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.”
His jaw clenched. “Then I’ll get straight to the point.”
“That’s the thing to do,” she agreed with a sharp nod as she propped herself on the heavily padded arm of the chair beside her.
“Brogan Campbell,” he stated.