Island Refuge (Wildflower B&B Romance Book 1) (2 page)

S
UNDAY MORNING
N
ICK
pushed through the front door and smelled coffee, bacon, and eggs. Clearly the new cook had arrived. He grinned, appreciating her initiative. He should’ve been back last night, but his brother returned home too late for Nick to catch the last ferry. He’d tried calling several times, but no one had answered. Regardless, he was thankful Kat had hired Zoe, or he never would have been able to leave the island to take care of his nephew while his brother worked.

Something about the reception area made him pause, and he stared at the desk until it hit him—the reservation book was open, and he always kept it closed. Maybe his new cook had a little
too
much initiative.

He strode to the kitchen. Flour covered the counter and floor, and a burner was on with nothing on it. An overall chaos permeated the room. A woman wearing a chef’s jacket stood at the sink, but she didn’t appear to be doing anything. “What’s going on in here?”

The woman jumped and twisted to face him. “May I help… ? Oh my, I remember you.”

It couldn’t be! The woman standing in his kitchen holding her hand under the faucet was the crazy driver from the ferry. “I own this place.”

Her lips formed a soft O, and her cheeks flushed. “Welcome home.”

He clicked off the burner. “Ah, thanks. Are you injured?”

“Afraid so.” She held up her red hand.

He rushed to her side and reached for her wrist. “Looks like a first degree burn. I have some ointment that will help.” He pulled a first aid kit from a drawer and handed her a tube. “Keep it under the water for now. How’d it happen?”

She placed the burn ointment on the counter. “I gripped the handle of the skillet with my bare hand. I forgot I’d pulled it from the oven a few minutes ago. Anyway, think you could help get the food plated?”

Help?
He could help with her burn, but he knew nothing about cooking. That had been his wife’s job. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Then again plating wasn’t cooking. “Sure. Let me wash up.” He moved the faucet to the other side of the sink and soaped up.

“You’re not performing surgery.” She chuckled.

His head jerked to face her. “How did you—?”

“What? Are you okay?” She looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“I’m fine.” He rinsed the soap off and turned to the disheveled counter. “How did flour end up everywhere?”

“I bumped the bowl when I burned myself.” While the water soothed the burn, she walked him through how to dish up breakfast, pausing as he placed each item on the plates before moving on to the next step. “Well done.” She turned off the water and reached for a large serving tray.

He looked at the artful display barely able to believe he’d created it. “Now what?”

“You deliver the plates to the dining room table.”

“But there are four plates. We only have one guest, and she takes her breakfast in her room.” The extra car in the driveway flashed in his mind.

“Actually, umm… I never caught your name.”

Nick winced. “Uh… sorry. Nick Jackson, and you’re Zoe Griffin. Correct?”

She nodded. “As I was about to say, three new guests arrived without reservations yesterday. I put them in the Orchid Room. Which reminds me. They broke a vase that was in their room. I think it was probably an antique.”

“Thanks. I’ll deal with it.” His new hire rose a notch in his estimation. “I appreciate you jumping in and taking over yesterday. I was unexpectedly delayed.”

“No problem. We can talk later. I like my food served hot. It’s already begun to cool.” She waved a hand toward the door, urging him to deliver the meals, then snatched one plate off the tray. “I’ll run this up to the Poppy Room.” She quickly inverted a cover over the dish with her good hand and darted from the kitchen.

His former cook had known what she was doing when she hired Zoe—except for the clumsiness part. He glanced around the disaster zone she’d made of his kitchen one last time before hoisting the tray.

Had he made the biggest mistake of his life buying this place?

No, he’d already done that… and Jenna had paid the price.

****

Z
OE REACHED UP
to knock on the door of the Poppy Room right as it jerked open.

A pale faced, raven-haired young woman gasped. “You startled me.”

“Sorry. I brought your breakfast. Mr. Jackson informed me you take your meal in your room.”

Her eyes widened. “I was actually heading down to the dining room since there are other guests, but thanks.” Rachel reached for the plate.

Zoe passed it to the woman.

Rachel’s brow furrowed. “That burn looks painful.”

“I’ll live.”

Rachel nodded. A look of compassion clouded her brown eyes. “Well, thanks for this. I usually have a carafe of coffee with breakfast too. Black. No cream or sugar.”

Zoe snapped her fingers and winced. She’d burned her dominant right hand and neglected to apply the ointment or even a bandage. “Be right back.”

“No problem. I’ll leave the door open.”

Zoe spun on a heel and raced down the stairs colliding with Nick as she whipped around the last baluster. Air burst from her lungs, and she stood dazed for a second. “Sorry. I guess I’d better watch where I’m going.” She looked down at his hand where he had grabbed her upper arm.

He released it. “Probably a good idea. Especially with all the antiques around.”

Antiques!
He’d nearly laid her flat and all he was concerned about were his precious relics. She nodded and breezed past him. Her hand throbbed, she’d barely slept, and now her boss probably thought she was the world’s biggest klutz. She blinked back tears realizing she was overreacting. She reached for the coffee pot—empty. Someone must love coffee. With a shrug she brewed a second pot then filled a metal carafe and reminded herself that by next week, she’d probably be laughing about the morning’s events. That is, if she kept her job that long.

After checking on the guests in the dining room, she trotted upstairs and poked her head into Rachel’s room. There was no sign of her, and the bathroom door was closed, so she placed the coffee on the table. A low, guttural sound from behind the closed door alarmed her. She knocked. “Rachel, are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Zoe hesitated a moment longer, then left, closing the door behind her. The woman had been pale earlier. Could she be ill? She hadn’t appeared feverish. Maybe she had an eating disorder, like bulimia. No, that couldn’t be it. She’d barely touched her breakfast.

She walked to the end of the hall, deciding to take stock of her cleaning supplies. No sense in tromping downstairs for things that were already here. She pulled open a closet and grinned. It looked like there would be no extra trips—good. Satisfied, she took the stairs carefully and scooted past Mr. Jackson, who sat at the reception desk with a plate of food and a mug of coffee.

“Zoe, hold up a minute.”

She did an about face and marched to the desk.

“I wanted to apologize for not being here when you arrived. I had a family emergency in Tacoma. I meant to leave you a note with instructions, but I can see you are capable of taking charge. Thank you.”

Zoe’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected his thoughtful words or an explanation. “Thanks, Mr. Jackson.”

He shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t. Call me Nick. I haven’t gone by Mister since before… well, for a long time.” Sadness clouded his eyes.

“Okay, Nick. I need to get busy.” She passed by the dining room and noted the guests had dispersed. Unaccustomed to bussing tables she pushed up her sleeves and retrieved the forgotten dishes from the table. It would be nice if the guests could clean up after themselves. She winced when a plate grazed her burn as she headed to the sink. At least there was a dishwasher.

An hour later, the kitchen sparkling, she headed upstairs to her room. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she finally gave in to the tears. She hated cleaning. Always had, and the hot water had hurt her hand even through the rubber gloves. On top of that, in spite of Nick’s kind words, she suspected her days were numbered at the B&B. She could always return to her old position. Her boss had promised it would be waiting for her should she change her mind. She shuddered. Returning to Portland was not an option. Not as long as Kyle and Tara were still there.

“Knock. Knock.”

She swiped at her face and looked toward the door. “Hi Mister. . . I mean Nick. Do you need something?”

Nick’s glowering face softened. He held up a tube. “No, but you do. May I come in?”

“It’s your house.”

“But this is your suite.” He placed a key ring on the dresser beside the door. “Here’s your room key. Be sure to keep it locked,” he nodded to the door, “and I recommend keeping the kitchen door leading to the dining room closed also. Guests may wander through from time to time, although I do have a sign in the dining room asking them not to enter the kitchen.”

“Okay.” In spite of all that had happened she was beginning to like this man. “I got busy and forgot to use the ointment.”

“I figured as much when I saw it sitting on the counter exactly where you’d placed it earlier.” He motioned to her right hand. “May I?”

Zoe offered her throbbing hand. She caught her breath and forced herself to not draw back from his gentle touch as a tingle zipped up her arm.

“That bad?” He studied her hand. “It still only looks like a first degree burn. You did the right thing keeping it under cold water. This ointment should ease the pain.” He gently applied the salve then tore open a sterile wrap and bandaged her hand. “I’m afraid this bandage will complicate your job.”

She pulled her hand from his. “Thanks. I’m sure it’ll be better by tomorrow.” The room suddenly felt much smaller with Nick sitting beside her on the bed. She stood and fiddled with the lace runner covering the bombé chest. “Something tells me you’ve done this a time or two.”

He scrunched his eyebrows. “You could say that. In my former life I was a doctor.” He stood.

“Seriously? Why would a doctor throw a lucrative career away for this?” She waved a hand.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Why would a five-star chef leave a lucrative career for this?”

Her eyes widened. “Touché.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better. If your burn gives you any more trouble, let me know.” He handed her the ointment and left the room.

Zoe released her breath and held her hand to her chest. Confusion jumbled her mind. Why had she reacted to Nick’s touch? Sure, he was good looking with his wavy dark hair and mesmerizing blue eyes, but there was no room for a man in her life. Nor did she want one.

CHAPTER TWO

Z
OE STOOD AT THE TOP OF
the stairs just out of Nick’s view. Thanks to the dynamics of the stairwell his voice traveled up and sounded as though he were standing next to her.

“I may be in need of an experienced housekeeper and cook. Could you please keep me on your list and notify me if you find someone qualified? Yes, thank you.” Zoe’s pulse throbbed in her ears. He hadn’t even given her a chance! So much for being a nice guy, and here she thought she’d found one of the few remaining gentlemen on the planet. No. She refused to accept being fired. She’d show Nick that he needed her and when she was finished he would wonder how he ever got along without her.

Zoe strode down the stairs with her chin raised, carrying an armload of laundry. She marched past Nick without a glance and deposited the sheets in the washer.

“Uh-hmm.”

Zoe spun around and forced a smile. “Nick. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to let you know we have new guests arriving today. There will be four total for breakfast tomorrow, unless someone else unexpected pops in.”

“Someone else?” How had she missed a new arrival?

“Rachel’s mother showed up while you were upstairs.”

“Will they have separate rooms?”

“Yes. Please make up the Orchid Room for her since it’s directly beside Rachel’s.”

“But it’s in use.”

“Those guests checked out right after breakfast.” He went on to tell her the procedure for preparing the rooms. “And all the cleaning must be finished by two o’clock. Check-in is at three.”

“I’ll take care of everything.”

“I’m counting on it.” He nodded. “One more thing. I’d like to add a late afternoon tea for our guests. Nothing elaborate, I’m thinking a small snack around three or four. We don’t serve dinner here, but if any of our guests ask for a recommendation for dinner, there’s a restaurant at the golf club that’s open to the public. Otherwise there’s quick food at the general store.”

“Okay.” With the addition of the tea there was more work than she realized and only three hours to accomplish everything. No matter, she was used to hard work, albeit in the kitchen. She quickly whipped up a loaf of banana bread for the tea, and after placing it in the oven, got busy. For the next three hours, she cleaned the house from top to bottom including mopping the kitchen floor. Sweaty and hot, Zoe ran the back of her hand across her forehead and took in the shiny floors. She breathed deeply the lemony scent and smiled. She might be wiped out, but the sense of accomplishment more than made up for it.

Nick would have to admit she was capable of doing this job. And bonus—she didn’t have one mishap the entire time. That in itself was a step in the right direction considering all the knick-knacks scattered around.

After setting tea and bread on the dining table along with a fresh fruit assortment, Zoe went to her room and locked the door behind her. At least she had her own private quarters, which included a spa bath. Why the help’s room was so opulent escaped her, but she was grateful. A good long soak sounded divine. Lavender bath salts sat in a glass jar on the edge of the tub. She reached for them and dropped a handful into the tub. A minute later she sank into the sunken tub, leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

****

N
ICK YANKED OPEN
the refrigerator and ground his teeth at the off-key singing, if it could be called that, coming from behind Zoe’s closed door. She’d proven she was the right person for his B&B, but that singing was almost enough to send him running from the house.