Wild Iris Ridge. RaeAnne ThayneЧитать онлайн книгу.
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