Читать книгу The Princess and the Cowboy - Lois Faye Dyer - Страница 7

Justin Hunt leaned against the library bookcase, one shoulder brushing a thick, leather-bound volume of Shakespeare. His fingers curled lightly around the narrow end of a pool cue, the heavier end of the cue resting on the floor. His Stetson lay on a nearby chair and his well-worn Levi’s were faded above his dusty black cowboy boots. When he’d dressed at 4 a.m. to work cattle on his Idaho ranch, he hadn’t expected he’d be summoned to Seattle for an emergency family meeting.

He tried to remember the last time he and his three brothers had gathered together here at their father’s house. Had to be a month or more ago, he thought—probably on the night Harry had had his heart attack.

“Well, hell. Talk about out of practice,” Gray said with disgust as he missed a shot, and the four ball rolled across the green felt instead of dropping into a pocket. “Looks like you’re up, Justin.”

Justin shoved away from the wall of glossy cherry-wood shelves and walked slowly around the antique pool table, gauging the position of the remaining balls. The entire room was brightly lit. A Tiffany lamp hung directly over the table’s felt surface. A dozen or more sconces gleamed at regularly spaced intervals between the bookshelves lining the walls. Brass lamps glowed atop polished tables grouped with club chairs in comfortable, inviting seating areas on the oriental rugs. At the far end of the library was Harrison Hunt’s mahogany desk. Cleverly recessed lighting in the boxed ceiling illuminated the glossy surface, the high-backed leather chair and the semicircle of straight-backed chairs before it. The desk faced the wall of windows and French doors that let out onto the patio overlooking the estate’s private beach on Lake Washington. Across the lake, the Seattle skyline glowed against the night sky.

Justin leaned over the pool table. He’d long since grown accustomed to playing pool in the luxurious library because Harry had had the felt-covered table installed there when his sons were teenagers. His attempt to lure the boys into sharing the room with him while he worked from home had been successful but whether it resulted in a stronger parent-child relationship was up for debate.

In any event, Justin rarely noticed the opulent surroundings of his father’s home. The high-tech mansion he and his brothers had dubbed “The Shack” as teenagers had been his home from the age of twelve until he’d left for college at eighteen. But tonight the familiar surroundings seemed to hold a sense of foreboding, as if the room held its breath, waiting.

“Does anybody know why the Old Man called this meeting?” Justin asked as he tapped the six ball and watched it roll smoothly into the corner pocket.

Gray, the oldest of the brothers at forty-two, shrugged his shoulders. “My secretary said he wouldn’t tell her the reason.”

“Harry called you himself? Me, too.” Sprawled in a deep leather armchair several feet from the pool table, the lanky six-foot-three Alex was Justin’s closest brother in age. At thirty-six, he was only two years older than Justin. Alex waved his half-empty bottle of Black Sheep Ale at the fourth brother, seated in a matching armchair only a few feet away. “What about you, J.T.? Did you get the message from his secretary, or from Harry personally?”

Thirty-eight years old and as tall and lean as the rest of them, J.T. rubbed his eyes, yawned, and leaned forward. “From Harry.” Elbows on his thighs, he held his tumbler of hundred-year-old Bourbon loosely in one hand. “I told him I’d have to cancel a week of meetings in New Delhi and spend half a day on the corporate jet to get home in time, but he insisted I be here.” He ran his hand through his dark hair and looked at Justin. “What about you?”

“I was at the ranch when he called. He told me the same thing he told you—I had to be here. No excuses.” Justin frowned, searching each of his brothers faces in turn. “He refused to tell me what the meeting was about. Did he tell any of you why he wanted to talk to us?”

“No.” Gray shook his head, as did Alex and J.T.

Before Justin could respond, the hall door burst open and their father strode into the room. Harrison Hunt’s six-foot-six frame was trim, his black hair barely showing any gray. Horn-rimmed bifocals framed his blue eyes but didn’t conceal the intelligence of the man who’d invented the computer languages and software that had made HuntCom a household word. His energetic pace seemed miraculous after the heart attack that had felled him so recently.

“Ah, you’re all here. Excellent.” Harry waved his hand at his desk and moved briskly toward it. “Join me, boys.”

Justin laid the pool cue on the table, settled his Stetson on his head, tugged the brim lower and followed Harry. Neither he nor his brothers took one of the chairs facing the big desk, choosing instead to remain standing. Justin hooked his thumbs in his front Levi pockets and leaned against the wall once more. He was almost, but not quite, out of Harrison’s sight.

His father frowned at them all, swiveling his chair to stare at Justin. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“Thanks, but I’ll stand.”

Harry swept the other three with the same frown.

Gray stood behind one of the chairs; Alex leaned against the wall by Gray while J.T. was separated from them all by the long credenza separating the seating areas.

Harry shrugged impatiently. “Very well. Stand or sit, it makes no difference to the outcome of this meeting.” He cleared his throat. “Since my heart attack last month, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this family. I’ve never thought a lot about my legacy, nor to having grandchildren to carry on the Hunt name. However, the heart attack made me face some hard truths I’d ignored—I could have died. I could die tomorrow.” He stood, rested his knuckles on the desktop and leaned forward, his face grimly intent. “I finally realized that, left to your own devices, you four never will get married, which means I’ll never have grandchildren. I don’t intend to leave the future of this family to chance any longer. You have a year. By the end of that year, each of you will not only be married, you will either already have a child or your wife will be expecting one.”

The silence thickened, lengthened.

“Right,” J.T. finally muttered, dryly.

Justin bit back a grin and looked past J.T. at Gray, noting the amusement flashing across his brother’s face. To Gray’s left, Alex merely lifted an eyebrow and sipped from his bottle of ale to drink.

“If any one of you refuses to do so,” Harry continued, as if he hadn’t noticed their lack of interest, “you’ll all lose your positions in HuntCom and the perks you love so much.”

Justin stiffened. What the hell?

Gray’s face lost all amusement. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious.”

“With all due respect, Harry,” J.T. spoke, breaking the brief, stunned silence, “how will you run the company if we refuse to do this?” He gestured at his brothers. “I don’t know what Gray, Alex or Justin have going on right now, but I’m in the middle of expansions here in Seattle, in Jansen and at our Delhi facility. If another architect has to take over my position, it’ll be months before he’s up to speed. Construction delays alone would cost HuntCom a fortune.”

“It wouldn’t matter, because if the four of you refuse to agree, I’ll sell off HuntCom in pieces. The Delhi facility will be history, and I’ll sell Hurricane Island.” Harry’s gaze left J.T. and met Justin’s without flinching. “I’ll sell HuntCom’s interest in the Idaho ranch.” He looked at Alex. “I’ll shut down the foundation if you refuse to cooperate.” Lastly, his hard stare met Gray’s. “And HuntCom won’t need a president because there will no longer be a company for you to run.”

Gray’s expression went stony.

“But that’s insane,” Alex said. “What do you hope to accomplish by doing this, Harry?”

“I mean to see you all settled with a family started before I die.” Harry’s eyes darkened. “With a decent woman who’ll make a good wife and mother. The women you marry have to win Cornelia’s approval.”

“Does Aunt Cornelia know about this?” Justin found it hard to believe his honorary aunt, the widow of Harry’s best friend, was a willing partner in his father’s crazy scheme.

“Not yet.”

Justin felt a surge of relief. When Cornelia learned what Harry was planning, she’d pitch a fit. She was the only one Harry was likely to listen to.

“So,” Justin said slowly. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Each of us has to agree to marry and produce a kid within a year…”

“All of you have to agree,” Harry interrupted. “All four of you. If one refuses, everyone loses, and life as you’ve known it—your jobs, the HuntCom holdings you each love—will be gone.”

Justin ignored all three of his brothers’ muttered curses and continued. “…and the brides have to each be approved by Aunt Cornelia.”

Harry nodded. “She’s a shrewd woman. She’ll know if any of the women aren’t good wife material. Which reminds me,” he added abruptly. “You can’t tell the women you’re rich, or that you’re my sons. I don’t want any fortune hunters in the family. God knows, I married enough of those myself. I don’t want any of my sons making the mistakes I made.” He drew a deep breath. “I’ll give you some time to think about this. You have until 8 p.m. Pacific time, three days from now. If I don’t hear from you to the contrary before then, I’ll tell my lawyer to start looking for a buyer for HuntCom.”

He rounded the edge of the desk and left the room, the door closing quietly behind him.

The four watched him go with varying expressions of anger and disbelief.

“Son of a bitch,” Justin said softly, his eyes narrowed in thought. “I think he means it.”