“I was wondering the same thing about you.” She rested a hand on his arm. “You’re injured, just totaled your pickup, and I’m not sure, but you probably have a concussion. Who knows what else is wrong—and you’re worried about
me
? At least let me carry your duffle bag.”
He started to shake his head then thought better of it. What he needed was a hot shower, a painkiller, and an espresso. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got it. So tell me, how is my mother really doing?”
“Are you sure you want to hear this right now? It’s not good.”
“Positive.” The worried look in her eyes unnerved him. Were things worse than he’d been told?
“Okay, but if you want me to stop, please say so.”
“You’re kind of freaking me out. Please tell me.”
“Sorry. I suppose she’s doing as well as can be expected, but she’s not a young woman, and from what I understand, her road to recovery will be long. She can’t be alone for any length of time because she has anxiety attacks, which has made keeping the business running smoothly a challenge. I can’t do the job I’m being paid to do and take care of your mother. Sooner or later our clients are going to start complaining. I’m an interior designer, not a nurse, or a good cook or housekeeper.” She pressed her lips together and looked away.
“What’s wrong?”
“I said too much.”
“Yet, I sense there’s more.” He stopped and waited for her to look at him. He gave her the look that usually made grown men squirm. “I appreciate that you are being brutally honest with me, and even though I don’t know you and my head is pounding, I insist you tell me what you left out.”
“Okay, but for the record, dumping this all on you right now may be more than you want to hear.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he said drily. Bailey had spunk. He liked that.
She crossed her arms. “I’m really worried about her. I take her to therapy sessions, and she doesn’t seem to be improving. On top of that, she was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, and she refuses to eat right. Granted, I’m not used to cooking for a diabetic, and I’ve been struggling with how to feed her, but she is such a picky eater. It’s been a challenge.”
“I hadn’t heard about her diabetes.” Worry gripped him. Mom tended to be a drama queen, so keeping something big like that quiet must mean her health was far worse than she’d let on.
“She’s a private woman, so I’m not surprised.”
“Seriously? My mother loves attention.”
“Not all attention is desirable.”
“True.” He still remembered the looks of pity he’d received after his wife died. Their pity was one reason he’d fled to France.
“I doubt anyone besides her doctor and I know. Unfortunately, her mood has been less than happy, and she doesn’t want to be told what she can and can’t eat. I’m at a loss for how to help her.” She snapped her mouth closed.
“I see.” Although the diagnosis surprised him it shouldn’t, since the disease ran in the family, but why hadn’t Mom told his brothers? Surely one of them would have hired a cook for her. “I wish someone had told me the extent of her problem. Had I realized how bad things were, I would’ve come home as soon as I learned of her stroke. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with this on your own. I take it my family has been of little help?”
“They do the best they can.”
What was going on here? It wasn’t like his brothers to neglect family. Stephen’s stomach knotted. If his mom was doing so poorly, why hadn’t anyone told him, and why was an employee of their construction and design company taking care of her and not family? What had happened to everyone while he was away? “Thank you for being honest. Now that I’m here, your responsibilities will shift to your actual job. My mom has always been tight with money and refused to hire out for work she can do herself. Considering the circumstances, though, maybe I can talk her into allowing me to hire a cook. But I make no promises. She is a stubborn woman.”
Bailey nodded. “Are you planning to stay in the main house?”
“No, but I will spend several hours each day there so you can slip out and deal with your actual job.”
The worry in her eyes made him wonder, but right now he’d talked all he could. The house came into view, and he stopped. The snow set off the mountain-like lodge as if welcoming him home. “Wow, it still looks amazing.”
She chuckled. “I’d have thought you’d be immune to its beauty.”
“Never,” he breathed softly and continued forward. Decorative greenery and pinecones hung from the cedar pillars that supported the wrap-around porch, giving it a festive feel. “Nice touch. Did you do that?” He motioned with his free hand toward the porch.
She nodded. “I started decorating last week. Mona plans to host Thanksgiving and Christmas here and wants everything to be perfect.”
“I thought she was stuck in bed.”
“Not anymore.” She shrugged. “I guess she’s improved, but not as much as I’d hoped. She gets around, but slowly and with the help of a walker. Some tasks are harder than others for her.”
Bailey led the way up the porch steps and pushed into the house. “There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen. Take a seat, and I’ll be right back.” She scurried from the massive entryway and disappeared around the corner.
He settled into the nearest chair. Nothing had changed in the two-and-a-half years he’d been gone. It even smelled the same—like vanilla. Not even the furniture had been moved, or the picture of him and his late wife Rebecca that rested on the mantle. He swallowed the lump in his throat and averted his eyes.
“Here we go.” Bailey popped the top off the kit and tore the wrapper off an alcohol swab. “This will probably sting.”
He sucked in a sharp breath—she wasn’t kidding. “How bad is it?” He studied her face for a hint at the condition of his wound. Her hazel eyes with speckles of gold gave nothing away.
“It’s actually not nearly as bad as I expected, considering how much it bled.”
Her tender touch didn’t surprise him. Bailey had an air of gentleness about her—she radiated quiet. No wonder Mother was going nuts. She liked constant action and noise. Rebecca and Mother had gotten on very well. She was like the daughter Mom never had. Those two together had been a force of nature. He chuckled.
“Something funny?” A beautiful smile lit Bailey’s face. Her eyes sparkled in the dancing light from the picture windows.
“Being here brings back memories.”
“Good ones I hope.” She applied a couple of bandages to his forehead.
A whisper of pine scent wafted the air around her. She must have been working with the branches before she’d discovered his wreck. Her leg brushed against his.
“Mostly.” Awareness shot through him. He reached up and gently grasped her wrist, drawing her hand away from his head. “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”
She stepped back, slipping from his grasp. “Okay. If you start to feel like you need to go to the hospital, let me know.”
He started to tell her he could take care of himself, but the concern in her eyes stopped him. “Thank you.”
“Will you be okay for a bit by yourself with your mom? There’s something I need to do.”
“Sure.”
She still wore her outdoor clothes, and her tennis shoes were squeaking as she stepped past him toward the door.
“You should wear boots.”
She turned to face him. “Excuse me?”
“Your shoes are soaked. Your feet will get frostbite.”
She looked down. “I don’t have far to go.” She spun around and bolted from the house.
Surely, she wasn’t embarrassed by his comment. But something sent her fleeing.
“Bailey!” His mother’s clear voice drifted down from upstairs.
He’d nearly forgotten about her. He rushed up the sweeping staircase as quickly as his sore muscles would allow and burst into his mother’s bedroom.
She sat up in her bed. “Oh!” Mom’s eyes filled with sudden tears that quickly streamed down her aging cheeks. “You’re home.” Her words came out slowly, but clearly.
He sidled up to her bed. “I am.”
She wiped her eyes with a shaky hand. “You look awful. What happened?”
He could say the same about her but knew better than to comment about the side of her face that drooped slightly. Mom had always hidden her age well, but her seventy-three years were evident now. “I hit a patch of ice and wrapped my pickup around that old Ponderosa Pine I wanted you to let me take out years ago. That thing is a menace.” He quirked a grin to make sure she knew he was teasing.
She wrapped his hand in hers and gave it a weak squeeze. “I’m glad you lived to tell me about it. Now, where’s my addle-brained assistant? I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately. Ever since she moved into the house, she hasn’t been herself.” Her brow furrowed as she looked past him toward the door.
He’d only met Bailey a short time ago, but addle-brained didn’t fit his impression of her at all. More than likely Mom’s demands were frustrating the poor woman. “Perhaps you are expecting too much of one person, Mom.” She’d always been a taskmaster. Dad had been a good balance to her Type A personality.
“Nonsense. I pay her well to do her job. She should rise to the occasion.” She looked past him toward the doorway.
“Bailey went outside to take care of something, but I’m all yours. What do you need?”
“A time machine.”
“Come again?” Had the stroke given her brain damage too?
“I’d like to rewrite history. No stroke for me and no accident for you.”
He grinned then grimaced as pain pulsed in his face. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humor.
“Since you are so quick to defend my assistant, what did you think of her?”
“She’s fine.” He liked her quite a bit actually, which surprised him considering his mother’s attitude. It’s not like they’d be spending much, if any time together—although now that he’d met Bailey he wouldn’t mind.
“Mm-hmm, but what’s your impression of her?”
Were they really going to have this conversation now? With a sigh, he sat on the edge of the bed. “She came to my aid at my pickup and patched me up.” He pointed to his forehead. “She’s a bit reserved, but she’s kind.” He shrugged. “We only met a little bit ago.” He remembered her gentle touch as she cleaned his wound and grinned.
Mom harrumphed and crossed her arms. “Since you don’t seem overly impressed by her, I want you to start searching for a new assistant for me immediately.”
“What? I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Alarm shot through him.
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m still running this business. Don’t forget that.”
This was not a good time to be hiring someone new with the holidays so close. Bailey seemed competent and was certain to know the ins and outs of the business. It would be difficult to train someone new. Granted he’d only met Bailey, but his defenses rose for the young woman nonetheless. After all, she’d rescued him from his accident. Then again, if his mother wanted her gone, he should honor her wishes. He’d have to tread carefully with this situation.
Chapter Two
Bailey breathed in a sigh of relief to be away from the main house and Stephen. The man had an effect on her she didn’t care for—a cross between nervousness and awe. He was a Belafonte and therefore her employer. She needed to keep her distance. They were from two different worlds, and she would never fit into his. She’d put that nervous energy to good use cleaning his cabin.
She flipped on the lights in Stephen’s cabin and turned full circle from her position in the center of the main room. The cabin, though nothing in comparison to Mona’s palatial home, was perfect to her way of thinking. A river rock fireplace occupied the wall directly across from the entry with an urban-rustic coffee table placed between it and a brown leather couch. A room-sized rug with soft brown and blue tones covered the floor between the couch and the fireplace. Occasional chairs balanced out the space.
She held a swag of holly leaves and berries mixed with small pine branches that she’d brought over earlier and left on the front porch. Perhaps hanging it on the door outside would be best. Now that Stephen was home, it felt wrong to be in his home without his knowledge or permission. But Mona would want the place freshened and welcoming before he moved back in, so she needed to hurry and ignore her unease.
After hanging the decoration, she reentered the house and pulled open the closet, hoping to find cleaning supplies. “At least one thing is going right today.” She quickly brushed a feather duster against the light fixtures, then dampened a cloth and wiped dust from all the solid surfaces.
She finished dusting and stood still for a moment deciding what to do next. The uncluttered place really only needed a quick run-through with the vacuum. She plugged in the appliance, which instantly whirred to life, and puffed a cloud of dust into the room.
“Oh no!” She jerked her head to the side searching for the off button when the vacuum suddenly shut down.
“What are you doing?” Stephen stood in the doorway with crossed arms, his bag on the floor beside him.
“I . . . well . . . I was supposed to be cleaning, but I’m afraid I made things worse.”
“Being my housekeeper falls under your job description?” He raised a brow and closed the door behind him.