The Player:Moorehouse Legacy(9)

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GRAY PARKED THE BMW in front of Barclay's Liquors, taking a space as it was vacated by a minivan. The town square was hopping tonight. A couple of white tents covered about half of the two-acre stretch of grass. Underneath them, people sat at picnic tables, eating barbecue that was being cooked over open flames on big, flat grills. In between the tents, a twenty-piece swing band was set up in Saranac Lake's signature Victorian gazebo, its righteous horn section ripping through a Count Basie standard. People were dancing on a parquet floor lit with torches.

"Does the town do this often?" Cassandra asked as they crossed the street.

"Once a month or so in the summer. This must be the last one. In another couple weeks, it's going to be too cold."

Three teenage girls skittered by wearing glow-in-the-dark, green neon necklaces. In their rush, they moved over the ground with the same restless excitement and chatter as the loose, colorful leaves swirling in the chilly wind. The sound of their laughter made Gray smile as he and Cass ambled over to the tents. Smoke, infused with molasses and cayenne pepper, drifted into his nose. His stomach checked in with a grumble of approval.

"When are you going back to D.C.?" Cassandra asked.

"Very soon. I need to go to New York next week and then I'll move Papa down."

"Are you teaching that poli-sci seminar at Columbia again this semester?"

"Yeah. They asked me back."

"We'll have to have dinner. Maybe Allison and Roger can join us."

"Sounds good," Gray replied, even though the thought of the Adamses made him wince. He still couldn't believe the adultery story, and was hoping when he looked into the facts Beckin had given him, that it would all be just a bunch of B.S.

As he and Cass stopped in front of the band, he glanced over at her. She was staring at the couples that were dancing. "You ready for some food or do you want to risk a little swinging with me?"

"Sounds good."

"Let's try eating first," he said gently. Cassandra had been remote since going to see Alex Moorehouse. Gray gathered that the meeting hadn't gone well, but she didn't seem to want to talk about it so he didn't press.

As they got in line, he looked over at the people in front of the band. There were a couple of folks who could really dance, the men swinging the women over their shoulders, twirling their dates or wives around in circles. There was one couple who were damn good. The guy handled his woman as though she were an extension of his own body and she responded to him as if thinking of the same move at the same time he did.

Gray stopped moving.

Good Lord, it was Joy.

As the song came to a fevered end, that White Caps cook spun her around, flipped her over his back and then dipped her low, holding her in place. Joy hung on to his shoulders, head back, breathlessly laughing. Her hair drifted down, almost touching the floor as she looked up at her partner.

Young and free. So beautiful, she hurt Gray's eyes.

The man slowly lifted her to the vertical, his hands lingering on the small of her back.

Gray ground his teeth. He had a stupid, near overwhelming urge to march across the dance floor and peel the other guy off her. Roughly. And sure enough, he felt his weight shifting to his left foot and his right knee bending up. As if his body were not under his control.

He forced himself to look away.

Her boyfriend had every right to touch her. And given the way she'd held on to him during that flashy finale, she wanted the guy's hands on her.

Damn it.

"Gray? What's the matter?"

Evidently he'd spoken out loud. "Nothing."

"We're up. What do you want?"

Now if that wasn't a loaded question.

When they'd gone through the line, they took their food over to a picnic table and squeezed in with a couple and their two kids.

Gray bit into a steaming rib. Spicy and piping hot from the grill, the burn on his lips and tongue was distracting, but didn't go far enough.

Then again, he'd need someone to go Medieval on his ass to get Joy off his mind.

"So tell me something," Cassandra said as she picked up a piece of chicken, her pinkies cocked.

"Hmm?"

"How long have you wanted her?"

Gray froze.

Okay. So now his pork tasted like an old shoe.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Bennett. I saw how you were looking at Joy just now. And last night."

Gray stabbed some coleslaw with his plastic fork. Thought about putting the subject on ice. Didn't.

"You see that guy with her? The young one?"

Cassandra nodded.

"You see how happy he makes her?"

"I see how much she enjoys the dancing. I don't know how much of it is him."

Gray leveled his eyes across the picnic table. "Don't split hairs. She's glowing. You honestly think I could make her feel that way?"

"Well, yes."

"Wrong. A girl like that is going to want more than sex, Cass. Hell, she deserves more than that. And flyboy with the smooth moves over there no doubt has love on his tongue and a ring in his pocket. A couple of nights is all I can offer her. Maybe not even that."

"Don't shortchange yourself."

"You know my history and people don't change."

"Not true."

He rolled his eyes and poked at his food. "Fine. I'm not going to change. She's not my type and I like her too much to-"

"Hi, Gray. Cassandra."

His head snapped up. Joy and the cook were walking by the table.

As she lifted her hand in a tentative greeting, Gray's eyes went over every inch of her black sweater and her worn blue jeans. Her hair had curled up around her face from exertion and her cheeks were flushed.

Oh, sweet, beautiful girl, he thought, fingers tightening on his plastic fork until it bent in two. He dropped the thing quickly and wiped his mouth.

"Hey, Joy," he said before hitting the blond-haired guy by her side with what he hoped passed for pleasant inquiry. "Tom, right?"

Tom nodded slowly, as if he sensed he should tread carefully. "Yes, Mr. Bennett."

"Gray. Call me Gray. Any friend of Joy's is a friend of mine."

Tom's eyes narrowed as if he didn't believe a word of it.

Smart kid, Gray thought.

Cassandra rushed in, as if she, too, had picked up on Gray's latent aggression. "We were just watching you on the dance floor."

"Tom's much better than I am," Joy said, smiling at the guy. "But he's teaching me."

"And she learns fast."

Gray felt his eyes go into a full squint and had to remind himself that he had no right to be jealous. Possessive. Resentful.

Although, man, that urge to step in between the two of them was back with a vengeance. All he wanted to do was to throw Joy over his shoulder and take her as far away from the bastard Opie look-alike as he could carry her.

Which would be Canada, he thought. Or maybe Alaska.

As Joy and the boyfriend left, Gray picked up a rib and cleaned the meat off the bone with relish.

"Gray, if she's not your type, why do you stare at her like that?"

"Because I'm an idiot. You want more barbecue? I'm getting seconds."

                       
       
           



       Chapter Five

"SO WHERE'D YOU LEARN to dance like that?" Joy asked as she and Tom sat down with their plates. Now that the band had taken a break, it was easier to talk.

"I took lessons when I was living in Albany. My old girlfriend made me go, but then I really liked it."

"You're wonderful."

"Thanks."

As they tucked into their barbecue, Joy looked over at the table where Gray and Cassandra were sitting. Gray was frowning and shaking his head as he got to his feet with his empty plate. He was taller than most everyone, so tracking him through the crowd was easy.

He'd looked so fierce when she'd gone over to say hello. Sure, he was never the kind of man who came across as easygoing, but something about him seemed extra sharp tonight.

"I'm glad you asked me out," Tom said.

She glanced across the table. Tom wasn't looking at her. He was pushing some coleslaw around his plate, his mouth drawn.

She took a deep breath. "Tom, I-"

"You don't have to say it, Joy. I know. Just friends." He smiled into his food, as if he hoped she'd buy the no-big-deal expression as long as he hid his eyes from her. "It's okay. You don't have to feel badly. We've had fun tonight."

"I honestly had hoped … "

"Me, too." Now he looked at her. "But I don't want you to worry. I'm not going to go all weird on you or anything. When you see me around the kitchen, it'll be just like before."

She shook her head. "It is quite possible, Tom Reynolds, that you are the nicest guy on the planet."

"Yeah, well, keep it to yourself. Women seem to prefer the tough ones."

"Never could figure that one out," she murmured, watching Gray return to his table with a full plate. She had to make herself look away from his wide shoulders and his long arms.

Tom wiped his hands on a paper napkin, shredding it. "I think it's a fact of nature. Women are drawn to strength. Which is why you want him like you do."

Her eyes popped.

"Come on, Joy. It's so obvious and it's not one-sided. That Bennett man was ready to take my throat in his hand when we walked by his table. Just be careful. Underneath all that breeding and money, there's something scary hard about him."