Moorehouse Legacy: Beauty and the Black Sheep Part 18

He paused, glanced at the clock.

Breakfast could wait a little longer.

Chapter Twelve.

F riday night, Joy looked up from the hostess stand and froze.

Gray Bennett towered over her, a smile on his s.e.xy-as-h.e.l.l face. He was dressed in white linen pants, a navy blue blazer and an open necked shirt. He was tanned, his hair was a little on the long side, and he looked better than any man had a right to."h.e.l.lo, Joy."

She cleared her throat, not willing to take a gamble on her voice. "Good evening."

"How are you?"

She smiled, feeling a glow come over her like a heat lamp had been turned on above her head.

"Really well." Now that he was here.

"This place is packed." He glanced out across the tables. "I didn't know you had to make reservations."

She blurted immediately, "I can make an exception for you."

As well as making a fool out of myself, she thought. G.o.d, the eagerness in her voice made her want to wince.

He just smiled. "If you wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all." But she prayed he didn't have ten people with him. "How many?"

"Just my father and I."

Joy glanced to the door and saw Mr. Bennett talking to the mayor and his wife. Gray's father had had a stroke over the winter and was still recuperating, leaning heavily on a cane.

"I'll put you on the lake side. Come right this way."

She could feel him moving behind her and saw some of the other diners look up and whisper. Gray Bennett was something of a local celebrity, considering all of his political power and connections. It wasn't often that someone who hobn.o.bbed with world leaders floated through town.

Although she knew the women would have stared if he'd been no more than a garage mechanic. That masculine air of his was an aphrodisiac like none other, capable of putting oysters in the shade.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked as he sat down.

"A bourbon would be great."

"I'm sorry, we only have wine."

"Then a gla.s.s of something white is fine. And one for my father, too. a.s.suming he eventually ends his conversation with the mayor." He smiled up at her and opened his menu.

On the way to the kitchen, Joy checked her watch. If everything went well, he'd be in their dining room for over an hour. Longer if he ordered dessert.

Sweet heaven, he was too handsome to look at.

As she poured two gla.s.ses of wine, she practiced the list of specials in her head, hoping she could come across smooth and in control. Like him.

She was heading for the double doors with a tray when Frankie called out, "Joy! We've got a problem."

Joy paused, looking through the round gla.s.s portals at Gray's table. He was helping his father sit in a chair.

"Joy!" Frankie's voice was sharp.

"What?"

"Grand-Em is back in the Lincoln Bedroom. Mr. Thornd.y.k.e just called. Can you go calm her down and get her into her own room?"

Joy squeezed her eyes shut. Not tonight. Not with Gray here.

"Pickup!" Nate called out.

"Joy?" Frankie said, coming over urgently and taking the tray from her hands. "I'll take these drinks out. Where to?"

"Table twelve," she replied.

Frankie shot over to Nate, put the two entrees he'd just plated on the tray next to the gla.s.ses and pirouetted out into the dining room.

A moment later Joy followed, on her way to the Lincoln Bedroom. As she pa.s.sed by Gray's table, she heard Frankie telling him and his father about the specials.

She was out in the hallway before she had to look back. Gray was laughing at something Frankie had said, a big, wide smile on his face, his eyes creasing at the corners.

And then suddenly, he looked at her. He actually looked right through the crowded room, directly at her. His smile lost some of its breadth and those stunning, shrewd eyes narrowed on her face. Joy stopped breathing.

As far as she was concerned, the whole world stopped moving.

But then Frankie looked over with a frown, as if she'd caught Gray's change in mood and was curious what the cause was.

Joy hurried away.

Holy Moses, what was that, she thought.

She took the stairs two at a time even though her legs were about as stable as her heartbeat.

Maybe he'd caught her staring and all her stupid fantasies had shown on her face.

Oh, G.o.d. The idea that he knew about her silly infatuation was enough to make her nauseous. Sure, in her daydreams he greeted the news flash with happiness. But in real life, she couldn't believe a man like him would feel anything other than pity for her.

When she got up to the landing, she saw the Thornd.y.k.es in the doorway of their room, looking worried.

"I'm so sorry about this," she said, stepping past them.

Her grandmother was on the floor, poking at the wall with a screwdriver.

Joy rushed over. "Grand-Em, is there something I can help with here?"

"You can get me into this wall. I must retrieve my ring."

"Okay. But why don't we do it some other time? We're disturbing these nice people."

Grand-Em hesitated, good breeding momentarily taming the dementia. "But the ring must be found."

"Of course it does. But wouldn't you agree we shouldn't inconvenience our guests?"

Grand-Em eyed the couple and accepted a hand up off the floor. "Yes, you are quite right."

Joy pocketed the screwdriver and shot apologetic glances at the Thornd.y.k.es as she led her grandmother down the hall to the door that opened to the staff quarters.

"I must find my ring."

Joy figured she'd give it one more shot. "But isn't it on your finger?"

Grand-Em looked down at her hand. "No, the one Arthur gave me."

"But Grand-Em, you were never-"

Joy's grandmother shot her an imperious stare. "I shall prove that he asked me to marry him. Come. I shall show you."

The next morning, Frankie sat at her desk and reread the letters her sister had given her the night before.It looked as if Grand-Em wasn't delusional about Arthur Garrison.

There were four letters from him to their grandmother, dated between the fall of 1940 and summer of 1941. And sure enough, the last one demanded an answer to the proposal he'd made and the ring he'd offered to her that April. The words the man had used were flowery, over-the-top.

Artie was a real ladies man, Frankie thought.

The phone on her desk rang and she picked it up. "White Caps."

"Frankie? It's Mike Roy."

"Mike, how are you?"

"Fine." Funny, he didn't sound fine. "Listen, I've got some bad news."

Frankie let the letters fall to the desk as she gripped the receiver. "Hit me."

Literally, she thought.

"The bank is being acquired."

"Will you have to leave?" she asked, hoping she wouldn't lose him.

"I don't know. I hope not. But, ah, we need to settle up your account before the sale goes through. All business is being brought up-to-date."

"How much time?"

"End of August."

She put her head in her hands. "Okay."

It wasn't okay. Not by a long shot. But what else could she say?

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's not your fault. I'll get the money."

"Look, if you can't, I have an interested party."

"An interested-for the house?"

"Yes. It'll be better than putting it up for auction if you default. You'll get more money that way."

"The Englishman," she whispered. "The hotelier you brought here. Is he really a friend of yours?"

Mike cleared his throat. "I'm just trying to do you a favor."

"You knew about this all along, didn't you?"

"I wasn't sure the acquisition was going to go through. I'm giving you as much notice as I possibly can."

After they hung up, Frankie stared across her office, at the picture of her family.

The phone rang almost immediately.

Maybe he was calling back and telling her he'd made a mistake. Yeah, right.

"White Caps."

"May I please speak with Frances Moorehouse." The male voice was curt, authoritative.

"This is she."

The man cleared his throat. "Ma'am, I'm Commander Montgomery of the United States Coast Guard."

Frankie went stone-cold. "Alex?"

"It is with regret that I inform you that your brother, Alexander Moorehouse, is missing off the coast of Ma.s.sachusetts. His vessel was found capsized in high seas in the eye of Hurricane Bethany. We have instigated a full search for both him and his sailing partner, Mr. Cutler. I'd like to give you my contact information, but be a.s.sured, I will call you with news."

Frankie could barely hold a pen and write she was shaking so badly. And as soon as she hung up, she bolted out of her office. Careening through the kitchen, she ran outdoors blindly. When she finally slowed down, she realized she was on the dock.

She looked out at the vast expanse of the lake.