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He reached out for her, not sure what he would do. Not take her in his arms, certainly. But he had some vague idea he could…pat her on the shoulder. Or something.
God, how lame was that.
Nate wasn’t at all surprised when she shrugged him off and left him alone in her wet mess of an office.
In the pantry, surrounded by canned vegetables, bags of George’s cookies and jars full of condiments, Frankie pulled herself together. Wiping her eyes with the palms of her hands, she sniffled a couple of times and then tugged her shirt into place.She couldn’t believe she’d cracked like that. In front of some stranger.
It was better than crying in front of Joy, sure, but not by much.
Boy, he’d nailed her vulnerable point. The idea that White Caps was failing because of her was her biggest fear and the mere thought of it was enough to make her start tearing up all over again.
God, what was she going to tell Joy if they had to leave? Where would they live? And how could she earn enough to take care of both her sister and Grand-Em?
What would she tell Alex?
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the shelves.
Alex.
She wondered where her brother was. Last she’d heard from him, he’d been training for the America’s Cup off the Bahamas, but that had been back in February. As a competitive sailor, he traveled all over the world, and tracking his movements would have required a good map and a lot of patience.
Neither of which she had.
Considering the terrible events on the lake, which had left the three of them orphans when Frankie had just turned twenty-two, the fact that Alex lived on the sea was a perennial source of heartache. Like all families of sailors, however, she’d learned to live with the fear and work around it.
You can do a lot of things if you have to, she thought. She’d turned into Wonder Woman thanks to getting trapped by fate.
An overworked, cranky Wonder Woman maybe, but she was still doing it all.
Frankie took a deep breath thinking, just once, she’d like to share the load. Have someone else make a decision. Take a direction. Lead.
She felt her shoulders sinking toward the floor as she tried to imagine Joy doing anything other than float around. George knew when he needed to eat and when it was time to sleep and not much else. Grand-Em thought it was still 1953.
But then, with the vividness of a movie clip, she had a vision of Nate’s hands flying around the chicken she’d burned.
He was right. She did need a cook and he was, evidently, available.
And the man was good, she thought.
There was also the reality that there wasn’t a long line of people applying for the job.
Wheeling around, Frankie burst out of the pantry, prepared to run after him, but she jerked to a halt. He’d been waiting, leaning casually against the island.
“I didn’t want to leave until I knew you were okay,” he explained.
“Do you want the job?”
He cocked an eyebrow, apparently unfazed by her turnaround. “Yeah. I’ll stay until Labor Day.”
“I can’t pay you much, but then again, there won’t be much you’ll have to do.”
He shrugged. “Money’s not important to me.”
At least he had one good trait, she thought, naming what sounded like a pathetically small salary.
“And I can offer you room and board.” She straightened her shoulders. “But I want to be clear about something.”
“Let me guess, you’re the boss.”
“Well, yes. More importantly, stay away from my sister.”
He frowned. “Angel?”
“Her name is Joy. And she’s not interested.”
His laugh was short. “Don’t you think that should be her choice, not yours?”
“No, I don’t. Do we understand each other?”
A small smile played over his lips, but she couldn’t divine what he thought was so amusing.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Yeah, I understand you perfectly.” He extended his hand and raised that brow again. “You going to touch me this time?”
It was a taunt, a challenge.
And Frankie never backed down from anything.
She grabbed his hand like it was a door handle, in a tough grip meant to tell him that she was all business. But at the contact, she lost her pretensions. A shiver of awareness prickled across every square inch of her body and all she could do was blink up at him in confusion.
His eyes narrowed, the lids falling down over that fascinating spectrum of color. She felt him squeeze her hand and had a ludicrous image of him pulling her forward so he could kiss her.
God, what he could do to her, she thought, if they were n**ed and in a bed together—
Frankie stepped back quickly, thinking maybe she needed to get hit with some more water.
“Remember what I said,” she ground out. “Don’t go near my sister.”
He scratched the side of his neck casually and put his hands into his pockets. She had a feeling that he didn’t take orders well, but couldn’t have cared less. He was working for her, which meant she called the shots. Period. End of story.
And the last thing Frankie needed to worry about was Joy getting her heart broken. Or being left pregnant and alone at the end of the summer. God knew, they couldn’t afford another dependent.
“We’re clear?” she prompted.
He didn’t answer but she knew he understood her by the way his jaw was locked.
“Then I’ll show you to your room.” She walked around, flipping off lights, then headed for the back stairs.
When the Moorehouses had been rich, before generations of dandies enjoying the good life had drained the bank accounts and caused the stocks, jewelry and the best of the art to be sold off, the family had stayed in the big bedrooms in the front of the house that faced the lake. Now that they were the servants, they stayed where a fleet of maids and butlers had once slept. The staff wing, which stretched behind the mansion, had low ceilings, pine floors and no ornamentation. It was hot in the summer, drafty in the winter and the plumbing groaned.
Well, that last one was actually happening in the rest of the house by now, too.
At the head of the stairs, the corridor went off in both directions and there was no question where the new cook was going to sleep. Frankie didn’t relish the idea of him being close to her, but at least if he was she could keep an eye on him. She headed left, taking them away from Joy’s room.
As Frankie pushed open a door, she figured he’d be untroubled by the sparse accommodations. He looked as if he might have slept in cars and on park benches on occasion, so a bed was no doubt luxury enough.
“I’ll go get your sheets,” she said. “You and I are sharing a bathroom. It’s right next door.”
She went to the linen closet, which was down near Joy’s end of the house. On the way back, she heard the man speaking.
“Actually, ma’am, I’m the new cook.”
Oh, God, not Grand-Em.
Frankie hurried up and burst through the door, ready to peel her grandmother away from the stranger. The idea of insulating him from her family was an impulse she didn’t question.
“Cook?” Grand-Em looked up at him imperiously. “We have three cooks working here already. Why ever did Papa take you on?”
Grand-Em was tiny and ornate, a five-foot-two-inch waif dressed in a flowing, faded ball gown. Her long white hair, which hadn’t been cut in decades, fell down her back and she had the unlined face of someone who had never been outside without a parasol. Next to Nate she looked as sturdy as a china figurine.
“Grand-Em—”
Frankie was astonished as Nate cut her off with a sharp hand. Bending at the waist, with his head properly bowed, he said, “Madam, it is my pleasure to be of service to you. My name is Nathaniel, should you need anything.”
Grand-Em considered him thoughtfully and headed for the door.
“I like him,” she said to no one in particular as she left.
Frankie sighed and watched her grandmother drift down the hall. The dementia that had curdled that once-active mind was a terrible thief. And to miss someone, even though you saw them daily, was an odd sort of hell.
“Who is she?” Nate asked softly.
Frankie snapped to attention, unsure how long she’d leaned against the doorjamb with the towels and sheets in her hands.
“My grandmother,” she said. “Here are your linens and there are some toiletry packets in the bathroom. Washer and dryer are outside to the right, in the closet. I’m across the hall if you need anything.”
As she gave the pile of whites over to him, she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. There was intrigue in them, as if he were interested in her family.
Knowing it would sound downright rude to warn him off of Grand-Em, too, Frankie kept her mouth shut as she turned away.
“I’ve got a question,” he said.
“What?” She didn’t look back at him, just stared at the pale pine floorboards as they stretched out down the hall.
“What’s your name? Other than Boss, of course.” The last bit wasn’t mocking, more affectionate.
She’d have preferred he made fun of her.
“I’m Frankie.”
“Short for Frances?”
“That’s the one. Good night.”
She walked across to her room and when she went to close the door, she saw he was standing in his own doorway, watching her. One arm was raised above his head with the elbow propped on the jamb. The other was balancing the linens on his hip.
He was a very sexy man, she thought, measuring his hooded eyes for an instant.
“Good night, Frances.” The words were like a caress and she looked down at herself, thinking he had to be crazy. Her shirt had salad dressing spilled on it, her hair was a stringy mess by now and her pants fit her like two trash bags that had been sewn together.
She didn’t reply and shut her door quickly, leaning against it and feeling her heart pound. She let her head fall back and hit the wood.
It had been so long since a man had looked at her as something other than a repository for complaints, a source of money for work he’d done or as someone who’d do his thinking for him. When was the last time she’d felt like a real woman instead of a shell that held in boiling anxiety and not much else?
David, she thought with a shock. She had to go all the way back to David.
Frankie tilted her body around until her cheek laid against the door panel.
How had time passed so fast? Day to day, dealing with the fight to keep White Caps alive, she’d been unaware that nearly a decade of her life had been eaten up.
For some stupid reason she felt like crying again, so she forced herself to cross the shallow length of her bedroom, undressing as she went. She was exhausted but she needed a shower. Throwing on a thick robe, she poked her head out into the hall.
The coast seemed clear. Nate’s door was shut and she didn’t hear any running water. Hightailing it to the bathroom, she jumped under the hot water, shampooed her hair, soaped herself down and was drying off in under six minutes.
As she scooted back to her room, she could have done without the stress of having to share a bathroom with the new cook. But it was sure as hell a lot better than having those hazel eyes devouring her sister.
Chapter Three
N ate woke up, feeling like someone was tickling the side of his neck. He brushed his hand over the spot a few times and then cursed the irritation.
Cracking open one eye, he wasn’t particularly surprised by the fact that he didn’t recognize the room he’d slept in. He wasn’t sure whether he was in New York or New Mexico or what he’d agreed to do to earn the bed under him, either.He sat up, yawned and stretched his arms out until his shoulder cracked and began to loosen up. It wasn’t a bad room. Simple pine dresser, two small windows, squat ceiling. Its main selling points were that it was clean and quiet. Bed was fully functional. He’d slept like a baby.
