Brigit felt her face flame, but it wasn’t merely embarrassment that brought heat rushing into her cheeks. The nerve of the man accusing her of flirting, as if her spending a few minutes talking to a colleague meant she was some sort of slacker. And to think mere minutes earlier she’d started to feel sorry for him based on the extent of his injury. Every ounce of sympathy had evaporated now.
Joe pulled a face. “Sorry,” he mouthed.
Brigit nodded, but she was too damned irritated to be sorry.
She delivered the bag to the master bedroom. While Lou and Joe moved the treadmill and bookshelf to storage to make room for the physical therapy equipment, she changed the sheets on the bed where Kellen would sleep. Afterward, she gathered up her toiletries from the attached bathroom and put out fresh hand and bath towels. Then, satisfied that everything was in order, she turned to leave only to do an about-face.
“Toothbrush,” she muttered aloud.
She opened the medicine cabinet, planning to grab the item in question. When her gaze landed on the bottle of extra-strength ibuprofen, an idea formed. One that she couldn’t resist. She fished the eyeliner pencil out of her makeup bag and, after jotting her message, grinned at her reflection in the mirror.
* * *
As Brigit entered the living room, she braced for an unpleasant exchange.
Be polite. Be professional. But hold to your principles.
She needn’t have bothered with the internal pep talk. Kellen was fast asleep on her couch. He remained seated where he had been, but his bad leg was propped on the coffee table, one of her colorful pillows under the heel serving as a cushion. In sleep he appeared less formidable and intimidating than he had while glowering at her and barking out orders. But even in slumber he wore a grimace that pulled down the corners of his mouth. Pain. Add in a wheelchair and cane, and it should have made him seem vulnerable. Only none of that did.
Nor did it detract from his overall good looks. With his chiseled cheekbones and square jaw, the man was classically handsome. No getting around that, even in his diminished physical state. Nor was there any getting around his reputation as a freewheeling ladies’ man. A lot of women probably thought his polished looks and well-padded bank account made him quite a catch. Especially if they were able to excuse his nasty disposition, she thought uncharitably.
Kellen’s head was canted sideways in a position that was sure to leave his neck sore when he awoke. Even so, she didn’t attempt to wake him. She had no desire to poke a sleeping bear. Instead, she tiptoed past him, eager to avoid further unpleasantness. At the door, she chanced a glance back. The less interaction Brigit had with her boss, the better.
* * *
Kellen woke to the sound of a door closing. He straightened on the couch and craned his neck to one side and then the other. In the short time he’d been asleep, a crick already had formed just below the base of his skull. He grunted. Yet another sore muscle for Joe to work on during their afternoon session. If Kellen went. Maybe he’d skip it again. What was the point, anyway?
It was this kind of thinking that made him angry, even as it also left him feeling defeated. He wanted to get better, but what if he never did? What if all of the medical experts were right?
Kellen rose unsteadily to his feet, bearing as much of his weight as possible on the cane. Damned thing. He hated using it. Hated that he had to use it. But most of all, he hated what it represented. It shouted to the world that Kellen Faust was no longer the man he used to be. He was injured, limited.
Useless.
The very thing his own mother had always accused him of being.
The conversation they’d had not long after he’d arrived at her home in Charleston sprang to mind.
“The only thing you’re good at is spending money. You’ve all but drained your trust, living high on the hog in Europe. No cares, no responsibilities.” She’d waved one of her bejeweled hands, the diamonds her second husband had given her winking under the lights. “Well, don’t expect me to bail you out. You’re just like your father. You’ve never planned for a rainy day.”
They were estranged, had been since he was a boy, really. Since not long after his father’s lengthy illness and death had left them nearly penniless. She’d come back stronger than ever thanks to remarrying well, but not before hocking almost everything of value to stay afloat. As his grandfather’s sole heir, Kellen had been well provided for. In a way, that had only made her resent him, especially since he’d continued his father’s free-spending ways. As a result, Kellen and his mother had never shared a close bond again. He’d been foolish to think things might have changed either because of his injury or his changing financial situation.
But he hadn’t been wrong to come to Hadley Island. He’d come here to find a purpose, if not a vocation then an avocation. Something, anything, to give his life meaning if it turned out that all of the doctors, including the latest one in Charleston, were right.
The best memories of his childhood were rooted here. The place had been his sanctuary, both during his father’s illness and after his father’s death. Where his relationship with his mother had always been rocky, a young Kellen had been the apple of his grandfather’s eye.
“You’re bright, ambitious. You’re going to be a fine man when you grow up, Kellen.”
He wondered what his grandfather would think if he could see Kellen now. The bum leg wouldn’t be an issue. But what Kellen had made of his life to this point...that wouldn’t sit well with the old man. Granddad had placed his trust in Kellen, left him his fortune and all of his real estate holdings, not the least of which was the resort. These days, most of what Kellen still owned of his grandfather’s had been mortgaged to the hilt and would soon go on the auction block to pay off his mounting, post-accident debts. Except for the inn. Kellen had left that untouched.
“Everything I have will be yours someday.” Kellen could hear his granddad’s raspy voice, feel the hand he’d placed on his grandson’s shoulder as he’d made the promise. “I know you’ll take extra good care of the inn, because you love it as much as I do.”
Guilt settled over Kellen now like a smothering fog. Yeah, he’d loved it so much that he hadn’t been back in nearly a dozen years, and had rubber-stamped renovations without paying close attention to the plans. Thank God Brigit was so good at her job. The managers before her had been more than happy to stick with the status quo, shrugging their shoulders as the bottom line fell. She’d shored up the aging resort and had brought in record profits as well.
When all was said and done, Kellen would see to it that she was properly compensated.
“Do you need anything, Mr. F?” The question came from Joe, who, with Lou’s help, was bringing in a portable table and the weight bench Kellen thought of as a personal torture device.
I’ll take a new leg, some motivation and a renewed sense of purpose, he thought bitterly. But what he told the younger man was, “I’m going to lie down for a little while.”
Joe frowned at him. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Mr. F? Your muscles are probably stiff from the drive over, especially since we didn’t get in a session this morning.”
Joe was being diplomatic. His wording made it sound as if the omission of the a.m. therapy session had been an oversight rather than because Kellen
