Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance (7 page)

I
storm
out of the kitchen, my heart still pounding in my chest. I don’t know what it is about that guy, but I find him equal parts irresistibly sexy and totally repellant.

The breakfast crowd is gone now, leaving the store quiet. This is usually the time when I go into the kitchen to bake, but I definitely can’t be in the same room with Killian. When he backed me up against the counter just then, I could hardly breathe. My heart raced, beating a million times a minute in my chest, and I swear every brain cell in my head went to mush.

If Killian had kissed me then, I wouldn’t have stopped him.

And kissing someone like him – rugged and rough around the edges and pushy and obnoxious – wouldn't be a good thing. Besides, with the way I just blew him off, it’s a matter of seconds before he waltzes out here and quits this whole
employee
nonsense.

“Everything work out okay?” Opal asks nonchalantly, but with Opal, nothing is casual. I’ve learned that about her. There’s always something beneath the surface of her innocent questions.

“Fine,” I say, my voice clipped. "You did not hire that man, did you?"

Opal raises an eyebrow. "It was a busy morning and
that man
was kind enough to step in and give me a hand. And if you ask me, you need him."

“I certainly do not need that ”

"That extraordinarily handsome man distracting customers in your coffee shop?" Killian's voice, low and deep behind me, sends goose bumps down my arms.

"Lily was just telling me how much she appreciated your help this morning," Opal says.

"Fine," I admit. "It was nice to have an extra pair of hands here."

"Then I accept," Killian says.

"You accept what?"

"Your offer of employment."

"I didn't make an offer of employment. There's a 'help wanted' sign still in the window for a reason."

"She has a terrible time accepting help," Killian says to Opal.

"Child, you have no idea," Opal replies.

"Traitor." I mutter the word under my breath.

"Let me show you how to make some of the coffee drinks while Lily bakes. Remember, Lily, you have the cake for the Rogers girl's birthday."

I groan, momentarily distracted by the birthday cake. Aster Rogers is a brat who's changed her mind three times about her birthday cake . . . after I made them. They're all "test runs" on birthday cakes before the eight-year-old's birthday party, at her mother's insistence. I should be happy they keep reordering cakes, since they’re paying me, but there’s just something about the spoiled girl’s insistence that she wants something different each time that bugs me.

"Let's get started, ma'am." Killian winks as he steps around me.

"Oh, sugar, don't
ma'am
me," Opal chides him. "Makes me feel old. Unless you think I look old. You aren't saying that, are you?"

Killian chuckles. "You don't look a day over twenty-five, Opal."

"I knew this one was a keeper the moment I laid eyes on him," Opal declares.

"Wait a second," I interrupt, my voice hushed because there are still two customers in the store. "I did not say I was hiring Mr. –"

"Saint," Killian says.

“Is that really you’re name?” Is he just screwing with me?

"Killian Saint." His eyes crinkle at the edges. "Fits, doesn't it?"

I don't respond to that, because the last thing I need to be thinking about is how un-saintly he is. "I did not say I was hiring you, Mr. Saint. In fact, I think we discussed the fact that a job in a bakery isn't really what you're looking for."

"Oh, no." Killian looks at me meaningfully. "It's exactly what I'm looking for."

"I vote
yes
on hiring Killian," Opal says.

Killian raises his hand. "That makes two of us."

"It's a win," Opal decrees.

"This isn't a democracy," I point out.

Opal gives me a stern look. “I wasn’t aware it was a fascist dictatorship, either."

I don’t disguise my groan. Opal is the closest thing I have to a friend in this town, and she’s turning against me. “I don’t know why you’d want to work here."

Killian looks at me for a long moment, his eyes searching. I half-expect him to say something inappropriate right here in the front of the store, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shrugs. “I’m bored.”

“It doesn’t pay much."

“I work for free."

“You work for free.” I repeat the words flatly. Is he just trying to out-stubborn me? Or is he really going to keep this up just because he thinks he has a shot at getting in my pants? Well, two can play at that game. If he's that stubborn that he wants to work for free, I can call his bluff.

“I don’t need the money,” Killian explains.

“So you’re an independently wealthy mountain man, then?”

“Well, I’m no billionaire.” He pauses for a beat. “I don't have a red room either."

Did the bearded, gruff, brute of a man just reference an erotic romance novel? I open my mouth to respond, but Opal interrupts before I can. “Go work on the cakes, honey,” she says. “You can get ahead and not be scrambling at the last minute to get Chloe. We’re all set with training.”

Opal opens the refrigerated case and begins pulling cupcakes out to show Killian the different kinds. “Now we always keep the basic cupcakes every day, but the special flavors rotate, depending on what Lily comes up with.”

I walk to the kitchen, shaking my head. I can't believe I just let them talk me into hiring Killian Saint.

The rationalizing part of me kicks into overdrive. It
would
be nice to have an extra pair of hands around here. And having Killian work here couldn't possibly be worse than the previous front-counter girl, whose work ethic was questionable at best. I’ll just have to keep my libido under control.

I don’t hear a peep out of Killian or Opal for the next few hours, and I lose myself in baking, mixing the special batches of cupcakes for tomorrow and applying the fondant to my sculpted cake. The Rogers kid wants a mermaid this time – a fully-sculpted three-dimensional mermaid – on top of a cake that’s decorated to look like the ocean, complete with ocean creatures. That’s after the cakes that she already rejected a blue leopard-printed and bejeweled tier cake, and a three-dimensional ballerina cake made to look like a leotard and tutu.

“I didn’t realize when you said you baked cakes that you were really talking about sculpture." Killian stands just inside the swinging door to the kitchen.

“They are like sculptures,” I agree.

“So all of this is cake?” Killian asks. When he walks around to my side of the workspace, my heart skips a beat, all too aware of his proximity to me. Why does he have to smell so damn good? His smell – a hundred percent masculine contrasts with the overly sugar-sweet smells in the kitchen.

“Not quite. The mermaid is made mostly of marshmallow rice treats and modeling chocolate. She has a PVC pipe frame underneath all of that so the whole thing doesn’t collapse.”

“Well, fuck.” Killian bends over to examine the cake more closely.

Hearing this man speak
that word
sends heat racing through my body, and I clear my throat. Killian doesn’t seem to notice, though. He just stands there, scrutinizing. “It’s not done yet,” I say lamely.

Of course it’s not done yet, Lily. It’s obvious that it’s not finished. Why do I sound like such an idiot around this guy?

“What do you do next?” Killian asks. He genuinely sounds interested.

“I’ll freeze it tonight, and then tomorrow morning, I'll finish the mermaid and paint details on the ocean and add the sea creatures."

"So you’re going to make everything yourself?” Killian asks.

“Well, I’ve made some of it already. Here, I’ll show you.” I walk to the freezer and take out a tray that holds little three-dimensional coral pieces and fish that I’ve already decorated.

“Holy shit. That’s pretty detailed.”

"It's a good bit of work," I acknowledge, shrugging. "But I like it. It's relaxing."

“Where did you learn to do all of this?”

I shrug. “My mother made cakes. I helped her a lot when I was a kid, and then after Adam ”

I stop suddenly as a surge of heat rises to my face. I don’t want to talk about my dead husband. Killian looks at me funny, and I quickly turn away to hide my flush, walking back to the counter and sliding my hands under the board the cake rests on. I clear my throat. “Employee-training going well?”

“Best part of my day."

I snort. “I’m sure. Can you open the freezer for me?”

Killian holds the door open while I slide the cake back into the freezer. “I like a woman who knows her way around a kitchen.”

Spinning around, I face him with my hands on my hips. “How is it that you say a couple of nice things and then revert back to being a misogynistic ass?”

“I’m a man of many talents.” Killian grins, looking overly pleased with himself, and I realize he’s just saying stuff like that to ruffle my feathers.

Well, he’s not
ruffling my feathers
, that’s all there is to it.

“One of those talents must be getting on people’s nerves." I loosen the tie on my apron and hang it on the hook, glancing up at the clock. For once I’m not rushing like a madwoman to go pick up Chloe because I was helping out in the front of the store. That also means that for the first time in a while, I won't have to return back to the store after picking her up, just to finish a cake. I admit, that could be a perk of having Killian here.

You know there could be other perks to having Killian in the store.

I push that thought right out of my head.

Killian laughs, the sound echoing through the space in the kitchen. His laugh is deep and warm, and it immediately makes me smile, like some kind of involuntary reflex. “I’ll grow on you."

“Like a disease, I assume.”

“Hopefully a sexually-transmitted one."

“It’s such a turn-on when guys talk about growing on me like STDs,” I say, turning to leave.

Killian pauses for a second, looking off into the distance.

“What, no witty comeback?” I ask.

He makes a show of shaking his head and refocusing his attention. “Sorry. All I heard was ‘it’s such a turn-on’.”

I roll my eyes. “See you later, caveman.”

"Later, cupcake."

“
Y
ou smell like
…” Luke sniffs, the movement exaggerated. “Cake. Or is it cupcakes?”

“What are you talking about?” Autumn walks toward the door, Olivia, beside her. The kid hides behind her leg and stares at me like I have three heads. I don't know if it's a kid or a baby. It can walk, but it’s still pretty short, and it talks, so it’s in that in-between stage, I guess.

“It’s Luke." I shake my head. "Does anyone ever know what he’s talking about?”

“You’re probably smelling that berry cobbler that you’re baking.” Autumn slides her arm around my shoulder and draws me in for a hug. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s the house coming along?”

“It’s coming along.” I stand there awkwardly while Autumn beckons me into the living room, past the kitchen and all of Luke’s pots and pans on the stove. “Your place is looking good.”

God, this whole making-polite-conversation thing is so awkward.

“It is, isn’t it?” Autumn asks. “The contractors were really able to get it done pretty quickly after the fire. Now I can’t get Luke out of the kitchen.”

“She keeps me barefoot in the kitchen, waiting on her,” Luke yells.

The fire that burned the kitchen happened when I was out in Texas, the night Jed Easton came after Autumn and Luke and the baby. I still feel a pang of guilt when I think about how I wasn't here the way I should have been for my brother and his girl.

Olivia tears past Autumn and pulls a plastic piano out of a wicker basket. "
My
piano!"

"Oh, crap." June sighs as the kid plops down on the floor and begins pounding, producing slightly off-key notes at a deafening volume.

Shit, is this what it’s like being a parent? Losing your hearing while being forced to pretend to appreciate your kid’s musical genius?

“That’s …uh … loud,” I yell over the din of the music.

Autumn sighs. “I took the batteries out of that, I thought.” She glares at Luke when he comes into the room with two beers. “Did you put the batteries back in there?”

“What?” Luke's voice is innocent. “I’d never do something like that just to drive you crazy. That would make me a terrible person.”

“Sleep with one eye open tonight, buddy," she advises, her eyes narrowed.

“You should probably take her seriously." I take a drag on my beer. “I hear she’s real handy with a rifle.”

“Liv-bug.” Autumn picks up a small toy house and some figures that look vaguely like plastic people with oversized heads. “Look at this! Wouldn’t you like this instead?”

I take another drag on my beer while Autumn negotiates with her child, handing the toy to Luke when she successfully negotiates a trade. “Hide this someplace or get the batteries out of there. Or else you’re a dead man.”

Luke laughs. “No sense of humor."

“I’ll remind you to have a sense of humor when I buy Olivia her first drum set. Next week.”

I listen to them playfully bicker back and forth as I sit on their beige sofa in the ranch house. This home is so unlike anything I ever thought my brothers or I would ever have. This place, with its white walls and whitewashed floors and airy curtains hanging on the windows, a trail of kid's toys running from the living room into the kitchen, is the opposite of the kind of place we grew up. Hell, I’ve never lived in any place like this. I feel as uncomfortable as I can, sitting here in my jeans and boots like I’m going to muck up all of Autumn’s nice things.

It’s funny how Luke’s adapted to this life, I think as I watch Autumn looks up at him lovingly before he wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her tight against him. It’s like he was always meant to be here.

For a split second, I feel a pang of jealousy.

“Luke made hors d'ouvres.” Autumn's voice breaks through my thoughts.

I look at Luke. “Well, la-de-dah. Are we having tea with the Queen, too?”

“Keep talking and you’ll get nothing," Luke says. "They're bacon-wrapped jalapenos."

“Could you keep an eye on Olivia for just a second, Killian?” Autumn asks. She turns around and follows Luke into the kitchen without waiting for my response.

“Uh…” I eyeball the kid who is attempting to shove one of the plastic people into the chimney on top of the house where it clearly doesn't fit. She becomes increasingly upset and smashes the figure against the house a few times, finally stopping when she looks up and notices that Autumn and Luke aren't in the room. She eyes me warily.

“So …” I hope she doesn’t move. Or cry. That would be bad. After I returned to West Bend, I came over here for dinner once before, at Autumn’s insistence, but they didn’t leave me alone in a room with the kid.

Olivia points at an inflatable plastic ball beside the sofa. "My ball."

"Yep. Your ball," I repeat. So what am I supposed to do here? Do I talk to the kid like we’re having a normal conversation?

“Ball!” she yells, louder and more insistent this time.

“Yeah, dude, I get it. Ball.” I hold it up to her. “Do you want me to throw it?”

She claps and tries to grab for the ball. “Yes. Throw ball!”

Alright, I can do this. I toss the ball gently to her, but she drops it and it rolls across the floor. She stares at me for a moment, her expression indignant. Then her eyes well up with tears.

Oh shit.

And she starts wailing, screaming and flailing her arms wildly like I just took away her birthday.

Autumn walks out from the kitchen with a plate in her hand, and I hold both of my hands up, looking warily at the kid who’s standing in front of me screaming accusatorily.

“Uh…I threw the ball and she dropped it,” I start.

“The ball! Him! The ball!” Olivia wails, her scream hysterical now.

Autumn sighs loudly. “It’s right here, Liv." Autumn speaks calmly to her, handing her the ball.

“I thought she wanted me to throw it,” I say sheepishly.

Autumn shrugs. “She’s a toddler,” she explains. “They scream. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say. But that’s just confirmation of what I already know, and that’s that I don’t fucking understand kids.