Wild Iris Ridge

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.”

Lucy looked a little overwhelmed at the barrage of information. “Thank you for the recommendation. I’ll try to do that. I guess Hope’s Crossing has changed a bit since I lived here.”

“Not that much. You’ll find the same good friends and kind neighbors.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she murmured, though he hadn’t missed the way her mouth tightened a little.

He had never had the impression that Lucy liked Hope’s Crossing very much. Oh, she loved Annabelle and Jess and Iris House. She would visit on the occasional holiday and special occasion, like the children’s christenings and Annabelle’s past few birthdays.

He couldn’t really blame her. From what Jessie had told him, Lucy had come to town an angry, rebellious teenager, forced to live with a great-aunt she barely knew. She had spent her last few years of high school at Iris House with Annabelle before heading off to college, but that didn’t necessarily mean the town felt like home to her.

If she were looking for a place to lick her wounds, he wanted to tell her, she could do much, much worse than Hope’s Crossing.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN LUCY GREW UP, she wanted to be just like Katherine Thorne.

The woman was the very epitome of class and elegance. Lucy had always thought so.

When Lucy had first been dumped on Aunt Annabelle, Katherine used to visit Iris House for the monthly library board meetings. Even when Lucy had been clad all in black with her piercings and her purple-dyed hair, Katherine had treated her with respect and kindness.

Few others had been able to see past all the attitude to the frightened, sad girl inside. Most treated her with suspicion and sometimes outright disdain, but Katherine had at least tried.

Lucy had never forgotten it. After she was able—in no small part thanks to Annabelle—to get her stuff together and move past that rebellious teen stage, she would sometimes stop into String Fever on trips back to Hope’s Crossing during college breaks to visit Annabelle.

Invariably, Katherine would greet her with a warm smile of welcome and insist on catching up on her most recent semester and how her studies were progressing.

She remembered the woman as a bright spot of kindness in a dark time.

Now, as Lucy listened to Katherine talk to Brendan about a new fire engine the city had recently purchased, she was impressed all over again. First the library board with Annabelle years ago, now the city council. Apparently Katherine worked hard to serve the people of Hope’s Crossing.

Dermot Caine approached them, his color a little more ruddy than usual, for reasons she didn’t understand.

“Your table is ready,” he said to Katherine. “Would you like to be seated or wait until the rest of your party arrives?”

The older woman made a face. “Oh. How rude of me. I’ve been monopolizing the conversation when you’re here to have breakfast together.”

“We’re not together,” Lucy said quickly, careful not to look at Brendan. “I mean, we’re here together, obviously, but we didn’t intend it. We both just kind of showed up at the same time. But not together, together.”

She sounded like an idiot, a point that was reinforced when all three of them stared at her.

Brendan cleared his throat. “You know you’re welcome to come over to the station and take a look at the new engine anytime. As hard as you worked to push the funding through, we ought to at least name it after you. Katherine. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“I’ve always thought so,” Dermot said, then appeared flustered when the city councilwoman smiled warmly at him.

“Thank you, but I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. We all knew you needed it—it was just a matter of squeezing the funds out of our tightfisted mayor.”

“Nobody squeezes William Beaumont better than you.”

“His daughter seems to do a pretty good job of it. And speaking of which, she’ll be one of my breakfast companions, along with Charlotte, Evie, Mary Ella and Janie Hamilton. Will you send them back to my table, Dermot? They should be arriving soon.”

“Of course. Of course.”

Katherine smiled, brushing her cheek against Lucy’s. “My dear. It was lovely to see you again. I hope we get the chance to catch up before you leave town again.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” she answered.

As soon as the woman left, Dermot seemed to find it necessary to retreat to the kitchen, leaving her and Brendan alone. Relatively alone, anyway, considering they were seated at a busy counter along with a half-dozen others, in a bustling diner filled with the pleasant sounds of clinking dishes and conversation.

She was still uncomfortably aware of him. Big surprise there, since she had the same reaction every time she was in the same room with him. His wife had been her best friend so, yes, that ridiculous awareness had led to some very awkward interactions over the years.

One stupid kiss more than a decade ago—a mere fifteen minutes out of her life—and sometimes, despite her very best efforts, she couldn’t manage to think about anything else.

She let out a breath. She just had to try harder. If she was going to be staying in Hope’s Crossing for a while, she would inevitably have to see Brendan. He lived down the street, and his children were two of her favorite humans on the planet.

She had to put that kiss a decade ago—and the subsequent weeks of confusion and heartache—completely out of her mind.

A moment later, he set his napkin down beside his plate and climbed off the round stool. “I guess I’ll probably see you later. If I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep before Carter and Faith get home from school, I should probably take off.”

“I can’t wait to see them. I’ve got a few gifts for them, things I brought with me that I haven’t gotten around to mailing. Could I drop them off sometime today?”

A muscle flexed in that strong jaw. “You know you don’t have to shower them with gifts. They would love you, anyway, trinkets or not.”

He made no secret that it annoyed him when she sent little toys or books to the children—or delivered them in person when she came to town. She was honest enough with herself to admit that might have been part of the reason she went to the trouble. She genuinely enjoyed picking out things for the children, but she considered needling Brendan a bonus side effect.

Yes, she was a horrible person.

If he had never flirted with her that long-ago night, never kissed her, never inspired such silly dreams—and never fallen hard for her best friend just a few weeks later and ended up marrying Jessie—their relationship might have been a much more comfortable one.

“I know I don’t have to give them gifts, but I enjoy it. And who knows? Now that I’m unemployed, this might be the last time I can afford to bring them anything.”

That was as close to a joke about the catastrophe her life had become as she had yet been able to manage. That had to be progress, right?

He studied her a moment, an unreadable expression on his features. He looked tired, his eyes a little red-rimmed and his hair slightly mussed, probably from taking off that helmet he’d worn at Iris House during the fire. He had crinkles at the corners of his eyes she didn’t remember seeing before and a few little gray strands hidden in all that thick dark hair.

But he was still far too gorgeous for her peace of mind.

“The kids both have baseball practice this evening. We won’t be home until later and then they’ll have homework and their daily reading for school to do. Another day would be better.”

She didn’t need him to spell it out. He was clearly telling her that even though she was back in Hope’s Crossing and living just up the street, he wasn’t going to allow unfettered access to Faith and Carter.

The few bites of really delicious strawberry-and-almond sprinkled French toast she had managed to eat around her nerves seemed to congeal in her stomach. “Sure. I’ll try to connect with you another day, then. I’m anxious to see them but I can certainly wait.”

“I’ll let you know.”

He waved to his father, nodded to a couple other people in the diner then headed out without another word to her.

After he left, she spent a minute or two more picking at her breakfast, mainly because she didn’t want to hurt Dermot’s feelings by not savoring the meal he had prepared especially for her.

Why had she opened her big mouth and told Brendan about being fired? Of all the people in town, he was the one person whose reaction she had dreaded.

He had really been surprisingly decent about it. She had expected some kind of snide comment, but he actually had seemed sympathetic. Sometimes she didn’t know what went on in his head. She only knew their encounters were usually so awkward and tense, she couldn’t wait for them to be over.

How would she survive living in Hope’s Crossing, where she was bound to run into him often?

The bells on the door suddenly chimed. She glanced up at the big mirror above the counter as a couple of women about her age walked in, laughing at something with their heads close together. Her heart gave a sharp, familiar ache at their friendship. Jessie had been her best friend most of her life, and Lucy missed her every single day.

She didn’t have many other female friends, at least none that reached the level of closeness she had shared with Jess. Since she’d graduated from college and started working for NexGen, she had been so focused on her career, on climbing further and faster, she hadn’t put nearly enough effort into building healthy relationships in other aspects of her life.

If she had a better support network, maybe she wouldn’t have been left so shattered right now.

To her surprise, the women immediately walked over to her.

“Lucy! Katherine just texted us that you were here. How great to see you again!” A trim-looking woman with honey-gold hair and a sweet smile reached out and wrapped her in a hug.

It was a disorienting moment, as she had no clue who the woman was until she scrutinized her a little more closely. “Charlotte? Wow! You look fantastic!”

The last time she had seen Charlotte Caine, Brendan’s sister, had been at Jessie’s funeral, when the other woman had been about a hundred pounds heavier.

Charlotte smiled. “Thank you. It’s been a fun journey. What a surprise to see you here at Pop’s on a lovely Saturday morning! I didn’t think you ever left Seattle.”

Everyone in town would be wondering why she was back. How could she explain to them all that she had failed at the one thing she ever thought she was good at?

Maybe Brendan would tell everyone and then she wouldn’t have to. No. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t. He might dislike her intensely, but she instinctively trusted him to keep this information to himself.

She had lost her job. The weight of her failure seemed to clutch at her chest. Who was she if she wasn’t the go-getter marketing director at NexGen?

She made herself take a deep breath, forcing away those familiar snaking tendrils of panic.

“I decided it was finally time to figure out what I want to do with Iris House,” she finally answered in a calm tone that left her inordinately proud of herself.

The woman with Charlotte—blonde and slim and stylishly, if casually, dressed—lit up at her words. “Oh, you’re the one who owns that beautiful house?”

“Yes,” she answered. It was still a tough admission. She didn’t feel she had any rights to the place. Jessica should have inherited it, should have had the chance to turn it into the B&B of her dreams. She had adored every opulent inch of it.

Instead, Jess was gone, taken far too young during pregnancy by a heart condition no one suspected. Jess was gone, Annabelle was gone. Lucy was the only one of them left.

“I heard there was a fire there last night. Is it true?” Charlotte’s friend said.

That’s right. She had dozens of reasons to be embarrassed to show her face around town. “Yes. That was my fault. I arrived in the middle of the night and couldn’t get the furnace to start. I tried to light a fire in one of the rooms and ended up with a chimney blaze.”

“Is everything okay?” Charlotte exclaimed.

“Your brother seems to think so. He says I should be safe to return there this morning.”

“That’s a relief!” the other woman said. “I can’t recall if we’ve met. I’m Genevieve Beaumont.”

Ah. This was the mayor’s daughter, who could wrap him around her finger. She thought she vaguely recalled seeing her at Annabelle’s funeral, but she had been so grief-stricken, that time was a blur.

“Hello. I’m Lucy Drake. Annabelle Stanbridge was my great-aunt.”

“She was quite a character. I’ve hated seeing her house empty these last few months. Iris House is one of those places meant to be filled with life,” Genevieve said.

“I agree,” she answered.

“What are your plans for it?” Charlotte asked. “Are you looking to sell? I can think of several people who might be interested.”

“I haven’t decided,” she admitted. “I’m actually thinking about opening it up as a bed and breakfast, if the town isn’t already glutted with them.”

“Oh, that would be the perfect place!” Charlotte exclaimed. “People would love a chance to stay in one of the early silver mansions.”

“I have no idea how much work awaits me. My plan after breakfast is to go through room by room and start making lists.”

That panic began pressing in on her again. She felt completely out of her comfort zone with the whole idea—but maybe that was exactly what she needed. Maybe she had become too settled, too complacent with her life.

“If you need any help,” Charlotte said, “Genevieve is just opening an interior design business. She does amazing work.”

The mayor’s daughter looked pleased and a little embarrassed at the endorsement. “I’m only just starting out. I’m sure Lucy has other plans in mind for what she wants to do with the place.”

“Not really. I’d love for you to take a look at it and give me your thoughts.”

Before Genevieve could respond, Dermot came out from the kitchen and spotted them.

“Why, look who’s here! It’s my lovely daughter and my lovely daughter-to-be.”

Genevieve blushed at this, and both women greeted him with kisses on the cheek. Lucy studied the mayor’s daughter more closely.

“You’re engaged to one of the Caine boys? Really? You’re a brave woman, Ms. Beaumont. No offense, Dermot.”

He laughed cheerfully. “None taken. Believe me, I know exactly how brave she is to take on this particular son.”

He hugged Genevieve again, who seemed to light up with happiness. Lucy was aware of a sharp pang of envy that Genevieve apparently had been absorbed into the huge, boisterous, loving Caine family.

“Which brother?” she asked. “Let me guess. Aidan.”

The tech genius had accrued a fortune in Silicon Valley and was worth millions, which would probably suit the elegant Genevieve. She had met him a few times over the years at various business functions.

Because of their shared connection to Hope’s Crossing, he always found a few moments to speak with her, earning her jealous snake-eyes from some of her female associates, who tended to go a little out of their heads for Aidan’s brilliant mind and his sexy-nerd good looks.

“Good heavens, no,” Genevieve exclaimed. “I barely know Aidan. I think I’ve only met him two or three times. He terrifies me, if you want the truth.”

“Jamie, then?” She never would have thought the sexy charmer of a helicopter pilot would settle down, even for someone as lovely as Genevieve.

“Wrong again,” Charlotte said with a grin.

Lucy did a few quick calculations. She knew the older two of Charlotte’s brothers were married. Surely not...Brendan. Impossible.

Why was it impossible? she asked herself. Jess had been gone more than two years. Did she really expect him to hold on to her memory forever? But still. Picturing Genevieve Beaumont as stepmother to Faith and Carter left a cold, tangled knot in her stomach.

“So you’re marrying...”

“Dylan!” Genevieve said, with obvious relish, as if Lucy couldn’t have made any other guess.

Just like that, the sickly feeling eased. “Dylan! Wow. That’s...terrific.”

And wholly unexpected. Last she heard, the youngest Caine brother had nearly died while fighting in Afghanistan and had been left with lifelong scars.

He seemed an odd pick for a woman who was obviously very aware of her appearance and who was starting an interior design business. But what did she know?

Nothing in Hope’s Crossing was turning out as she expected.

She couldn’t doubt the woman was deeply in love with Dylan, not when she saw the joy bloom on her lovely features.

“We’re having a quiet sunrise ceremony this summer in a meadow near his house in Snowflake Canyon.”

“Followed by a huge blowout bash that’s going to take over the entire ski resort,” Charlotte added dryly.

Genevieve beamed. “It has to be huge!” she protested. “What else do you expect from a double reception? Half of that is from your side.”

“Who else is getting married?” Lucy asked, feeling a little lost.

Charlotte waved her hand, which Lucy now saw sported a tasteful princess-cut diamond.

“Oh, congratulations. I hadn’t heard.”

“Thank you.”

“She’s marrying Smokin’ Hot Spence Gregory,” Genevieve said.

“Spence? Really?”

“Yes. Spence.” Charlotte’s joy was softer than Genevieve’s but every bit as genuine.

Though Lucy had lived in Seattle, she had been a big fan of the Portland Pioneers and had even driven down a few times to watch Smoke Gregory’s amazing fastball. His fall from grace as a Major League Baseball pitcher a few years before had been a personal blow—and the way he had clawed his way back from a dark place just as inspiring.

Maybe she should learn a few things from him.

“They’re getting married at the church the night before Dylan and I are tying the knot. We’ve decided on separate ceremonies and a combined reception. Doesn’t that sound fabulous?”

“It really does. Wow. A girl leaves town for a decade and everything changes. Congratulations, both of you.”

“Thank you! We’re meeting people for breakfast. You look as if you have nearly finished eating, but we would love to have you join us for coffee and conversation.”

Lucy was sorely tempted, struck again by how very few female friends she had. She was suddenly greedy for friends—and not just any friends, these women.