The Heir's Unexpected Return. Jackie Braun

covert shrugs, he looked away, breaking the silence a moment later when he asked, “New ovens, right?”

      “Yes. The summer before last. And the cooktops were changed out at that time, too.”

      He glanced around, nodding.

      Since it was so much easier to talk business than to try to exchange pleasantries, she continued. “The walk-in refrigerator just needed some repairs and it was good as new. Of course, your investment is almost fully paid back. Adding a meal package to the room rate has proved to be quite lucrative. And thanks to Sherry’s talent we get quite a bit of non-guest traffic, too. The mayor stops by for Sunday brunch at least twice a month.”

      “Excellent.” Kellen nodded, but she got the feeling he was only half listening to what she said.

      Of course, she had sent him detailed reports every month. She’d like to think he’d read them.

      “Are you hungry? Dinner service doesn’t begin for another hour yet, but—”

      “That’s all right. Joe made me an omelet.” He sent her a smile that bordered on sheepish. “We used up your eggs, by the way.” He coughed. “And your bread. Joe was a little disappointed it wasn’t whole wheat.”

      “Oh?” Brigit wasn’t sure how she felt about strange men rummaging about in her cupboards. Every last inch of her private space had been invaded. But she kept her tone casual when she replied, “I’m sorry I don’t keep more in my fridge and pantry. Sherry is such an excellent cook that I eat most of my meals here in the kitchen.”

      “In your office, you mean. The girl is a workhorse,” Sherry told Kellen. Her expression turned shrewd when she added, “And probably due a raise.”

      Brigit smiled thinly. “Sherry and I will be heading to the mainland bright and early tomorrow for groceries and other supplies for the inn. We go the first and third Fridays of each month. If you give me a list, I’m happy to pick up whatever you need.”

      “I’ll have Joe put something together. If you can’t find everything, don’t worry about it.” Kellen’s lip curled. “He likes to make wheatgrass shakes and other...healthy concoctions.”

      “The body is a temple?” she asked.

      He snorted. “Mine feels more like an ancient ruin, but, yes, that’s his philosophy.”

      Kellen looked away and his scowl returned in force. She didn’t think it was their lighthearted banter that had irritated him. But something had. She followed the line of his vision to the far side of the room. The only thing there was Sherry’s oversize calendar with the days that had already passed marked off with red Xs.

      “Is something wrong?” she asked.

      He shook his head and, without another word, turned and limped out of the kitchen.

      “Real friendly sort, isn’t he?” Sherry muttered sarcastically once Kellen was out of earshot.

      For a moment, a very brief moment, he had been.

      Brigit returned to the cutting board and picked up her knife. “Let’s just do our best to stay out of his way, okay? As fast as this summer is going, he’ll be gone before we know it and things will be back to normal.”

      At least Brigit hoped that would be the case.

      * * *

      Kellen wasn’t sure why seeing the days marked off on the kitchen calendar had torpedoed his mood. He only knew that where a moment earlier he had been close to joking, being hit with the reality that four months had passed since his accident had yanked the rug out from beneath him. The ibuprofen Brigit had put out for him had taken the edge off his physical pain. His emotional pain, however, was another matter.

      Nothing seemed to dampen that.

      Kellen wished it were nicer outdoors so that he could sit on the raised deck and watch the waves rise and swell. When he was a boy, the ocean had always had a calming effect on his emotions. Even on days such as this one, when the waves beat ruthlessly against the shore, at least he’d known what to expect. Waves would crash, but the water always receded and eventually calmed. Soon enough, the sun would come out and chase away the gloom, and the beach would be the same as it had been before the storm.

      Nothing about his life now was consistent...except for his limp and the pain that came with it.

      Guests milled about in the lobby, which was to be expected, he supposed, on such a wet, gloomy day. In the library, a couple of well-dressed women sat reading books in the sand colored wing chairs that flanked the French doors leading to another section of decking, and a few preppy-looking college kids huddled around the coffee table playing poker.

      Kellen remembered playing cards in this very room as a boy. Gin rummy with his grandfather and sometimes with Herman, the old groundskeeper. Kellen had rarely won. When he had, he suspected it was because his grandfather had let him. The memory had him smiling, even as it made him sad.

      God, he missed the old man. Hayden Faust had been the only doting adult in Kellen’s life from age eleven on. After his father’s death, his mother had been too busy looking for a new husband to pay him much mind. Then she’d remarried and, once again, Kellen had been shunted aside.

      Even now Kellen refused to consider how desperate she must have felt to find her financial footing kicked out from under her. His grandfather, however, had cut her some slack.

      During Kellen’s final visit to the island, as they’d sat in this very room, Hayden had told him, “I’m not condoning the way your mother has treated you since remarrying, but try to see things from her perspective.”

      “What do you mean?” he’d asked.

      “You’re so much like your father.”

      “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.” Kellen had laughed, not sure how else to respond.

      His grandfather hadn’t cracked so much as a smile as he’d laid his weathered hand on Kellen’s shoulder.

      “I loved my son dearly, but I’m not blind to his shortcomings. He made some poor choices over the years. Choices that your mother has paid for in more ways than one.”

      “What are you saying?”

      “I’m saying, be sure you make better ones. Make me proud, Kellen.”

      A final request that Kellen had failed to honor. What would his grandfather think of the choices he’d made now? The likely answer had Kellen limping back to the privacy of his rooms.

      * * *

      “Mr. F?” Joe poked his head around the door.

      Although Kellen was awake, he kept his eyes closed and feigned sleep. He’d been lying on the bed in his room for the past two hours thinking and trying to work out the details of his plan B. A plan that Brigit Wright wasn’t going to like when he eventually told her about it.

      His grandfather had left Kellen the inn with the hope he would actually run it, rather than merely sign checks and authorize improvements when he took a break from the ski slopes in Europe.

      It was time to start making those better choices the older man had urged.

      “Boss?” Joe called again.

      Leave me alone! Kellen shouted the words in his head, but he didn’t say them out loud. He was tired of being sullen and disagreeable, even as he felt powerless to change his mood. So he kept his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even. He expected that would be the end of it. Joe would go away and Kellen could continue to stew in silence.

      But his physical therapist wasn’t alone.

      “He’s sleeping soundly,” Kellen heard Joe tell whoever was with him. “Just go in and grab what you need.”

      “I’d hate to disturb him.” Brigit’s voice.

      She sounded indecisive. Once