His Comfort and Joy. Jessica Bird

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      Chapter Two

      Joy propped her bike against the house and looked around. She’d grown up in a big place, but Gray’s mansion was huge. The three-story structure was the size of a college dorm and looked like a castle. It was also in perfect shape, the great stone walls pale and clean in the late sun, the trim painted bright white, the shutters gleaming black.

      “Yea, you’re here!” Frankie’s voice came out an open screen door. “How’d you like to help make cream puffs?”

      Joy swept her hair up and pinned it out of the way with a barrette as she came into the industrial-quality kitchen. “I’m your girl. Just show me—”

      The force of the blow sent her reeling into the wall and nearly kicked her feet out from under her. Something hit her in a wet splatter and then there was a loud clang as a pan bounced on the floor. The kitchen went dead quiet.

      Tom Reynolds’s face was the color of oatmeal. Although it wasn’t as if he’d had a deep tan to begin with.

      “Oh, God. Are you okay?” He reached out. “I didn’t see you. I’m so sorry. I’m really, really…”

      Joy glanced down at herself. Her white shirt and black pants were covered with tortellini and pesto. She looked as though she’d been stabbed and was bleeding brilliant green.

      Right out of a Roger Corman flick, she thought with a grin.

      “I’m fine.” She was more worried about Tom. He didn’t look so steady. “Trust me, I’ll recover.”

      The poor guy was on the verge of another round of apologies, but Frankie’s fiancé cut him off with a hand to the back of the neck.

      “Whoa, tiger. What was I telling you about slowing down?” Nate was a big, handsome man dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. He looked about as chef-like as your average Harley motorcycle owner, but he was heaven on wheels behind a stove. “You all right, Angel?”

      She smiled at her soon-to-be brother-in-law. “Fine and dandy. Just keep me away from the vampires. I could give a garlic wreath a run for the money.”

      Frankie came over, shaking her head. “We’re going to have to get you out of those clothes. I think I saw some waitressing uniforms in the back room. Let me see what I can find.”

      Nate got down on his hands and knees and started cleaning up the mess. “We’re going to have to get creative. There isn’t enough time to remake this batch so we’ll have to whip up something else.”

      Tom sank to the floor, putting his head between his knees for a moment. His blond hair was messed up as if even his follicles were upset.

      “I really need this job,” he said softly.

      Nate froze. “Who said you were getting canned? Good God, you should know half the things I’ve dropped over the years.”

      Joy put her hand on Tom’s shoulder. “It was just an accident. I should have been looking where I was going, too.”

      The cook blushed as he began scooping up tortellini with his hands. “That’s a nice thing for you to say, Joy.”

      A second later Frankie came back with a black-and-white uniform in her arms and an impish, sixty-year-old woman at 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.

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