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“Of course,” Sloan replied, careful to say no more.
“Now don’t be daunted by the thought of all the entertaining you’ll be required to do,” Tara admonished lightly. “I’ve had tons of experience at it. Teaching you the ins and outs of it all will be a simple matter.”
“Thank you. I promise I’ll remember that when the time comes,” Sloan replied with as much good grace as she could muster, then looked up with gratitude when she heard the front door open and the familiar tap of Chase’s cane in the entryway.
When Chase thumped into view, he nodded briefly at Tara and went directly into the den. But Cat, thankfully, joined them, the vibrant force of her personality having an immediate impact.
“What are you two doing down here?” she asked in surprise. “I thought you’d still be upstairs.”
“Garson shooed us out so he could take his measurements,” Tara explained, then smiled at Sloan. “Sloan and I have just been sitting here, having an old-fashioned feminine gabfest.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. It sounds like fun.” Cat sat on the sofa, angling herself toward Tara. “You are staying for lunch, aren’t you? You’d better say yes, because I fixed a lobster salad, and I know it’s your favorite.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose—”
“Nonsense. You do it all the time,” Cat teased. “Besides, you know we always fix more food than we can eat on the off chance we have unexpected guests. So how long will you be staying up here this time?”
As easily as that, Cat steered the conversation to Tara and a discussion of her schedule and mutual friends. Sloan was relegated to the role of a listener, which she much preferred.
Both Trey and Jessy were absent from the table at noon. Sloan strongly suspected that they had correctly assumed Tara would be on hand and chose to avoid her company. She couldn’t honestly blame them. Sloan still was finding it difficult to relax in Tara’s company. She was too unsettled by their conversation in the living room and their sparring exchange upstairs.
The feeling didn’t go away even after Tara and the designer left. After seeing them out, Sloan went to the kitchen to help Cat with the lunch dishes. Cat had the dishwasher half loaded. She sent Sloan a bright glance. “So, how did it go?”
“He said he’d be back the end of next week with design suggestions and samples,” Sloan replied, barely containing a sigh.
“That’s good—and definitely sooner than I thought it would be. But I was actually referring to Tara. You looked like you were doing your best to bite your tongue when I walked into the living room earlier.”
“Truthfully?” Sloan challenged.
Cat reacted with a full-throated laugh and waved a hand. “Say no more. Tara can be a royal pain at times.”
“I’m just surprised she didn’t go through my closet and point out all the clothes I have that don’t carry the right labels,” Sloan half-muttered.
“I take it she shared her opinions on how she thought your rooms should be done.”
“Trey had warned me she would, so I was ready for that.” Sloan turned on the faucets and rinsed some of the serving dishes. “Now we’ll just have to wait and see what Garson St. Clair suggests.”
“Don’t tell me that’s what your little ‘gabfest’ was all about? Lessons in room decor?”
“Actually, it wasn’t. Tara was lecturing me about my role as the wife of a Calder, and all the entertaining I’ll be expected to do.”
An eyebrow rose in a high arch. “I can just imagine how she made that sound,” Cat remarked dryly, then eyed Sloan curiously. “Does that worry you?”
“It doesn’t worry me. It’s just not something I particularly like.”
“You like people, don’t you?”
“Of course—”
“That’s all that’s necessary,” Cat said with a shrug. “The rest is easy.”
“Tara certainly didn’t make it sound that way,” Sloan recalled.
“She wouldn’t.” Cat closed up the dishwasher and checked to make sure the door was tightly latched. “But, remember, things are casual here on the Triple C. I can count on my hands the number of times we’ve hosted anything that resembles one of Tara’s black-tie affairs.”
Sloan wasn’t convinced that it was as easy as Cat made it sound. She’d had time to consider the myriad of details involved. “But there’s the menus—like the lobster salad today—”
Cat immediately broke in. “Remind me to show you my secret. My mother was an amazing woman. Totally organized. She created all these menus—there must be three hundred or more of them—complete with recipes. All you have to do is pick and choose, change a dish here or there, depending on the season or the guest.”
