Stepping inside, she glanced to the entrance to the back rooms on the side of the foyer and watched as Dawg strode from the entryway.
“There you are,” he growled as he turned and moved quickly toward her. “I need to talk to you a minute.”
“Anyone dying, dead, or in need of emergency care? For God’s sake, Dawg, it’s five o’clock in the morning. What could you possibly need?” she asked.
He stopped, his light green eyes narrowing on her between thick, lush lashes.
“No, no one needs emergency care. Not yet.” There was a warning in his voice that she didn’t have time to decipher.
“Then I have to run,” she told him. “I’m covering for Lyrica with Piper in the kitchen and I’m running late.”
She was actually running early, but she was so not about to tell him that.
“I’m staying for breakfast,” he informed her as he followed her through the large dining room, the small tables already dressed with spotlessly white cloths and the colorful top cloths her mother used.
“Did you put your order in yet?” she asked as she pushed through the swinging doors that led to the large chef’s-style kitchen.
Dawg followed. She had really hoped he wouldn’t.
“Mercedes has already taken care of it,” he told her, pausing just inside the door, obviously finally remembering Mercedes’s protests that only the cooks needed to be in the kitchen.
Grabbing the small stack of orders the guests had put in the night before, chosen from the small, select list of choices they were given, Eve quickly clipped them to the magnetic order clips along the wide hood of the combination gas stove and grill.
“I went to your room to talk to you,” he told her as she moved to the walk-in fridge on the other side of the room. “Where were you?”
“I came in the front entrance,” she told him, stepping inside the cool confines of the shelved refrigerator and pulling together the items they would need to prepare breakfast.
Returning to the kitchen, she was really hoping Dawg would be gone.
He wasn’t.
He was standing where she had left him, a frown on his face, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
“Where’s Christa?” she asked as she emptied the large tray she’d used to carry everything on.
“Home,” he answered shortly. “She and Janey are going shopping or something today. The girls are swearing they need shoes.” Bafflement crossed his face. “You’d think a closetful is enough.”
The girls were only six, but already Erin and Laken were shoe connoisseurs and purse divas. Eve loved it. She especially loved how her brother and cousins just couldn’t seem to understand it.
“So what did you need?” she finally dared to ask as she began preparing the homemade biscuits Mackay’s Bed-and-breakfast Inn was well-known for.
Dawg shook his head. “I’ll try to catch you after breakfast. I just need to discuss something with you for a minute, and I know what breakfast is like here.”
As he spoke, the door was pushed forward firmly, slapping him against his powerful biceps as Mercedes rushed into the kitchen.
At thirty-eight, with four daughters and no gray hair or wrinkles, her mother looked ten years younger. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled back into a thick rope of a braid, revealing the high cheekbones and delicate features her daughters had inherited.
Five feet, seven inches of energy, Mercedes could outwork all four of her daughters most days and still have the energy to go out dancing that night.
Since coming to Somerset, her mother had bloomed. She was a social butterfly who loved meeting new people, learning where they’d come from and where they were going, and even laughing at their bad jokes.
“Dawg Mackay, you are in the way,” Mercedes informed him brusquely as she continued walking quickly to the large pantry across from the refrigerator.
Dawg pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“I’ll be in the living room,” he growled. “Maybe I can keep a door from smacking me there.”
“Only if you don’t stand in front of it,” Mercedes informed him as she strode from the pantry, her arms full of white china plates and silverware. “Grab those tea lights from the counter and come help me,” she ordered him.
Eve almost laughed at his expression of male disgruntlement, but he did as he was told. Not before he glanced back at her, though, his expression warning her that whatever he wanted to talk to her about, he wasn’t about to forget.
Breakfast for the inn’s guests was usually something Eve enjoyed. She took pleasure in the preparation and in sharing the meal, and though cleaning up wasn’t a joy, it could be fun.
Sitting down to breakfast a little after eight, at one of the busier tables after the guests had been served, she honestly thought she’d be safer. Instead, she found herself facing Brogan across the circular table as her brother placed himself to the side.
Each table seated six. There were four tables in the room, and her mother often took reservations for breakfast as well as dinner if she knew the customers well. Normally the extras here were her daughters. This morning it was Dawg and a couple leaving after vacation who hadn’t been able to get a room at the inn but had managed to convince Mercedes to allow them to join the meals instead.
Eve found it highly uncomfortable, though, sharing a meal with both Brogan and Dawg. Only hours before she had been in Brogan’s arms, dying for more than the kisses and light touches he had been giving her.
It was almost impossible to keep her eyes off him now.
She kept glancing across the table, catching him watching her, then, as she looked away, catching Dawg glowering at both of them.
Her brother ate silently, though, and when he finished he drank his coffee, speaking only when necessary but keeping his eyes on her and Brogan.Of course, Brogan acted as though her brother weren’t even there. He still watched her, though Eve tried to keep her gaze elsewhere.
She tried, but it was impossible.
No one was happier to see the end of the meal than Eve when the guests finally began drifting away. Jumping to her feet, she began to clear tables and carry the dishes to the kitchen as Piper loaded the dishwasher.
Her mother joined her and Piper in cleaning up: first the dining area, then the kitchen. Sharing gossip and plans, they cleaned the two rooms down to the floors. The hardwood in the dining room and the ceramic tile in the kitchen gleamed with cleanliness when they finished and stepped into the foyer, a sense of satisfaction filling them.
Glancing at the clock, Eve sighed wearily, the lack of sleep finally catching up with her as she yawned slowly.
“Lyrica’s going to have to give up on this Graham thing,” Piper remarked as she caught Eve’s yawn. “She has breakfast duty the rest of this week, and you’re not going to cover for her every morning.”
“Where’s Zoey, anyway?” She looked around, realizing she hadn’t seen her baby sister all morning.
“She’s painting,” her mother answered as she took a dust cloth to the aged wood of the sideboard that held the house phone, phone book, and tourist pamphlets just inside the door. “She’ll be here to help with dinner.”
“So will Lyrica,” Piper decided. “If she can make Eve cover for her morning shift, then she can cover my evening shift and let me go out for a change. I’ve worked a week straight now.”
Eve frowned and turned back to her mother. “Zoey hasn’t been helping?”
Mercedes turned away again, running the dust cloth over another antique table sitting next to the stairs.
“No, Zoey has not been helping,” Piper answered for her mother. “She’s been acting like a brokenhearted diva. And I could understand it if she were seeing anyone.”
“Piper, come on now.” Mercedes turned back to her disapprovingly. “I know plenty of times Zoey has worked two or three weeks straight so you and your sister could do whatever you were doing at the time. You and Lyrica can cover things for a while.”
“I don’t mind covering at all, Momma.” Piper sighed. “And if Zoey were actually doing anything then I could understand it. But it’s like she’s just hiding in her room or disappearing all day and half the night.”
“She’s painting,” her mother repeated. “You know how she gets when she’s wrapped up in her paints. You get the same way when you’re designing, just as Lyrica does when she’s writing. Zoey’s covered for both of you when you were wrapped up in that, too. Give her a break now.”
“I would if I actually saw a single canvas with some color on it,” Piper protested. “But I’ve yet to see anything.”
“Hasn’t she been working a lot out of that empty warehouse on the other side of town?” Eve asked. “I thought I saw her taking some canvases in there last week.”
“The owner let her use it since it was just sitting there empty,” Mercedes agreed. “You know how she is; she’ll show up.”
And she would, Eve thought.
“I’d help, but I promised Sierra I’d work at Walker’s this week and next,” she told them. “They’ve had two waitresses quit on them in the last month and they’ve not replaced them yet.”
Piper groaned and turned to her mother. “I can handle breakfast alone, Momma, but not dinner. You’re going to have to talk to Lyrica.”
Eve grinned at the familiar refrain. In one form or another, from one sister or another, it was the same argument and had been since they were children.
“You’ll have help, Piper,” Mercedes promised her with a laugh. “Now let Eve go to bed.”
“I need to talk to Eve first.” Dawg stepped from the television and game room, leaning against the doorframe as he tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans and watched them quietly.
There was the barest hint of gray in his hair, Eve realized. Right there at the side, when he turned his head just a certain way, she could see the few strands gleaming in the devil’s black.
How old was he now? Forty-four? Forty-five, she believed.
He didn’t look it.
His shoulders were still broad, his arms powerful, his abs lean. He was still in his prime, and Eve knew his wife very much appreciated that fact.
He’d waited to talk to her, and his impatience was apparent.
“Is there a problem?” She frowned back at him, surprised he was still there.
It was rare that Dawg became this stubborn over anything, despite his name and the rumor that he’d acquired it because of his steely determination.
“There could be,” he growled.
“In what way?” Mercedes moved to them, her maternal instincts instantly rousing.
Dawg looked up to the ceiling as though searching for patience.
When his gaze returned to them there was an edge of amusement in his light green eyes. “Mercedes, it’s nothing for you to get worked up over,” he promised her. “I just need to talk to Eve about something, that’s all.”
“Let’s get it over with,” Eve suggested. “I really need to go to bed.”
She entered the television/game room and, turning, watched as Dawg closed the door before turning back to her.
Her brows lifted at the move to keep the conversation private.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” she asked.
“You tell me.” His gaze was intent as he crossed his arms over his chest and braced his feet apart as though steeling himself for a fight.
“Dawg, I’m not in the mood for games,” she told him, confused by the question. “I haven’t slept since yesterday morning sometime, and I have to be at the bar by six this evening.” She glanced at the clock. “If I hurry, I might get five hours in before rushing back over there.”