grunted at her assessment. “I can’t say I was sorry when he announced we would be heading back to the States. Some of them probably haven’t noticed he’s gone, although they’ll get the idea once the chalet sells.”
Brigit’s stomach dropped. “Sells?”
“He said he doesn’t want to go back there. Of course, it might just be the depression talking.”
One could hope. Because if he didn’t go back there, she had the sickening feeling she knew where he might next call home.
“How’s his therapy going?” she asked, hoping for good news.
That wasn’t what she got.
“Slow.” Joe sighed. “All of the scar tissue isn’t helping, especially since most days he doesn’t want to do his exercises.”
“That must make your job difficult.”
“It does. It also feeds his frustration, because depressed or not, he refuses to give up hope.”
“Of walking without assistance, you mean?” she inquired.
Joe nodded. “Walking without assistance to start. Then running, skiing. He wants to be as good as new.”
Despite a mangled leg that the doctors had wanted to amputate.
“That’s not likely to happen, is it?” she asked softly.
Joe looked away and cleared his throat. “I really shouldn’t be talking about Mr. F’s case with anyone. I just wanted you to know that, well, he’s not being a jerk right now just to be a jerk.”
“Understood. Thank you.”
But if Joe thought she was going to cut the irritable Kellen Faust some slack, he was wrong. Oh, she would tread lightly. She wasn’t an idiot, and she loved this job. But letting people get away with being insufferable, even if they had a good reason for being that way, wasn’t healthy for anyone. Besides, she was finished being anyone’s verbal punching bag.
When Brigit reached the master bedroom, the driver was waiting for her. Kellen’s large suitcases were open on the bed.
“I’ll need a few drawers in the bureau where I can put away his things. Hope that’s okay?”
Where Kellen ordered, his employees asked. She appreciated their restraint.
“Sure.” She grabbed a tote bag from the closet and started to fill it with socks and underwear from the top drawer. Over her shoulder she called, “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”
The man sported a shaved head, so her phrasing earned a wry look.
“No rush, Miss Wright.”
“Call me Brigit.”
He smiled, showing off a gold front tooth. “I’m Lou.”
“So, Lou, where will you be staying? I assume you won’t be bunking in here. Will you and Joe be flipping a coin to see who sleeps on the floor and who gets the pullout sofa?”
“Nah.” Lou chuckled. “The kid gets the living room all to himself. I have family on the other side of the island not far from the ferry docks. I’ll be staying there, although I’ll be on call for the duration of Mr. Faust’s stay.” He grinned and sent her a wink. “Worried that you were going to have to make room for another unexpected boarder?”
“Not at all. The more the merrier,” she said drily.
They both laughed.
While she finished filling her bag with clothes from the dresser drawers, Lou hung an assortment of shirts and pants in the closet. All of the garments screamed expensive and were far more formal than the nylon pants, T-shirt and track jacket Kellen had on now.
Did he plan to wear them? If so, when? Where? Once again, she was left with the uneasy feeling that her employer was hunkering down for the long haul.
The man was accustomed to a robust social life, if the press accounts were to be believed. Well, he wouldn’t find much of that on the island. Of course, since his accident, he’d lain low. In recent months, the only time his photograph had graced the newspapers, whether the legitimate press or the gossip rags, he’d been shown leaving a doctor’s office or a hospital. No smiles for the cameras in those pictures. He’d worn the same pain-induced grimace she’d viewed firsthand. And his palms had been up, as if to ward off the swarming paparazzi.
Brigit finished clearing out the drawers and hastily grabbed a selection of outfits from the closet, which she took to the spare room. Joe had finished emptying his lone suitcase. Hands on his hips, he was glancing around.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked.
“I’ve got some equipment I need to bring in for Mr. F’s sessions. Some of it is going to take up space. I don’t think you’re going to want it in the living room.”
He was right about that. “The inn has a gym on the main floor. It’s small, but there should be room for your equipment.”
“Mr. F prefers privacy.”
Brigit nodded. She couldn’t blame him for that. She preferred privacy herself. Not that she would be getting much of it for the next who-knew-how-long.
“If I have my treadmill moved to storage, will that be enough space? The bookshelf under the window can go, too.”
Joe squinted, as if visualizing the room sans the items she’d mentioned. “Yeah. I think that will do it.”
“Great. I’ll call the bellboy.”
“No need. Lou and I can handle this.”
“All right.” That settled, she nodded toward the bag that was still on the wheelchair’s seat. “Is that Mr. Faust’s?”
“Yes.”
“I can take that to the master bedroom, if you’d like. I still need to get my toiletries from the bath.”
“Appreciate it.” Joe handed it to her. Then, “Speaking of toiletries, I take it the two of us will be sharing the bathroom in the hall.”
Brigit managed to squelch a groan. The invasion of her privacy was officially complete. Still, if she had to share a bathroom, she supposed she’d rather do so with an affable Joe rather than a sullen Kellen. The latter would be too...intimate.
Where had that thought come from?
She forced a smile and, striving for good humor, asked Joe, “So, are you neat?”
“I can be when the situation calls for it.”
“Trust me. It does,” she replied drily.
“Then I promise I’ll do my best to remember to put the toilet seat down, too.”
Brigit’s laughter was cut short
