by Piper Rayne
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Find out more about Dakota’s books on her website.
Breakfast & Bedlam
By Kathryn C. Kelly
Kathryn C. Kelly
Breakfast & Bedlam
A simple renovation turns into a mending of hearts and a happily-ever-after.
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To help her bed and breakfast, Jillian Riley decided to remodel the inn’s kitchen to give it the modern flair the rest of the place has. However, her renovation project was estimated to be four times the money she had or so Scott Martin, the contractor bidding for the job, informed her.
* * *
She and the hunk got off to a bad start, but he agreed to a time pay plan, where Jillian could repay the debt over a six-month period. Accepting Scott’s terms gave her a chance to get to know him. Though Jillian’s heart had been bruised and her trust of men shattered, the more she fights against her feelings, the deeper she falls for Scott.
Breakfast & Bedlam © 2020 Kathryn C. Kelly
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All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
1
"What you're asking me to do isn't entirely legal," Howard Gibson began in worried tones. He sat in a burgundy leather chair behind his desk in Commons Bank.
"Oh pshaw, Howard!" Jillian Riley scoffed. In spite of her brave facade, however, she moved in her seat, restless beneath the banker's slight disapproval. But she refused to show her increasing unease. Howard was her best friend's husband, and somehow, she would convince him to help her. "It may not be entirely scrupulous to grant me three extra months beyond the deadline on the loan papers—"
"Which, may I remind you, expired more than thirty days ago."
Jillian recalled Douglas mentioning that. "You're the bank president, Howard," she snapped, annoyed any thought of Douglas would intrude at this moment. "The buck stops with you. And I had hoped you were my friend also."
"Of course I'm your friend. But you know the law. In less than three months, the bank could foreclose on the Breakfast Nook."
Jillian slumped in her chair. She regretted questioning Howard's friendship, but she felt desperate. Help from her parents was out of the question. Long ago, they'd made it plain she was on her own. Since Douglas had absconded with their combined savings last month, she'd nearly pulled her hair from her scalp as she tried to think of a way to save her inn. She couldn't give up. She wouldn't give up. Not now, after she’d expanded to turn her bed and breakfast into an inn.
Her mind racing, Jillian glanced around her elegant surroundings. The mahogany desk gleamed from the sun's reflection that bounced off its polished top. Thick carpeting seemed plush enough to sleep on. Colorful draperies hung on the panoramic window where she studied the cars zooming down Harrison Avenue as they headed toward Bayou St. John. Magnolia leaves blossomed on tall trees, sharing space with even taller palm trees and stately oak trees. Blue skies lent serenity to the late April afternoon.
At wit's end, Jillian tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. Her gaze met Howard's, and he drew in a heavy sigh.
"All right.” He rubbed his temples and ran a hand over his bald head. "All right, Jilly. You win," he said reluctantly. "Because of the...the Douglas Incident, I'll grant you the extension. But no more than three months, mind you."
Unable to contain her relief, Jillian bounded from her seat. Howard stood as she rushed toward him, and flung her arms around his neck.
"Thank you, Howie.” She kissed him on the jaw, her enthusiasm reminiscent of a child's. "You've never disappointed me, and I promise I won't disappoint you."
Returning her hug, Howard chuckled. "I know you'll do your best not to.” He cleared his throat as she stepped back. "Er. . .um. . .Jilly, has there been any word from Douglas?"
"Not so far," Jillian answered with disdain. "There's just so far Douglas Hogan can run before someone spots him. The thieving scumbag!"
"But are you all right about it?"
"Howard!” She rolled her eyes at the man. Under the circumstances, how could she be all right about it? But she wasn't hurt by Douglas's actions or disappointed they wouldn't marry. No way. Impotent anger fueled her days.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Jillian. I'm sorry I brought it up. I always seem to say the wrong thing where you and Doug are concerned. Especially since you two are not an item anymore. I-I mean the guy's got a good heart. He just needs to grow up."
Jillian looked at him incredulously. A good heart? How could he say that? Douglas was a thief, with no heart at all, and he certainly wasn't a child. He had fooled her into trusting him enough to accept his marriage proposal, then cleaned eighteen thousand dollars out of their bank account. Snatching her purse from the side of the chair and starting for the door, she shook her head in disbelief. However did Howard become the president of a bank? "I'll be in touch," she grumbled.
"Good. Good."
"Say hello to Marley for me."
"Will do. So long."
"So long."
Her mind cluttered with things she would prefer cluttering something else, Jillian made her way outside, got into her Honda Accord and started the ignition. She shifted the car into reverse and backed it out of the parking spot, then shifted the gear forward. After a careful check of traffic, she made a U-turn on Harrison and went to Canal Boulevard.
Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, she saw she had twenty minutes to get home to meet the contractor coming to the Breakfast Nook to give her an estimate for the kitchen remodeling.
The only thing left to finish before Douglas's departure. The sleaze bag. Every time she thought of how much she trusted him, she cringed. Because of his treachery, however, she would never so readily give her trust again.
Fifteen minutes later, Jillian turned into her driveway of the bed and breakfast inn directly across the street from the lush greenery of Palmer Park, off Carrollton Avenue, where she lived and worked. She wondered how much longer she would be able to do either. At the moment, couples occupied all eight bedrooms, and with no money to continue to pay her help, she would have to go it alone.
Although the name of her establishment was ‘The Breakfast Nook’, Jillian’s place had recently become a full-service inn. She now served light lunches on request, and gourmet dinners as part of the guest package. That’s exactly what she’d had in mind when she and Douglas opened the bed and breakfast—expansion. They’d had dreams together, talked about expanding The Breakfast Nook to make it an inn, possibly even having several locations in the Gulf region. Those conversations had been long and detailed, fueling her imagination and her need to succeed on her own. They’d even debated on a name, finally settling upon The Breakfast Nook after much discussion. Since she’d put up the bulk of the money, she could have named it after herself. Something like ‘Jillian’s Haven’ had appealed to her. But, in consideration for her slimy partner, she hadn’t wished to appear selfish.
Parking her car and getting out, she noticed a yellow van stopped on the curb in front. Jillian halted her steps as a man opened the van door and exited the vehicle. Seeming displeased, he began walking toward her.
Jillian glanced at the sign on the van. 'Town and Country Builders and Remodelers' stood out in bold, black letters. Chewing on he
r lower lip, she looked at her watch. She had two minutes to spare, so what was his problem?
"Hello," she said when he reached her side.
Annoyance cooled the golden flecks in the stranger's light brown eyes. He ignored her greeting. "Are you Jillian Riley?" he growled.
"Yes," Jillian answered frostily. She raised her chin proudly and stiffened her spine. Her head barely reached his chin and corded muscles bunched beneath the white t-shirt covering his broad shoulders and flat stomach, but she wanted to let him know he couldn't intimidate her. "Who wants to know?"
"Miss Riley, this is the second trip I've made here in the last hour. And this dang time, I've been waiting for you for nearly twenty minutes. I don't like to be kept waiting—"
A hint of his woodsy aftershave and fresh scent caught on the breeze. "Then why did you?"
"I wanted to see what kind of person makes appointments, then breaks them with no regard to time involved."
"I beg your pardon? I scheduled an appointment at precisely this hour with your company. Apparently, someone is confused. Perhaps you'd better recheck your appointment book, or maybe call your boss for instructions."
He snorted and, dipping his head slightly, smiled without humor, then dug his hand into his t-shirt pocket and retrieved a small notepad.
Jillian glared at him as he flipped through the pages. His eyebrows were heavy and neat, his eyelashes thick and long, accentuating the elegant ridge of his nose, square jaw, and beautiful tan color she told herself to ignore.
He pulled the paper closer and frowned in chagrin, glancing between her and his hand. Apparently, he'd been mistaken. Smugly waiting for his apology, she folded her arms and tapped her foot, her heel clicking dully against the pavement. The man stroked his stubbly jaw and looked past her, his expression resembling a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar, one she wanted to take to her breast and comfort. Only, he wasn't a little boy.
Watching him search for a way out of his embarrassment, a moment's pity surfaced. His gaze remained focused on the park across the street and Jillian scolded herself. Why should she care if she'd embarrassed him? He was obviously a rude, ill-mannered jerk, who deserved everything she'd said, for his high-handed attitude.
"Miss Riley," he began. His voice had a rugged depth. "You must think I'm a rude, ill-mannered jerk."
Her rigid composure slipping away at his words, Jillian raised her eyebrows, stifling the urge to drop her mouth open in surprise. Did he really say that without reading my mind?
"I'm really a nice guy. I knew I had an appointment with a Miss Jillian Riley today. But I got the time mixed up, and didn't bother to check. I've had a pretty rough morning, and the afternoon doesn't seem to be looking much better. I've made two trips to Slidell, had van problems, and missed a meeting I had to go to. But you don't want to hear this."
No, she really didn't want to hear it, especially since she believed him. But his honesty or lack thereof about his horrible afternoon really wasn't her concern. He was only there to do a job for her. He wasn't there to take up housekeeping with her.
She frowned. She was beginning to sound as cynical as her estranged parents, and she couldn't allow that. Not for any reason. Wasn't that part of the reason she'd decided not to try and call them ever again after they'd disowned her for choosing Douglas over their objections? She couldn't abide their self-righteous, condescending attitude.
"I apologize for my behavior, and I hope I haven't offended you.” He smiled at her, his teeth brilliant and perfect against his healthy complexion.
Pushing her parents to the back of her mind and his easy charm annoying her, she sniffed. "It's all right, Mister. . . ?"
Seeming unaffected by her chilly tone, he smiled again, revealing the deepest dimples she'd ever seen. God, he was beautiful.
"Martin. Scott Martin.” A brief silence passed between them before Scott Martin cleared his throat. "Well, Miss Riley, I'll assume you haven't changed your mind about hiring me since you haven't sent me packing."
In spite of herself, Jillian laughed at the affability in his voice. "No, Mr. Martin, I haven't. Follow me to the kitchen, and I'll show you what needs to be done."
Scott followed Jillian through the entrance hall to an astonishingly large and eclectic sitting room. Obviously great care and thought had gone into the planning of the Breakfast Nook. Decorating and designing were included in Scott's work, and he had an eye for detail. Antiques married extremely well with modern furnishings. Two traditionally styled sofas sat opposite each other with a rectangle antique table in the center, carved in magnificent detail. An English tea service stood in the corner in front of the huge window that looked out on a beautiful garden courtyard, where a profusion of flowers grew. Other furniture from different periods of time was sedately placed about the room.
Impressed by the diversity, Scott turned his gaze to Jillian Riley. She walked ahead of him with easy grace, oblivious to his interest. Her ponytail, kept in place by a black hair bow, bounced with each step she took. The tailored business suit she wore defined her beautifully formed back well. He told himself he wouldn't look any further down. To do so would be less than gentlemanly, but with each step she took, Scott felt a jolt of awareness. He reminded himself he didn't wish to become involved with anyone. He had Timmy to consider, and the business he was determined to make even more successful than it already was. Not only did he want to conquer the regional market, he wanted to take his company national. A relationship would only be a distraction he didn't need.
Uncomfortable, curious, he flipped through his little notepad to double-check the time of his next appointment.
"Here we are, Mr. Mart—"
Without warning, Jillian stopped just inside the next room. Scott walked right into her. He nearly toppled them both, but he reached his hand out to steady her as best he could. Through the linen material her arm felt feminine and firm, as though she worked-out.
Her eyes were like pools of chocolate as they met his.
"Are you all right? I'm sorry, Miss Riley. Please forgive my clumsiness," he said, wondering at her age. Now that he thought about it, he realized she looked terribly young. But he supposed she was old enough to handle the responsibility of showing him what the owner wanted done in the kitchen. "I didn't realize we had reached our destination."
"I'm all right, Mr. Martin," Jillian replied, annoyance lacing her tone. "Accidents do happen."
"Yes.” She was an irascible creature, wasn't she? Scowling, Scott decided to get to the point of his visit. "Well, now that we're here, tell me what needs to be done."
"Of course. As you can see, the pine and brick walls need refurbishing. The floors need retiling, and the cabinets need replacing. Also, there's a large brass pot rack that begs to be hung over the stove.” Jillian folded her arms and looked at him coolly. "I need an estimate of the total cost."
Ignoring her husky voice and the surly tone, Scott gazed around the sturdy, medium-sized room. Red brick lined the bottom half of the walls while lusterless pinewood composed the top. Kitchen fixtures and bric-a-brac adorned the walls. A real country kitchen in need of a makeover.
"I assume you want the cabinets to match the walls?"
"Of course," Jillian bowed her head for a split second and some of her firm control slipped away. The worry etching her face gave her a vulnerability a man couldn’t ignore. "If possible, I'd like the refrigerator and freezer doors to match also.”
Scott nodded, curious about her problem, not that it was any of his business. He was there to bid on a job. "I can enclose them in the wooden cabinets."
"As long as they match," Jillian stressed.
Taking his pen from his pocket and opening his notepad to a blank page, Scott walked around the room writing down specifics. Afterwards, he took his tape measurer from his waistband and sized the floor and each wall, very aware of Jillian's gaze on him.
* * *
Jillian stood to one side, watching Scott. His denims gloved his r
ear-end and long legs. He wrote something else on his paper, and smiled at her, his light brown eyes twinkling, as if he guessed her thoughts. The ridiculous little ditty he whistled amused her despite the fluster she had from watching him.
To her way of thinking, it really wasn't a big job. At least not compared to what had been done to the rest of the fifteen room, turn-of-the-century, old house. Which meant she should have enough money, despite her worry to the contrary. It also meant he wouldn't be around her too long; a good thing, considering her reaction to him.
For the most part, her heart ruled her emotions, instead of her head, and that wasn't a good thing. Her heart had already misled her.
She sighed and shifted her weight. Her movement made Scott look at her again. He could be a model for an underwear company. Oh, for Heaven’s sake! Irritated, she turned away.
Douglas at his most charming had never affected her in such a way, and Doug had been very charming. At first. The only time in her life she'd chosen to play it safe and she'd still gotten burned. So much for feminine instinct.
She and Doug had spent a lot of time and money on their dream of opening their own inn, however, and it was still her dream. She refused to let what Doug did turn it into a nightmare. Instead, she would go on as if nothing had happened.
"Okay."
At the sound of Scott Martin's rugged voice, she looked askance. Minutes passed, but he didn't say anything else. Her patience ended at his continued silence. "Well?"
"In a minute, Miss Riley. In a minute," he said, and continued writing. He glanced up for a second and pointed to a door next to the freezer. "Where does that door lead? Is that a closet?"