by Nan Dixon
“You shouldn’t pick at that,” Gray warned.
“It itches.”
“That’s your skin healing. But you don’t want to rip it off too soon, or it might get infected.”
“I had infected before.” The boy started to pull up his sleeve.
“Joshua!” His mother came out through a side door. She was twisting a cloth in her hand. Her face was as torqued as the cloth.
The boy turned and ran to her. “The rainbows aren’t here yet. I have to wait.”
His mom knelt. “I said you could sit at one of the tables, but you can’t bother the guests.”
“But he’s at the frog table.” Joshua pointed.
“You can sit here,” Gray said. “I have...things to do.”
Joshua’s mom grabbed his hand and took a quick step back. “I’m sorry he disturbed you.”
“No problem.” The young woman was as skittish as the feral cat he’d brought home when he was ten. “So you got the job.”
She inched away, glancing at the door she’d just come through. “I did. But it’s on a trial basis.”
“Well, good luck.” Gray stood and started gathering his things. “Joshua can sit at the table.”
The little boy snatched up a well-used backpack. It flopped on the chair.
“You’re a guest.” The woman was twisting her hands again.
“No problem. I’m Gray.”
“Umm, Cheryl.”
“Nice to meet you.” He nodded to Joshua. “Be good for your mother.”
The little boy took out a pack of crayons and a well-filled tablet of paper. He waved without looking up from his scribbling. “Bye.”
Gray shouldn’t be lounging in a garden anyway. People who wanted to succeed didn’t sit around drinking coffee in the middle of the day.
* * *
ABBY SMOOTHED THE cranberry pencil skirt that ended a couple of inches above her knees and did a little spin. The matching jacket floated away from a white shell that showed a hint of cleavage.
“Looking good, Abs. Who are you trying to drive crazy with that suit?” Bess leaned against the kitchen table, snacking on a carrot stick.
“Jacob Tinsley.”
“Do tell,” her sister encouraged.
“I want to show him what he can’t have.” Abby tugged her jacket back into place. “He’s asked me out at every meeting for the past three months. Then I discovered he’s living with one woman and dating another.”
Was there something about her that attracted cheaters? First Maurice and now Jacob. Unfortunately, she’d been engaged to Maurice.
“I never liked Jacob,” Bess said.
Abby could always count on her sister’s support.
“Mr. Smythe’s dinner is in the warming drawer. He likes vinaigrette on his salad. It’s in the fridge on the middle shelf.”
She walked Bess through the to-do list, even though she’d left instructions pinned to the kitchen bulletin board. “Serve the Petite Sirah with his stew.”
“Trust me, I can handle this. I’ve hosted tastings for years.” Bess looked at her watch and pointed to the doorway. “Out. No one will walk off in a huff because you miss an evening.”
Abby kissed her sister and inhaled Bess’s scent of earth and flowers. “Sorry to obsess. It’s been a crazy start to the week.”
Crazy because of their long-term guest, but she wasn’t going to tell her sister about this weird attraction she was feeling. She could barely admit it to herself.
* * *
GRAY HAD TIMED his arrival in the library perfectly. Abby’s back was to him as she uncorked a wine bottle. He was the first guest to arrive.
“What’s the theme tonight?” he asked.
She turned and his smile dimmed. This woman’s hair was almost the same color, but she wasn’t Abby.
“Hello,” she said with a warm smile.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were Abby.”
“Thank you. My sister is lovely, so I’ll take that as a compliment.” The woman’s smile filled her face. “I’m Bess.”
“Nice to meet you. You and your sister look alike.”
But the two sisters were different, too. Bess’s nose was splattered with freckles. Her eyes had more gold in them than Abby’s emerald ones. Abby’s hair was an intriguing shade of strawberry blonde, while Bess’s was redder. And when Bess smiled, his body didn’t come to attention.
“What are the appetizers tonight?” he asked, trying to focus.
“Your theme is California Dreams. Artichoke dip, grilled tomatoes, olive tapenade, carrots, celery and other nibblers. California wines, of course.”
Setting down the wine bottle, Bess extended her hand. He shook it, surprised at both the strength and callouses. She smelled like flowers with an earthiness he couldn’t identify.
“I’m Gray Smythe.”
She laughed, making him frown.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that Abs was so mad. She didn’t know about your arrangements before you arrived. Dolley wasn’t able to get your information into the reservation system.” She leaned over and whispered, “Our sister wants new software.”
“There’s three of you, right?” He’d read that tidbit in the B and B’s pamphlet.
“Three girls. Our poor mother.” She opened another bottle and spoke over her shoulder. “Dolley’s the baby. She’s our computer expert and bookkeeper.”
“What can I pour for you?” Bess asked.
He looked at the offerings. “The cabernet, please.”
Bess poured a glass for him and then a small amount into another, swirling it around. She stuck her nose into the bowl and then sipped. “Nice.”
She leaned against the closest armchair, seeming more relaxed than Abby’s mysterious professional persona. “Is this your first visit to Savannah?”
“My second,” he replied. “Is February always this warm?”
“You Northerners,” she laughed, sinking into the chair. “This is cold.”
“When I left Boston, it was snowing.”
“If it ever snowed here, I’d lose half my gardens.” She frowned. “Of course, the blasted kudzu would survive.”
“I sat in the garden today. Your landscaper did a wonderful job.”
She blushed, a pink that highlighted her pale skin. “Thank you. I manage the gardens.”
“This really is a family operation.” And an impressive one. “You work in the garden—Abby in the kitchen.”
Without trying to show any interest, he sipped his wine and asked, “Where is Abby?” That sounded strange, so he added, “I wanted to thank her for getting the contractor names for me.”
“She’s at a Hospitality and Resort Association meeting.” A smile played across her lips. “Abs went dressed to kill just to mess with some guy who thought he could date three women at one time.”
“And he’s in the association?” He could understand any man being fascinated by Abby. She’d been popping into his head throughout the day. Probably because last night had been the nicest conversation he’d had in months.
“The jerk’s a manager at one of the area inns. He should know, no one treats a Fitzgerald like that and survives.” She stood and helped herself to a carrot stick. Crossing her ankles, she leaned against the table.
“Where are the rest of the guests?” he asked.
“Tuesday is our lowest census day. I like to chat with the guests, if that’s what they want, so I take the Tuesday wine tastings. Today, a couple of Moons checked in and there’s a group of ladies and two couples who leave tomorrow.”
“Moons? Honeymooners, right?” He moved over and loaded a plate with appetizers, chips and dip.
“Yeah. We get quite a few of them.”
A tall man walked in the room and Bess’s head jerked up, a frown creasing her forehead. “Forester, what are you doing here?”
Forester walked over and kissed her cheek. “Good to see you, babe.”
Her frown deepened. “Don’t call me that.”
Forester winked and then poured himself a glass of wine.
“Are you taking a room?” She crossed her arms, scowling.
Gray hid his grin by sipping his wine.
“I’m meeting one of your guests.” Forester chucked her under the chin. “Let me get some business done, and then you and I can catch up.”
Gray walked over to him. The man looked around his age, early thirties. “Daniel Forester, I presume.”
“Got me in one. Nice to meet you, Grayson Smythe from Boston.”
“Gray works best.”
“Gray it is,” Daniel said. “Whenever you’re ready, we can stroll over to your warehouse.”
“Finish your wine. I’ll have a little more of this dip.” Gray patted his stomach. “I need to start swinging a hammer, or they’ll have to roll me back to Boston.”
“Our Abby is a dream in the kitchen,” Daniel said.
Were he and Abby involved? Gray’s shoulders tightened. The answer shouldn’t matter. He’d left Boston to get off that particular merry-go-round.
“Do you know the previous warehouse owner?” asked Daniel.
“He’s more than an acquaintance, but not quite a friend.”
Daniel nodded. “He rarely came down to see the project. The rehab should be done by now.”
“I’d agree with you on that. If we end up working together, I should tell you that I’m a hands-on manager,” warned Gray.
“I can live with that.”
As Gray finished his wine, one of the honeymoon couples he’d met this morning entered the library. How did they know they could spend a lifetime together? He’d never come close to feeling that about anyone.
As they left the room, Forester said, “How the hell do they know they’re making the right choice?”
“I’m with you there. At least we know buildings can weather the storms. Let’s go look at mine.”
* * *
ABBY PARKED HER car next to the carriage house. The kitchen lights were on; Bess must be cleaning up. Maybe they could have a cup of chamomile tea before she headed to bed. Bess had added an herbal garden a couple of years ago and now made teas for the B and B. Abby loved having fresh herbs on hand for cooking.
She sighed as she got closer to the kitchen door. The cat had been hunting again and had left his prey on the step. Not the most appealing sight to come home to. Opening the door, she spotted Bess lounging in the alcove. “Reggie’s left us a gift. I’d rather not clean it up dressed like this. I can’t even bend over in this skirt. Will you get it, please?”
“Sure,” Bess said. “How was the meeting?”
“The association contracted with a new food distributor. I’ll check out their products and pricing. And the board is talking about raising the dues.” Abby filled the kettle before turning to the table.
“Gray,” she exclaimed. She hadn’t expected to find him there. Darn it, her face had to match her raspberry suit. And her other sister was at the table, too. “Dolley?”
“Love the suit, Abs.” Dolley pushed herself to her feet. “Thanks for the ideas, Gray.”
“Anything I need to know about?” Abby asked as Dolley slipped by her.
“Gray and I were talking about the third floor. He had some ideas on how to make sure the rooms are soundproofed.” Dolley gave her a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Watch out for Reggie’s gifts,” Abby said as Dolley headed out the door. How had their remodel come up?
Bess rocked to her feet. “What did Reggie leave?”
Abby shivered. “Rabbits. Two of them.”
“That’s two bunnies who won’t be dining in my garden.” Bess moved toward the door. “You’ve got to love a serial-killer cat.”
“You may love him, but I don’t like finding his gifts by the door.”
Bess gave her a quick hug on her way out. “See you tomorrow.”
The screen door slapped closed as her sisters left.
Without Dolley’s and Bess’s presence, Gray seemed to dominate the room.
Abby poured boiling water over the leaves, tapping her fingers as the tea brewed. She couldn’t just stand here for three minutes. She gathered up the pot and her mug and moved over to the table, hoping her face had returned to its normal color.
“So did you drive him crazy?” he asked.
“What?”
“The jerk that suit was meant for?”
Embarrassed, she swore under her breath. She brushed nonexistent lint off her sleeve. “He drooled—blubbered actually. I was cold and professional. I ground him under my heel.”
“I’ll bet you did.” Gray toasted her with his wineglass. She froze as his gaze trailed slowly down her body. It was almost as if his fingers followed the same path. Suddenly the room felt like a sauna.
Swallowing, she picked up his plate. “Dessert?”
“No. In the past two days I’ve had a year’s worth of sweets.”
“Port, then?”
“I’d prefer cognac, if you have it. Otherwise port is fine.”
She moved across the hall to the butler’s pantry and took a deep breath. When that didn’t calm her, she took another before retrieving a bottle and glasses.
“Say when,” she said, pouring.
Instead of telling her, he cupped her hand, lifting the bottle. A zing shot through her arm. The bottle chattered against the rim of the crystal tumbler.
Gray didn’t seem affected by their touch.
“Thanks again for the contractor leads,” he said. “I’ll get their bids, but I have a feeling I’ll pick Forester.”
Abby blinked, sinking into a chair. Her contractors? She’d screwed up her own restoration by being nice. “You’ve met with everyone already?”
“Can’t stand to have the place looking like a bombed-out ruin.”
“You’re showing your Yankee.” And the fact that he didn’t have to worry about cash flow. What would that be like? “The summer heat will knock that impatience right out of you. Eventually you’ll slow down.”
“Like you?” He shook his head. “You’re everywhere. When do you take time off?”
She frowned. “Never.”
What a timely reminder. She needed to ignore any zings flying around her kitchen. Fitzgerald House was the most important thing in her life, and it deserved her full attention.
* * *
ABBY ADDED OLIVE oil and a dab of butter to her sauté pan.
“I hate to repeat myself—” Gray moved into the kitchen carrying an open bottle of cabernet “—but it smells incredible in here.”
His smile had Abby melting like sorbet on a summer day. Earlier, she’d caught herself fantasizing about touching the dimple that appeared on his left cheek whenever he grinned.
Absolutely never get involved with a guest. She’d been repeating Mamma’s rule often. Mamma had once dated a guest who’d stayed at Fitzgerald House for an extended visit. He’d later turned out to be married.
Abby was pretty sure Gray was single, but she didn’t dare ask such a personal question. After nearly two weeks of dinners, she and Gray had yet to run out of topics to discuss, often talking well into the evening. She hadn’t laughed this much since her childhood.
She could look but not touch. Their agreement with Gray was profitable and she didn’t want to upset anything that helped Fitzgerald House.
Gray grabbed dishes from the pantry. He was a guest, but insisted on setting the table.
“Stop. You don’t have to help.” Abby w
aved her hand. She’d planned to get it done before he came in.
He swung by the range, dropping off a glass of wine for her. “I told you, I don’t mind.”
But she did. He was a guest. She took a deep breath.
“I haven’t seen you around today.” She’d wandered into the rooms where guests gathered on the off chance that he might be there. She hadn’t been so foolish since her days of high school crushes.
“I spent the morning at the warehouse and then drove to Hilton Head to visit friends.”
“How lovely.” Abby hadn’t been to Hilton Head in too long.
“It should have been nice.”
His tone of voice, so stern, made her turn toward him. “It wasn’t?”
“No.” His lips formed a straight line.
“Why not?” She tried to sound casual as she sliced mushrooms for dinner.
“The wife was looking for funding for a summer camp.” He took a sip of his wine. “She invited me to lunch to tap me for a donation.”
That didn’t sound so bad. “Good cause?”
He snorted. “Cheerleading camp.”
“For underprivileged children?”
“Not in her world. I should have known she’d try something.”
The mushrooms sizzled as they hit the sauté pan. “Why would you think that?”
“Everyone wants something—usually it’s money.”
What kind of world did he live in? “That can’t always be true.”
“Always.”
“Do people ask you for money often?” she asked.
He pulled salad dressing from the fridge and set it on the table. “All the time. When I first got here, it was an investment banker and a biotech opportunity.”
She chuckled. “That’s sounds like a joke.”
“Not when he was looking for ten million dollars.”
Her spoon clanged in her saucepan. “Holy cow. You have that kind of money?” she blurted out.
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Throw some of it my way,” she said under her breath. They could finish off Fitzgerald House and put in gold-plated faucets.
His back stiffened.
She hadn’t meant for him to hear her.
“Does this happen to your whole family?”
