Wild Iris Ridge (Hope's Crossing) Read online

  “They do love her,” Dermot said. “She’s been good to them, hasn’t she? As busy as they keep her at that outfit where she works, she still somehow found time to fly down for Faith’s birthday last year, remember? Just to take her to Denver. Faith didn’t stop talking about the ballet and the shopping for weeks.”

  Right. Lucy was a saint.

  “Faith didn’t make some plans with Lucy again to bring her to town, did she?”

  “Not that I know about,” he answered. He only knew she had been in Hope’s Crossing less than eight hours and he was already tired of her.

  “Pop, can we talk about something else?”

  “Something else?”

  “I don’t know why Lucy Drake is back in town, and to be honest with you, I don’t care much. I only want the little idiot to stay out of my way and to do her best not to burn down Iris House again.”

  “Darn. I guess that means I’ll have to return all the cans of gasoline and the jumbo box of matches I just bought at the hardware store.”

  If he hadn’t been distracted by the tantalizing smell of bacon after a long shift, he would have smelled Lucy come into the diner before she even spoke. She always wore some kind of subtle, probably expensive scent that reminded him of cream-drenched strawberries.

  He swiveled, ignoring Dermot’s disapproving glower. She looked none the worse for wear after her adventures of the night before, fresh and bright and lovely.

  She was wearing a leather jacket the color of deer hide, tailored and supple, with a scarlet scarf tied in some kind of intricate loose knot around her neck. She looked sophisticated and urbane and, as usual when he was around her, he felt like a dumb jock with more brawn than brains.

  “If you saved your receipt,” he drawled, fighting back against his own stupid sense of inadequacy, “I’m sure Mose Lewis at the hardware store will take it all back.”

  She made a face then plopped onto the stool next to him, leaned across the counter and gave Pop a big smacking kiss on the cheek.

  “Dermot. You’re as handsome as ever. I’m still waiting for you to get tired of this one-horse town and run away with me. You’d never have to pour a cup of coffee again.”

  The tips of his pop’s ears turned red and he smiled, pouring her a cup of coffee.

  When he spoke, the traces of Irish accent that still sprinkled his speech intensified. “I have to say, that’s a verra appealing offer, m’darling, but I’m afraid I would miss my grandchildren too much.”

  “Ah, well. I guess I’ll have to ease my broken heart with some of your luscious French toast. I’ve been dreaming about it since I left King County.”

  Pop beamed at this, as his greatest joy was feeding people—especially those who held a soft spot in his big, generous heart, which certainly qualified Lucy.

  “Coming right up. You just sit there and enjoy much better coffee than you’ll ever find in Seattle while you listen to my stubborn son apologize for his rudeness.”

  “I can’t wait,” she murmured.

  Apparently, Brendan wasn’t the only one who could wax sarcastic in the morning.

  Since it had been rude and childish to call her names—and Pop likely wouldn’t be quick to let him forget it—he took his medicine like a good boy.

  “Sorry I called you an idiot,” he muttered.

  “Sorry you said it or sorry I happened to walk in just in time to overhear you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  To his surprise, she smiled a little, though she still had that unsettled, restless look in her eyes. “Not really, I suppose. Nicely done, Chief Caine.”

  Even big, dumb jocks could use good manners at times, especially when their Pop was standing close enough for a good whack on the knuckles with a wooden spoon.

  “So. This is how the fire chief unwinds after an exciting night of serving and protecting the good people of Hope’s Crossing.”

  “Sometimes. It’s been a long shift and I’m starving. I didn’t feel like cooking breakfast for myself or pouring a bowl of cereal. Since I already missed seeing the kids off to school this morning, I figured, why not?”

  He wondered, not for the first time, why he always felt compelled to defend his actions around her.

  “If I had a father like yours, I would come here every morning for breakfast.”

  He didn’t miss the slightly wistful tone in her voice. Her home life hadn’t been great, he knew, though only secondhand. Jess hadn’t shared too many details but he knew Lucy’s parents divorced when she was a girl, and she hadn’t had a good relationship with her father’s second wife.

  “How is Iris House?” Lucy asked now. “Do you think it’s safe for me to return?”

  Though she spoke casually, he sensed an undercurrent of urgency that gave him pause. What was the big rush? She had spent the four months since Annabelle died basically ignoring her legacy. Why was she in a hurry now to stay there? First she showed up after midnight to a dark, cold, locked house when any logical person would have gone to a hotel, now she was trying to hurry along the investigation.

  Some tiny part of him was tempted to drag the investigation out as long as possible in the hopes that any further complication would make her turn around and head back to Seattle, but that would have been petty and small.

  “You should be fine. We’ve had our inspector go through it from top to bottom and everything appears in order. All the chimneys could use a thorough scrubbing before you use them. I can get you the name of a couple of chimney sweeps in town.”

  “That would be good. Thanks.”

  “I relit the pilot light, so you ought to have no trouble running the furnace at this point. You’ll want to keep the windows open throughout the day to vent any lingering smoke. Should be a nice, sunny day for it.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Most of the smoke damage seemed to be centered in that den area. You may want to have a cleaning company come in to do a professional job. Sometimes the smell can linger for a long time. I can get you a few of those numbers, too.”

  She wore an expression of vague surprise, as if she hadn’t expected him to be helpful. “Again. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They lapsed into an awkward sort of silence and he wondered once more why she had come back to town. This close, he could see a return of that fine-edged tension in the set of her mouth and the way she clasped a napkin tightly, as if to keep it from wriggling away.

  “How long are you staying in Hope’s Crossing?” he finally asked. “I’ve had a half-dozen people ask me that already, including Pop.”

  “Why would people automatically assume you know anything about my plans?”

  “The very question I have asked myself numerous times, believe me.”

  Her mouth lifted a little at the corner and he almost thought she wanted to smile but she only picked up her coffee again.

  “So?” he pressed.

  “I...haven’t decided.”

  He leaned back on the stool. “Now that doesn’t sound like the Lucy Drake we all know. You’re the woman with the plan, right? Always looking for the best angle, the next big thing.”

  Her fingers tightened around that recalcitrant napkin. “Not always,” she muttered.

  Yeah. Something was definitely up. He remembered that strange impression of the night before, that she was lost and even a little frightened.

  He didn’t like the sudden urge washing over him to wrap a comforting arm around her shoulder and tell her everything would be okay. That was more Dermot’s venue, not his. He was just the dumb jock who was once married to her cousin.

  And who had once shared a couple pretty heated kisses with Lucy, long before he ever started dating Jess.

  He pushed that memory back into the deep recesses of his brain, ri
ght where it belonged. He had done his best for more than a decade to forget about that night.

  “I thought NexGen couldn’t get along without their hotshot marketing director. You don’t have some kind of vitally important meeting to get back to in a day or two?”

  She was now not so much fidgeting with her napkin as mangling it beyond recognition. “NexGen and I have...parted ways. I’m taking a small vacation to consider my options. A few weeks. A month. I haven’t decided.”

  “Here?”

  It was a stupid question, but he was so shocked that he couldn’t think what else to say.

  He figured when it came to jobs, people fell into four basic categories. Some hated them vehemently, others tolerated them, still others found great satisfaction in what they did. And then there was the fourth category, those passionate few who were basically defined by their vocation.

  That was Lucy—and as a result, she had been amazingly successful for someone just barely on the north side of thirty.

  Jessica used to always talk about what Lucy had achieved, her awards and honors and status. Sometimes his wife would glow with pride when she talked about Lucy. Other times she would be terse and moody after hearing about how far and how high Lucy had climbed in such a short time.

  During those dark times, he wondered if she regretted her decision to marry him just a few years out of college and to give up her teaching career temporarily while the kids were young.

  He hoped not. For the rest of their lives, his children would be without their mother. He would always be deeply grateful they had those first uninterrupted years with her.

  “I needed a change of scenery,” Lucy answered. “And since I’ve been putting off dealing with the house, I figured now was a good time.”

  He might not like Lucy much, given their complicated history, but he knew a little about loss. Leaving the job she had loved must be very difficult for her.

  “Are you...doing okay?”

  “You mean, am I going to be forced to live out of a grocery cart and a refrigerator box? I think I’m probably a few months out from that.”

  “I meant, are you doing okay, um, emotionally. Change is never easy, even if it was something you wanted. Especially after you lost Annabelle just a few months ago.”

  She looked surprised at the question and for a moment he saw a raw tangle of emotions in her expression before she donned a haughty sort of look.

  “How refreshingly sensitive, Chief Caine. I never would have expected it of you.”

  He could feel his skin heat. “Forget I asked. Not my business.”

  Where was Pop with his breakfast, for crying out loud? All he wanted to do was eat his French toast and go home to sleep for a few hours before the kids got home. He wasn’t in the mood to make nice to a prickly porcupine.

  After a long, awkward moment, she finally spoke. “The truth is, I got fired.”

  Okay, he hadn’t been expecting that one. Fired? Ms. Can-do-no-wrong Drake? What had she done to earn such a dramatic response? Last he heard, she was being groomed for a vice president spot, and now she had been canned? There had to be quite a story behind that one.

  Judging by way she didn’t meet his gaze after she dropped that little interesting bombshell, he had a feeling she hadn’t meant to tell him. So why had she?

  “That’s tough. I’m sorry.”

  She gave him a wary look. “What? No sarcastic comments about how I probably had it coming?”

  What had he ever done to make her think he was the kind of jerk who would kick a woman who had obviously hit a personal low point?

  “Not my business. If you wanted to tell me, you would have.”

  “Our last product launch failed spectacularly,” she said after a moment. “It was a PR nightmare. Our entire marketing campaign focused on how much more secure our newest software was than its closest competitor. Within minutes of the product launch, hackers set out to prove us wrong. Our clients have lost millions and the lawsuits have only just begun.”

  “How is that your fault?”

  “Someone needed to take the hit, and after I got into a yelling match with the CEO and the product manager last week and called them both a few choice names, I was nominated.”

  “Ouch.”

  “As you can see, last night’s stupidity trying to burn down Iris House was just the latest in a string of brilliant decisions on my part.”

  Before Brendan could come up with an answer to that, Pop came bustling out from the kitchen with two plates piled high with carbohydrates.

  “Here you go. Two of the breakfast specials, French toast, just the way you both like it, with strawberries and almond butter.”

  “I can’t believe you remembered that!” she exclaimed.

  “You’ve only been coming in here for it since you were a wee girl.”

  Brendan thought he was the only one on the planet who ate his French toast like that. How strange, to find that Lucy shared that particular affinity with him.

  “I remember because I always thought it funny that you and my boy here liked it the same way, given that you don’t usually see eye to eye on many things.”

  Not much slipped past his pop.

  “Isn’t it?” she murmured.

  She took a bite of her breakfast and closed her eyes in appreciation. “It’s every bit as fantastic as I remember. You’re a genius in the kitchen, my friend. Are you sure I can’t talk you into running off with me?”

  Dermot laughed, his usually weathered features once again turning pink with delight.

  “I do hope you plan to stay in town longer than a few days. You look like you could use a few more mornings of my French toast.”

  She was too skinny, Brendan thought, as if she had been working too hard, though she did have a few nice curves he had no business noticing.

  “You’re in luck. At this point, I’m here indefinitely,” she said with false cheerfulness.

  Brendan’s gut tightened. Indefinitely. That certainly sounded like she would stick around longer than a few weeks.

  “Oh, that’s lovely to hear,” Dermot exclaimed. “What will you do?”

  “I’m thinking about opening Iris House as a bed and breakfast.”

  “Are you, now?” Pop beamed at her.

  “It seems like the right thing to do. Jess and Annabelle were always talking about it.” She was careful not to look at Brendan while she spoke.

  “They were, at that. That doesn’t make it the right thing for you. I never would have figured you for an innkeeper.”

  “I know I don’t have any experience at running a B&B. But I can certainly market the heck out of it.”

  Dermot laughed. “Indeed.”

  The door to the café suddenly opened and Pop looked up with a smile to greet the new customer.

  “Oh. Katherine.” His smile slid away, replaced by an even deeper blush. “Good mornin’ to you.”

  “Hello.” Katherine Thorne, a city council member and one of the town’s leading citizens, walked into the café looking as smart and put-together as always.

  Dermot suddenly fumbled the coffeepot and splashed some over the side of Brendan’s cup. He glared at his son as if it were his fault, before reaching for a napkin to clean it up.

  Pop had a long-term infatuation for Katherine Thorne. Brendan had no idea why his father had never done anything about it, especially when it was obvious to everyone in town that Katherine shared his infatuation and would certainly welcome something more than this awkward friendship.

  Margaret Caine had been gone for more than a decade. His mother had died of cancer while he was still a running back for Colorado State, before his short-lived time in the NFL.

  As for Katherine, she had been alone even longer, as her husband died years ago.

 
Brendan could see no reason why the two of them seemed locked in this dance where neither wanted to be the first to lead off. He only knew that watching them together was like chewing on last year’s Halloween taffy, both sweet and painful.

  “I’m meeting some friends for breakfast,” Katherine said. “There should be about six of us at last count. If it’s not too much of a bother, could we take one of the back tables, out of the way?”

  “Of course. Of course. No problem at all. I’ll just go make it ready for you and your friends.”

  Anything for his sweetheart, Brendan thought in amusement. Except actually making her his sweetheart.

  Katherine watched after him for just a moment then turned back to greet Brendan. Her eyes widened when she spotted his companion at the counter.

  “Lucy! Hello. How are you, my dear?”

  Lucy gave Katherine a smile far more genuine than anything she ever bestowed on Brendan. “I’m fine. It’s great to see you. You look wonderful. How’s the bead business treating you these days?”

  “Oh, I sold that ages ago. I loved it but the details of running a small business—taxes, inventory, personnel headaches—was sucking all the fun out of it for me. Now I’m just a beader. It’s a much better fit.”

  “That’s too bad. I planned to stop in while I was in town.”

  Brendan never would have pegged Lucy as a crafter. He might have thought she was only being polite if not for the sincere regret in her blue eyes.

  Katherine smiled. “You still can, never fear. Make sure you do, in fact. You won’t be disappointed. String Fever is as busy as ever. I sold it several years ago to Claire McKnight and she’s done wonders with the place. You know Claire, of course.”

  “I don’t think so. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “You might have known her by her maiden name. Claire Tatum.”

  “Oh, right. Ruth Tatum’s daughter. I thought she married Jeff Bradford.”

  “She did. They were divorced shortly before I sold her the store. A few years ago, she married Riley McKnight. Do you know him?”

  “Is that Alex McKnight’s brother?”

  “The very same, except she’s now Alex Delgado. You must stop by her restaurant while you’re here. Brazen. It’s at the top of Main Street in the old fire station and is absolutely fantastic.”