by Piper Rayne
A stout, pretty brunette was popping slices of white bread into two four slice toasters, while a short red-head recovered the bread and buttered them.
"They're on Toast Patrol," Ally explained. "Raveno is doing the sausages, ham, and bacon, and I am stirring up the instant grits!"
Oh God! A city that's renowned for its gourmet food, and I'm serving something instant!
Thinking her business might never recover from that, Jillian fought back tears. What happened to her beautiful continental breakfasts? Her pastries with jams and jellies? Her fresh fruit and juices and coffee and selection of teas?
What indeed happened to her backbone? The backbone that had once pitted her against the formidable Camille and Taylor Riley, her parents. Why didn't she just stick to the decision she had made about taking control of her life and usher everyone out?
* * *
Because the fact remained that she still didn't know how to cook and without the help of Ally Gator and Jesse the Texan and Rave the Mouth, her guests would starve. Until then she had never considered what a privileged childhood had done to her; how having a cook, a chauffeur, and a bevy of other household servants at her beck and call had left her ignorant of certain basics.
But then at the same time she started making plans and subsequently arguing with her parents about one day owning her own inn, she'd met Douglas, whom her parents hated. At twenty-one, she refused to let them dictate to her, so they cut her out of their lives and left her to fend for herself. Something she didn't really have to do until Douglas left her. She'd had money in a private account when she'd left home, and used part of it as a down payment on the inn.
"Jillian, dear, did you hear me?"
"Um...yes, Mrs. Gator. Thank you, but I'm...I'm not hungry."
"I understand, Jilly," Ally said in breezy dismissal. She stirred the grits vigorously one last time before turning the burner off. Momentarily distracted as she instructed the others on what to do with whatever food they were dealing with, she quickly turned her attention back to the conversation. "Just as Rave shouldn't fret over Melba's decision because of the baby, you shouldn't fret over that garden slug. You're better off without him, and already lucky enough to snag another man. I hope you'll be more discreet with your emotions this time around."
Jillian stared at Rave, appalled. There was no doubt in her mind now, that she would kill Rave. All that she needed was a method. She wanted it to be slow and painful! How dare he? How dare he advertise her private life like...like dirty laundry? If he wanted to do so with his and Melba's problems, that was his business to spread around.
"Child, the tales I could tell you about my life.” Ally wiped her hands on the oversized apron she wore. Squinting at one of her manicured nails, she frowned. "Oh crap! Nail polish is coming off."
* * *
Rave sauntered over. "Let's see. Oh, don't worry about that. I'll fix it later."
"You're sure, dear?"
"Positive."
Ally nodded, but didn't answer. She sat next to Jillian. "My first husband was a terribly jealous man. Even though I've remarried, I still get disturbed thinking about number one and his temper."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Gator—"
"Call me Ally, Jill. Everyone else does. Some even go so far as to say both my names as if it was one. You know, Allygator? Imagine, the cheek of them!"
Jillian smiled at Ally's explanation, but chose not to comment. Instead, she said, "Ally, I'm sure your present husband can protect you against the wrath of your first husband."
"That's true," Ally agreed. "Especially since my first husband has been deceased for ten years!"
Squirming in her seat, Jillian looked up at the ceiling before once again glimpsing Ally. A genuine cartoon character if ever there was one. She cleared her throat. "Um, Ally," she said, trying to keep a straight face. "I believe your first husband is long over his jealousy by now. So I wouldn't worry if I were you."
"You wouldn't?"
"Nah," Jillian said. "By the way, where is your present husband?"
"Robert Quincy? But he prefers the name Bobbie Q. So you have to call him that. No mister for that old geezer."
"So you're now Ally R. Gator Quincy?"
"No, dear," Ally answered with exasperation. "Haven't you been listening? My husband is a Gator. His full name is Bobbie Q. Gator."
* * *
Biting down on her lip to keep from exploding into laughter, Jillian rubbed her brow. "Oh, I see.” Her voice trembled, her battle nearly lost when she saw Rave's shoulders shaking from his own chuckles. Resting her elbow on the counter, she placed her chin in her hand, then tapped her hand on her cheek. "Is Bobbie Q. all right?"
"Oh, certainly, child," Ally reassured her. "He's a little bit older than I am, so he tires easily. Especially after a night like last night. After the outing, he had to perform his husbandly duties, you know."
"How much older than you is your husband?"
"He's twelve years older. But he is all man, dear. No Viagra for him.” Ally's voice dropped to a whisper. "Like most men his age, he has a few problems. Hardening of the arteries, arthritis, high blood pressure. You name 'em, he's got 'em. But the important thing is he can still perform. If you get my meaning?"
"Oh, I most certainly do, Ally," Jillian said with a laugh. "How old are you?"
"Me? Oh, I'm only eighty. Still in my prime," Ally answered with verve.
Jillian patted her on the arm. "Bless your heart."
"Thanks, dear.” Ally stood with determination. "Break's over, Riley! Up, on your feet. It's time to take your post serving the guests."
Within an hour, breakfast was over and done with, and Ally and Rave were helping Jillian tidy up the kitchen. Yet there was still no sign of Scott, and it was nearly ten o'clock—way past his usual time of arrival. Had something happened?
"Still piqued, Jilly?” Rave asked with a grin.
"How could I be?" Jillian responded, not showing the worry she felt over Scott's absence. "You're a scoundrel, but you're a sweet, helpful scoundrel. And I'm sorry I called you Raveno Territo, even if it is your name. I know how you feel about it."
"But I didn't have to be such a bitch about it, honey," Rave said. "Forgive me?"
* * *
Jillian hugged Rave. "Of course, sweetie."
"Don't you fret about that slime bucket who stole your money from under you, child," Ally said. "You reap what you sow in this world. Something good will turn up for you to save your inn."
"Thanks for your concern, Ally," Jillian began. "I know...” Realizing Scott stood in the kitchen doorway, she stopped. She looked into his surprised face, and her heart sank. Then he smiled.
"Good morning," he said, never taking his gaze from her. "I hope I am not interrupting anything."
"Oh, hello, young man.” A smile creased Ally's rouged cheeks, revealing deep dimples within the lines of her face. "You must be Jillian's new beau.” She went to him and squinted her eyes, then nodded with satisfaction. "You have an honest face. I hope you don't turn out to be a thieving sleazebag like her old boyfriend.”
Jillian listened, eyes rounded and bright with embarrassment. Her cheeks were stained scarlet, and Scott knew her pride had taken a serious beating at what he'd overheard and what Ally had further revealed. But now he understood her reservations over involving herself with him. He also knew why she didn't hire extra help, why she hadn't paid Weizel, and why she'd asked him, Scott, for a time pay plan. He wondered what other problems had been heaped upon her because of her former boyfriend's treachery.
* * *
Yet, his reaction to this discovery was harder to understand. He wanted to protect her and draw her into his arms to comfort her. She must have been frightened and worried. It was a good thing she had Rave there. Suddenly, Scott looked at the man in a new light, one wrought with respect. Raveno Territo Mondel didn’t visit Jillian to nag her. He visited her to look after her.
But now Scott was there for Jillian to lean on. Looking at Ji
llian’s deep shame, however, he knew it would be no easy task. First, he had to win her trust. Yet in doing so, he had to be damned sure he wouldn’t run scared when she grew too close to him. He didn’t want her hurt again, and especially not by his actions.
“The crook stole all her savings!”
“Ally!” Jillian cried. “Please feel free to discuss my affairs with the whole world!”
“Oh no, dear, this does not concern the whole world,” Ally pointed out. “And don’t you go telling everyone your problems. That would certainly make you look like an easy mark.”
“Ma’am—" Scott began, thinking to rescue Jillian.
Instead, Rave saw Jillian’s blush deepen as an appalled look swept her features. “Come on, Ally,” he said to the little, blue-haired old lady. “I think maybe Bobbie Q. may need your attention, girl. Say so long to Jilly.”
“So long to Jilly,” Ally said with an infectious laugh. She patted Scott’s cheek. “So long, young man. If I wasn’t already married….” Her voice trailed off as she followed Rave out the door.
Jillian sat there, not saying a word to him. She hadn’t even greeted him yet. Her face drawn, her vulnerable gaze met his. Hoping to alleviate whatever emotion roiled within her and lessen the tension within himself, he smiled.
“Seems I arrived just in time,” he said as lightheartedly as he could considering their situation. “After all the morning chores have been done.”
“Lucky you.” She smiled tremulously.
* * *
“Is there coffee left?”
“No.”
“What time Monday would you like to go and renew your driver’s license? The earlier we get there—"
“Thanks, Scott,” Jillian interrupted crisply. “But I’ll see to the matter on my own.”
Silence passed between them, but Scott refused to press her into saying something she didn’t wish to say or doing something she didn’t want to do. He felt a little put out that she was suddenly rejecting his help. Life could be quite ironic. It seemed at the very moment he was accepting her intrusion into his life, she was deciding once and for all that she wanted nothing to do with him.
Just as he was about to get his tools, Jillian spoke.
“I can make a pot of coffee for us.”
Scott breathed a silent sigh of relief. Coffee meant she didn’t want to rush away from him, that she wanted his company. Pleased at that, he said, “That would be nice.” Pulling out a chair from the table, he straddled it. “Do you recall when I left last night?”
“I…yes, vaguely.” She took a can of coffee from the cupboard to bring to the counter. Placing the can down, she faced Scott. “Why don’t we stop pretending you didn’t hear what Ally said,” she imparted, her tone flat and slightly hostile. “In case you’re worried, I can make a payment to you today. Ironically, Ally revealed my secret, while she’s also responsible for resuscitating my bank account, and the reason I can afford to make a small payment to you.”
Not liking her tone, Scott frowned. “There’s no rush, Jillian,” he said gently. “If the money is needed elsewhere I can wait—"
* * *
“I knew you would say that,” Jillian huffed, close to tears. “I don’t want your pity, Scott. Although I may not be able to pay you all the money at once, I will adhere to our agreement. The least you can do is accept my payments graciously.”
Scott told himself that she was hurt and embarrassed at what had been revealed today. He told himself to ignore her tone that conveyed her resentment. But he couldn’t. Because it sounded like she resented him, and he hadn’t done her a damn thing; he couldn’t because he was hurt that she couldn’t recognize his offer as the overture that it was.
The intentions he had of asking her out withered; the conversation that he’d had with Weizel left his thoughts. He needed away from her to remind himself that he never planned to marry and his interest in her would dim as soon as his job at the Breakfast Nook ended.
“Yes, ma’am.” Ire laced his tone. Swinging his leg over the front of the chair, he stood and pushed it back under the table. “You’re absolutely right, Jillian. You must adhere strictly to our agreement. Please don’t bother with the coffee. My part of the agreement was to remodel your kitchen. It’s way past the time for me to get started for the day. Concentrating solely on that, I should complete this job within two to three more days.”
With that, Scott stalked out of the door to the storeroom for the tools and equipment he stored there.
Jillian swallowed back a sob. She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. Although her feelings for Scott were something she couldn’t nurture because of the feelings he carried for Kayla, she enjoyed being his friend, and she didn’t want to lose that friendship.
But maybe she should just clear the air and tell him outright that she didn’t believe he wasn’t married…at least seriously involved. Then where would she be? Especially if he decided to confirm her suspicions. If all she got to do was see him by not knowing, then that was better than nothing.
Suddenly, she felt very sorry for herself. Almost sorry enough to telephone her mother, whom she hadn’t spoken to in four years, whom she had barely thought about in nearly two.
* * *
How could she have allowed her life to get into such disarray? How could she have allowed herself to be duped by a man she trusted? A man who, as her parents predicted, was so wrong for her? While Scott seemed so right for her. In her heart, she knew it. But what good did that do her? He would always compare her to Timmy’s mother. And now he was angry with her.
Two to three days. His words echoed through her mind. After he wrapped up the job, would she ever see him again? His twinkling gold-flecked eyes and dimpled jaws always brightened her mornings. Despite whatever emotion he harbored for Timmy’s mom, he seemed interested and concerned for Jillian. Would it be so bad to just go out with him for one night? To forget her problems while she enjoyed his company?
Although it would have been just as easy to have him go with her to Troop B to see to her driver’s license renewal, she felt she needed to take charge of her life. She needed to do that on her own. However, now that she’d decided to take control of her life, not only would she contact her parents, she would also ask Scott out….
“Perhaps there’s someplace else you can be doing something else, Miss Riley.”
Carrying some equipment, Scott entered the kitchen again, his icy tone biting into her thoughts.
“Your presence in here isn’t necessary.”
Her emotions in turmoil, hurt percolated through Jillian at Scott’s derisiveness. Angrily, she glared at him and swiped at an escaping tear, then silently crossed the room and made her way to her apartment.
For a moment, Scott stared at the door Jillian had just closed. He swore he'd seen a tear roll down her cheek. With a vicious curse, he began assembling the proper tools for the work he needed to do today. How could he have been such a jerk? He didn't mean to make her cry. In fact, that was the last thing he wished to do. All he truly wanted was to hold her in his arms.
Dammit, she was too stubborn for her own good, and just as independent. Couldn't she see she needed his help to continue making this place work? She was working herself into the ground by trying to do it alone. The only thing she couldn't do was cook for her guests, and that's because she didn't know how.
Putting on some yellow rubber gloves, he mixed an acrid solution in a plastic container. That done, he got on his knees and began cleaning the floor tiles. He'd wanted to tell Jillian, that, in order to save her money, he would clean the floor with a special solution, which would restore the tiles to their original luster.
Shoot, he'd wanted to tell her quite a lot. What a pretty picture she'd made cuddling Timmy last night. How kissable her sleep-softened mouth looked; how inviting her wavy hair was; how satiny smooth her cheeks felt. His entire outlook had changed because of that one encounter. Most importantly, however, he'd wanted to finally ask her out. He had th
e perfect evening planned for them.
But then she'd snapped at him and things went downhill because of his response. Why had she done it in the first place? He hadn't meant to eavesdrop or insult her, and he certainly wasn't pitying her. She was too feisty for pitying.
* * *
When he'd gone to Weizel's office this morning on Tchoupitoulas and paid out Jillian's outstanding debt, he hadn't considered starting his day with her like this. Nor had he fully considered her reaction when he'd called The Times-Picayune and placed classified ads for someone to come in and give Jillian a hand a few hours a day, as well as a parking attendant to see to the cars. Given the circumstances, however, Scott thought it best to cancel the ad. He wouldn't want to offend her again. And where Weizel was concerned? Well, Scott would just have to cross that bridge when he came to it.
His thoughts goading him, Scott's energy exploded and, without intending to, he cleaned over half the floor in a very short time. He threw the brush into the solution and sat on the floor. Snatching off his dripping gloves and throwing them over the side of bucket, he took stock of his reflections.
He rubbed his hand through his hair, then stretched out his long legs, agitated. He didn't want to finish the job in two or three days; he didn't want to finish in two or three months. He never wanted to stop seeing Jillian.
Scenes of the very family-oriented day at the park with her and Timmy yesterday insisted on intruding in his mind. Images of her upset with Scott because he'd neglected to mention Timmy's schoolwork also stayed in his mind's eye. She was so...so natural with his little brother, so motherly.
In spite of his promise to himself, Scott realized he was falling in love with her. And he'd acted like a jerk after swearing he was a nice guy. How would he ever make it up to her?
He glanced at the closed door to her apartment. Should he knock? He owed her an apology, but he didn't think she was ready to accept it yet. No, he wouldn't face her again today. He was too ashamed. Neither did he wish to be here when Weizel's delivery man arrived. Instead, he would leave early and write her a note explaining why.
