His Comfort and Joy. Jessica Bird
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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 ceiling. 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 Libby’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 quarters 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 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 hairdryer 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 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,