had refused to cooperate. Hell, he’d refused to get out of bed. Well, at least Joe wasn’t mentioning the evening before when Kellen had called it quits a mere five minutes into basic stretches using a tension band.
“I’m going to lie down,” Kellen repeated, heading in the direction of the bedroom.
Joe lifted his shoulders as if to say suit yourself.
Lou cleared his throat. “As soon as we finish unloading this gear, I’m going to take off. That okay with you?”
Lou had been with Kellen for more than a decade, mainly working as his driver—more often designated than not. Sometimes he also stepped into the role of bouncer when party guests got out of control. There hadn’t been much need for the latter services the past four months. Kellen’s partying days were over. Truth be told, they’d lasted longer than they should have even before the accident.
“This mishap of yours might be for the best,” his mother had said just that morning.
“Mishap?” He’d motioned with his cane. “I didn’t fall down a couple stairs.”
No, more like he’d tumbled head over skis down the side of an icy mountain.
“You know what I mean. You have to grow up sometime, Kellen. You need to start earning more than you spend and make sound investments for the future. Better to learn that now when you have no one counting on you for support. God knows, you father didn’t figure that out until it was too late.”
“I’d say you landed on your feet,” he’d responded.
All these years later, her second husband remained a source of friction between them.
She’d pursed her lips at the remark, causing half a dozen fine lines to feather around her mouth. They marred her otherwise youthful complexion. At sixty-two, Bess Faust Mackenzie remained a beautiful woman thanks to good genes, enviable bone structure and the skills of an expensive plastic surgeon.
“I did what was necessary. Meanwhile, you are content to blow through what little remains of the sizable inheritance from your grandfather. I’m surprised you’ve held on to the inn. It’s prime real estate. Even in this soft market, the money would keep you comfortable for...well, for a few years anyway.”
Kellen blocked out his mother’s parting shot as he took a couple halting steps. She was right about a lot of things, but he would never sell the inn. In fact, he planned to take a far more active role in its oversight.
“Boss?”
He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, realizing he’d never answered Lou.
“Fine. Cell service can be a little spotty on the island, so be sure to leave a landline number.”
“Will do.” Lou offered a jaunty salute. He always seemed to be in a good mood. Same for Joe. Kellen used to be like that, too. As much as his mobility, he missed his old disposition.
“And Miss Wright?” he asked. “I assume she cleared out her belongings.”
It was Joe who answered this time. “Yep. Brigit moved her clothes to the spare room, and her toiletries are in the guest bath now. Lou and I got all your stuff put away.”
Kellen barely heard the last part. Brigit. First-name basis. Hmm. For a reason he couldn’t fathom, he didn’t like Joe’s familiarity. Just as Brigit’s laughter with the younger man had grated on his nerves earlier.
“The last I saw her, she was on the phone in her office.” Lou chuckled. “It sounded like she was giving someone a chewing-out over a delivery snafu.”
Formidable. No-nonsense. Take charge.
All of those descriptions applied, as did intelligent and capable, which foolishly he’d taken to mean she was dowdy, her looks nondescript. In Kellen’s social circles, attractive women were vacuous and helpless—or at least they pretended to be. Draped in frumpy yellow vinyl Brigit had fit his preconceived notion perfectly. But once she’d peeled it off and had shoved the damp hair back from her face, well, Brigit Wright wasn’t at all what he’d expected.
Kellen found her attractive, which was a surprise in itself. She wasn’t anything like the women who usually caught his attention: flashy women whose beauty relied on a lot of enhancement, from hair extensions and capped teeth to serious breast augmentation.
Brigit was pretty in an understated way. She’d worn no makeup that he could see, although her dark lashes hadn’t needed much help to highlight her blue eyes. Her hair was as black as coal. It hung past her shoulders in a limp curtain, lacking any discernable style. Of course, she had just been out for a walk in the rain.
What would she look like with her hair coiffed, makeup accentuating her eyes and dressed up for a night out in something curve-hugging?
He silently answered himself with a second question. What the hell does it matter?
She was an employee. The same as Lou. The same as Joe. Right. Both his body and his mind mocked him.
He limped into the bedroom that had been his grandfather’s during Kellen’s childhood. It was decorated as differently as the lobby and the rest of the rooms. Bright, fresh, inviting even on this stormy afternoon. And more jars filled with shells on the bureau. The bedding had been turned down; the linens that peeked from beneath the comforter were creased in places, leaving little doubt that she had just changed the sheets for him.
He ran his fingers over the pillowcase. He would be sleeping in her bed.
And she would be in the room next door.
He swallowed hard and told himself the sudden uptick in his pulse rate was only because he was wondering how long the arrangement would have to continue. Weeks at least. Months? Possibly. She’d said the inn was booked, so it would be a while before a vacancy opened up.
Regardless, he had a lot to learn from the efficient Miss Wright if he hoped to run the resort as capably as she had been.
Eventually, that was his plan. He’d decided on it during his long stint in the hospital, when the shallowness of his life had been as impossible to ignore as his mounting debts. Kellen was done shirking all responsibility. Life as he’d known it was over in more ways than one.
In the meantime, he had an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon in Charleston the following week. He hoped to receive a better prognosis than the one the previous six had given him. Hoped being the operative word.
As if on cue, his leg muscles began to cramp and spasm. He leaned on the door frame to the bathroom to take the weight off his bad leg. When he glanced up, he spied the message. It was written in block letters on the mirror, and accompanied by an arrow that pointed to the bottle of over-the-counter painkillers on the counter.
“Non-habit-forming,” he read aloud. “Take two and thank me later.”
An odd sound echoed off the tile work as he studied his reflection. The hollowed-out eyes and gaunt cheeks no longer took him by surprise. But it came as a serious jolt to realize he was smiling. And that strange sound? It was his laughter.
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