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The poor guy was on the verge of another round of apologies, but Frankie's fianc? cut him off with a hand to the back of the neck.
“Whoa, tiger. What was I telling you about slowing down?” Nate was a big, handsome man dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. He looked about as chef-like as your average Harley motorcycle owner, but he was heaven on wheels behind a stove. “You all right, Angel?”
She smiled at her soon-to-be brother-in-law. “Fine and dandy. Just keep me away from the vampires. I could give a garlic wreath a run for the money.”
Frankie came over, shaking her head. “We're going to have to get you out of those clothes. I think I saw some waitressing uniforms in the back room. Let me see what I can find.”
Nate got down on his hands and knees and started cleaning up the mess. “We're going to have to get crea?tive. There isn't enough time to remake this batch so we'll have to whip up something else.”
Tom sank to the floor, putting his head between his knees for a moment. His blond hair was messed up as if even his follicles were upset.
“I really need this job,” he said softly.
Nate froze. "Who said you were getting canned?
Good God, you should know half the things I've dropped over the years."
Joy put her hand on Tom's shoulder. “It was just an ac?cident. I should have been looking where I was going, too.”
The cook blushed as he began scooping up tortellini with his hands. “That's a nice thing for you to say, Joy.”
A second later Frankie came back with a black-and-white uniform in her arms and an impish, sixty-year-old woman at her side.
“Oh, look at the poor girl,” the woman said, grabbing the clean clothes. “Come on, now, I'll show you to a shower.”
As Joy's hand was taken in a firm, warm grip, she let herself get swept along.
“I'm Libby, Old Mr. Bennett's housekeeper.” They went up a set of back stairs. “I suppose I'm his butler and his secretary when he's here, too. I'm also Ernest's mom.”
“Ernest?”
“He's not allowed in the kitchen when we're cooking. Although he'd be handy at cleaning up that pasta.”
At the top of the stairs, they turned right and went down a hall. On the walls there were black-and-white photographs of sporting events hung from floor to ceil?ing. Joy slowed. There were staid ones from the 1920s, with men dressed formally for cricket and a woman with her hair cut into a bob twirling on old-fashioned ice skates. A football team picture from the forties had all the players wearing leather helmets and big Hs on their chests. There was a shot of a track-and-field event from the seventies, with a man wearing first-generation Nikes vaulting over a pole. Another picture was taken at a swim meet with a girl diving fiercely into the water.
“Ah, yes, the Bennetts over the generations,” Libby said fondly. “They're an athletic lot, aren't they? I put up the pictures because I couldn't stand to have them lying around, collecting dust in boxes. And wouldn't you know? Gray and his father both make a point to take first-time visitors up here to witness the glory.”
Joy stepped forward only to pause again. In a simple black frame, she saw four men standing in front of a crew boat, their arms linked. Gray was on the end, grinning.
“Oh, I like that one, too,” Libby said. “Young Mr. Bennett looks so happy in it.”
The woman went down further and opened a door. A golden retriever bounded out into the hall, eighty or so pounds of glee in a pale fur suit. After a quick lick of Lib-by's hands, he headed straight for Joy.
Libby did her best to quell the adoration, but Joy didn't care. She was perfectly happy to be climbed on.
“Ernest likes you,” his mom muttered while trying to grab his collar.
With a lunge into the air, the dog leaped up, his front paws nearly shoulder height. Joy laughed and gave his sides a sturdy round of patting.
“I'm not sure I should take it personally,” she said. “I smell like Italian food, so what's not to love?”
After Ernest found a tortellini in the folds of her shirt, she went into the room. It was beautifully decorated with flowered wallpaper and lots of drapes. A four-poster bed with handmade quilts folded at the foot took up most of the space. The rest was occupied by antiques.
“This is lovely,” Joy said, thinking of the staff quar?ters back at White Caps. Those rooms were like prison cells in comparison.
“The Bennetts take very good care of me. And Ernest. Young Mr. Bennett's practically adopted him.”
“He likes dogs?”
Man, if Gray Bennett was a canine lover, that would pretty much seal the deal on him being a total dreamboat.
“Don't know about all dogs, but he loves Ernest. They go on walks together and boat rides andÑ” Libby shook her head. “I'm rambling. The shower's through there. You'll find fresh towels on the rack and there's a hair?dryer under the sink. I'd have taken you to another room, but the other staff quarters are shut down for the winter and the guest rooms are all filled. Do you mind if Ernest stays?”
Joy looked at the dog who returned her gaze with inquiry.
“Of course not.” She smiled and fluffed his soft ear.
As his owner left, Ernest planted his butt on the floor and leaned into Joy's leg.
“So, Gray's your buddy,” she said to the dog when the door closed. “Got any secrets you'd like to share?”
Gray pushed open the butler's door and strode into the kitchen.
“Hey, big guy,” Nate called from the counter. “You're lookin' fine tonight.”
They shook hands with a meaty clap. White Caps' new chef had turned out to be someone Gray knew well. He and Nate had gone to college together, though they'd lost touch thereafter. It had been a real kick in the pants, in a good way, to find out who'd transformed the Moorehouses's kitchen into paradise.
But then life could be like that. Six degrees to the right or left and you were staring your past in the face again.
“Everything smells terrific,” Gray said while scan?ning the room. He waved at Frankie, who was lining up dozens and dozens of dough balls on stainless-steel trays. There was another guy bent over the stove, someone he didn't recognize.
Where was she? he wondered. Or was he totally los?ing it and had only imagined seeing Joy on his lawn?
“You need anything?” he asked, stalling.
“Nah, we're all good.” Nate went back to mincing up parsley with a vicious-looking knife. “Everything's under control.”
There was a pause and Gray became aware that every?one was working except for him.
Ah, hell. He couldn't very well stand here like a wallflower.
The butler's door swung open behind him.
'There you are,“ Cassandra said. ”There's someone on the phone for you. Libby's been running around the house looking everywhere."
As the heads in the room turned in her direction, Cas?sandra smiled. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Gray measured her expression as she looked at Frankie. There was no sign of recognition on her face. Or Frankie's, either. Good Lord, the two women didn't know each other.
He cleared his throat. “Cassandra, this is Frankie Moorehouse. Alex's sister. Frankie, Cassandra Cutler. Reese's...widow.”
Cassandra paled, her hand coming to her throat. Frankie had a similar reaction, straightening slowly in shock.
Damn it, he should have warned them both, he thought, feeling like a heel. He'd just assumed that they knew who the other was.
Frankie came forward, wiping the flour from her hands with a side towel. “I'm so sorry about Reese.”
Cassandra reached out. “Your brother. Is he all right? I'd heard when the Coast Guard found him he was injured.”
Frankie nodded. “He's recovering. It's going to be a long haul, though.”
“When he didn't come to the funeral, and he didn't call, I worried...” Cassandra's voice broke. “I can only imagine what he's going through. He and Reese were closer than sailing partners. They were like brothers. Where is he?”
“Here. At home.”
“I must see him.”
Frankie took a deep breath. “You're welcome to, but you should be prepared. He's, ah, not really open to con?versation. Although maybe you can reach him. We sure haven't been able to.”
Gray noticed that Cassandra's body was shaking and he slipped his arm around her waist. She leaned into him.
“I'd certainly like to try,” she said. “I want to know what happened on that boat.”
As Joy left Libby's quarters, she corralled Ernest with her leg, somehow keeping him inside the room. She felt like a jailer and it was hard not giving in to the dog's pleading eyes. Staring up at her, he was on the verge of speech, desperate for clemency.
Except there was no way she was going to buy the whole saint's-preserve-me, Fm-just-a-meek-fellow rou?tine. And having already experienced one catastrophe this evening, she didn't want to chance what would happen if the retriever got loose in a kitchen with Tom Reynolds. The two could probably level the whole house.
As she went down the stairs, she wondered when she'd run into Gray. She figured it probably wouldn't be until the party started, so she had at least another forty-five minutes to prepare herself. Coming around the cor?ner into the kitchen, she smoothed the uniform, thinking at least the thing fit her. The skirt was a little short, but other than that it looked decentÑ
She skidded to a halt.
Gray Bennett was standing by the stove, looking bet?ter than any man had a right to. His dark hair was brushed back from his arrogant face. His broad shoulders and chest filled up a beautifully tailored navy-blue jacket. And the faint pink of his button-down shirt brought out his tan and his pale blue eyes.
The only thing that ruined the picture was the fact that he had his arm around a woman. And he was looking down at her face as if he cared deeply for her.
Joy's stomach heaved.
Oh, God.
She actually considered running back upstairs, but forced herself to stay put. After all, she was being utterly ridiculous. A man like him wouldn't live the life of a monk. And she'd read plenty of stories in the papers about who he was out with in D.C. So the fact that he had a woman really shouldn't be a surprise.
Except it was. Whenever he'd come to Saranac Lake, he'd always been alone. She'd never actually seen him with someone firsthand.
And of course, the woman was a beauty. Thick red hair, pale, translucent skin, green eyes that were looking curiously distraught. And the cream dress she was wear?ing? It was so perfectly simple, the fabric so gorgeous, the fit so precise, it had to be haute couture.
They were perfect together.
Joy looked back at Gray and was startled. His eyes had narrowed into beams and they were trained on her. Which wouldn't have bothered her ordinarily except he did not seem happy. The simmering darkness in his face was dismaying. In the past, he'd always been friendly to her. Why was he suddenly looking at her as if she wasn't wel?come in his house?
“Tom, would you like some help with the filet?” she asked, quickly going over to where the cook was cutting up beef.
“That would be great,” Tom said, making room for her at the counter. “Here's a knife,”
As she went to work, she was shaken and trying not to show it. Seeing Gray looking so good was hard. Catching him with his hand on some redhead's hip was worse. But getting stared down by the man was nearly unbearable.
When she looked over her shoulder a while later, Gray had left and taken the Julianne Moore look-alike with him.
But what Joy saw was a real zinger anyway.
Nate was standing behind Frankie and had pulled her back against his body. He was whispering something in her ear as she bent over the cream puffs. His face was tight with hunger and Frankie had a half-smile on her face as if she liked what he was saying to her. Joy looked away quickly.
