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
“THANK 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 sh
irt 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.
“It’s about Crystal.”
Okay, that was unexpected. She loved her sister, but the girl was a teenager. They texted and occasionally talked on Skype, but that was about the extent of their relationship.
“Yes. The situation between your sister and Pam is...difficult. Your stepmother’s health is not good. You know that.”
“No. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Last I heard, her multiple sclerosis was in remission.”
“She’s relapsed,” he said, with a slight note of censure in his voice, as if his second wife could control her medical condition by sheer will. “The last few months have been difficult on all of us. She’s struggling right now and doesn’t have the strength and energy she had even in February.
Our stress and worry over Crystal isn’t helping the situation.”
She knew Crystal had been in a few scrapes here and there. For some incomprehensible reason, her half sister seemed to delight in flaunting her misdeeds to Lucy, as if she thought they would earn her points with her.
Whenever she confided something to her, Lucy had done her best to steer Crystal toward a different direction, one that wouldn’t leave her drunk or stoned or stuck with a teen pregnancy like something on an MTV reality show.
“Pam needs peace and quiet right now to recover her strength, and Crystal just can’t seem to understand that, no matter how many times we both explain it to her.”
Crystal probably understood exactly what her parents wanted of her. And like Lucy, she was probably just as determined to do the opposite.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “This must be a difficult situation for all of you.”
“Two days ago, she was expelled from school for having marijuana on the school grounds.”
For a defense attorney who made a very good living off the dregs of society, Robert took a very dim view toward such things, as she remembered all too acutely.
“Well, that was stupid of her, wasn’t it? Everybody knows you keep your stash under your mattress.”
He frowned at her. “She claims she was only holding it for someone else. A boy she won’t name.”
“Ah. The old I swear it’s not mine defense.”
“Something like that. Criminal charges are pending, as well, though the school trustees and the juvenile court authorities are taking their time, considering, well, my standing in the legal community.”
Given his shark reputation, she could imagine they weren’t keen to charge Robert Drake’s daughter with a crime unless they had an ironclad case against Crystal.
“My point is, this is just the latest in a string of poor decisions on your sister’s part. Sneaking out to go drinking, cutting classes, hanging out with a disreputable crowd.”
Like the sorts of people who paid her private school tuition through their attorney fees? she wondered.
“She’s on a difficult path, and something needs to be done quickly to steer her back onto the straight and narrow.”
Wild Iris Ridge (Hope's Crossing) Page 9
