on, “I own half the company. I have every right to be there, don’t I?”
“Um…I guess you do, Mom.” God, her father was going to kill her….
CHAPTER FOUR
APRIL SPENT much of the next few days on automatic pilot, going to work and shopping for Christmas, which was only a week away. It was difficult to feel any holiday cheer, however, when all she could think about was her parents. She couldn’t let things go on as they were. Her mother had gotten a tattoo yesterday, a rose on her hip, then cried all afternoon, refusing to say why she was so upset. Her father’s temper was shorter than ever, and he was having chest pains. Chest pains!
April had never seen either of them so unhappy. Clearly they needed to stop slinging blame, figure out why they fell in love in the first place and find that again. There was no other way to put an end to the emotional turmoil, no other way to stop the fighting over assets, which promised to go on for months.
From her home office, April heard her mother banging around in the kitchen. Because Claire was still trying to lose weight, she was broiling fish for dinner. She made fish almost every night, which meant the house always smelled of it.
As much as April loved her mother, she missed the old peace and quiet, the absence of fish odor, the privacy. She longed for the holidays as she used to know them—filled with eggnog and ham and her mother’s fudge. But more than anything, she wanted control of her own home again. She had to do something before she became desperate enough to let her father set her up with Keith as her only escape.
“Are you going to join me, April?” her mother called.
April felt nauseated by the smell alone. “No thanks, I’m fine.”
“You need to eat some of this fish. It has vitamins that are difficult to get anywhere else.”
“I’m not hungry, Mom.”
“I ate a lot of fish when I was pregnant with you. That’s why you’re so smart. Have just a small portion, and a little spinach.”
Maybe life with a man she didn’t love wouldn’t be so bad. “I ate on the way home from work,” she lied, and opened the window to ventilate the room, even though the breeze coming in off the ocean was a chill one.
“I’ll make you a plate, just in case you get hungry later,” her mother called.
April used her finger to smooth away an eye twitch and sat down again. How could she convince her parents that they were better off together than apart?
Opening her desk drawer, she withdrew Gunner Stevens’s business card and ran her thumb over the smooth embossing. April hated to see Ashton Automotive leave the family, but nothing was more important than keeping her father well. If she could talk Gunner into coming to Cabo, Walt would have a good chance of saving the deal. Better yet, Walt and Claire would be thrown together on a number of occasions while he was on his best behavior, in a setting that just might rekindle what they felt when they became engaged thirty-four years ago.
It was a long shot, but since her parents were both going to be in Cabo anyway, it was the best plan April could come up with. Getting her parents back together was all she wanted for Christmas. Besides, her mother’s association with Rod had suggested a way Gunner could help her—if he would.
“April, do you mind if I paint the living room?” her mother asked loudly. “White’s so drab. I was thinking a light pink would brighten things up. And maybe I could put up a few of my paintings. I’ve done six now, you know.”
Pink in the living room? Together with her mother’s artwork? Claire had started taking watercolor classes two months ago and had yet to create anything April wanted hanging in her closet, let alone anyplace more public. Why couldn’t Claire concentrate on decorating the tree?
That was it. April called Gunner.
“Hello?”
He’d answered his own telephone. “Mr. Stevens?”
“Don’t tell me, it’s April Ashton.”
She gave a little laugh, suddenly grateful she’d fought the impulse to hang up as soon as she’d recognized his voice. “Caller ID?”
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“I have a business proposal you might be interested in hearing,” she said, deciding to be as forthright as possible.
A startled silence followed this announcement.
“Mr. Stevens?”
“It’s Gunner, remember?”
“Right, Gunner.”
“What kind of business proposal?” he asked, and she pictured