“Score one for Julia Child.”
“Right? Some warm baguettes, a crispy salad, my summer fruit trifle, and we have dinner.” She shrugged. “Whenever they get here.” She put the lid on the heavy orange Le Creuset pot. It clattered as she called out, “Lois?”
A heavyset middle-aged woman with prematurely graying hair pulled back into a ponytail popped her head around the corner. “Yes, Mrs. Phillips?”
“Are you finished with the silver?”
“Just. I’m putting it all back in the silver box.”
“No, leave it out. I’ll set the table.” She glanced again at the clock and began untying her apron. “We have to get a move on,” she said with the edge in her voice that prompted her help and horses alike. “Could you deliver these flowers right away?”
Lois stepped into the room.
Without waiting for a response, Grace continued, “The two large bouquets with the freesia go to the guest cottages. The freesia smells so wonderful and will freshen the stale air. The pink roses to Moira’s room. She’s always loved them, you know. Ever since she was a little girl. And the hydrangea arrangement stays in the dining room. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m on my way.” Lois had worked for Grace Phillips for ten years and knew her employer to be both demanding and generous.
“Thank you. I want the flowers in the houses before they arrive,” Grace added.
Lois disappeared behind the door. Grace put her hands on her hips, surveying the kitchen, mentally checking off her to-do list.
Charles watched her, crossing his arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. “You’re in your element, aren’t you?”
He had the patrician features befitting his historic family, a once-firm jawline slightly sagging with age, an aquiline nose, and full lips. What kept his expression from being haughty was his soulful blue eyes. She smiled into them, acknowledging his tone that implied he knew her as well as, or better than, she knew herself.
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked blithely.
“All these guests arriving, organizing your troops with the strategy of a general . . .”
“I’m a woman. I excel at multitasking,” she replied smugly, then laughed. “But this is a challenge. So much to do and so many uncertainties. Everyone’s on edge with this storm. And I confess, I’m a little nervous about Angel de la Cruz coming.”
“Why?”
She looked at him askance. “Because he is Angel de la Cruz. I’ve heard he can be very temperamental. You never know what he’s going to say or do.”
Charles gave a who cares? shrug. “I heard he’s a womanizer.”
Grace smirked and reached for a measuring cup half-filled with wine. “I hadn’t heard that.” She sipped. “Interesting.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. I won’t let him get within ten feet of you.”
Grace laughed, and came to wrap her arms around Charles. They were the same height and she almost always wore flats, so his body fit perfectly against hers, strong and firm from a lifetime of riding. At sixty-five, Charles had the body of a man twenty years his junior. He kissed her possessively.
“I love it when you’re jealous,” she quipped.
“Who said I’m jealous? I just want a taste of your wine.”
Grace chuckled as she slid away and returned with another bottle of the burgundy. She handed it to him to open. Though she smiled, his comment pricked her heart. Ever since the horrific jumping accident two years earlier, Charles had been more aloof when it came to showing affection. At the beginning she’d assumed it was due to the severity of his injuries. The poor man had endured surgery, immobility, a wheelchair, and a year of therapy. Hardly conducive to romance. She never doubted he still loved her. Truth be told, Grace hoped he would never ride again. She discouraged it. God knew she’d sleep better. Yet his inability to get back on a horse had created a chasm in his soul, as though a large part of himself was missing.
Suddenly their terrier, Bunny, began barking. Grace hurried to the window to peer out at the driveway. Coming up the gravel drive was a blue Audi. And hanging out the front passenger window was the black head of a massive dog.
“They’re here!” she called to Charles.
* * *
As Hannah pulled the dusty Audi to a stop in front of the stately stone house, the front door flew open and Grace emerged, preceded by a bolt of brown fur that took off down the stairs, barking uproariously. Grace was a striking woman with the tall, lean, girlish body of a rider. She was dressed as usual in a crisp white shirt, tight jeans with a belt sporting a large Hermès buckle, and the ever-present pearls. Her memorable hair, a mane of dark curls, was drawn back from her face and piled on her head, held precariously with a clasp. Grace took long strides toward her, smiling broadly, arms held out in welcome.
Hannah felt shabby by comparison after her long drive. She strained to tug her stiff, long legs wrapped in tight jeans out from the cramped car. Her blood was still racing with the miles, making her a bit light-headed as she rose. She knew she smelled stale, but she raced into Grace’s arms, holding her in a tight embrace of reconnection.
“Welcome!” Grace whispered in her ear, then, smiling, pulled back to look at her closely.
Hannah beamed, doing the same. Grace’s face was deeply tanned after a summer in the sun, revealing new lines at the eyes. But she looked healthy and well.
“It’s so good to see you again,” said Hannah.
“Welcome!” echoed Charles as he stepped forward to kiss her cheek.
“Charles! How long has it been?”
“Two years, but who’s counting?”
When he leaned in, Hannah smelled faint aftershave, very subtle and pleasant, that hinted at a fresh shower after a day with the horses. Tanned and smiling, Charles was one of those men who never aged. He too wore jeans and a crisp, pale-blue button-down shirt the same color as his eyes. He’d been a distinguished gentleman when she’d met him years ago, and he still was. Though he was usually reserved, he always gave her the feeling that he liked her. Which was deeply appreciated, for Grace was her friend and she rarely spent any real time with Charles when the couple visited Palm Beach.
“Why did you stop coming to Florida with Grace? Are we too boring for you?” Hannah teased, then froze as a flicker of pain crossed his face.
“No, no. . . . I’ve been staying close to home. You know . . . since the accident. . . .”
“Oh.” Hannah blanched. “Of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Charles smiled benignly. “Of course not.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “You know me. I always have a quip. I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut sometimes.” She laughed. “I’m hopeless. What can I say? Seriously, though, Angel’s tour schedule is insane. It feels like we’re always on the road. Like a Barnum and Bailey circus. And I’m one of the clowns.”
Grace linked arms. “You’re here now.”
Grace’s eyes slid from her face to the car, where Angel was emerging from the backseat. Max was already running down the gravel drive to the grass, where he promptly lifted his leg against a tree. Angel put his hands on his back and stretched, then dropped his arms and strode toward his hosts. He ran his hands through his longish dark hair, nonchalant about being disheveled. His wrinkled black shirt was hanging out from his black jeans and he had a day’s shadow on his chin, yet he still managed to look sexy. Angel strode toward them with confidence and refinement, his arm out and a genuine grin on his face.