by Piper Rayne
Most of the time, Scott found himself coming home right at Timmy's bedtime, or after he had already gone to bed.
"I'll bet his mother wouldn't forget such an important task," Jillian grumbled.
Feeling guilty for forgetting Timmy's schoolwork, Jillian's words made anger rise within him. He should have walked out and cooled off or at least recognized the harmlessness of Jillian's statement. "You're out of line, Miss Riley, but you're right. Timmy's mother would have remembered. If she were here," he added through clenched teeth. "She was the best mother any little boy could ask for, and deserved a place in heaven for the care she gave to both of us. There's no one who could ever take her place, certainly not me, and I'll thank you never to make that comparison again."
* * *
Her eyes widened at his furious tone. He regretted his words immediately seeing the hurt glittering within the chocolate depths. She ran past him and Timmy as he walked in. Scott felt like a total bastard. In spite of all her problems, she'd still taken an interest in Timmy. What did he do in return for her, except make her efforts seem unappreciated and her friendship unwelcomed?
"What's wrong with Jillian, Scott?"
His brother's confusion only added to his regret.
"Nothing, son," Scott answered, chastened. He forced cheer into his voice. "Nothing at all. As a matter of fact, she's a pretty sharp lady. She reminded me of your schoolwork."
"Aww, man!"
At Timmy's crestfallen expression, Scott laughed. "You little scoundrel. You weren't going to mention your homework to me, were you?"
"When we got home, I was," Timmy admitted. "But I thought maybe you and Jillian could watch a movie with me, like families do.” He hung his head. "Sorry, Scott."
A man who had only cried twice in his adult life—at his father's funeral, then at his mother's—Scott felt the urge to do so just then at Timmy's soft words. Maybe he wasn't being fair to Timmy by vowing never to get married and thereby denying the boy a mother's love.
He led Timmy to Jillian's aqua and beige loveseat, where overstuffed pillows invited relaxation. Several blue pillar candles were scattered about the room in shiny brass holders. Frilly panels allowed sunshine to flow through, and the view of the garden served to fuel the imagination.
Sitting Timmy on his lap, Scott ruffled the seven-year-old's hair. "Listen, sport, you realize Jillian and I are just friends?"
The sound of a car's screeching tires and a muffled yell to slow down—which sounded suspiciously like Rave's voice—intruded upon the quiet serenity of the moment.
* * *
"Yeah, I do, but she's real nice, and friends watch movies together. Remember, me, you, and Floyd watched Hercules on video?"
Did he remember! He remembered the globs of caramel everywhere as he tried to whip up the caramel treats his mother used to make for him and his friends; he remembered being so tired the next morning because he'd allowed the seven-year-olds to stay up half the night and he'd had work Saturday morning; and he remembered the set of broken water glasses because Timmy and Floyd had decided to play football in the dining room. Ever since then, he'd served them with plastic cups.
"I remember, but Jillian is real busy."
"I know, but maybe if you asked her—"
"I'll ask her, but first I have to apologize to her.” Scott moved Timmy aside and stood. "In the meantime, start your homework. Okay, pal?"
"Okay, Scott."
Once Timmy began his homework promised to keep him occupied for at a half hour, Scott went to the kitchen, expecting to find Jillian.
Instead, Rave stood there, holding the cordless phone to his ear, a thunderous expression on his face. Even the tiny pink rollers in his hair and the cold cream on his nose didn't mask his fury.
"Yeah and a pleasant good afternoon to you too, you son-of-a-dog!" Rave said, as he zapped the phone off and slammed it on the counter, hard.
"Rave, what’s going on?" Scott asked. "Where's Jillian?"
"What's going on?" Rave snarled. "I'll tell you. Melba just found out she's two months pregnant and is already demanding I change professions. But that's not what has me so teed off. I can deal with Melba. It's Jilly's food supplier. He has refused to honor their contract because of a little thing like money! I have a dire need to find Weizel and stick my foot in his a—"
* * *
"Calm down," Scott said as level-headed as possible. Someone needed to stay poised for now. "Where's Jillian?"
"Jillian is racing to the supermarket because the SOB refused to deliver tonight, and now she has a houseful of guests with nothing to feed them for dinner. I swear I have this murderous urge to sink my foot right in the rear of his family jewels!"
9
Jillian barely saw the yellow caution light change to red. Blinded by tears, she just managed to put on her brakes to stop her Honda. She'd been feeling the need to cry ever since Scott had demanded she butt out. In essence, she had no place in his life. How could she when she would never measure up to Timmy's mother? Wherever Kayla, the erstwhile model of motherhood, was. Jillian hadn't thought her day could get any worse. Then, she'd gone into the kitchen and found the note from Weizel, her food man. It was simple enough. No money. No food.
She should have known better than to trust him. He was Douglas's friend, after all, who should have changed his name from Weizel to Weasel. Even after she'd called him, swallowed her pride for the sake of the Breakfast Nook's continued existence and pleaded with him not to do this to her, he hadn't been moved. Finally, she handed the phone to Rave and ran out the door. Time was wasting and her guests would soon be arriving to eat.
Suddenly, Scott’s words seeped into her brain. He’d spoken of Timmy’s mother in the past tense! Had she died? Jillian must have misunderstood his meaning. Scott couldn’t be a widower. Could he? He was so angry. She hadn’t meant to dredge up old hurts. Maybe, he wasn’t presently married as he’d told her. Maybe, he was only honoring Timmy’s mother, or her memory, by continuing to wear his wedding ring.
Then, just who was Kayla?
Drawing in an anguished breath, Jillian realized she’d created an aura of mystery around Scott. She’d asked him was he married and she hadn’t believed his answer. The mystery she’d created around him would be solved easier if she summoned the courage to ask him about himself. No, if she summoned the courage to believe the answers he gave her.
Yet, his vehemence a little while ago, cut so deeply, she’d wanted to leave his presence before she started weeping. At the moment, she fought harder than ever to keep her tears at bay. She was hardly able to deal with both Scott and her food crisis at the same time.
The light turned green and she zoomed off, cringing as she thought about the honeymoon couple. They should have been arriving to medium-priced champagne and chocolate covered strawberries, along with a dozen red roses. Instead, they'd be lucky to get Spam sandwiches.
Her food problem taking precedence for now, Jillian pressed her foot harder on the accelerator, and noticed her speed had reached sixty. Her credit cards were maxed, but she would have to dip into the money she'd set aside for her mortgage. Somehow, she would catch up. After all, she still had about sixty days left before her first installment was due to Howie's bank. Her life had become a tangled web, and her unrequited feelings for Scott weren't helping matters.
She swiped away her tears, her racing problems not helping to stem the flow of water leaking from her eyes, wishing for the first time in years she had her mother to lend her support. The sound of the siren and the blue and red flashing lights reflecting through her rearview mirror only added insult to her host of other injuries.
Gliding the car to a stop, Jillian told herself to get control of her emotions. She would calmly explain to the police officer her problem and ask him to let her off with a warning.
Jillian rolled down the window just as the blue-uniformed officer reached her car.
"Your license, ma'am."
He had kind eyes, with salt-and peppe
r hair. She gave him a watery smile, her eyes burning and her throat aching as she leashed her tears with determination. "Officer," she began.
"Your license," he said again.
Jillian bit down on her lip. Okay, so maybe he wouldn't be as easy to convince. "I have to get it out of my purse," she mumbled.
Fishing through her purse, she pulled out her wallet, then handed him her license.
Without glancing down at her identification, he gave her a reproachful look. "You realize you were doing sixty-one and a half in a thirty-five-mile zone?"
"Sir, I can explain. You see, I own the Breakfast Nook and I just found out the food for my guests didn't come in. Dinner's in a couple of hours, and I needed to get to the supermarket to buy the groceries and—"
"You're driving around with an expired license," he said in a military-style voice. If he’d heard one word she’d spoken, seeing her expired license ruined everything.
Fine. Jail sentence. And just plain and simple bedlam and chaos were a few of the words that crossed Jillian's mind at the officer's accusation. An expired license? She had forgotten all about seeing to her driver's license, which must have expired a month ago, on her birthday.
With a defeated moan, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest. "Sir, I'm so sorry. There's no excuse for that. But please, I usually don't speed and—"
"Well, it only takes one time for you to get caught, now doesn't it?" he asked, in a kinder tone. "You realize I could haul you off to lockup for this?"
Jillian nodded, the fear curling around her insides drying her mouth.
"Be grateful I'm letting you off with only a ticket."
After that statement, he wrote the ticket in question in short order, handed her expired license back to her, got in his cruiser, and sped off. Jillian rested her head on the steering wheel, a lump forming in her throat. She faced a bitter battle if she expected to save her inn.
Bleak with dismay and misery, she sat up. Just as she was about to pull onto the road once more, Scott's van stopped behind her.
Pulling down the car's visor and opening the attached mirror and seeing her red-rimmed eyes, even redder nose, and pale cheeks, she groaned. She really didn't feel like dealing with Scott's pity at the moment, and she didn't need a genie to know Rave told him everything. The thought to pull off crossed her mind, but before she could act, Scott was knocking on the window of the passenger side door.
Popping the door lock from the driver's side, Jillian turned her face to her window and stared out at the passing cars. She wouldn't look at Scott if she could help herself. Apparently, he’d overcome his anger at her.
"What are you doing parked on the side of the road?"
"I was here getting a ticket," she answered coolly, her gaze fastened to the cars turning into the drive-up window at Popeye’s. "But since the police officer did his job so thoroughly, I'm here because I saw you pull up behind me."
"How fast were you going?"
"Sixty-one and a half miles."
"That is pretty damned fast, Jillian, for a city street," Scott reprimanded. "You could have been killed or you could have killed someone else."
The same police officer who gave her the ticket pulled his car into the parking lot of the fast food restaurant. "You're not my father, Scott. Don't ever think to take his place. After all, he was the best father any girl could ever ask for. No one could take his place. Remember that!” She flung his same hurtful words back at her.
However, Scott was right, and she was being petty. But who cared? Had he cared how much his words hurt her? Had Douglas cared about the financial strait he left her in? What did Weizel feel he'd left her to be a laughingstock in front of her guests?
She waited for Scott to explode from the car and slam the door in his haste to get away from her. The feel of his hand on her shoulder came as an unexpected surprise. An electrifying shudder coursed through her and she froze. She didn't dare move a muscle. If she did, she might very well melt in his arms.
"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I should never have told you what I did. Or, at least, I should have said what I did in a different way."
Blinking to control her approaching tears, she still refused to look at him. "It's okay, Scott," she said in a trembly voice. ""I was out of line."
"Jillian, please look at me."
The small degree of sensuality in his voice captivated her. As much as she wanted to deny his request, deny how much his apology meant to her and how much his presence soothed her, she couldn't. Turning her head, she found him watching her, his own eyes vulnerable and searching. It must have cost him to say what he had, no matter how deserving she was of the apology. But looking at him and seeing the intensity in his light brown eyes, she didn't doubt his sincerity for one moment.
Before she could say anything else, he pressed his lips to hers, shattering her composure yet again. Tingles rippled through her being, and she absorbed the taste of his kiss like the taste of fine wine. Sighing softly, she closed her eyes, her senses swirling. But the kiss was brief, too brief, and when it ended it took Jillian a moment to realize it had.
Heat flaming her cheeks, her eyes flew opened.
"Your words of apology were sufficient."
The serious facade gone from his face, Scott laughed softly. "That was part of the apology."
"That was a kiss!" Jillian argued, shaken by his kiss, upset he didn't seem to feel more. "Read my lips, if you have a hearing problem. I'm sorry! Did you notice the difference? I'm sorry in no way resembles a kiss!"
Scott folded his arms across his muscled chest. "You say I'm sorry your way, and I'll say it my way. Now," he said, changing the subject. "Stop arguing and let's get to the Marketplace so we can go and serve the guests."
The speeding ticket shoved in her purse came to mind. "What about the ticket?"
"Don't worry about it. We'll take care of it."
"Did I tell you I was ticketed also for driving with an expired license."
"No," Scott answered grimly. After a moment, he said, "Don't worry about that either. Monday morning, we'll go to Troop B and take care of your license. Tonight, however, we have to get back to Rave. He has this insatiable urge to do something quite unseemly to your supplier with his foot."
Jillian's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't worry about it. We still have to see to your guests. Everything will be fine. Just take it one step at a time."
It sounded like a reasonable plan to her, so she waited until Scott had gotten into his van again before pulling onto the road, still feeling the imprint of his mouth on hers.
Still, the next chance she had, she would tell him their association had to be platonic. Her throat constricted. She felt drawn and hopelessly attracted to him, but she couldn't involve herself with him any further than she already had. Even if he'd been telling her the truth when he said he wasn't married, he still felt something for Timmy's mother, even if she was deceased. Neither could she compete with whatever had been, or still was, between him and Kayla. Because, then, that would make her the other woman, and if she was in Scott's life as his lover, she wanted everything he had to offer—love, loyalty, admiration and respect.
A few minutes later, they pulled into the Winn Dixie Marketplace parking lot and she got out of the car to join Scott as he stood waiting for her. At her approach, he smiled and Jillian drew in a weary breath. Those confounded dimples! Wondering how she would ever endure his company for the evening with the remembered passion between them still fresh in her mind, Jillian quickened her stride to keep up with him, determined to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. Brought on, she was sure, by the man at her side.
Scott flicked off the light in the kitchen, proud of his handiwork.
The wood cabinet enclosing the refrigerator gleamed with newness. Tomorrow, or whenever time allowed, he would begin refurbishing the cabinets and shelves lining the walls. Once the cabinets were done, it would only leave the floor to complet
e. How long would that take? A week at most?
Then, he would say goodbye to Jillian. He would pack up Timmy and move them away to Memphis. The idea didn't have as much appeal now as it first had—before he'd met Jillian. It had seemed perfectly natural that he wanted to expand his father's legacy, as well as add to their wealth. But since meeting Jillian, he hated to think that he would be miles away from the woman he had become so attracted to. For a man who took pride in his level-headedness, second-guessing himself at this crucial time served as a bitter pill to swallow.
He could always drop in whenever he was in the city and tell her hello, but he didn't want to intrude upon her life once his job here was done. He didn't want to one day walk in and find another man here—one whose interest was strictly Jillian.
With a sigh, he walked toward Jillian's apartment. It was past midnight, and time to bring Timmy home. Two hours earlier, he'd chased Jillian off to bed. She'd looked exhausted, and he feared she would fall where she stood if he didn't insist she quit.
Her problems and stresses of today didn't help matters either. First thing Monday morning, they would go to the Office of Motor Vehicles and renew her license; and without Jillian's knowledge or consent, he would clear Jillian's account to Weizel.
For a thriving business like the Breakfast Nook, Jillian didn't have time to make regular supermarket runs. Scott insisted that was the only reason he was involving himself. Knowing her pride, he would even work out a repayment plan for her. Without speaking to her, he would also hire someone to help her out with the cooking and cleaning, and pay their salary until Jillian could afford to do so.
Slowly opening the sitting room door so he wouldn't disturb either Jillian or Timmy, Scott smiled as he thought about her reaction to his offer. Well, like it or not, she would have to accept it. He couldn't bear to see her so overworked. He would deal with everything tomorrow. Tonight, he needed rest. He was beginning to feel the effects of the day himself, and he had a twenty-minute drive to Kenner facing him.
