boat around.
Cassandra didn’t need to get anywhere near the Moorehouse place. Her husband’s sailing partner, who’d survived the yachting accident, was recovering there with his family. Gray wasn’t sure she knew that or whether she’d want to see Alex, but he wasn’t inclined to take a chance at giving her another shock. She’d had enough bad surprises lately.
Cassandra’s voice did not break his concentration. “My husband liked you, Gray.”
“I liked Reese,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the house, eyes searching.
“But he thought you were a dangerous man.”
“Did he?”
“He said you knew where most of the bodies were buried in Washington, D.C. Because you’d put a lot of them in the ground.”
He made a noise in the back of his throat and continued to stare as White Caps grew smaller.
“I’ve heard it from other people.”
“Really.”
“They say even the President is wary of you.”
He glanced back at the house again. “Loose talk. Just loose talk.”
“Considering the way you’re looking at that mansion back there, I’m not so sure.” Cassandra tilted her head to the side, regarding him with steady curiosity. “Who lives there? Or more to the point, what do you want that’s in that house?”
When Gray remained silent, Cassandra’s dry chuckle floated over on the breeze. “Well, whatever it is, I feel sorry for the poor thing. Because you look like you’re on the hunt.”
“Hold still or I’m going to stick you,” Joy Moorehouse said to her sister.
“I am holding still.”
“Then why is this hem a moving target?” She shifted back onto her heels and looked up at her work.
The wedding gown hung from her sister Frankie’s shoulders in a graceful fall of white satin. Joy had been careful with the design. Too many frills and excess fabric wouldn’t pass muster. Frankie thought blue jeans were formal as long as you wore them with your hair up.
“Do I look like I’m in someone else’s dress?” Frankie asked.
“You look beautiful.”
Frankie laughed without bitterness. “That’s your department, not mine. I’m the plain, practical sister, remember?”
“Ah, but you’re the one getting married.”
“And ain’t it a miracle?”
Joy smiled. “I’m so happy for you.”
Everyone was. The whole town of Saranac Lake was thrilled and they were all coming to festivities that were taking place in about six weeks.
Frankie lifted the skirting up gingerly, as if she might hurt it. “I have to admit, this thing feels good.”
“It’ll fit even better when I finish the alterations. You can take it off now.”
“We’re done?”
Joy nodded and got up from the floor. “I’ve basted all around the bottom. I’ll stitch it up this evening and we’ll do another fitting tomorrow.”
“But I thought you were going to help out tonight. We’re catering Mr. Bennett’s birthday party, remember?”
Joy almost laughed. She’d have better luck losing track of her own head than forgetting where she was supposed to be in another couple of hours. And who she would see.
“Remember?” Frankie prompted. “We’re going to need you.”
Joy made busywork putting her sewing kit back together. She had a feeling her excitement was showing on her face and she didn’t want her sister to see it. “I know.”
“The party could go late.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Because it wasn’t as if she’d be able to sleep when they got back home.
“I don’t want you slaving over this dress.”
“And you’re getting married in a month and a half, so I have to get the thing done. Well, unless you fancy yourself heading down the aisle in your underwear, a sight I’m pretty sure Nate would prefer to keep for his eyes only. Besides, you know I love doing this, especially for you.” She turned around. Her sister was staring out the window, absently stroking the gown. “Frankie? What’s wrong?”
“Last night, I asked Alex to walk me to the altar.”
“What did he say?” Joy whispered, even though she knew getting their brother to the ceremony at all was going to be tough.
“He won’t do it. I don’t think he wants the attention to be on him.” Frankie shook her head. “I can’t force him to be by my side. But I really wish…hell, I wish Dad were going to be with me. Mom, as well. I wish they were both still here.”
Joy took her sister’s hand. “Me, too.”
Frankie looked down at herself, her brown hair falling forward. She gave a short, awkward laugh that Joy knew meant she was changing the subject. “I can’t believe this.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to take this thing off. It’s so gorgeous.”
Joy smiled sadly, thinking that with each stitch she put into the gown, she was trying to make up for everything her sister had done for her. God, all those sacrifices Frankie had made to become a parent too soon. The work on the dress seemed like a pitiful exchange.
“Here, let me undo the buttons in the back for you.”
When Frankie stepped out of the pool of satin, Joy swept the dress into her arms and carried it over to her worktable. Her bedroom was small, so between her sewing machine, her mannequin and the bolts of fabric against the wall, space was at a premium. Thank God she only had a twin bed.
Over the years she’d patched and repaired countless ball gowns for their grandmother at her little makeshift sewing station. Emma Moorehouse, better known as Grand-Em, suffered from dementia so she was prone to irrational obsessions. And given that she’d once been a wealthy young lady of fine breeding and reputation, she felt uncomfortable if she didn’t look her best for the parties she was certain were just about to start every moment of the day.
Except there were no parties. There hadn’t been for decades.
With the declining fortunes of the Moorehouse family, there was no money to replace either the lifestyle or the luxury their grandmother had once known. But Joy was able to keep the Golden Era illusion alive by maintaining the forty- and fifty-year-old ball gowns. In doing so, she helped Grand-Em to find a measure of calm.
And discovered a passion for clothing design in herself.
