A Brand New Ending (Page 11)

“The skiers are fine—nice guys. Aubrey’s coming tomorrow morning.”

Her eyes widened with panic. “Oh my God, I have to clean ten rooms! I forgot she couldn’t make it today.”

“I’ll do it. Here, drink more and take a few bites. Let’s see if this stays down.”

She moaned through the motions of eating and drinking her tea. “This is a nightmare—do you know how to prep a room properly?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Clean it up and make the bed.”

“Yes, but make sure everything is organized, and the bathroom is spotless, and the toilet paper and tissues are refilled. Use that vanilla-coconut scented spray if it’s a bit funky, and make sure you vacuum.”

“Got it. Take more meds so you can get some sleep.”

She swallowed her pill and coughed. Kyle could tell she had no energy. She lay limply back, barely able to keep her eyes open. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I never meant for you to get stuck with all this.”

He stroked her hair back from her forehead and dabbed some lingering crumbs from her lips with the napkin. “I could never be stuck with you,” he said quietly. “I like taking care of you.”

“Don’t be nice to me,” she murmured. Her head lolled drunkenly as exhaustion overtook her.

He pulled the covers up to her chin and edged the extra pillow to the side so she’d be more comfortable to sleep.

“Why?”

Her soft voice drifted to his ears in a caress. “Because I can’t fall for you again.”

Then she closed her eyes and slept.

Kyle stared at her for a long time, his heart squeezing in agony. God, he’d never wanted to hurt her. He wanted a second chance to heal her pain and prove she could trust him. It would be a long road ahead, but being able to help her this weekend was a first step.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and headed back to work.

Five hours later, he collapsed on the couch. His muscles ached from bending over and scrubbing toilets, and the damn vacuum cleaner had gotten jammed up, so that took him over an hour to fix. The skiers were a bunch of slobs, and cleaning up their crap was a nightmare.

But the inn was finally tidy and polished. The beds were all made. The kitchen was spotless. He’d booked a few reservations, updated the schedule, and baked some cookies for the afternoon snack.

Thank God the evening would be clear.

The guys would probably stay late at the lodge for dinner and drinks, and he’d confirmed the Rileys’ and Porcinis’ dinner reservations in town.

Maybe he could sneak in an hour or two of writing before checking back on Ophelia. Or hell, maybe he should nap.

He’d just set his computer up and opened his document when the front door flung open. Ten guys stomped in with their equipment and muddy boots, laughing and talking loudly.

No.

No, no, no . . .

“Hey, dude! The mountain is shit—a bunch of ice. We spent all afternoon partying at the bar. We just want to hang the rest of the night.”

“Let’s put on the game and chill. Should we order pizza?”

“Nah, how about Mexican? Kyle, my man, can you help set us up?”

“What’s that smell? Damn, are those cookies?”

“I love cookies! Can we have them now, with some coffee? This place is the bomb!”

All ten guys stared at him like puppy dogs, eager for the fun to begin.

Son of a bitch. How had Ophelia and her mother made this job look so damn easy?

Kyle stifled a groan and shut his laptop. He forced his lips into a happy innkeeper smile. “Sure. No problem. I’ll take care of everything.”

Chapter Six

Ophelia sat on the edge of her bed and moaned.

What had she done?

Opened her door to the enemy and allowed him full reign. After boldly claiming he’d never be welcome to stay, she had let Kyle take over the inn, tuck her in, give her meds, and wipe her brow. He’d slept in the chair the last two nights, refusing to leave in case she needed something, just like a caring husband.

Ex-husband, she reminded herself. What a mess. Why couldn’t he have been a jerk?

She’d expected him to be judgmental about her decision to take over her mother’s inn. God knows, for years he’d told her staying in their small town was a trap. He’d spun dreams of Hollywood fame and glory as the only route to true freedom.

But not once had he said anything derogatory. Obviously, he cared about doing a good job, which was way more than she ever expected.

“How are you feeling?”

She looked up. He wore dark-wash jeans and a Tommy Hilfiger red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His golden hair was tousled. The scruff hugging his mouth and jaw was a bit rough and piratelike, giving him a sexy, dangerous look.

His deep-green eyes met her gaze and pulled her in; his lush lashes only added to the shocking intensity of contrasting color. He leaned against the doorframe, the denim stretching tight over his powerful thighs, arms crossed over his broad chest. He simmered with masculine energy and a delicious potency that made her glad she was sitting down. Her body zinged to life after a long starvation period. She tried to beat it back into complacency and cleared her throat.

“Much better.”

He strode in with a panther’s grace and rested the back of his palm on her cheek. “Fever broke,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping over her disheveled appearance. “Still holding down the tea and toast?”

“Yes. I think I’m past the worst of it. I took a shower, and I’m ready to get back to work. I can’t believe it’s Monday. I missed the whole weekend.”

His golden brows slammed together. “Don’t push too hard. I’ve already handled breakfast, checked out the Rileys and Porcinis, and confirmed what time Aubrey is coming to prep rooms. It looks like your next guests arrive tomorrow, so you should be able to have a light day.”

She blinked, trying to gather her composure. “You did all that already?”

“Yes, and I’ve got a new appreciation for your job. I had no idea guests could be so demanding.”

His rough admission softened her resolve to be distant. “Still no issues with the skiers?”

“Like guys at a frat house on vacation. Good guys, though—just needed to keep on top of them. They almost broke that antique lamp thing in the dining room. Guess they thought it was a good idea to test their strength by body-slamming one another. Or maybe it was just the beer.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten a lot of practice at being a den mother plus hostess plus substitute mom.”

She moved to the edge of the bed, but he suddenly kneeled in front of her.

“I don’t want you to overdo it. You don’t handle being sick well,” he said.

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Hey, I’m nothing compared to you. Remember the ‘man cold’ incident?”

He winced. “It wasn’t just a cold. It was the swine flu. I could have died.”

Her smile widened. “You stayed in bed for three days and never had a fever or a sniffle.”

“Your memory is selective. I threw up.”

A giggle burst from her throat. “You gagged twice and proclaimed yourself deathly ill. You made me give you a bell!”

He looked affronted. “It was the only way I could be sure you knew if I needed something.”

“Oh, I knew all right. You rang that damn thing a million times, asking for water, the remote, an extra pillow, fluffier blankets, tissues—”