Wild Iris Ridge (Hope's Crossing) (7 page)

“Sorry I presumed.”

She reached for the gate behind her and struggled with the latch in the darkness. After a moment, he sighed and reached out to help her open it. His hand covered hers, the strength and size and
heat
a vivid contrast to the cold, wet metal.

“Lucy. I’m sorry. I’m a bear tonight.”

“Tonight?” she asked caustically.

“Yeah. Most of the time, probably. Tonight is...worse than usual. A couple of hours ago, we were called out to a double fatality. A couple of tourists. A young couple from Nebraska. The guy was speeding in the rain up the canyon and flipped their rental.”

In that wedge of moonlight, she thought the lines looked a little deeper beside his mouth. “Oh, no.”

“Fatalities always hit my guys hard, even when we don’t know the people. It’s a reminder that we’re all a heartbeat away from losing everything we care about.”

He would know that more than most. Her heart squeezed in her chest, and she couldn’t help reaching out to touch his arm.

Again, his heat seemed to draw her like a warm fire on a cold winter’s night. Without the chimney fire, of course.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

He gazed down at her for a long moment and something seemed to shiver awake between them, like a great slumbering creature that had just shaken off a long subterranean hibernation and finally wandered into the sunshine.

“A little more grumpiness than usual is completely understandable,” she added.

Though she didn’t want to give up the heat and comfort of touching him, she forced herself to withdraw her hand. “I meant what I said about the kids. I really do love their company. They can help me at Iris House as I go through each room and start cleaning out.”

“I appreciate the offer. If I can’t make things work the way we usually do things, I know where to find you. Good night.”

He waited by the gate until she had let herself into the house. Once she closed the door behind her, she looked out through the wavy original oval glass pane on the front door and watched him walk back through the rain-slick streets, remembering another rainy night so long ago.

It was late May, she remembered. Memorial Day weekend. She had been twenty-one and had just finished her undergraduate degree in computer science and marketing in a fast-paced three years. She had taken an internship at NexGen but wasn’t due to start for a few weeks so she had decided to come spend some time with Annabelle and Jessie, who had graduated from college the year before and was teaching first grade at Hope’s Crossing Elementary School.

Unfortunately, she planned the trip without talking to Jess, and it turned out her cousin had already made plans for the weekend to fly to San Diego with some friends so they could hit the beach after a long Hope’s Crossing winter.

She had invited Lucy along, but Lucy was going to be spending the summer being extremely underpaid in an expensive city and had decided she couldn’t justify the cost of the trip.

Jess offered to stay home, too, so they could enjoy a visit together, but Lucy knew her cousin didn’t have an unlimited budget, either, and would lose the money she had already paid for her share of the trip, so she encouraged her to go.

Friday night, she had been at loose ends at Iris House and one of her friends from high school, Sara Benevidez, had called her, wanting to go listen to a live band at The Speckled Lizard—a rather disreputable bar in town where some of the cute tourists tended to hang out.

She had agreed, though cute tourists were definitely not on her radar. She had decided not to date until she had met a few of her career goals.

She could picture that beautiful spring night at The Liz vividly. The honky-tonk band that hadn’t been half-bad, a little dancing, a few margaritas, a little lighthearted conversation. In Boulder, she was so focused on her schoolwork that the renowned party scene there had sort of slipped by her. That night, it had felt great to let her hair down and remember she was a twenty-something about to embark on the rest of her life.

And then Brendan walked in with one of his brothers. Jamie, the helicopter pilot.

She recognized them as Caines right away. Big, built, great-looking.

She’d never met Brendan, but she knew who he was. He was five years older and something of a legend around Hope’s Crossing. He had been a star running back on the high school football team and had gone on to play college ball and had a few pretty good years for the Broncos before suffering a career-ending injury.

She figured she had nothing at all in common with a former professional athlete. Still, he rated off the charts on her own personal yum scale. The dark hair, those blue eyes, the chiseled features and wide shoulders.

After Jamie Caine came over to talk to Sara—who had apparently gone out with him a time or two, as had half the women in town—somehow they ended up sharing a table with the brothers. Sara and Jamie had been flirting heavily and not paying attention to either of them, which left her matched up with Brendan by default.

He had just moved back to town after years away to take a job with the fire department, and she had found it incredibly sweet that he was moving back to help protect and serve his hometown.

Something about the beautiful spring night and the giddiness of having a man like Brendan look at her with interest—and maybe the simmering anticipation coursing through her veins at being about to embark on a new life—brought out a side of her she’d never expected. Where she was usually focused, serious, intense, that night she was actually vivacious and fun and flirty, all the things that seemed to come so easily to her friends.

They danced, they laughed, they talked...and she lost a little of the heart she usually protected so carefully.

When he walked her back to Iris House, he told her he wanted to see her again, but he was leaving for a couple of days on a quick hiking and fishing trip with Jamie while his brother was home on leave.

She explained she was leaving the day before he got back for Seattle and her internship.

His disappointment had been incredibly gratifying. She did scribble her email and phone number on a piece of paper she found in her handbag and he promised he would be in touch as soon as he returned.

Then at the front gate that she could see gleaming black in the moonlight, he had kissed her.

She let the curtain flutter close now, remembering. It had been intense and passionate, probably the most incredible kiss of her entire life. A kiss filled with promise and possibilities, with the budding of something wild and sweet and wonderful.

She had gone to sleep that night—and for the next week—replaying that kiss in her mind, dreaming about him, wondering about him.

He had never called her, of course.

When he came back to town from his trip, he met Jess in all her tall blonde gorgeousness, and the fickle man forgot all about the strange, intense tech geek he had only known for a night.

Why shouldn’t he? Jessie had been everything he was looking for. Sweet, warm, kind. And
there
. She loved Hope’s Crossing and wanted to stay in town and start a family, just like Brendan.

She loved football and his family and him.

They were perfect for each other—which hadn’t made Lucy feel any better about the situation when Jessie called her all giddy about the great guy she was dating and about how he might be The One.

She sighed now and moved away from the door and into the huge, quiet house.

She had tried to be happy for Jessie when, after a year of dating, Brendan proposed. After all, he was everything Jessie had ever dreamed about, and
Lucy
certainly wasn’t in the market for a big, gorgeous ex-football player turned firefighter, right?

After her internship, she had taken a permanent job at NexGen and moved quickly up the ladder. As Jessie and Brendan settled down and bought the house she had just left, as Jess became pregnant quickly, as sweet Faith came along, Lucy threw all her energy, her effort, her loneliness into her career.

As a result, she became the youngest director in the history of the company and had been on track to a vice presidency within the next two or three years, everything she told herself she wanted.

That chance meeting on a long-ago night had meant nothing for either of them.

So why couldn’t she seem to get it out of her head?

* * *

L
UCY
FREAKING
D
RAKE
.

Brendan stomped down the street without looking back at Iris House. He was angry with the world right now—at the food poisoning that had dragged him back to work on a night he wanted to be with his kids; at the stupid, pathetic tourist who didn’t understand the concept of driving safely for conditions and had paid for it with his life and the life of his new bride; at Lucy for showing up at his doorstep right when he needed her...and then for making him feel things he didn’t want to, ever again.

For two years, since Jessie and the baby died, everything inside him had been on ice. A frozen block of nothing. He had been going through the motions, focused mostly on two things—doing his job and being the best damn father he could manage to Faith and Carter.

He had achieved a place where, while he wouldn’t exactly call it peace, at least he wasn’t the crazed, grief-stricken, hot mess he had been in those first months after that life-changing-in-a-heartbeat moment when the doctors had come out of the E.R. treatment room to tell him his wife and child were gone.

Gone.

An otherwise healthy mother of two had been taken by a shocking, extremely rare complication of pregnancy, coronary artery dissection, a tear in an artery that allowed blood flow in places it shouldn’t be in the heart.

She had gone into cardiac arrest in the grocery store and his own paramedics had been called to take her to the hospital. He’d been home with the kids when he got the phone call and by the time he frantically dropped Faith and Carter off with Mrs. Madison and flew to the hospital, she and the baby were already gone.

It had been more than two years and he had eased into a routine of sorts as a widower. Everything had been going along fine. He had learned how to juggle a dozen plates at once and was doing his best to keep things rolling at a decent pace.

Now Lucy Drake, with her dark curls and her big green eyes, had to blow back into his life and change
everything.

He didn’t want to be attracted to anybody. He wasn’t ready for the surge of his blood or the pound of his heart—and he sure as hell wasn’t prepared to be attracted to Lucy.

She had never liked him and made no secret of it. She was abrasive and rude and went out of her way to try hitting all his hot buttons.

At first, he figured he deserved it. She was the first and only woman he had been a complete ass to.

They had kissed once—a pretty amazing kiss, yeah—and he had been really attracted to her, despite their differences.

A week hiking around the mountains around Hope’s Crossing on that fishing trip with Jamie had left him plenty of time to think, though, and the bald truth was, while Lucy had been great-looking and fun and exciting, she wasn’t what he wanted in life.

He loved his hometown and now that he was back, he couldn’t imagine living anyplace else, while she had been brimming over about the excitement of city life and how she couldn’t wait to move to Seattle and start her fast-paced career.

He’d known he wanted to build a family and a home here, so what was the point in starting a relationship with a woman who had made no secret she wanted none of those things?

End of story, he’d figured.

He hadn’t called or emailed her as he promised, figuring the heat between them would fizzle and die without an oxygen source. Though he felt like a jerk about it, he didn’t quite know how to explain to someone as smart and savvy as Lucy that he was entering the dating game with an eye on the long play.

He figured, it had only been a kiss. Her heart wouldn’t exactly have been broken. Besides, she was busy with a new job, a new city, and had probably forgotten all about him.

Then he met Jess one afternoon at her summer job waiting tables at one of the restaurants at the resort and fell hard for her, not even knowing at first that Lucy was her cousin and best friend until their third date, when she had finally given him her address and he realized she lived at Iris House with Annabelle Stanbridge.

He had awkwardly asked Jess about Lucy, and she had gushed about how much she loved her cousin and was so proud of her. He had almost stopped dating her right then, figuring things had become too messy, but Jess had been sweet and warm and he had needed that in his life at the time.

Still, Lucy had always been the fly in the ointment of their peaceful marriage. He always left their interactions feeling vaguely guilty, like he was some big, heartless player—not to mention that she had done her best to talk Jessie out of marrying him, which still rankled.

By the time he reached his house and let himself in, some of his anger had ebbed. So he had been attracted to her for a few minutes there tonight and had wanted to kiss her.

What did he expect? A beautiful woman, a lovely, rain-soaked night scented with lilacs and springtime, and a man who had been alone for more than two years. There was a recipe for disaster if he’d ever heard one.

It was only a normal physiological reaction. He wouldn’t let it happen again, so what was the sense in thinking about it?

CHAPTER SIX

“T
HANK
YOU
SO MUCH
for stopping by. I have to admit, I have absolutely no idea where to start.”

Genevieve Beaumont walked into the foyer of Iris House and set down a large leather tote on the carved table by the front door so she could untwist a scarf from around her neck.

“That’s why I’m here. Believe me, I have more than enough ideas for both of us, and I told you, I have been
dying
to have a look inside Iris House. I should be thanking you for giving me the chance. This will be
so
much fun.”

Lucy had to admit, Genevieve’s enthusiasm was infectious. She hadn’t really considered any of the work that needed to be done on Iris House in the
fun
category but perhaps this walk-through could help shift perspective a little.

“Where should we start?” she asked

Genevieve pulled a bound notebook out of her satchel. “Let’s first sit down and talk about any ideas you have for using the space and then we’ll do the tour. Does that work?”

“Sounds good.”

Lucy led the way into the parlor, with its elegant period furnishings and thick moldings.

“Oh, I love the custom woodwork in here. They just don’t put the same time and effort into houses these days.”

Genevieve perched on one of the camelback horsehide sofas. “This is so exciting! Okay, tell me what you want!”

If she knew that, she wouldn’t need Genevieve, would she? She made a face. “I want a finished product that isn’t too ostentatious or flashy but is romantic and elegant. I want people who stay here to remember it forever. A decade from now, I’d like them to say, ‘George, remember that charming little inn where we stayed in Hope’s Crossing? We had the
best
time there. We should go back. Today!’”

Genevieve chuckled. “Okay. Specifics are good. Anything else?”

“The house has ten bedrooms. Eight of those have en suite bathrooms. The other two don’t but they’re small rooms, anyway. I’m thinking we could combine them with two of the other rooms to make them large suites with sitting rooms.”

“Oh, I like that idea. It will cost you, though.”

“Everything’s going to cost me,” she muttered. Fortunately, she had money in savings, and Annabelle had left a comfortable inheritance that would help tide her over through the transition.

“What about the owners’ quarters? Have you thought about which rooms will be yours? We can’t leave that out of the equation. You’ll want a private space where you can retreat at the end of the day when you’re tired of dealing with guests.”

“I’ll be here at start-up but my intention is to hire someone to run the B&B for me for the long-term.”

“So you won’t be staying here?”

“No. Only here for a few months.”

She really needed to start putting her résumé out there. She’d had a few of her networking contacts already ask what her plans might be. So far, she had remained mum, preferring to focus on Iris House for now.

That couldn’t continue indefinitely, of course. The nest egg was comfortable but not coast-the-rest-of-your-life comfortable—especially with the renovations she needed to make to the house.

Besides, sitting around doing nothing but living off her previous gains wasn’t in her nature, anyway.

She and Genevieve talked a little more about a possible color palette and the multiple-use potential for the main floor public rooms, like weddings and large parties. Finally Genevieve stood. “I can’t wait another moment. Let’s see what we have here.”

They started on the top floor and worked their way down. Genevieve exclaimed with delight at something in each room—a wide, deep window seat in one, a built-in oak bookshelf in another, an oversize claw-foot tub in another.

By the time they made it to the main floor, it was obvious Genevieve saw far more potential in the house than Lucy, which was the first encouraging sign she’d had since coming up with this harebrained idea.

“My Dylan and Sam Delgado would love to get their hands on this house.”

“I don’t think I’ve met Sam.”

“He’s pretty new in town, but you might know his wife. Alex McKnight. She runs a great restaurant in town, Brazen. You have to go there while you’re in town! Did you know Alex?”

“I did. She was a few years older than me but I think we had a few mutual friends.”

“Well, Sam, her husband, did a lot of work at A Warrior’s Hope. He’s fast and he does a great job—even better now that Dylan works with him.”

The pride shone through her voice like a lighthouse beacon and Lucy smiled.

“What’s A Warrior’s Hope? You’re not the first person in town who’s mentioned it to me.”

“Oh, it’s a fantastic program that was started up last year to provide recreational therapy to help injured veterans. We run summer and winter sessions and provide help to about six or seven veterans in a session, all through donations of time and resources. The whole town has really rallied around it.”

“And you and Dylan are involved?”

“Charlotte and Spence actually started the program. Dylan and I were dragged into their volunteer workforce kicking and screaming, you might say, but now we both really enjoy it. Okay, I probably enjoy it more than he does, but he still comes to help when he can.”

“That’s terrific.”

“You should help,” Genevieve exclaimed. “You were a marketing director. I bet you could give Spence some fantastic ideas about how to get the word out about what they’re doing!”

“I don’t know—” she began, but the rest of what she would have said was cut off by the chiming doorbells.

She couldn’t say she was sorry for the diversion. She did believe volunteer work was a necessary and important part of life and had donated time as a mentor at a woman’s shelter in Seattle.

Right now, though, she was barely keeping herself together—and the past hour had only reinforced just how much work she had to do at Iris House before it would be ready for guests. She was too overwhelmed to even think about taking on a volunteer commitment right now. Maybe if she were staying in Hope’s Crossing for the long-term...

“Will you excuse me?”

“No problem.” Genevieve held up her tape measure. “I’ll just write down the dimensions of some of the rooms and make some notes while you answer the door.”

Even as she couldn’t wait to find out Genevieve’s vision for the house, she had a feeling those notes were going to cost her plenty before they were done here.

She was focused on the possibilities as she headed for the front door, her mind picturing Iris House filled with guests and laughter and life again.

Just before she reached the door, the bell rang again with an edge of impatience she didn’t miss. She pulled it open then could only stare for at least ten seconds, not at all prepared for the man standing on the other side.

“Dad!” she finally exclaimed when she could force her brain to start clicking again. “What are you doing here?”

Robert Drake raised one distinguished gray eyebrow as he let himself into the house without an invitation. He looked around the foyer and Lucy was suddenly intensely aware of the jeans and practical russet cotton work shirt she had chosen for the tour with Genevieve.

Robert was wearing a tailored blue dress shirt and Savile Row tie, of course. She had very few memories of him in casual clothes.

He reached in to brush his cheek against hers. “Why do you sound so surprised? Is it so unusual I would want to see my oldest daughter when she moves into the state where I reside?”

Unusual
was an understatement. Her interactions with her father rarely moved beyond the infrequent phone call or hastily dashed email. She was a part of Robert’s past he preferred not to dwell upon.

That he would actually drive the hour and a half from Denver to see her was beyond remarkable.

“How did you even know I was in Hope’s Crossing?” she asked.

“Crystal mentioned it a few days ago.”

“Did she?” For a moment, she couldn’t remember even telling her half sister she was coming back to Colorado, then she remembered a few quick texts they’d exchanged the day she set out from Seattle. So much had happened, that seemed another lifetime ago.

“Yes,” Robert answered. “She said you were planning to stay a few months and work on Iris House. What’s the story? What happened to NexGen?”

She had absolutely no desire to tell him anything about it, but her father would push and push until she caved and gave him the information he sought. Robert was something of a legend at extracting information. He wasn’t one of the foremost criminal defense attorneys in the state because of his knitting skills.

He was a complicated man—brilliant, intense, focused and completely impossible to please.

And now she had to tell him she had failed rather spectacularly.

“NexGen and I have parted ways. Creative differences.”

“What did you do?” he asked in a resigned voice.

What else did she expect? Of course he would never step up and say that if they were crazy enough to fire his baby girl, the company must be run by a bunch of butt-scratching baboons.

“I did my job and I did it extraordinarily well. We had a poor product launch and I took the hit for it, despite my otherwise successful track record.”

“You can’t rest on your laurels. You should know that. Do you think I sit around looking at newspaper clippings of all the cases I’ve won? No. Not one of them matters where it counts. The only important case is the client I’m defending right now.”

“I’m choosing to look on the positive side,” she answered, which was only a little lie. “I haven’t taken a vacation day in eight years. I needed a break and Iris House needed some attention before it crumbles into a wreck that will have to be condemned. I decided to take a few months off to recharge my batteries and take care of things here before I shift focus back to my career.”

“What are you going to do with it? I hope you’ve decided to sell it, as I’ve been advising you since Annabelle died.”

She wasn’t sure her father could ever be placed in the category of advisor. She remembered one conversation about the house, at Annabelle’s funeral, when Robert had told her she would be crazy to hang on to a money pit like Iris House, especially with real estate prices finally on the upswing in resort communities.

“I’m still mulling my options. I’m considering turning it into a bed and breakfast. That’s what Jessie and Annabelle wanted.”

“Those things never make money,” he said dismissively. “You’re better off dumping it while you can, trust me.”

As usual, her father’s clear disdain for one of her ideas only made her more determined than ever to do it.

Because, yeah. She was mature that way.

She suddenly remembered Genevieve and her tape measure. “You know, Dad, I’ve actually got an interior decorator here. We were just having a tour. If you can give me a few minutes to finish up with her, perhaps you and I can run somewhere and grab lunch. Someone just recommended a new place in town, Brazen.”

“I’m actually on a fairly tight schedule.” He shifted his weight and for the first time, she thought her father looked uneasy about something. “I actually also came to—”

Whatever he intended to say was cut short when Genevieve herself actually came down the sweeping staircase with her clipboard in hand.

She paused about halfway down when she caught sight of them in the foyer below. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No. It’s fine,” Lucy answered, and the other woman continued down the staircase.

“Genevieve, this is my father, Robert Drake. Dad, this is Genevieve Beaumont, my interior designer.”

She saw at once that Gen recognized her father. No surprise there, he and her stepmother were very well-known in Denver social circles. From all accounts, Genevieve used to move in those same circles.

“I believe we’ve met,” she answered. “It was a few years ago at a charity event for the Denver children’s hospital.”

“Oh, yes.” Robert smiled vaguely, and Lucy could tell he didn’t remember at all. She wanted to tell Genevieve not to feel too badly about it. Her father barely remembered
Lucy
most of the time.

“I believe I’m finished taking pictures and measurements. I’ll upload everything and rough out some ideas. Meanwhile, you figure out your final budget and we’ll come up with a game plan. Why don’t we meet again next week? We can grab some lunch and talk over the fabulous possibilities of this house. I’m so excited about this project.”

She wanted to hug Gen right that moment for backing her up, but she didn’t want her father to think they were more girlfriends than client and decorator.

“That would be great. Thank you again, Genevieve.”

“You’re welcome. Seriously, Iris House is just as amazing as I always imagined it would be. I’ll be in touch.”

She let herself out of the house and in her wake, Lucy was aware again of the distance between her and her father. So many old pains seemed to bubble and seethe beneath the surface like a geothermal pocket under the earth.

“She seems a trifle young to be an interior decorator, wouldn’t you agree?” Robert said after Genevieve left.

No, she didn’t agree. And what did age have to do with anything? “She comes highly recommended by people I trust,” she said.

She led the way into the parlor. “Can I get you a drink after your drive? Coffee? Mineral water?”

“No, thank you. I’ll find something on the drive back.”

This was turning stranger and stranger. He obviously had an agenda for the visit. She only wished he would bother to share it with her.

“Can you at least sit down?”

He did, perching on the edge of the camelback sofa.

“Okay, Dad,” she said after another awkward pause. “We both know you didn’t come out here to talk about my renovation project or the road bump I’ve hit on my career path. Why are you really here?”

Robert stretched an arm across the top of the sofa, a relaxed pose she could see was just that—a pose.

“I need to ask you a small favor.”

“A favor.”

She blinked, not quite sure how to respond. In all her thirty-one years, she had no recollection of her father asking her for anything.