by Sey, Susan
Bel’s shoulders drooped under a swift pang of dismay. What, was he leaving her? Surrendering? “It hasn’t been that bad, James. I could use a little lightening up from time to time—”
“Well, yeah.” He grinned at her. “But that’s no excuse for my playing fast and loose with your career. Which is why I spent this morning at the library.”
“The library?” She frowned at him, then down at his ratty track pants and faded t-shirt. “In your pajamas?”
He looked down at himself. “I don’t wear pajamas.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks burned and he laughed.
“Most people don’t iron for a day at the library, Bel.”
She shrugged, still hung up on the image of James wearing nothing but all that taut golden skin of his and a sheet.
“But I did shower before I left. A nod to basic civility.”
“I’m so glad to hear it,” she said.
He beamed at her. “Don’t you want to hear my idea?”
“For what?”
“For the Fox Hunt ball.”
She shook her head. “I think I might put that pot of coffee on after all. You don’t make sense sans caffeine.”
“You’re an angel,” he said. “I’ll start again once I’m caffeinated. I think you’re going to like this once I explain it right.”
“Where did you get these?” Bel asked, her fingers moving reverently over the original architectural drawings of the Hunt Estate.
“The local library had them,” James said, cradling a steaming coffee cup like it was manna from heaven.
“You have a library card?”
“Sure. First thing I get every place I live.”
She tore herself away from the plans long enough to throw a skeptical glance over her shoulder. “Really?”
“My mom always said there was nothing wrong with this country that couldn’t be fixed by turning half the churches into libraries.”
Bel grinned. “Bet that made her popular in small town Texas.”
“All the ideas in the world, free of charge and open to the public,” James said. “What’s so unchristian about that?”
“Not a thing,” Bel murmured, tracing the outline of the Dower House’s sweet front porch and tidy kitchen windows. A pang of loss washed through her, bittersweet and sharp, and she flipped the page. No sense in dwelling on the past, she told herself firmly. She’d find a new place to park her eggs and butter. A new kitchen to love. Just as soon as she finished up here.
Another unexpected pang of loss echoed through her at the thought but she forced herself to ignore it. To focus on the page before her and not the vast, gorgeous space she was currently parked in. The heart of James’ house in which she’d made herself completely at home.
She turned the page and found herself looking right at the very kitchen in which she sat.
“Isn’t it cool?” James came to peer over her shoulder, excitement warming his voice. “That’s the Annex.” He leaned forward to lay a finger on the drawing. “That’s us. Did you know the Annex was originally part of the Hunt estate?”
“Well, yeah.” She shot him a look. “That’s why it’s called the Annex. Because it was added on?”
“I know what annex means, Bel.” James gave her a friendly elbow shot and jerked his chin toward the yard. “But that hedgerow out there has to be nearly as old as the house.”
“Nearly.”
“So why would you build a huge beautiful house then hide it behind a wall of shrubs?”
“Think of it as a glorified spite fence.” Bel leaned down to squint at some tiny printing on the scrolled paper.
“Spite fence?”
“Mmmmm. The result of a family squabble, or so local legend has it.”
“Must’ve been some squabble.”
“I think a woman was involved.”
“Isn’t there always?” She shot him a narrow look. He smiled innocently. “How do you know these things, anyway?”
“Kate.” She shrugged. “It’s her mission in life to restore the Hunt estate to its previous glory. She’s got Hunt House and the Dower House about where she wants them but she’s never been able to get her hands on the Annex.” Bel cocked a brow at him. “It really burned her toast when the owner sold to you instead of her. She took it as a personal affront.”
“As well she should. The lady I bought it from had no love for Miss Kate Every Day, if I recall. Thought she was arrogant and snotty and holier-than-thou.” His eyes twinkled at her. “And that’s just what she felt comfortable saying in front of the pretty little real estate agent who showed me the place. The rest doesn’t bear repeating. Plus I could never hope to do it justice, considering its original delivery by a half-deaf, ninety-year-old woman.”
“Miss Farnsworth.” Bel smiled. “She and Kate were...cordial.”
“That’s a lovely and southern way of putting it.”
“Isn’t it?” She flipped the page and caught her breath.
He bounced on the toes of his sneakers and beamed. “It’s the original landscaping plan. For the whole estate. I couldn’t believe they had it.”
She blinked and leaned in, traced a finger above the spidery lines. “My God, James, look at this! Without that big old hedgerow dividing the property you can really see the way the houses were designed as three parts of a single whole. The way they’re angled to face the pond but also each other. The way they curve around to create a commons, sort of. With—is that a garden in the center?”
“Yep.” He flipped another page with a dramatic flourish and Bel lost her breath completely. “I give you Hunt Gardens.”
“With a capital G. Good lord, James.” She traced the pretty little pathways curving amidst beds and groves and arbors and nooks. “It’s like something you’d read about in a historical romance novel—all those alcoves, the statuary and promenades.”
“You, uh, read a lot of romance novels?”
There was a laugh in his voice and Bel turned up her nose primly. “Enough to know that Lord Thus-And-So will be much tempted to take certain liberties with Lady What’s-Her-Face right here—” She tapped the drawing and squinted to read the archaic printing. “—by the fountain.”
James laughed. “He will if all goes according to plan.”
Bel turned slowly. “Plan? You have a plan?”
He grinned at her. “What would you say if I told you I’d decided to restore the grounds?”
“The grounds?” Bel stared at him. “You mean, like, plant this garden?”
“Yep.”
“But there’s a thirty yard long hedgerow out there between here and Hunt House. And half this garden lies on Kate’s property. And even if those things didn’t matter—which they do—we have two weeks to plan this party. There’s no way on God’s green earth you could possibly get all this—” She stabbed a finger at the paper. “—done in two weeks. Why, you probably couldn’t even get a nursery to come out to consult in that time frame, let alone—”
“The bobcats will be here in an hour,” he said. “Kate’s already given the okay. I stopped by Hunt House on my way home from the library to speak with her.”
“Oh.” Bel felt a little faint as she struggled to process the new ground rules under which her party planning would take place. Change had never been great for her. “So your plan is to tear the entire estate to shreds for the full two weeks prior to hosting a huge annual event?”
“Yep.” He took her hands in his. “I have this idea.”
“Oh?”
“We’re going back to pre-Civil War Virginia,” he said. “When men were gentlemen, ladies wore hoops and everybody rode to the hounds. When courtship had rules, manners reigned supreme and throwing a decent ball was a skill young ladies learned at their mothers’ knee.”
She stared at him, at the utter earnestness lighting his pirate’s face. And something sparked inside. An answering flicker. A lick of...magic.
“When the entire world ran according to the agricultural clock,”
she said slowly. “When people ate only what could be sowed, tended and reaped with their own hands.”
“That’s right.” His grin was a beacon of heedless enthusiasm. Bel would have laughed if she hadn’t known a similar one was spreading across her own face. “That’s exactly right. I knew you’d get it, Bel.”
The spark inside her glowed hot, then burst into a lovely, vivid flame. “I have to get to the farmers’ market,” she said. “Right now.”
He laughed. “I figured. Go on. Do your thing. I’m going to wait for the landscapers.”
She started for the door, then, halfway there, turned and came back. “Thank you,” she said, and pressed a hard, smacking kiss to his lips.
He froze under her hands and when she drew back, he touched a finger to his lips and said warily, “Ah, okay. For what?”
“For understanding what I needed,” she said. “For giving it to me.”
He nodded. “Uh, sure. No problem.”
She laughed. “Are you blushing, James?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Geez. No. You just, I don’t know, surprised me. I’m usually the one kissing you in here.”
“You surprised me, too,” she said. “I guess that makes us even.”
“Good,” he said gruffly. “Fine. Now go.”
She snatched up her purse and sailed out the door, too preoccupied with heirloom tomatoes to notice that James hadn’t kissed her back. Or to wonder why.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“For the love of Pete, Bel! Would you get out of here?” The caterer flapped an oven mitt at Bel, shooing her away from a tray of pumpkin pecan tartlets cooling on the counter. It was the night of the Fox Hunt Ball and Bel’s nerves had drawn her irresistibly to the kitchen. “You’re going to ruin that pretty dress of yours and I won’t have it on my conscience.”
Bel snatched her hands back from the tray with a guilty start. There was no reason, aside from observing her staff operate with a gratifying efficiency, for her to be here. Every inch counted in a working kitchen and, given the amazing circumference of her vintage hoop skirt, Bel was taking up considerable acreage that wasn’t hers to waste.
“Oh, Lillian, I’m sorry.” She forced a little chuckle. “I’m making a nuisance of myself, aren’t I?”
“Oh, honey, no.” Lillian laughed, her round, lived-in face merry. “Jim and I were just saying last night how wonderful you’ve been to work with.”
Lillian gave her husband a fond glance across the kitchen as he shouldered an enormous tray of thin-shaved Virginia ham, country cheese, and pickled beans and made for the door. He winked at his wife, who swiped her oven mitt at him this time.
“We know it must be killing you to turn over control of your kitchen to somebody else when the pressure’s on. Lord knows it would kill me. The kitchen is the heart of your house. It’s where you live.” She gave Bel a sympathetic smile. “It’s hard to walk away from your heart, even temporarily.”
“Oh, this isn’t—” My kitchen, she was going to say. This isn’t my kitchen. But her heart snatched the words out of her mouth and tore them into tiny pieces. This was her kitchen. Her heart had sunk its thirsty roots deep into the soil of this place and made it her own. It was hers. She loved it.
“Of course it is, dear.” Lillian bent to pull a tray of ham and egg pastries from the oven, blissfully unaware of the reeling shock she’d just delivered. “You don’t bake someplace every day for any length of time without leaving a good chunk of yourself behind. It belongs to you as much as you belong to it.”
Bel stared at her, denial an anxious beat inside her head. “But I don’t—” I don’t want to love it, she thought. I don’t want to love him.
“Doesn’t matter,” Lillian said cheerfully as if she could read Bel’s panicked mind. “That’s just how it is for people like us.” She slid the tray onto the counter and fanned herself with the oven mitt. “Now, go on. Guests are due to start arriving any minute. We have dozens of servers and all systems are go. Leave this up to Jim and me.”
Bel looked longingly at her apron hanging on a peg behind the door. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to slip it on and bury herself elbow-deep in some bread dough. “Are you sure? Maybe I should—”
“Bel.” Lillian gave her a stern look. “We’ve been at this since before you were born. We know what to do. Besides, a hot kitchen is no place for a lady in a hoop skirt and a corset. You’re going to set yourself on fire or something and I’ll have no idea how to get you out of that thing.”
Bel fingered the heavy cinnamon-colored velvet of her skirt. “Yeah. Me neither. It took me nearly half an hour just to figure out how to put it on.” Even so, a swish of giddy pleasure swirled through her at the rich fabric against her skin.
Lillian smiled. “Go find your young man and have a glass of champagne. Jim just finished pouring on the patio.”
“Right,” Bel said, stretching her lips into something resembling a smile. “Of course. I’ll just...get out of your way.”
“Have a nice time, dear.”
Bel walked in her soft dancing slippers—which went a long way toward making up for the corset—down the short hallway from the kitchen to the foyer. She should go out to the patio, she thought. One last time before people arrived. She could make sure the champagne was properly chilled and the hors d’oeuvre stations were spaced adequately to encourage mingling. Because the last thing she wanted was for people to clump together or, God forbid, stay inside. After all the work James had gone to putting the gardens back together, the least people could do was—
She faltered at the foot of the steps, her thoughts scattering like autumn leaves as James came bounding down that grandly dramatic staircase two risers at a time. He was...good lord, he was beautiful. For once his hair seemed to have obeyed orders rather than chewing up and spitting out the comb. A few thick golden waves tumbled over his forehead but the majority had been confined to a civilized queue at the nape of his neck. Black riding boots polished to a mirror-like finish hugged muscular calves while a pair of buff trousers clung to powerful thighs and narrow hips. A deep blue jacket stretched without a wrinkle over shoulders that looked about a yard wide, while snowy white lace bloomed at the collar and wrists.
He moved like a thoroughbred pacing the track, all lean lines, smooth muscles and easy confidence. This was a man who’d found his way back to the top of his game, and everything in Bel yearned for him the way she’d yearned for the damn kitchen two minutes ago.
She laid a hand over the sudden aching void in her chest. God. She was in big trouble. Because after tonight, it was over. Her time here. Her time with James. It was all over, and she was a fool for thinking that it was the damn kitchen breaking her heart.
“Hey, Bel.” He stopped short on the bottom step, his eyes bright and shrewd as they raced over her. “Well, my goodness. Look at you.”
She fingered the trio of fat curls gathered at the nape of her neck, suddenly aware that while an extravagant amount of spice-colored fabric had been dedicated to her skirt, considerably less had been expended on her bodice. And courtesy of Audrey’s merciless assault on her corset laces—she’d been forced to cling to the bedpost like Scarlett O’Hara—an unprecedented percentage of her bosom now rose cheekily above the neckline.
In the privacy of her bedroom, she’d actually admired the effect. For a woman more used to angles than curves, it was something of a miracle to see cleavage manufactured out of thin air.
But now, with James’ eyes hot and assessing on her...well, on her everything, she wasn’t so comfortable.
“Too much?” She plucked at the folds of her skirt. “I’m more used to being in the kitchen at stuff like this, but Lillian kicked me out and I—”
“It’s perfect.” He took that last step and caught her hands up in his. “You’re perfect.”
She laughed, his approval seeping into her bones like summer sunshine. “I’m hardly perfect.”
“Any more perfect and I’ll ha
ve to dig up a set of dueling pistols to defend your honor after some jerk tries to take liberties at that damn fountain.”
“It’s not my fault you moved the naked frolickers into the garden. I told you it would give people ideas.”
He tucked her hand into his elbow and began a slow stroll toward the patio. “Which, under normal circumstances, I’d be fine with.” He patted her hand. “Then I saw you in that dress.”
She shook her head, ridiculously pleased. “You’re looking pretty good yourself,” she said. “You’d never know you used to have a Whopper habit.”
He gave her a pained look. “I still miss them.”
“With the way I feed you?”
“I know,” he said. “It’s a terrible weakness. It makes no sense. I’m appropriately ashamed.”
“Don’t sweat it. We all have our little foibles.” She hesitated, then leaned into him and whispered. “I like instant cocoa.”
“Seriously?”
She shrugged. “I can’t understand it.” She thought of the kitchen that wasn’t really hers. Of the man that wasn’t hers either. “Sometimes the heart wants what it wants.”
“Yeah, but your heart doesn’t even acknowledge the existence of processed food. What’s next? Velveeta?”
She shuddered. “Not in my kitchen.”
He laughed, a full-bodied peal of amusement that rang up to the ceiling and warmed her from the inside out. “I do like you, Bel.”
Something hungry and persistent inside her gobbled up the words and cried for more. Like wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
She shrugged it off and squeezed his arm.
“I like you, too, James,” she said. “But the DC Statesmen have dibs. They’re going to be proud to have you back, you know.”
“I know,” he said. “They ought to be. I haven’t been in shape this good—mind, body or spirit—since I was fifteen.” He turned to her, his eyes green and intense. “I owe it all to you, Bel. You’ve been...good for us. For me.”
