Secret Nights at Nine Oaks Read Online Free Page B

her chair, looking around. “Cain isn’t joining me?”
    â€œNo, miss.”
    â€œWell, that stinks,” she muttered under her breath.
    Benson poured her some wine and offered her napkin, then said, “Enjoy,” before he left her alone.
    Phoebe stared at the wide empty room. “Hello, hello, hello,” she said like an echo. She hated eating alone. It was boring and she always ate too fast. She felt a bit insulted that Cain couldn’t be bothered to join her. She’d practically invited him to, in his own house no less.
    Gathering her plate and utensils in the napkin, she walked to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway, and taking in the small bit of chaos. The Nine Oaks’ kitchen had been modernized and she didn’t know what half the appliances were used for, but then, a microwave was her best friend lately.
    Around the edge of the granite counter, a few of the staff sat, eating dinner and watching the TV. She recognized Jean Claude, Willis and Mr. Dobbs, who handled the dogs and cared for the stables. The two others she hadn’t met yet, but from the looks of their clothing, they worked on the grounds.
    â€œOh, I could just live at your feet, Jean Claude,” she said, inhaling deeply. “You could just throw me some scraps and I’d be grateful.”
    Jean Claude glanced her way as he pulled a flat wooden paddle filled with steaming loaves of bread out of the stone oven. “Well, where y’ at, Miss Phoebe?” His smile was big and bright.
    â€œI’m just fine, Jean Claude. Do y’all mind if I joinyou?” She nodded toward the counter. “It’s dull eating with a flower arrangement for company.”
    â€œYes, of course,” the group said, and Willis hopped up to get her plate and make a spot for her.
    She slid onto a stool at the granite counter.
    â€œI was glad to hear you were coming for a visit, Miss Phoebe,” Jean Claude said.
    â€œShocked you, I’ll bet,” she said, cutting her chicken. It was stuffed with crabmeat and shrimp and she was practically drooling over it before the first bite made it to her mouth.
    His lips curved. “Yes’m, it did.”
    Jean Claude was raised in New Orleans, Cajun to the bone, tall, slim and handsome at nearly sixty. There was something terribly sexy about a man who could cook, and Jean Claude was the best chef in five counties.
    â€œSuzannah invited me. I think she blackmailed Cain, though.”
    â€œMiss ’Zannah is a strong woman, that I’ll say.”
    â€œI’d say pushy.”
    â€œMore than you?”
    She smiled. “She runs a close second.” She gave him her best begging-to-try-it look. “You going to share some of that?” She eyed the fresh bread.
    â€œWhat? You don’t like my dinner?” He nodded toward the plate.
    â€œIt’s great, but your bread, well…it’s a spiritual thing.”
    Grinning, Jean Claude cut her a slice, slathering it with butter.
    â€œBless you, I was so prepared to grovel,” she said, then sank her teeth into the warm bread and swore she’d just tripped into food heaven. The flavors of herbs and butter exploded in her mouth. “Divine, Jean Claude.”
    He flashed her a smooth smile, slicing and packaging up the remaining loaves as he introduced her to the others having dinner. The TV droned softly.
    After a few minutes, the conversation grew lively as Jean Claude told stories of some of Phoebe and Suzannah’s college antics. “I come down here, and they had the freezer wide open, and the two of them were sitting on the floor, eating ice cream. Just a spoonful here and there, mind you, but from every bucket I had.” Jean Claude tsked and winked at her.
    â€œWe were bonding over both getting Ds on history term papers. But I paid for that ice cream with a stomachache for two days. But poor ’Zannah, she felt the need to go jogging.” The group groaned,