Redemption's Kiss. Ann Christopher
How much was she paying Blanche, anyway? And did Blanche drink on the job? This early? She’d have to revisit these issues later, when she wasn’t so overwrought and behind on the lunch preparations.
And what—Oh, no.
Blanche had by now produced a stack of Allegra’s Dora the Explorer Dixie cups, and poured a shot for each of them. “Blanche, I don’t dr—”
Blanche shoved one of the cups at Jillian and raised the other in a toast. “Cheers. Now drink.”
Yeah. Cheers. Whatever.
Jillian drank.
The liquid courage both burned and was smooth as the finest silk going down. Jillian choked just a bit on the swallow, wondering if she’d made a terrible mistake by imbibing so soon after her panicked trauma of a few minutes ago, but then a funny thing happened. She coughed and gasped and the warmth spread through her, empowering her with enough strength to get mad.
What the hell had gotten into her?
So Beau thought he’d reappear and turn her world upside down, did he? So he thought he could just materialize and pick up where he’d left off? So he thought she’d forgive him?
Well, she had news for Beau: no freaking way.
That man had already taken enough from her. She wasn’t about to give him another inch, thought or tear, not one more cry. It didn’t matter where he lived. It didn’t matter what he said. All of that was meaningless.
The only thing that mattered now was the life with Allegra that she’d painstakingly built here at the B & B. Everything else was sound and fury, signifying nothing—especially Beau.
Let him move down the street. It was no skin off her nose.
Catching Blanche’s watchful eye, Jillian smiled and held out her cup. “Hit me again.”
“That’s my girl.” Blanche beamed with approval and topped them both off. “Cheers.”
“Salut.”
They tapped cups and tossed back the tequila, which Jillian was really starting to appreciate. She was just debating whether a third hit would make the lunch prep and cleanup go any more smoothly, when there was a sharp knock at the kitchen door and her insides turned to stone.
Oh, God. That wasn’t a normal knock. That was Beau’s knock. She knew it.
And it was all well and good to stand there in the closet and tell herself to be brave and strong, but it was something else again to be brave when Beau was actually in the room with her.
Facing him again this soon would take another thirty years off her life. She couldn’t do it.
The blind terror must have shown on her face because Blanche took charge. Hitching up her stretchy pants and reminding Jillian of Gary Cooper adjusting his holster in High Noon before the shoot-out, she gave her a grim nod and took charge.
“You leave him to me, honey.”
Relieved as Jillian was by this offer, how humiliating was it to hide in her own damn pantry while her employee took care of her ex? Sure, she felt a little wobbly at the moment, but was she that big a coward?
Blanche had cracked open the pantry door and peered out to survey the enemy. Now she retracted her head and faced Jillian with a low whistle of feminine appreciation, looking resigned to the worst possible outcome.
“Oh, Jilly,” she said. “That man’s a god. You’ve got a big problem.”
“Thanks for the news flash.”
Beau knocked again, more insistently this time, and Jillian made up her mind. Hiding in the closet was for children like Allegra. She was a grown woman and needed to act like one.
Drawing on some inner reservoir that she really hoped was filled with courage rather than suicidal tendencies, Jillian gave Blanche a gentle nudge on the shoulder.
“Go on and let him in. Give me a second. I’ll be fine.”
Blanche didn’t look at all convinced. “You sure, honey? I can tell him—”
“Now, please.”
Blanche sighed and looked to heaven for strength. Either that or she was praying for Jillian’s ultimate destruction to be as painless as possible. Then she marched out, a stiff soldier prepared for battle.
The second she was gone, Jillian snatched a paper towel from the roll on the shelf and dabbed her eyes and face. No need to look like she’d been teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Then she fluffed her hair and grabbed the nearest thing she could find, which turned out to be a giant bag of dried cranberries, and followed Blanche out into the airy brightness of the kitchen.
Beau and Blanche stood there, shaking hands and sizing each other up, but his penetrating gaze went right to Jillian the second she appeared. Jillian focused on looking cool and unconcerned and trying not to feel the hum of electricity she always felt when they looked at each other. Maybe it was still there, but she didn’t have to succumb to it. Above all, there’d be no more emotional outbursts from her today.
She set the cranberries on the counter and found her apron.
The dog, she realized, had also come down for a visit. On a leash, he’d been sitting quietly at Beau’s feet, but now he walked over and settled on his haunches in front of Jillian, open adoration shining in his midnight eyes.
This guy was a beauty. Maybe she had no smiles for Beau, but she sure had an ear scratch or two for his dog, who groaned with canine ecstasy the second she touched him.
“What are you doing here, Beau?”
“We didn’t really finish our talk.” He leaned heavily on his cane and sweat beaded on his forehead. Was he in pain? Why had he walked all the way down here in this heat? Was he trying to kill himself and give her a heart attack in the process? And why couldn’t she remember that Beau’s health or lack thereof was no longer her problem? “And I was hoping I could see Allegra and tell her I’ve moved.”
“Hmm.” Jillian tied her apron. “This is Blanche.”
“We’ve met.” Blanche looked like she was working on vaporizing him with the glint from her narrowed eyes. “I was fixing to say that my mama always told me to be polite to folks, but I’ll make an exception for you if you start upsetting my Jillian here—”
“Blanche—” Jillian tried, but Blanche was not to be deterred.
“—and I don’t care how pretty you are. I’ll snatch that cane right out of your hand and wallop you upside the head with it. And then—”
Oh, for God’s sake. “Blanche.”
“—I’ll take the broken ends and stick ’em where the sun don’t shine. And that’d hurt me more’n it’d hurt you, ’cause you’ve got one fine ass. But I’d do it.” Here Blanche paused long enough to extend a plate of pumpkin muffins and flash Beau a smile that held all the warmth of a snarl from a rabid wolf. “Help yourself, sugar. There’s butter if you need it.”
Grateful as she was for this massive show of support, Jillian wanted to tell Blanche to duck and run because the poor woman had no idea what she was up against. Any second now, Beau would unleash his overwhelming, devastating charm, and Blanche, who was more susceptible to a handsome man than the average woman, would be reduced to a simpering mass of blushes and giggles.
Jillian might as well pop some corn, pull up a chair and watch the show.
Only, Beau didn’t fall back on his masculine appeal. He didn’t even smile.
Instead—oh, wow, would he ever stop surprising her today?—he nodded in a grim show of humility and met Blanche’s ferocity head-on with no excuses.
“I deserve that,” he told Blanche. “Hell, if you knew all the trouble I’ve caused