"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 and-" 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' 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 scanning 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 losing 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 everyone 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, Cassandra 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 conversation. 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, I'm-just-a-meek-fellow routine. 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 corner 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 decent-
She skidded to a halt.
Gray Bennett was standing by the stove, looking better 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 wearing? 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 welcome 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.
"They sure are happy," Tom said.
Of course, they were. Because what they had was real, not some childish, one-sided fantasy.
Joy thought back to the nights she'd stayed up imagining different ways she'd run into Gray. There were so many. Maybe they'd meet in town, just passing by on the sidewalk. He'd stop and tell her it was hot out and ask her if she wanted something cool to drink. Or maybe she was on an island out on the lake and he'd go by in one of his boats. He'd catch sight of her and pull into the dock and they'd lie in the sun. The scenarios were like little plays she directed and the outcome always ended with them kissing.
Daydreams, she thought. Fantasies. With all of it, down to the clothes he wore and the way he looked at her, existing only in her mind.
As she thought about the way Nate stared at Frankie, she couldn't bear her pathetic hallucinations.
"Tom, would you like to go out to dinner with me?" she blurted.
The cook's mouth actually fell open as he stopped slicing and glanced up. He looked as though someone had just offered him a free Mercedes-Benz. "Well, yeah."
"Tomorrow night. Pick me up at seven?"
"Sure. I mean, I'd love to."
Joy nodded and went back to work. "Good."
Chapter Three
BY THE END OF THE EVENING, as the guests were either heading home to their own houses or retiring to the bedrooms upstairs, Gray categorically considered the party a success. His father had a glow on his face that had been missing for months. The food had been sublime. People had had a great time.
But he was just as happy to have it over. He'd wanted to escape for the last hour although it wasn't because he'd been overwhelmed by the guests. Fifty people was a good-size party, but nothing like the four- or five-hundred-head social endurance tests he did regularly in D.C.
No, the problem was Joy.
He'd given himself whiplash searching the crowd for her. Every time he saw a flash of black and white, his head flipped around, but rarely had it been the woman he'd wanted to see. Over the course of the evening, he'd only caught a couple glimpses of her passing hors d'oeuvres or picking up empty glasses. She seemed to stay far away from him, as if on purpose.