The Heir's Unexpected Return

He cut her off with a ripe oath. “Well, you can’t sleep in the damned lobby.”

Brigit already had made the same determination, but her options were limited. The only alternative was...

Her gaze cut to the hallway and the spare bedroom, where she exercised when the weather prevented her from getting outside for a run. It had a futon that pulled out into what her older sister claimed was a pretty comfortable bed. Robbie and her son, Will, were the only overnight guests Brigit had ever entertained. On a sigh, she recalled their upcoming visit. She’d have to let them know plans had changed. Yet another disruption in her otherwise well-organized schedule.

“I’ll have our bellboy set up a cot for me in the office,” she said at last.

“The office we just passed?” He snorted. “It’s barely big enough for the desk. You can’t get a bed in there, even if it is a damn cot.”

“It will be tight,” she admitted. Not to mention that she would need to figure out where to shower and stow her belongings, but at least it would afford her more privacy than the inn’s common areas.

“No.”

She blinked. “No?”

“No.” This time his tone made the single syllable sound even more final.

Brigit felt her blood pressure rise again. The man certainly knew how to push her buttons. She didn’t like being told what to do. Since her divorce, no man had dared, nor would she have stood for it. After her fiasco of a marriage, during which she had all but disappeared behind her husband’s overbearing and autocratic personality, she’d vowed never to become invisible or obsolete again. She had a brain and a voice. These days, she used both with impunity.

But just as she opened her mouth to protest, Kellen leaned his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. Dressed in varying shades of gray and black—colors that mirrored his mood—she couldn’t help but notice how out of place he looked amid the array of cheerful throw pillows. Still, she might have argued with his edict. Firmly but politely, of course, since he was her employer and tact was in order. But his expression stopped her. The taut line of his mouth and the way his brow furrowed made it plain that he was hurting.

“When was the last time you took a painkiller?” she asked. She kept her tone neutral, careful to keep any concern from leaking into it lest she knick his pride. From the way he’d shrugged off her assistance earlier, she gathered he didn’t want any.

Men. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. She’d thought she was done stroking their damned egos now that Scott was out of the picture. Well, apparently not.

“I quit those a few weeks ago,” he muttered. Just when she started to think his decision was rooted in some sort of macho tough-guy bull, he added, “They make me a zombie. It’s not all that unpleasant of a feeling, but the last thing I need is to wind up addicted to pain meds on top of everything else.”

His reasoning was sound, even if it meant his pain was left unmanaged.

The two men who’d accompanied Kellen strode into the apartment then. The driver was hauling a pair of suitcases that were large enough to hold Brigit’s entire wardrobe. The younger man pushed the wheelchair. A smaller piece of luggage was balanced on its seat with a garment bag draped over top of it. Brigit’s stomach dropped. Kellen had brought a lot of baggage—in more ways than one. And none of it boded well for how long she would be displaced from her home.

“Where do you want your things, boss?” the driver asked.

Without opening his eyes, Kellen motioned with one hand in the direction of the hall. “Put them in the master bedroom, Lou.”

“And mine?” the guy pushing the wheelchair asked.

Kellen did open his eyes now and he straightened in his seat. “Change of plans, Joe. Miss Wright will be bunking in the spare room. You’ll be out here on the couch.”

Brigit’s mouth fell open. Just like that, he’d turned them all into roommates.

CHAPTER TWO

AGAIN, BRIGIT TRIED to protest. “That’s not necessary. As I said, I can sleep on a cot in the office.”

“And I say it is necessary.” Kellen waved a hand. Then, “Not to be rude, but if you could move your belongings out of your room into the spare and be on your way, I’d appreciate it. I need to lie down.”

He didn’t wait for Brigit to respond. Rather, he returned his head to the cushion and closed his eyes once again.

She’d been dismissed like the hired help she was. Well, hired help or not, his dismissal made her blood boil. It took an effort, but she managed to swallow the pithy reply that likely would have seen her fired. Instead, as she followed the pair of burly men down the hall, she muttered half under her breath, “Sure, Mr. Faust. No problem, Mr. Faust. Happy to oblige.”

Brigit kept a tidy home, even in the rooms that casual visitors normally didn’t see. She was grateful for that fact now that strangers were invading her privacy.

Although the rooms were neat, she would have to change the sheets on her bed before Kellen used it. She’d planned to handle that chore in the morning, as well as gather up her clothes and toiletries in anticipation of his arrival. By showing up a day and a half early, and bringing another overnight guest, he’d left her scrambling and feeling...inadequate.

She swallowed the bile that threatened to inch up the back of her throat. The sentiment didn’t sit well.

While the driver continued down the hall, Brigit stopped at the first doorway. Glancing around the spare room, she tapped a finger to her lips. The treadmill would need to be moved to the corner to make room to open the futon, which would need fresh linens. Ditto for the living room’s pullout couch, where Kellen had assigned Joe to bunk.

As if reading her mind, Joe said from behind her, “Sorry for all of the inconvenience our stay is causing you.”

She turned, taking in his sheepish smile. She guessed him to be a few years her junior, which would put him in his late twenties. Despite a hairline that was already receding halfway across his crown, his face was almost boyish. If he had to shave once a week, she would be surprised.

“It’s no problem,” she lied.

“I’m Joe Bosley, your other uninvited guest.” He let go of one of the wheelchair handles so he could shake her hand. “I’m Mr. Faust’s physical therapist.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Brigit Wright. As you probably guessed, I manage Faust Haven.”

Joe nodded. Then, “Hey, would it be okay if I stowed my stuff in here?”

Better in the spare room with her than taking up space in the main living area. Brigit nodded and then pointed across the room. “The drawers in that dresser are mostly empty. If you’d like, you can have a couple of them.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ll take the bottom two.”

That left her with the top three. “And there’s plenty of room in the closet if you have anything you want to hang up.”

“Nah.” Joe wrinkled his pug-like nose and motioned to his hulking frame. “I’m a wash-and-wear kind of guy. Shorts, T-shirts and sweats mostly, although I do keep a pair of khaki pants and a few polo shirts on hand for anything that requires me to dress up.”

She nearly smiled. Khakis and collared shirts were Joe’s formal wear. Meanwhile, if all of the photographs she’d seen of Kellen over the years were any indication, the guy probably owned stock in Armani. Not that Kellen didn’t wear a tux well, a traitorous voice whispered. She silenced it.

Joe’s simple wardrobe explained why he had only one medium-size suitcase while his boss had brought a pair of ginormous ones as well as a garment bag. Whatever designer-label duds were stuffed inside of them really wasn’t the issue. The sheer amount said he was planning a far more extended stay than she’d first assumed. Just her luck.

“This is a nightmare,” she muttered, momentarily forgetting about her audience.

Not surprisingly, Joe misunderstood what she meant. “You’ll hardly know we’re here.”

“I’m sorry. That was rude. I’m not usually rude,” she said.

Uptight, unimaginative and colossally boring both in the bedroom and out, according to her ex, but even that jerk had never called Brigit’s manners into question.

“It’s okay.” Joe sent her a reassuring smile. Then, motioning over his shoulder with one thumb, he added, “He’s not so bad, you know.”

“I’m sure.” Her attempt at sounding convincing fell far short.

“Really,” Joe insisted. “Mr. F is in a lot of pain right now.”

She nodded. “He said he’s not taking the meds the doctor prescribed. Said they give him brain fog.”

She decided to keep to herself the part about him worrying about becoming addicted.

“They’d give an elephant brain fog.” Joe leaned closer then and dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. “His pain isn’t all physical, although I doubt he’d admit to that.”

So, the accident had taken an emotional toll as well. Brigit supposed she shouldn’t find that surprising. Even strong people could succumb to depression. God knew, she’d hovered at its dark door for a time just before finally calling it quits on her marriage.

“Mr. Faust’s injury...how bad is it?”

“To be honest, it’s one of the worst I’ve ever seen. His wrist and shoulder have healed pretty well, but his leg...he mangled it but good. Major tendon and ligament damage in addition to the bone fractures.” Joe shook his head and exhaled. “You know, the doctors initially advised amputating just above the knee.”

“My God!” Brigit gasped. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, he managed to keep that much from being leaked to the press. His friends...” Joe snorted, as if finding the word laughable. “They forwarded all sorts of information and even a few photographs snapped in Mr. F’s hospital room to the tabloids. He wasn’t happy about it.”

“I’d say he needs a better class of friends.”

Joe 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 by a snort coming from the living room. Then Kellen yelled, “Can you two skip the chitchat and finish up? As I’m the one who signs both of your paychecks, I know you have better things to do with your time than flirt.”

Flirt! 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 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.