His Comfort and Joy. Jessica Bird

in a kitchen with Tom Reynolds. The two could probably level the whole house.

      As she went down the stairs, she wondered when she’d run into Gray. She figured it probably wouldn’t be until the party started, so she had at least another forty-five minutes to prepare herself. Coming around the corner into the kitchen, she smoothed the uniform, thinking at least the thing fit her. The skirt was a little short, but other than that it looked decent—

      She skidded to a halt.

      Gray Bennett was standing by the stove, looking better than any man had a right to. His dark hair was brushed back from his arrogant face. His broad shoulders and chest filled up a beautifully tailored navy-blue jacket. And the faint pink of his button-down shirt brought out his tan and his pale blue eyes.

      The only thing that ruined the picture was the fact that he had his arm around a woman. And he was looking down at her face as if he cared deeply for her.

      Joy’s stomach heaved.

      Oh, God.

      She actually considered running back upstairs, but forced herself to stay put. After all, she was being utterly ridiculous. A man like him wouldn’t live the life of a monk. And she’d read plenty of stories in the papers about who he was out with in D.C. So the fact that he had a woman really shouldn’t be a surprise.

      Except it was. Whenever he’d come to Saranac Lake, he’d always been alone. She’d never actually seen him with someone firsthand.

      And of course, the woman was a beauty. Thick red hair, pale, translucent skin, green eyes that were looking curiously distraught. And the cream dress she was wearing? It was so perfectly simple, the fabric so gorgeous, the fit so precise, it had to be haute couture.

      They were perfect together.

      Joy looked back at Gray and was startled. His eyes had narrowed into beams and they were trained on her. Which wouldn’t have bothered her ordinarily except he did not seem happy. The simmering darkness in his face was dismaying. In the past, he’d always been friendly to her. Why was he suddenly looking at her as if she wasn’t welcome in his house?

      “Tom, would you like some help with the filet?” she asked, quickly going over to where the cook was cutting up beef.

      “That would be great,” Tom said, making room for her at the counter. “Here’s a knife.”

      As she went to work, she was shaken and trying not to show it. Seeing Gray looking so good was hard. Catching him with his hand on some redhead’s hip was worse. But getting stared down by the man was nearly unbearable.

      When she looked over her shoulder a while later, Gray had left and taken the Julianne Moore look-alike with him.

      But what Joy saw was a real zinger anyway.

      Nate was standing behind Frankie and had pulled her back against his body. He was whispering something in her ear as she bent over the cream puffs. His face was tight with hunger and Frankie had a half-smile on her face as if she liked what he was saying to her. Joy looked away quickly.

      “They sure are happy,” Tom said.

      Of course, they were. Because what they had was real, not some childish, one-sided fantasy.

      Joy thought back to the nights she’d stayed up imagining different ways she’d run into Gray. There were so many. Maybe they’d meet in town, just passing by on the sidewalk. He’d stop and tell her it was hot out and ask her if she wanted something cool to drink. Or maybe she was on an island out on the lake and he’d go by in one of his boats. He’d catch sight of her and pull into the dock and they’d lie in the sun. The scenarios were like little plays she directed and the outcome always ended with them kissing.

      Daydreams, she thought. Fantasies. With all of it, down to the clothes he wore and the way he looked at her, existing only in her mind.

      As she thought about the way Nate stared at Frankie, she couldn’t bear her pathetic hallucinations.

      “Tom, would you like to go out to dinner with me?” she blurted.

      The cook’s mouth actually fell open as he stopped slicing and glanced up. He looked as though someone had just offered him a free Mercedes-Benz. “Well, yeah.”

      “Tomorrow night. Pick me up at seven?”

      “Sure. I mean, I’d love to.”

      Joy nodded and went back to work. “Good.”

      Chapter Three

      By the end of the evening, as the guests were either heading home to their own houses or retiring to the bedrooms upstairs, Gray categorically considered the party a success. His father had a glow on his face that had been missing for months. The food had been sublime. People had had a great time.

      But he was just as happy to have it over. He’d wanted to escape for the last hour although it wasn’t because he’d been overwhelmed by the guests. Fifty people was a good-size party, but nothing like the four- or five-hundred-head social endurance tests he did regularly in D.C.

      No, the problem was Joy.

      He’d given himself whiplash searching the crowd for her. Every time he saw a flash of black and white, his head flipped around, but rarely had it been the woman he’d wanted to see. Over the course of the evening, he’d only caught a couple glimpses of her passing hors d’oeuvres or picking up empty glasses. She seemed to stay far away from him, as if on purpose.

      Hell, that uniform was a knockout on her, so he should probably be grateful.

      Gray went into his study and tore off his jacket, tossing the thing onto the back of a Chesterfield sofa. He removed his cuff links, put them in his pocket and rolled up his sleeves.

      He was fixing himself a bourbon when the U.S. Senate Majority Leader walked into the room.

      Gray nodded over his shoulder. “Hey, Becks. You want to join me?”

      “Just add plenty of rocks,” John Beckin said with his trademark glossy smile. The expression lightened his air of masculine distinction. With his silver hair combed back from a strong face and horn-rimmed glasses perched on his straight nose, the man’s aura was one of intelligence and discretion, and it wasn’t all image. He’d clerked for Gray’s father straight out of law school in the seventies and had been smart as a whip even then. The two were still close.

      Gray handed over a squat crystal glass with two inches of liquor and three cubes of ice in it.

      “Thanks. Listen, I wanted to catch you alone,” John said, shutting the door. “How’s Walter really doing?”

      As a career politician, and a very successful one, Becks knew how to project sympathy and understanding. In this case, Gray thought the emotions were probably real.

      “Better every day.” He poured a glass for himself, neat. “But this is the first time you’ve seen him in person, right?”

      “I have to tell you, it was a shock. His e-mails sounded so positive, but it’s obviously hard for him to get around. And his speech…” John shook his head. “But hell, Gray, I don’t mean to be negative. He looked happy tonight. Especially when you were toasting him. That man couldn’t be more proud of you.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Has Belinda been by?”

      Gray tossed back the bourbon, draining the glass in two swallows. The liquor burned his gut. Or maybe that was just his anger at his mother. “No, she hasn’t.”

      And she knew better than to try if he was around.

      John put a hand in his pocket and went over to a window. “You know, since my Mary died, I’ve been reminiscing a lot more than I used to. These last two years have been hard for me, and I was thinking, as I saw you with your father, that he’d be so alone without you. Children are a blessing. I’m sorry that Mary and I never had any.”

      Gray