by Sally Falcon
“Hey, a man can be persuaded to change his mind.”
“Hmmm,” Tory answered absently, still preoccupied with her own thoughts. She couldn’t be in love with Logan Herrington. It was ridiculous. He was the last man on earth who she should love.
“Okay, if that’s the way you’re going to be, I guess it’s back to work,” Abby said in disgust. “Where are the extra packing boxes?”
“The boxes?” Tory echoed, then tried to concentrate on the present. “They’re on the left top shelf in the pantry.”
“This is insane,” she murmured the minute Abby left the room. Unable to stand still, she began pacing the length of the kitchen. How could she be so stupid to fall in love with an opinionated, arrogant, ill-mannered Yankee? No matter how much she wanted to deny it, Tory knew that it was true. She’d fallen in love with Logan.
For the life of her, she couldn’t figure why, or how it had happened. She didn’t have time to reason it out right now. Abby would back any second, and she had an important party to cater. All she felt like doing at the moment was going home, and hiding under the bedspread. That had always been her solution during a thunderstorm, burrowing into the mattress and pulling the covers over her head until the storm was over. Unfortunately, she wasn’t a trusting child any more, who accepted love as an uncomplicated emotion.
“Hey, this stuff looks pretty good. I don’t think my mother could find fault with this,” Logan announced, seeming unduly surprised at the decorative display of food that was being unloaded onto the table in front of him. When he caught Tory’s gaze studying him, he frowned and asked, “Do I have a spot on my tie, boss?”
His question caught her by surprise, unaware that she’d been staring at him. He was standing at the end of the long buffet table set up on the main deck of the Spirit. Did he have to sound so amazed about the food, and look so handsome at the same time? Was it any wonder she was having trouble concentrating on the job at hand? She’d already forgotten to count the boxes as they were carried onto the boat. “Sorry, I was trying to figure out if all the boxes are here, now that we have the hors d’oeuvres unloaded.”
“If they aren’t, it’s a little late because we’ve left the dock,” Abby announced from behind her. “Don’t the boys look nice in their party clothes?”
Logan and Gary linked arms and struck a pose reminiscent of a catalog layout. The two men had volunteered to serve as waiters for the evening when both of Tory’s college student helpers called in sick at the last minute. Thanks to Abby’s inspiration, they were dressed in matching outfits—charcoal slacks, black vests, and white shirts with a thin, black pin stripe. They complemented Abby’s and Tory’s gray skirts and maroon vests.
“Give us some straw hats, part our hair in the middle, and we’ll sing barber shop, in two-part harmony,” Gary announced, an ingratiating smile across his bearded face.
“Just hum under your breath while you work,” Tory shot back, trying to count the containers in earnest this time. The guests would be wondering where the food was fairly soon because the boat was underway. Although the weather was perfect with a clear sky and moderate temperature, she was still jumpy. Every guest at Stephen Ferguson’s retirement party was influential and could make or break Bill of Fare if something went wrong. There was also Logan’s disturbing presence, and the emotions that were lurking in her subconscious.
“Tory, will you relax?” Abby murmured, laying a comforting hand on her arm. “We’ve done this a hundred times before and for bigger crowds.”
“I know, but usually I have a kitchen close at hand and experienced helpers,” she whispered back, eyeing the two men at the end of the table. When Logan snitched a marinated mushroom from the perfect symmetry of one of the trays, she groaned, “See what I mean?”
“All right, you two idiots, let’s hop to it. You volunteered for this job, and you’re going to behave yourselves,” Abby exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at an innocent-looking Logan. When her husband snickered, she turned to glare at him. “Both of you go check the tables and make sure there’s enough silverware. When that’s done, make sure the wine is iced, and set up the glasses on the table along the railing, then come back for further instructions. This is a first class operation. We don’t have time for schoolboy antics, which means the hired help doesn’t eat anything until the job is done.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they agreed in unison, but both men were having trouble repressing their grins.
“Okay, boss, now what?”
“If I don’t push one of them overboard before the evening’s over, it will be a miracle.” Tory watched Logan and Gary wending their way through the maze of tables, still acting like a pair of boisterous adolescents, then shook her head. “Let’s take the hors d’oeuvres to the upper deck. They’ll need something to nibble on with their drinks. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for a tipsy guest going overboard.”
“Tory, will you stop looking for trouble?” Abby asked when they returned from the upper deck. She deftly unpacked the dinner plates and stacked them at the end of the table while Tory began arranging the food for the main course. “We’ve already had two requests for Bill of Fare’s services while we were passing the canapés.”
“That’s before they realized we don’t have any dessert,” Tory replied tonelessly from where she stood near the packing boxes. She turned to stare at her friend, a feeling of desperation spreading through her body. “Where is the dessert?”
“You have to be kidding. I put the tarts and the ice chest with the fruit in the station wagon myself. They were in the back seat to keep from being jostled.” Abby abandoned the dishes to join Tory in searching through the boxes and the compact refrigerator. After a thorough search, she sat back on her heels and met her friend’s defeated look. “There isn’t any dessert, just walnut-banana whip cream for the fruit.”
“Okay, boss ladies, the glasses and wine are all set, what do we do next?” Gary announced from behind them. When neither of the women answered, he looked at his wife closely. “Honey, what’s the matter?”
“Do you remember an ice chest and two packing boxes marked dessert?”
“No, I don’t think so. How about you, Logan?”
“I didn’t look at the writing on the boxes. I just carried them. What’s wrong?”
“Unless someone wants to swim back to shore, we don’t have any dessert for a party of fifty people,” Tory groaned. She felt numb inside. In spite of her premonition of disaster, she couldn’t believe this was happening. Ironically, despite his earlier amusement, she wanted to seek the shelter of Logan’s arms for comfort and reassurance, even if he was the reason for her preoccupation tonight.
As if he read her mind, he moved to her side, curving an arm around her sagging shoulders. “From a conversation I overheard earlier about the river’s current, swimming isn’t an option. Is there something you can substitute for dessert?”
“Not stranded in the middle of the Arkansas River. I should never have agreed to cater a party on a boat,” Tory said numbly, torn between wanting his support and resenting it. This wouldn’t be happening if he hadn’t come to Arkansas.
“I’ll be right back.” Logan walked away before the other three could respond.
“How do you tell the president of one of the largest banks in the state that there isn’t any dessert?” Tory asked, dreading having to face Tyler Bodine with the news. “Gary, you deal with high-powered types all the time. Any suggestions?”
“Don’t give me that, Tory. You’ve grown up with high-powered types. Bodine isn’t going to tear your head off, although he’ll probably want a discount,” he returned, seeming to be at a loss over how to handle the matter.
“Not if he doesn’t know there’s a problem,” Logan put in as he rejoined the group. He was slightly out of breath, but grinning at the long-faced trio.
“Don’t tell me. You told the captain to pull over at the nearest supermarket for frozen yogurt?” Tory asked without enthusiasm. Her whole
life was becoming a melodrama. First, she’d fallen in love with the most inappropriate man, and now her business was falling apart before her eyes.
“Not quite, although I did speak to the captain. The Spirit has a motor boat, and we should have the dessert on board in about a half hour,” Logan announced. When no one responded, he looked around the group expectantly. “Well, who has the keys to the car? It would be a shame to make the trip back and not be able to get to the food.”
“I’ve got them,” Tory murmured. She pulled the keys out of her vest pocket and reluctantly handed them to Logan. Why did he have to be the one to come up with a solution? Life just wasn’t fair. Here was the perfect situation for her to vent her anger over her tangled emotions, but no, Logan Herrington had to be her knight in shining armor.
“Don’t worry about thanking me now, I’ll be glad to collect later,” he said, his cocky smile not quite reaching his eyes.
He took the keys, but didn’t release Tory’s hand immediately. She met his hooded gaze, wondering at his hesitant look. When he tugged on her hand, she allowed him to pull her to his side.
“I’ll take something on account, just for luck,” he murmured and quickly bent his head before she could guess his intent.
His mouth was warm, moist, and possessive. Tory didn’t have time to react to the kiss until he was gone. It had taken only a minute, but it shattered the frozen shell she’d built around her emotions. As Logan walked away, whistling under his breath, she wanted to call him back, demanding an explanation. Suddenly she wanted to confront him about the conflicting feelings that had her off balance when she should be thinking about her business, nothing else.
“Gee, do all the waiters get to kiss the boss,” Gary asked. His muffled groan brought Tory out of her trance.
Starting in surprise and embarrassment, she realized that she was running her fingers over her lips, as if she was savoring Logan’s kiss. She turned to the others to give Gary a withering look, but noticed he was already rubbing his shin. Apparently his wife had already answered his question.
“The only waiter left on board gets to haul the empty boxes and any trash back to the storage closet before the guests come down to dinner,” Tory instructed with a smile. The near disaster had shaken her out of her apathy. Now her mind was clear and focused on the Ferguson party. She’d deal with Logan later. “When you get done with that, I’m sure we’ll find something even more exciting for you to do.”
“What did I do wrong? Were my Yankee manners showing too much?” Logan couldn’t contain his curiosity another minute. Although Abby and Gary had done a thorough critique of the successful evening, including the dessert caper, Tory had been silent during the ride back from the dock. She’d remained mute when they stopped at the Bush’s house, letting him refuse the invitation to stop for coffee. With the Planchet house in sight, he knew he’d waited long enough to find out what caused her silence.
“Nothing. You saved the evening.”
“Why do you sound like that’s a crime?” he asked. What was going on here? Tory couldn’t still be angry about last night, or could she? She’d been subdued most of the evening, long before the dessert crisis occurred. Apparently he’d lost a major battle with his impatience last night.
“Certainly not. Thank you, Logan, for your invaluable help,” she recited, like a child forced to acknowledge a horrible gift from a relative.
“You’re in a strange mood tonight.”
Tory stopped the car by the back of the house. She put the car in park, then turned to look at him as she turned off the ignition. “I’m always in a strange mood after a near disaster.”
“A near disaster that turned into a triumph. Your little dinner was quite a success,” Logan corrected. Tory didn’t bother to answer and opened her door, not waiting for him to assist her. While he scrambled out of his side of the car, he wondered if he would ever understand women, especially this one. “Bodine was quite impressed with your little business. He was singing your praises to everyone within earshot.” She still didn’t say a word, so he decided to just keep talking as he came around the front of the car. “In fact, he gave me a twenty-dollar tip. Am I allowed to keep it?”
“No problem,” she managed, going to the back of the car and opening the tailgate. “Let’s get this stuff unloaded. It’s been a long day.”
He followed her directions, carrying the empty boxes into the kitchen, still trying to interpret her mood. Maybe she was always this down after a job. The preparation and serving could have sapped her energy level, turning her into a zombie. She’d been her usual sparkling self, however, dealing with her clients. At one point, he thought he’d have to warn off one of Bodine’s junior executives when the man spent too much time talking to the owner of Bill of Fare about the food.
“How much work does this usually involve?” he asked, once the boxes were stored in the pantry. Tory was putting away the leftovers, although there wasn’t much left.
“It depends on the complexity of the menu. If it’s a large group like tonight, I usually manage to convince the client to keep it elegant, but simple.” She broke off when Logan reached over to snare a canapé before she covered the plate with plastic wrap. “Sorry, would you like something to eat? I wasn’t hungry, so I forgot to ask.”
He wasn’t ravenous, but if it kept her around he’d eat. “After being tempted all night, I think I might manage a bite or two. Passing out food to other people certainly helps build an appetite.”
“It’s a good thing I didn’t taste this before the party,” he managed after munching on a cracker overflowing with salmon mousse. “I wouldn’t have let anyone else have any.”
Tory rewarded his enthusiasm with a smile. She poured them both a cup of coffee and joined him at the oak table. “Remind me not to have you act as a waiter again. It might be counterproductive to business if you refused to serve the guests.”
“You really love what you’re doing, don’t you?” he asked. Discussing her business was safe ground, he hoped. Although he’d only experienced catering from the clients’ point of view before tonight, it might also lead to what was bothering her.
“Yes, I do. Don’t you enjoy your work?” She looked intrigued that anyone would pursue a career that they didn’t like. Was that why he treated her business as something frivolous?
“I never really thought about it. H.P.G. is the family business, so I’ve always planned to be part of it,” Logan explained, watching her expression with interest. She seemed more relaxed, more animated, since the ride home. She also gave him something to think about. He’d never considered whether he should like his job. It was simply something he always knew he would do.
“Do you have a plan for your life?” Tory leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. She seemed to be trying to read his mind by memorizing his expression.
“A plan? Nothing concrete,” he managed after a moment’s consideration, distracted by Tory’s sudden avid interest. She seemed to be waiting for his answer with an unnatural expectancy. “I was always going to work for the family firm. I was still in college when my father died, and Preston was out of the country. My grandfather called me into his office and explained what he expected from his only grandson, especially since Preston hadn’t showed any inclination toward starting a family.”
“It’s a little cut-and-dried,” Tory murmured. She lowered her eyelashes, cloaking her expression. She didn’t look up again, more interested in her fingertip tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “Did he pick out a suitable bride for you, too?”
“Not old L.W. He didn’t have much time for women, except as decorations. Herrington men tend to marry late and select women who are an asset to the firm.” He smiled as he remembered Preston’s sudden marriage six years ago, close to his fiftieth birthday, and to everyone’s astonishment. Babs’s dowry consisted of her camera and photographs. “My father was the exception, but I’ve haven’t given it much thought. Maybe we should have put that on my questionnaire.�
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He knew he said something wrong as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Tory stiffened, then abruptly got to her feet.
“What about you? Is there a master plan for Tory Planchet’s life?”
“Not really, just building a successful business.” Hopefully I’m better at that than my love life, she told herself, noting that her hand was shaking as she put her cup and saucer in the sink. “I’m not in any hurry to get married.”
What else could she say when she’d fallen in love with a man whose family had a history of marriages of convenience? No wonder he could be so clinical when he talked about having an affair. She’d promised to teach Logan to be more human, but she really wanted to know if he could learn to love. She was undoubtedly setting herself up for more heartache by trying.
“That sounds like a good plan to me,” Logan commented, his husky voice much closer than she anticipated. She hadn’t heard him get up from the table and cross the room.
She waited to turn away from the sink until he placed his dishes on the counter. She’d known he was close, but not standing directly behind her. The heat from his body reached out to her, tempting her to link her arms around his neck and pull his mouth down to hers. Her mind was at war with her body.
Shaking her head, she knew she was too tired to be dealing with Logan. She’d been assailed by ambiguous emotions all day, trying to analyze and re-analyze her emotions. Tonight on the Spirit proved that she couldn’t mix her personal and professional life without courting disaster.
Logan’s hands framed her face in a warm caress, his thumbs feathering over her cheekbones. She gripped the edge of the counter to keep her hands at her sides. One look into his smoky-blue eyes almost broke her resolve.
“Do I get my reward for rescuing the dessert?” he murmured, searching her face for the answer, waiting for her to respond.
She wet her lips, unable to move away, still trapped by his heated gaze. Dreading and anticipating his kiss as his head lowered, the slam of the back door closing caused her to jerk in reaction.
