Page 9 of Devlin

"Mom said something about keeping Dad's secret before she stormed out," he toldRoss. "But I have no idea what it is. Does anyone else?"

There were blank looks around the table. His gaze came to rest on his grandmother. "Nana? Do you know what secret Mom has been keeping for Dad?"

"Does it have something to do with the whisky?" Brock asked.

"Oh, boys, you need to let your parents work this out between the two of them," Fiona answered. "Speculating aboutsecrets won't make anything better."

"Which isn't an answer," he told her.

She gave him a smile. "Wasn't it?"

"If something is going to blow up the business, we need to know," Trey put in.

"Maybe you should stop being so concerned about the business," he told his brother. "And worry more about Mom and Dad."

"I am worried about them," Trey snapped back. "That'swhy I'm trying to figure out what's going on."

"Rumors will be flying," Brock added. "There will be a lot of talk. I'd like to get out in front of it."

He loved Trey and Brock but sometimes they could have as much tunnel vision as his father.

"It seems to me if either of you want to know, then you should ask Dad," Logan said. "Leave Nana out of it."

"That's an excellentidea, Logan," Fiona said. "But I wouldn't ask Graham anything tonight. Give him time to cool down. Your father may sometimes be a thoughtless, stubborn mule, but I have never had any doubt about his love for your mother or her love for him. This is just a bump in the road. And no one does bumps in the road better than a Blackthorne. When times are tough, we get tougher. We came together as afamily after Mark and Julie died, and we'll continue to do so, no matter what challenges are in front of us." Her gaze swept the table. "I can't tell you how proud I am of all of you. You've grown from wild boys into strong, intelligent, capable, and proud men. Let's toast to that." She raised her glass. "To the Blackthornes—to the next generation—may you be better than all who came before you."

He clinked glasses with Phillip and Trey, who were on either side of him, and then reached across the table to touch his glass to his grandmother's. She gave him a small smile. Out of this generation, he was probably the closest to Fiona, simply because he lived in Maine all year round and lately she'd been spending less and less time in Boston and more time in her cottage and her gardenat the estate.

Perhaps he could get a little more out of her when they were alone. While he wasn't worried about this alleged secret hurting his business, he was worried about how it might affect the future of his family.

"Now, let's eat," Fiona added. "There's a buffet table full of food, and if I know anything about you boys, it's that you can all eat."

"Dad, you're not eating," Hannah told her father, as she watched him swirl his spoon in a big bowl of clam chowder without taking a bite. He had, however, had several long draughts of BlackthorneGold while they'd been waiting for their meal.

She hadn't wanted to come to the Vault for dinner. The pub and the adjacent distillery were Blackthorne properties, and she would have thought the last place her father would want to dine would be any place owned by a Blackthorne. But the Vault had always been his favorite spot, and he'd told her he wasn't going to let the Blackthornes takeanything else away from him.

With its paneled wood walls, parquet floors, colorful rugs, and an extensive display of liquor, the Vault was sophisticated but also warm and comfortable, and it was popular with the locals and the tourists. It also had the best chowder in town, and with the stiff ocean breezes that had kicked up after five, it was a good night for a steaming bowl of chowder.

Not that her father seemed to have any appetite at all. He looked haggard and drawn, his thinning brown hair showing more strands of gray, his blue eyes filled with shadows, his shoulders seemingly sagging under the weight of his worries. He'd always been lean, the result of long hours of physical labor and his appalling lack of focus on getting three square meals down. When he worked, heforgot to eat. She couldn't remember the last time she'd forgotten to eat. She and her father were definitely not alike in that way.

Actually, they weren't all that alike in any way. But they did share a love of boats and sailing. It was the glue that had held them together after the divorce. It was the one thing they could talk about that didn't make either one of them unhappy.

But now the boats were making her father quite depressed, and she wanted to make the problem go away; she just didn't think she could do it alone.

"Dad," she said again.

He looked up, his gaze distracted. "What?"

"I've been talking to you for five minutes. You're not eating."

"I'm not hungry," he said, setting down his spoon.

"You should try to eat." She frownedwhen he motioned to the waiter to refill his whisky glass. "And maybe not drink so much."

"I don't need you telling me how much I can drink, Hannah."

"I'm just worried about you. I haven't seen you like this in a very long time—not since…" Her voice drifted away as she realized bringing up the painful subject of divorce was not the best idea.

"Since what?" he challenged. "Neverlost a job before, so this is a first."

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