d rather limit my time with them. My family is perfectly great, but there are some...issues I’d rather not address right now and my brothers have a way of ferreting out anything I don’t want them to know.” A ghost of a smile whispered across Mac’s face.

For a moment, that smile made him look handsome, desirable. The kind of guy you’d sit down with at the end of a long day with a glass of wine and a view of the water. The kind of guy who would decorate the Christmas tree with you, then turn off all the lights in the house so you both could lie underneath it, bathed in the glow.

Good Lord. Now she was waxing romantic about the corporate raider who wanted to destroy her family’s pride and joy. She really needed to focus on something other than his quick smile. Because even a lion could smile—right before it devoured you whole.

She wanted to hate him. She really did. And a part of her sort of did. But the part that had been intrigued by that smile wondered if perhaps a beating heart lurked beneath the button-down shirt and leather jacket.

She perched on the edge of the desk. “You know, if you agree to my plan, people might start to call you nice and charming, too.”

He chuckled. “That’s your best reason for why I should help you? To change public perception?”

“That and earn a chunk of good karma points. Everyone needs those, even evil tycoons.” She grinned, softening her words.

His gaze locked on hers. “I’m not evil.”

She leaned in, closing the distance until she caught the scent of his cologne, something dark and mysterious like the man who wore it. “Then prove it.”

A long, hot moment passed between them, his stormy eyes unreadable. He got to his feet and put out his hand. “Okay, Miss Hillstrand, you have a deal.”

She took his hand. He had a warm, firm grip. It had been a long time since she had been touched by a man—clearly too long given the undeniable jolt of electricity she felt at the contact. “Great. We can start tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

“Why wait? Let’s grab something to eat and I’ll give you my CEO 101 talk.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” She said the words as a joke, but a part of her—a crazy part—hoped he’d say yes. That part was disappointed when he released her hand.

What was she thinking? Why would she want to date the man who wanted to dismantle her father’s dream? Okay, yes, Mac Barlow was handsome and had that smile—and it had been a long time since she’d been on a date—but still, he wanted her company, not her.

“Lesson number one—multitask as much as possible,” Mac said. “I wasn’t planning on leaving here and wasting time at a restaurant. Multitasking means eat at your desk, take meetings over lunch, skip breakfast to—”

“Skip breakfast? Now I know you’re insane.” She laughed. “If you want to get on my good side, bring me pancakes and bacon.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” He smiled again, and she wondered for one crazy second if he was remembering that because he was interested in her or because he was going to make his next offer at an IHOP. “So, do we have a deal? We start tonight. Order in some takeout, clear a space on one of these desks and see where it goes from there? With the company, of course.”

“Of course.” She paused a second. “Actually, if it’s okay with you, I’d love to meet anywhere but here. I’ve been in this office pretty much all weekend.” Outside her window the sun had begun its descent, dropping over the Stone Gap landscape like a blanket of gold. How long had it been since she’d been outside instead of chained to a desk all day? “It’d be great to get out and breathe some fresh air for a little while.”

“I don’t like to waste time, Savannah—”

Goodness, she liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. “Work can wait a bit. At least for a little while.” She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder. She had been here too many hours and had forgotten what was important. Maybe by being around the places her father loved, she’d find some of what had made him tick, what had made him such a great leader. She’d forgotten all that in these past few harried months, and in her gut Savannah knew that the key to turning things around started with getting back to the basics.

“Work never waits for me,” Mac said. “So I’d rather—”

“Listen, you’ve had a long day of travel already. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a quiet meal in a relaxing spot?” she said. “My father believed in enjoying life. Leaving at five, taking the weekends off and, most of all, working a little fun into your day. I’ve forgotten all that these past few months, and it’s time I did just a little of that. It’s called refilling the well.”

“I call that recess.” Mac shook his head. “This is business, not school, and regardless of how your father ran things, you should be here 24/7 until things turn around.”

“I agree with you. And I will be. But first I need to...recharge. My father did it almost every day, and it made him a great leader.” She took a step closer to Mac, until the blue in his eyes revealed little flecks of gold. Her heart fluttered and she had to force herself not to inhale another whiff of his tempting cologne. Business only. “Why don’t you come with me, let me show you what really mattered to Willie Jay Hillstrand. And where he found his best inspiration.”

“I assure you, I can learn all I need to know from the files right here.”

She shook her head, and felt a bittersweet smile stumble on her lips. “No you can’t. And I forgot for a while that I couldn’t, either.”

He assessed her for a long moment, those blue eyes unreadable, except for a small hint of amusement. “I don’t know. I have work to do, yes, I should eat, but—”

“Listen, I know this great place that makes fabulous steaks. It’s right on the water, and it’s quiet. We can eat, and promise not to talk business until dessert is over.”

Mac scoffed. “Not talk business? I don’t think I know any other topics of conversation.”

“And that, Mr. Barlow,” because she was afraid if she called him Mac, she might expose the way his touch had tripped her pulse, “is exactly why I can’t sell Hillstrand Solar to you right now.” Or ever, her mind whispered. “My father knew the importance of life outside the business, and that’s what made him so successful and made everyone who works here so happy. Unless you understand that, you can’t understand me or the company.” She bent down, scribbled an address on a piece of paper. “So if you want to help me, then meet me at the Sea Shanty in an hour.”

“I’d rather—”

She handed him the slip of paper. Firm, in control, a whole other Savannah than she normally was in these offices. Maybe if she drew on a little of the skills she used with stubborn subcontractors and late delivery trucks, she could handle the CEO chair that still felt as wrong as a pair of shoes two sizes too small. “That’s my deal, Barlow. Take it or leave it.”

Chapter Three

The meeting with Savannah Hillstrand lingered in Mac’s mind, along with the image of the strong, intriguing blonde. He’d agreed to her dinner meeting tonight, but only to talk more business, he told himself, not to get to know her more.

His first impressions of her had been wrong, something that doubled his interest, because if there was one thing Mac had little experience with, it was being wrong.

She was stronger than he’d expected, not at all scared or intimidated by his attempts to purchase her company. She had stood toe to toe with him, literally and figuratively, and challenged Mac to do the craziest thing...

Help her save Hillstrand Solar.

With that interesting little carrot at the end—that if it didn’t work, and she failed, he could still buy it from her. He could be a horrible person and give her bad advice, advice sure to bring Hillstrand Solar to ruin, but a part of Mac was...intrigued by the idea of helping her. Turning a company around instead of just flipping it to the next buyer could be an interesting twist to his usual practices. A challenge of sorts.

Either way, he intended to use the week to convince her that, in the end, selling was the best strategy. If he paid a little more in a month because of the help he gave her, so be it. She’d have the satisfaction of knowing she hadn’t ruined the company, and he’d still have that last piece to the bigger puzzle he was assembling.

He had an hour until he was supposed to meet Savannah, an hour he could spend working—or he could bite the bullet and see his family. Part of him just wanted to hole up in a coffee shop and spend the sixty minutes checking email on his laptop, but a twinge of guilt told him he hadn’t come all this way just to work. He had missed his brothers and mother something fierce, and it’d be nice to see them.

His father, not so much. Especially after that conversation in Atlanta with his Uncle Tank. His real name wasn’t Tank, of course, but he’d gotten the nickname because John Barlow was a barrel-chested guy with a larger-than-life personality, and the nickname had followed him from childhood on up. The younger brother to Bobby, Mac’s father, and the one who had always been the jokester, the prankster, but who also had gotten into more trouble than a loose pig at a county fair. When he’d first told Mac the story about Bobby’s misdeeds, Mac had dismissed it as yet another joke. Then a little digging had unearthed some truth—truth that redefined everything Mac thought he knew about his family.

And about his father.

Now that trouble was threatening to catch up with the Barlows if Mac didn’t find a way to head it off. But that meant talking to his father, something Mac had learned long ago to avoid doing.

You have another brother, Uncle Tank had said, explaining that he had known the boy for some time, staying in contact by posing as a friend to the family, something he’d done as a favor to Bobby. I talked to him and he said he wants to meet the rest of his family. Soon.

Meeting them meant exposing the truth. Exposing his father as a cheater. Despite the hard feelings between himself and his dad, he didn’t relish telling the others what Uncle Tank had told him. In fact, Mac had no idea how to say the words. How to confront the man he hadn’t talked to in almost a decade. Was there ever a good time for that kind of thing?

A moment later, Mac was in the driveway of his old childhood home. He stood there a moment, taking in the long open porch, the big front door still painted the same cranberry color as always. There were new annuals in the flower beds, and a new American flag hanging from the pole, but mostly the house had stayed unchanged, like a snapshot of the past. A part of Mac liked knowing it would be the same, year after year. He gave the old homestead a nod, then walked up the front steps and into the house. In an instant, his family poured into the hall like water overflowing a dam to see him.

He took off his helmet and grinned. Damn, it was good to see them. “I heard one of you is getting married, and I’m here to talk you out of it.”

Jack was the first to clap his older brother on the back. Still trim and fit from his time in the military, Jack had the shortest haircut of the three of them. “Sorry, Mac, you’re too late. I’m already in love. Might want to talk to the other one. He just got engaged five seconds ago.” He nodded toward Luke.

Luke was engaged? Of the three Barlow boys, Mac would have listed Luke as least likely to get married. He arched a brow in Luke’s direction, and his brother started grinning like a fool.

Mac shook his head in mock regret. “I go away for a few years and this is the kind of craziness I come home to?”

“It’s the best kind of craziness, so hush up and enjoy your family,” his mother said. Della wrapped him in a hug, dragging him toward the dining room table. It was Sunday—family dinner day. Except Mac hadn’t sat at the family dinner table in years, and he wasn’t so sure he wanted to today, either. He could see his father, standing to the side of the table, his face as unreadable as a hieroglyphic.

A mixed bag of emotions ran through Mac. He’d missed his father, but at the same time, dreaded seeing him. And now the knowledge that Bobby Barlow had fathered a child with another woman had given Mac a whole new set of reasons to be angry at the man. All he knew was that he couldn’t deal with this today and definitely not at the Sunday dinner table.

Mama placed a kiss on his temple as if he was five years old again. “It’s good to have you home, Maxwell.”

Mac covered his mother’s hand with his own. He’d missed her simple touch, her ever-present love for her sons. Despite everything that had happened in the past between Bobby and Mac, Della couldn’t hold a grudge if it was glued to her palm. He loved that about his mother. “Good to be back, Mama.”

Jack gestured toward one of the seats at the table. “So, you gonna stay awhile or what?”

Mac’s gaze went to his father. Even now, even at thirty, Mac wanted that nod of approval. Ridiculous. He should be well past that need.

“Of course he’s staying,” Mama said. She pulled out a chair and practically shoved Mac into it. “Plus it’s Maddy’s birthday—”

“Who’s Maddy?”

“Stay home for more than five minutes and you’ll get caught up,” Jack said.

“Maddy is Luke’s daughter. With Susannah Reynolds,” his mother explained. “It’s a long story, one that I’ll share after dinner. And now, Luke is marrying Peyton, Susannah’s sister. So they’re going to be a family very soon.”

Mac glanced around and saw a little girl shyly holding hands with Peyton. To their right stood Meri Prescott, the former beauty queen now engaged to Jack. He remembered both Peyton and Meri from when they were kids, especially Peyton, who had vacationed sometimes at the same lake as the Barlows. And there were his two brothers, smiling like loons. “Is there some kind of marriage plague going on here that I missed?” Mac said.

His mother smiled. “You came home just in time for all the celebration.”

“Wasn’t sure you would,” his father muttered. “Haven’t heard hide nor hair from you in years.”

Mac ignored the barb. Unlike his brothers, he’d never really gotten along with his father. Maybe it was something about being the oldest, the one who set the pace, laid out all the expectations. No matter how far Mac climbed or how well he did, his father rarely had an attaboy or so much as a nod for the achievement. And when Mac had announced he was leaving home the day after he graduated high school, it had turned into a fight about Mac abandoning his responsibilities and his family.

The final torch to the feeble bridge between father and son had been one of Mac’s first business purchases, a small family-owned used car lot that Mac had turned around and sold to an investor up north, who’d taken the inventory and left the lot vacant for years, a barren spot in downtown Stone Gap. It wasn’t until a few years later that the lot was taken under new ownership and management, and saw life again. Bobby had blamed Mac for ruining the town, ruining his friend’s life and ruining pretty much the entire world. In the years since, Mac had spent as little time at home as possible.

But now he had a whole other reason for not wanting to talk to his father. A secret that could not only destroy what little relationship Mac and Bobby had left, but dismantle the entire Barlow family.

Besides, with his brothers looking so damned happy they might just burst, and the mouthwatering aromas of his mother’s home cooking filling the air, Mac wasn’t about to retread old ground or unearth buried bones. “You know I wouldn’t miss seeing Jack’s last gasp as a single man, Mama,” he said. “I even wore black for the occasion.”

“You are incorrigible,” his mother said. “But I love you anyway.”

“She’s just saying that.” Jack, in the seat beside him, clapped Mac on the shoulder. The three boys all had the same dark hair and blue eyes, but Jack was the leanest and tallest of the three by about a half an inch. “You know she likes me best.”

Mac looked around the assembled group, joined by the two women and Maddy. The whole world seemed to have changed in the years since Mac had lived in Stone Gap. His younger brothers were all grown up, getting married, settling down. “Well, damn. You’re all here at once.”

“So where’s your date?” Luke asked.

“What date? I didn’t bring anyone with me.”

“That’s because no one wants to put up with his workaholic self,” Jack laughed.

The familiar argument, back again. From the day he’d gotten his first job at eleven, his brothers had teased him about working too much, playing too little. Mac just hadn’t seen the need for video games or skateboarding on sidewalks. Not when there were things that could be accomplished, goals to be met. “I’m not a workaholic.”

Jack arched a brow. “So you came to town just for my wedding? Not for anything work related?”

“Well—”

“Exactly.” Jack shook his head. “One of these days, big brother, you’ll slow down long enough to live your life.”

“Mac’s living his life. Up there in the city far from all of us. Doesn’t slow down long enough to call and say how-do-you-do,” Bobby said.

“Dad, I’ve just been busy.”

“Living the big corporate life. Sucking up the little guys and slapping them down like ants.”

And that right there was the crux of everything wrong between his father and him. Bobby didn’t understand Mac’s approach to business, didn’t see that sometimes buying a company and shutting it down was a good thing. “Dad, we’ve been over—”

His mother popped to her feet, cutting off the sentence. “Let me get you a plate and dish you up some food. That way your brothers won’t eat your helping.”

For a moment, Mac wanted to stay at this table, surrounded by the family he’d seen too little of since he’d left for college. But that itch to complete the To Do list, to move on to the next thing, the bigger thing, like some mountain just out of reach, nagged at him. He’d been chasing that feeling for years and had yet to find anything that tamed the quest for more.

He took one look at his father’s face, still impassable and cold, and got to his feet.

If Mac stayed a second longer he was bound to say something he shouldn’t. Something such as, Where do you get off judging me for how I run my business, Dad, when you were screwing up your own life? Yeah, probably not appropriate Sunday-dinner talk. “Sorry, Mama, but I can’t stay. Just popped in to say hello. I have a meeting to get to.”

“On a Sunday?” His mother shook her head. “Why are you working on the Lord’s day? Even He took a break, you know.”

“That’s because His work was done, Mama. Mine never is.” Mac pressed a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek, then grabbed his helmet off the sideboard, swung it back onto his head and buckled the chin strap. “I’ll be around, staying at the Stone Gap Hotel, and here through Saturday for Jack’s wedding.”

“Then gone again.” The cold statement from his father wasn’t even a question.

“My life is back in Boston, Dad. Not here.”

“Your life is where you make it, son.” Bobby shook his head. Clearly disappointed. “And there’s nothing wrong with making a life right here. You don’t have to conquer the world and trample the little people to have a life.”

Mac bit back his frustration. No matter how far he rose in his career, how many milestones he achieved, his father never looked at him the way he looked at his other two boys. Maybe Bobby couldn’t understand why Mac would leave Stone Gap, why he’d want something more than what this tiny little speck of a town had to offer. Mac had long ago given up trying to argue the point. His father was never going to see him as anything other than the one who’d let him down, let the town down. One business deal and Bobby refused to forgive or understand.

And now Mac had his own reasons for not forgiving or understanding his father, who came across as the great family man, the pillar of Stone Gap. When the truth was something else entirely.

“I’ll be back,” Mac promised. Then he headed out the door, got on his bike and started the engine, letting the roar of the Harley drown out the tension he was leaving behind.

Before heading to the address Savannah had given him, Mac stopped over at the Stone Gap Hotel to check in and get his room key, because chances were good if he got back late tonight, the eighteen-year-old front-desk clerk would be asleep when he returned. He stowed his small bag of belongings in the room, then grabbed his laptop and a notepad before heading back down to the bike. That was all he’d need for his evening with Savannah Hillstrand. Eat, conduct a little business and leave.

No lingering to get to know her, to see if he could make her laugh or coax that dazzling smile from her again. This was all work and no play, and the sooner he could get back to his room to tackle the long list of emails and reports he needed to read, the better. Then, hopefully, this knot of stress in his chest would ease.

He was just latching his helmet when a car carrying familiar occupants pulled into the hotel parking lot. His little brothers, here to check up on him. Mac tucked the helmet under his arm and waited while they got out of Luke’s car.

“What are you two doing here?”

The younger Barlows leaned against the hood, their arms crossed over their chests. “We’re on a fact-finding mission,” Jack said. “As in finding out why the hell you ran out on dinner?”

“I told you. I had a meeting.”

“At dinnertime. On a Sunday.” Jack rolled his eyes. “The only day you know Mama’s going to expect us all around the table.”

“You missed a hell of a pot roast, too,” Luke added.

“And don’t forget the apple crumble for dessert,” Jack said. “That was amazing.”

“Had myself two helpings since I didn’t have to share with Mac.” Luke patted his belly. “Too bad you missed it for a meeting, big brother.”

Mac scowled. He was back in town for barely a few hours and already they were giving him a hard time. “For one, the time for Sunday dinner is more like late afternoon—”

“So we have time to watch the game. Priorities, Mac.” Jack grinned.

“For another, I don’t think Dad really cared if I was there or not.” Mac shrugged as if it didn’t bother him at all, and as if there wasn’t other untouched issues between him and his father. Issues he didn’t want to share with his brothers, not until he figured out how to drop this secret sibling bomb with as little collateral damage as possible. “So I figured I might as well get some work done.”

“What is up with you and Dad anyway?” Luke asked. “It seemed like you were trying your damnedest to avoid him.”

“More than you usually do,” Jack added. “Dad’s mellowed over the years, Mac. You could try cutting him some slack—”

“I’m not having this conversation. I told you. I have a meeting—”

“No, you have a serious itch to avoid your family today. Which is what I bet you plan on doing all week. We had some very fun family activities planned for the week, too.” Jack grinned. “You know, group trips to the zoo, maybe grabbing some funnel cakes at the fair, a little brotherly bonding in the backyard...”

Mac snorted. Despite his frustration with his brothers, he found a smile curving across his face. “Funnel cakes? The zoo?”

“That’s the plan,” Luke said, pushing off from the car, a gleam in his eyes. “All with the customary big-brother torture, followed by a cold ocean dunking and topped off with a day of us arm wrestling you into admitting we’re stronger than you.”

“Smarter, too,” Jack added.

“Definitely smarter.” Luke nodded, then wagged a finger at Jack. “And better looking.”

“Damned shame. You could have been so much more,” Jack said, reaching forward and clapping Mac on the shoulder. “If only you’d been born second or third.”

Mac shook his head. “It’s too bad you two are so delusional. You do know what Mama says, don’t you? That she should have stopped having kids after she had the perfect one.” Mac put out his arms. “Voilà. Perfection.”

The three brothers laughed at the familiar joke. Their mother loved them all equally, but when pressed, would tell each boy that he was her favorite. Mac had missed this camaraderie, the gentle ribbing by people who knew him best. For a second, he considered turning down Savannah’s offer and spending the week with his brothers instead. Then he remembered what he had learned from Uncle Tank, and knew if he did that, he’d inevitably feel compelled to confess to Jack and Luke. The truth would come out over some beers or basketball, because if there was one thing Mac had never been able to do, it was keep a secret from his brothers.

The only one Mac should talk to was his father. Then let Bobby handle it from there. It was, after all, his mess, not Mac’s. Maybe there was a way to encourage Bobby to come clean, to tell the family the truth before it exploded, which it surely would at some point. A secret that big was impossible to keep quiet forever.

Bobby Barlow, the pride of Stone Gap, had another son. A product of an affair that had been kept hidden for two and a half decades.

Another Barlow brother, who had contacted Uncle Tank, the one who had been the go-between for the child and the mother, probably to keep Bobby out of the mix. Uncle Tank, who had stopped speaking to Bobby years ago, had called Mac, and said only two words, “Fix this.” As if Mac could even begin to figure out what to do. An illegitimate son, an affair—all that was a hell of a lot harder to repair than a broken tailpipe or a company with too much overtime. Eventually, Mac knew someone was going to figure it out. If the truth didn’t come blasting into town on its own first.

Because Colton Barlow, Bobby Barlow’s secret son, had made it clear he wanted to get to know his other family—and do it soon.

Fix this.

That was something Mac would tackle another day, after he had all this business with Savannah squared away. He needed time to think, time to figure out the best way to talk to his father.

Just...time.

“Listen, as much as I’d love to go have funnel cakes,” Mac said to his brothers. “I have plans for tonight. Why don’t I stop by the garage tomorrow?”

“As long as you promise us something,” Luke said.

“I’ll be at Jack’s wedding. I already promised that.”

“This isn’t about the wedding. That’s a nonnegotiable anyway, because your tux is already rented.” Jack grinned. “We need to talk to you about planning the family reunion next month. It’s also Mama and Dad’s thirty-fifth anniversary, and we wanted to make it special. Which means you have to be here for it. Nonnegotiable number two.”

“There’s a family reunion next month?” And his parents’ anniversary? God. This just kept getting worse and worse every second he stayed here.

“Jeez, Mac, don’t you read your email?” Jack threw up his hands. “Yeah, I sent you an invite like three weeks ago. The entire Barlow clan, descending on Stone Gap.”

“Lord, help us.” Luke grinned.

A family reunion next month meant the other Barlow, the one no one knew about, would want to come if he got wind of the event. Now Mac really needed to find a way to talk to his father.

“I’ll, uh, think about that. I’ll have to check my schedule,” Mac said.

“Check your schedule?” Jack scoffed. “Family is the only thing you need on that schedule, you workaholic.”

The word rankled. Twice in one day they’d called him that. “This workaholic is trying to go someplace. If I can ever get out of here.” Mac fended off the rest of his brothers’ questions and slipped onto the seat of his bike.

Jack sighed and threw up his hands. “I give up. You know, one of these days you’re going to realize you actually need your family.”

“I never said I didn’t need my family.” Mac settled the helmet on his head and buckled the strap. Just maybe not parts of his family, such as a father who hadn’t been as true as he claimed to be.

“You didn’t have to say it,” Luke said, disappointment clear in his expression. “It’s written all over your face.” Then his brothers climbed back into the car and headed out of the lot.

Mac revved the bike, felt the power of the engine rumble beneath him. He loved his brothers. He really did. But sometimes he wondered if they lived in a fantasy world. They seemed to think a few family dinners would be enough to settle everything. If that was the case, he and his father would have mended fences years ago. But now, with the information about Colton, that broken fence had become a yawning, impassable canyon.

As soon as he could, Mac was leaving Stone Gap. And it would be a long time before he came back.

He thought of Savannah Hillstrand and all her talk about the business being family. How her father had treated every employee like a relative. Maybe some people were honestly like that, but Mac doubted it. Or maybe she was just some Pollyanna who thought the world was filled with rainbows and people singing “Kumbaya.”

He wound his way to the outer edge of Stone Gap, past the beachfront mansions that outdid each other with more windows, more balconies, more square footage, then down around the edge of the bay before finally coming to a stop in a dirt parking lot. The ocean breeze rolled in from the Atlantic, sweet and crisp. He inhaled and wondered how long it had been since he’d been on the water. Too long, for sure.

His gaze shifted away from the deep blue ocean and over to a small wooden shack. No bigger than a trailer, the place looked ready to crumple with the slightest breeze. The Sea Shanty was, indeed, a shanty.

This was where Savannah Hillstrand wanted to have steaks? This...dive?

When she’d proposed the dinner, with no talk of business until after dessert, he’d balked. That wasn’t how Mac ran his life. He worked as much as possible, as often as possible. But as he’d wound his way down the roads toward the address she’d given him, and caught the scent of the ocean dancing in the air, he’d begun to feel a...longing. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he knew it had come wrapped in her words. What was it about this woman, who believed in family and vacations and lazy days, that had so intrigued him?

All purely professional interest, of course, even if she did have green eyes that lingered in a man’s mind. He just wondered how anyone running a business, particularly a struggling one, could be so...positive and upbeat.

He heard laughter and turned. Savannah Hillstrand stood to the right of the Sea Shanty, talking to an elderly man and laughing at something he had said. A little fissure of jealousy ran through Mac. Insane. He had no claims on Savannah, nor did he want any. This was business. Nothing more.

Then why did his gaze travel over her lithe frame, now out of the severe pantsuit and looking summery and beautiful in a dark green sundress? She had a little white sweater draped over one arm, and her hair was down and curling along her shoulders. She’d changed, done her hair, and a part of him wondered if—well, hoped—that was because she knew she might be seeing him.

He closed the distance between them just as the elderly man went inside the building. At the sound of his riding boots on the dirt, Savannah turned.

A smile curved across her face. “You made it.”

“You sound surprised.”

“A little, yes.”

“Don’t be. When I say I’m going to do something, I do it. I’m not one for spontaneity.” Though he was having a lot of spontaneous thoughts about her right now. It had to be the surprise of the sundress, the expression on her face, the scent of the ocean in the air, because he was having trouble thinking about anything other than her. “And for me, this—” he waved at the glorified pile of wood that was passing as a restaurant “—is a semitruck full of spontaneity.”

“Hey, who knows, Mr. Barlow, in the process of you helping me with the company, I might end up being a bad influence on you.”

He laughed. “That I doubt.”

“Come on. Let’s get a table out back before the sun sets.” She waved at him to follow her down a shell-lined path that circled around to the back of the Sea Shanty. The path led to a small deck topped with white plastic tables and chairs and framed by lattice panels on either side. Clearly, it wasn’t the ambience that drew people to this place.

It was definitely the view.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Savannah said as they slipped into two chairs. She waved toward the ocean lapping at the rocky shore below. “Every time I look at this view, it... Well, as silly as it sounds, it reorients my soul.”

Reorients my soul. Mac considered those words as he took in the panorama before them.

A vast blueness stretched before him, further and broader than his eyes could see. It rippled with tiny peaks of whitecaps, like a dusting of stars in the water. In the distance a sailboat cut through the water quickly and easily. Above his head a trio of seagulls called to each other before one dropped down and scooped a fish out of the shallows. Mac’s heart slowed and his chest expanded as he drew in one deep breath after another like a man who had gone too long in stale air. The salty, tangy breeze was refreshing. Restoring.

The same ocean was right outside his offices in Boston, of course. But he rarely saw it heading into work early and leaving late. The air there was filled with the smog from commuters and the stink of diesel from the busy harbor.

Across the bay he saw one lone house, a two-story white Georgian style with a long wooden dock jutting out into the water, topped with chairs to catch the view. It was a peaceful image, like a painting spread across nature’s canvas.

A sense of something Mac didn’t recognize settled in his chest. Then it hit him—he felt calm, relaxed. When was the last time he’d felt like that? With no worry over an impending deadline or stress about a deal falling through?

The sound of the water lapping over the rocky shore seemed to whisper relax, relax, and every cell in Mac’s being ached to do that very thing. For a moment, he imagined himself at that house across the way, sinking into one of the two Adirondack chairs facing the ocean and just...being.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Savannah said. “My dad loved this place. He and my mom would come here as often as they could. It was just a short boat ride for them, so they’d pop over for dinner all the time.”

“Short boat ride?”

“Yup. That’s my dad’s house over there.” She pointed to the Georgian he had noticed a moment ago.

“That’s where your dad lived? How did he afford a waterfront home?” The moment of relaxation flitted away. Mac made a mental note to take a second look at the company’s finances. If the CEO had been financing a big mortgage, that kind of practice would have to stop. “Because I thought Willie Jay had a house a few miles from Stone Gap, too. In Juniper Ridge.”

“We do. The house in Juniper Ridge is small, the same house I grew up in and that my parents bought when they first got married. My mom and dad never really wanted or needed a big house. The one on the beach has been in our family for a long time. My dad was frugal in other parts of his life, so he could afford to keep this house.” She brushed her bangs off her face and wistfulness filled her features. “It means a lot to our family. Almost everything important in our lives happened over there. And someday I’m going to find a way to get all that back.”

Her eyes clouded and grief settled over her like a cloud. Then she worked a smile to her face and turned away from the view. “Anyway, I’m starving. Do you want to order an appetizer?”

“No,” he said, before he got too distracted by that look in Savannah’s eyes, and how much it made him want to leap in and fix whatever was bothering her. He was trying to buy her business, not build a relationship. No smart decisions could come from connecting with Savannah on a personal level. “I think we should get to work as quickly as possible.”

Because if he didn’t, Mac had the distinct feeling he’d get off track by the curiosity to know what Savannah had meant when she’d said she wanted to find a way to get all that back.

And why it mattered so much to him to see that she did just that.

Chapter Four

By the time the steaks arrived, Savannah had lost her appetite. Everything Mac had told her about running a business in the short space of time since they had sat at the table sent one clear message—she was in over her head. He’d given her his CEO 101 talk, and she’d realized pretty fast that he was right—a degree in history and some experience remodeling homes didn’t qualify her to sit in Willie Jay’s chair. Not that she hadn’t known that from the first day, but talking to Mac cemented the truth in her heart.

She understood the basics of what Mac said, about receivables and payables, about the impact of sales on their bottom line, but as he started delving into the minutia of the monthly general ledger—deviating from their no-business talk the instant dinner was set on the table—her eyes began to glaze over and the hope she’d had that she was up to turning Hillstrand Solar around began to dim.

He ran a finger down the screen of his laptop, skipping over the figures he’d downloaded earlier. “If you shift to a just-in-time inventory system and reduce the production workforce by two, you should be able to implement additional lean manufacturing—”

“Wait,” she said, putting up a hand. “Did you just say I should fire two people?”

“I said reduce the production workforce.” Mac pointed at a number on his screen, flanked by a percentage on the right. “You have too much overhead.”

“Reducing the workforce is just a fancy way of saying fire people. I’m not doing that.”

“Part of doing business is separating the wheat from the chaff, so to speak, and getting the most return on your investment. By eliminating two of these positions—” he pointed to a line item for the shipping and receiving department “—you can increase your monthly cash flow by several thousand dollars, which will help tide you over until sales increase.”

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