The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)(5)

He smiled as he looked back at Joy. “Hey, married woman.”

“Thank you so much for coming down.” She ran over and threw her arms around his neck, holding on so tightly he could barely breathe. Unable to return the embrace because of the crutches, he dropped his head down to his sister’s shoulder. He was a little shaken by how much his presence seemed to mean to her.

“Thank you,” she whispered again.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

There was the sound of laughter and then the flap door was thrown open.

Gray’s best man came barreling into the kitchen. With his arm around Cassandra.

The Wall Street big shot was laughing and smiling. “—so Spike and Nate deserve a break, you and I are it, baby cakes.”

The two pulled up short. And Alex found himself measuring the guy for a fight.

Which was insane.

First of all, Cassandra was allowed to have anyone she wanted touch her.

Secondly, that slick bastard may have been in a suit, but as soon as O’Banyon registered Alex’s expression, he shifted his stance and brought up his free hand as if on reflex. Like he’d been in quite a few physical altercations and had no problem being in another one.

Now ordinarily, Alex wouldn’t have been put off at all by a worthy opponent. Except he knew damn well he’d have trouble taking on anything bigger than a field mouse in his current condition.

And for God’s sake, it was his sister’s wedding day.

Joy, bless her heart, seemed clueless about the aggression swirling around her. “Alex, have you met Sean O’Banyon? He’s one of Gray’s best friends.”

The man dropped his arm from Cassandra’s body, offering the palm that had just been on the top of her hips.

Yeah, right, Alex thought.

“You understand if I don’t shake,” he said, smiling with his lips, but not his eyes.

O’Banyon nodded once, keeping his gaze steady as he dropped his arm. Cassandra looked back and forth between them, as if measuring the antagonism and being confused by it.

Abruptly Joy stepped in front of Alex as if she were trying to distract him. Maybe his little sister did know what was up, after all.

“Would you like me to bring you something to eat?”

“No. It’s your wedding reception. You stay with your husband.” Alex looked across the room and spoke before his brain could shut his mouth. “Cassandra will run something up. Won’t you. Baby cakes.”

Cassandra frowned. “Of course.”

Alex hobbled over to the stairs, aware that he was going to be the topic of conversation the moment he was out of earshot. Not that he gave a damn.

As he braced for the ascent, he cursed himself.

The idea was to keep that woman away from him. Why was he paving her way to his bedroom?

Because, his inner idiot pointed out, at least if she were upstairs with him, she wouldn’t be in the arms of that pale-eyed, slick-suited, flashy bastard.

Alex pegged the crutches into the first step and pushed himself up.

Damn it. He should have taken the front stairs when he’d had the chance.

*

Cass heard the kitchen door swing shut as Joy went back to the party. She also registered the sounds of people moving around in the dining room on the other side: footsteps, talking, laughter, a bottle of wine being uncorked with a pop.

But what she listened to were the grunts and thudding as Alex dragged himself upstairs.

“So that’s Alex Moorehouse,” Sean drawled. “The Alex Moorehouse. I’ve read about him. Won the America’s Cup how many times?”

Cass tried to remember what she was doing in the kitchen. “We’re bringing in the food,” she murmured.

Sean flashed her an odd look. “Yes, we are.”

She went over to the massive Viking stove and started cracking the doors on the different ovens. There were so many covered dishes warming, she wondered where to start.

“Not exactly the friendly type, is he?” Sean said, leaning against a counter. “Even busted up like that, he was ready to ring my head like a bell.”

Sean didn’t seem offended in the slightest, though why would he be? Given the way O’Banyon lived his life, he was probably most at ease around hard-core men like himself, especially if things were getting aggressive. Wall Street just hadn’t managed to tame the South Boston street thug he’d once been.

“Was he always like that?” Sean prompted.

“He’s been through a lot.” Using a pair of folded dish towels, she drew out a roast beef that rested on a spectacular Royal Crown Derby platter. Her arms strained and she hoped she wouldn’t drop the thing. The plate was worth more than the stove.

“I’ll take that,” Sean said, relieving her of the load like it didn’t weigh more than a potholder.

Working in tandem, the two of them brought in covered dishes of wild rice and minted peas and broccoli au gratin and pearl onions. By the time everyone had drifted in from the living room, the buffet was set up. Cass let the others go through the line first. When the other guests were all sitting down and eating, she picked up a gold-rimmed plate and a damask napkin roll.

She tried to imagine what Alex would want to eat. Did he like his roast beef from the pink center or the more well-done edges? And how much rice? Would he want gravy? When she passed by the basket of freshly made rolls, she put one on the side and then thought of how thin he was. She added another and put a big slab of butter next to them.