Wild Iris Ridge (Hope's Crossing)

by RaeAnne Thayne

  “What about me?” Carter asked, not to be outdone. “Which one should I read?”

  She looked through the collection and pulled out Charlotte’s Web.

  “Have you read this? It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Is that the one about the spider and the pig?” he asked.

  “The very one.”

  “Daddy checked it out of the library for us once but we were reading something else and never had time for that one before we had to return it.”

  “Now you have your own copy and don’t have to take it back to the library. Why don’t we start it tonight?”

  “Okay!”

  “Faith, do you want to stay out here and read your book or come into Carter’s room and listen to Charlotte’s Web?”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Carter led the way back to his room, still decorated the way Jessie had left it, with a Western Americana theme: red, white and blue, with horseshoes holding up some shelves and a trail of stars stenciled around the ceiling.

  It was a cute room for a boy, perfect for an active kid like Carter.

  The sharpness of loss clutched at her chest again. Jessie had loved her family, being a mother, making a comfortable home for them. Of all the gross inequities in the world, Lucy considered it so unfair that this loving young mother with her life ahead of her would be taken from her family by a health condition nobody could have anticipated.

  The room had two twin beds, maybe in anticipation for the day when Carter would have shared this room with his brother, who had been too gestationally immature to survive outside the womb after Jess went into cardiac arrest so suddenly.

  Carter jumped onto one of the beds, and Lucy forced herself to push the sadness away.

  “Daddy usually reads to me from the other one. You can do that, too.”

  She eased down onto the bed, and Faith curled up at her feet, pulling a throw over herself and listening raptly while Lucy began reading the story about a runt piglet and the spider who was a very brave friend—and a good writer, too.

  By the time she finished the first chapter, Carter’s eyelids were drooping. Judging by his energy level every time she saw him, she completely understood why. An object in constant motion eventually had to run out of steam. She didn’t know if that was an actual physics principle, but it definitely applied to five-year-old boys.

  He closed his eyes at the same moment she marked her page and closed the book. She slid off the bed and pulled his blanket up over his shoulders, awash with tenderness for this funny little man.

  “You got through a whole chapter. That’s great. My dad usually falls asleep after about two pages while he’s reading to Carter,” Faith confided in a whisper.

  Like his son, Brendan put in a long, busy day, as well.

  “I guess it’s lucky for both of us I made it this far. Shall we go into your room and read about Anne coming to know Matthew and Marilla?”

  “Yes!”

  Together, they walked down the hall to Faith’s room, all pink and lavender and yellow, sweet as Faith herself.

  “Oh. Look at that! That’s the chair you told me about on the phone a few months ago. I’d forgotten about it, but it’s just as lovely as you said.”

  It was a slim Queen Anne recliner with curvy lines and a pretty material that seemed to bring together all the colors of the room.

  “Dad said somebody who liked to read as much as I do needed a comfortable reading nook. He bought me the light and everything. And it wasn’t even my birthday. It was a just-because present. Those are the best.”

  “I agree.” She smiled. “Do you want the chair or the bed for reading?”

  “I’ll take the bed.” Faith settled in, hands clasped on her chest expectantly.

  Lucy settled into the recliner—which was, indeed, comfortable—and proceeded to read a chapter from the book about an orphaned girl trying to make her way in her new home.

  “I think that’s enough,” she finally said, though she would have read all night if she could, she was enjoying it so much.

  “Anne is so funny,” Faith declared.

  “She is,” Lucy responded.

  The girl was quiet as Lucy rose from the recliner, laid the book on her bedside table and tucked in her quilt a little more snugly around her.

  “I wonder how her mom died,” Faith finally asked, her voice low.

  This poor little child, who had lost her own mother too young. Lucy wanted to cry suddenly that Jess would never have the chance to know the funny, sweet, courageous girl her daughter was becoming.

  “If I recall from reading the series all those years ago, she was only a baby when both of her parents died of an illness.”

  “That would have been easier,” Faith said, her voice solemn. “She probably didn’t know them enough to miss them.”

  “Oh, honey.”

  She reached down to the bed and hugged Faith, wondering if the girl was open with her father about her grief or if she tried to protect him from it, as appeared to be her nature.

  “It’s normal to miss your mom,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “You know that, right? Some part of you will always have a little hole. My mom died almost twenty years ago, and I still miss her.”

  Despite her emotional and psychological issues, Betsy had still been her mother. Lucy knew she probably missed what she wished she had in a mother more than the actual person, but the loss was no less acute.

  “More than anything,” she went on to Faith, “I wish that I could patch that hole for you and take away your sadness. But that would also mean taking away all your wonderful memories of your mom, and I would never, ever want to do that. You’re sad because you miss her. I miss her, too. Your dad and Carter do, too.”

  “I know,” Faith said, her voice small. “I miss her so much sometimes. Carter doesn’t remember her much. He was only three. I do, though.”

  “He’ll remember her most through the memories you and your dad share with him about her.”

  “Sometimes I’m mad at her, too,” Faith said in a rush, as if the confession had been churning inside her for some time, just waiting for a chance to slip out.

  Lucy was almost positive Faith hadn’t shared this with her father. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the girl’s hand into hers. “That’s normal, too, honey.”

  “Why did she even need another baby? She had me and Carter. She would still be here if she hadn’t decided to have another baby.”

  Just how much did Faith know about the circumstances around Jessie’s death? Lucy chose her words carefully. “Your mom used to tell me when we were girls that she wanted a half-dozen kids, just like the Brady Bunch. Three boys and three girls. She loved your dad’s big family and wanted one, too. It’s not that you weren’t enough for her, honey. She just had so much love in her heart and knew another baby would make that love grow even more.”

  “It didn’t, though.”

  Lucy sighed. “She didn’t know she had a problem with her heart. None of the doctors even knew. She spent all her life with it and had you and Carter and it never gave her any trouble. She had no reason to think having the new baby would be any different from having you or your brother.”

  She hugged Faith, feeling the slenderness of her bones beneath her nightgown. “You know she would never have chosen to leave you, right?”

  Faith sniffled a little but didn’t cry. “I guess.”

  “You were her sunshine. Always. I know it hurts not having her here, but the best thing you can do is think about all the good you still have. Your dad, Carter, your grandpa Caine and all your aunts and uncles and cousins.”

  “You.”

  The tears she had been fighting ever since Faith first asked her about Anne Shirley’s mother welled up, and she had to
swallow hard against the emotion in her throat. “Me. Yes. Always.”

  “I know. I know I have all that. Sometimes I just get a little sad.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. The sad times in our lives help us appreciate those moments of beauty and joy.” She rose. “You need to try to sleep now. You’ve got school tomorrow, and your dad won’t be very happy with me if he finds us still up gabbing when he gets back. If you want, I can read here in your comfortable chair while you fall asleep.”

  “No. I’ll be okay.” She smiled sleepily. “I’m really glad you’re here, Aunt Lucy.”

  She kissed the top of the girl’s wispy blond hair. “I am, too, darling.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE HOUSE SEEMED almost eerily quiet without the children running around, filling the space with their laughter, their questions, their disparate personalities.

  She walked down the hall toward the kitchen, accompanied only by the sound of the rain still pattering against the windows and the creak of an occasional floorboard in the old house.

  Odd, that she lived in the huge, echoing mansion by herself but didn’t feel nearly as alone as she did right now, walking through Brendan’s place—probably because all the clicks and whooshes at Iris House were as familiar to her as her own heartbeat.

  She felt a little like an intruder, creeping around where she shouldn’t. How ridiculous was that, when he needed her here to help him with his children?

  This was a comfortable house, she had to admit, warm and airy. But something still seemed missing.

  The kitchen was a mess, with dirty dishes piled in the sink and a glass casserole with the sticky remains of what had likely been their dinner on the stovetop.

  Since she had nothing else to keep her busy—and maybe she wanted to prove to him that she could be useful for more than just bringing unwanted gifts to his children—she unloaded the dishwasher. She had to do some opening and closing of cupboards and drawers to figure out where things belonged, the worst part about working in someone else’s kitchen, but she figured it out.

  After that was done and the remaining dishes loaded again, her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. Her plan had been to take the gifts down to the children and then head back to Iris House to make a sandwich.

  She thought about ignoring the rumbling but the residue left on the casserole had looked like chicken enchiladas and had smelled delicious. She was sort of a rabid chicken enchilada fan.

  She opened his refrigerator and found a container with the leftovers, along with an unfinished meal on a plate covered in plastic wrap that she guessed had been Brendan’s.

  Assuming he wouldn’t mind, given the last-minute favor she was doing him, she left his plate alone but spooned a rolled tortilla from the leftover container onto a plate of her own, added some of the sauce and warmed it in the microwave.

  The food was fantastic, easy on the heat index but every bit as good as something she would find in her favorite Mexican restaurant in Seattle. After she just about licked the plate clean, she loaded it and her fork into the dishwasher, gave the countertops one last swipe with a cloth and then wandered into the family room.

  She had probably been here before when she had visited Jess, but she didn’t remember spending any time in this room. The space was dominated by a big-screen TV and two big plump leather reclining sofas.

  Right now, it was also cluttered with toys. She should have made the children come in before bedtime to clean up their mess. Since she hadn’t thought of it—and since she didn’t like the idea of Brendan having to do it himself when he came home after a long day—she spent a few moments clearing the floor before she collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted from her day.

  She flipped through the television shows and finally settled on a news program.

  The stress of the past few days must have been more exhausting than she realized. The last thing she remembered was some apple-cheeked reporter with an unnaturally chipper voice trying to ask a hard-hitting question of a politician.

  She must have fallen asleep. When she awoke, she had the strange, crawly sensation of being watched.

  She blinked her eyes open, wondering if Carter or Faith had awakened her. Instead, she saw a big, wide-shouldered figure standing in the doorway, and she gasped, visions of psycho killers flashing through her mind.

  “Whoa. Easy. I’m sorry I startled you. It’s me. Brendan.”

  The voice pushed through the panic, and she drew in an unsteady breath. Brendan. Of course. How could she possibly have mistaken him for anybody else?

  She drew in a shaky breath. “Well. There go several years off my life I won’t get back.”

  He turned the dimmer lights up in the room. “See? Only me.”

  As if that made her feel any more comfortable. “I’m sorry. I was sleeping and woke up to find you standing there. It would creep anyone out. Even you.”

  “Probably.” He smiled a little, but she thought suddenly that he looked weary. Beyond weary, actually, bordering on deep fatigue.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Almost one. I’m sorry to be so late. Things were a little busier than I expected, and this is the earliest I could get away.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If they need you back at the station, I’m fine staying all night. As long as you don’t jump out and scare me when you come back.”

  Through his exhaustion, she saw glimmers of surprise in his expression that left her melancholy. Why did he seem so shocked that she could be compassionate and helpful when the situation called for it? This was only further evidence of his poor opinion of her.

  The feeling of trying so very hard to please someone impossible seemed entirely too familiar. She didn’t have to look very far to see why—a girl growing up with a difficult, demanding, overbearing father knew that feeling like she knew her own imperfect face in the mirror.

  Brendan always viewed her as nothing more than Jessie’s pain-in-the-neck ambitious, driven cousin, who showed up at inconvenient moments.

  Okay, not always. One magical night, he had flirted with her and kissed her and had led her to start spinning ridiculous dreams about something that would never be. That night seemed like a distant scene in someone else’s life, something she almost thought she might have made up in her head, especially after he started dating Jessie just a few weeks after making her think he might actually be interested in her.

  She wasn’t going to say he broke her naive twenty-one-year-old heart, that getting over his rejection of her had been one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. That would be giving him entirely too much power, and she wasn’t willing to go that far.

  “I’m done for the night,” he answered, and she pushed stupid thoughts of the past away. “The shift is covered now, and the guys with food poisoning are already feeling better. Thanks for saving the day.”

  “No problem.” She rose from the sofa. “Let me grab my things from the kitchen and then I’ll get out of your way.”

  He followed her as she retrieved her raincoat and umbrella.

  “Did you ever catch dinner?” she asked him.

  “No. I’ll grab a bowl of cereal or something before I crash.”

  “Don’t forget, you’ve still got a plate of enchiladas in the refrigerator you can warm up.”

  “I might do that. The phone call from my assistant chief came just as we were sitting down to dinner.”

  “I thought as much.”

  How many plates had he left uneaten over the years?

  “I had a few bites of your chicken enchiladas,” she told him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I hadn’t eaten dinner yet when I came over here.”

  “Not at all. I hope you had more than a bite. There was plenty. You stepped up and saved my bacon. The least I can do is feed you.”

&
nbsp; “They were very tasty. You’re not a bad cook.”

  He made a face but seemed pleased with the compliment. “With Pop around, learning to cook at our house was mandatory, not optional. All of us were required to learn at home and then to work at the café at some point in our lives. Pop had me flipping pancakes before I could talk.”

  She tried to picture him as a dark-haired little boy surrounded by his brothers, both older and younger, trying to learn how to cook. It was difficult to make the image stick when she was confronted by the big, hard reality of the adult Brendan Caine.

  “I love your dad.”

  “You and half the women in town. Young and old, he charms them all. Too bad for you, but his heart belongs to Katherine Thorne...though he’ll never admit it.”

  “Katherine? Really? I had no idea they were a thing.”

  “I’m not sure what kind of thing they are. They’ve never even dated, if you want the truth, but you should see the way Pop blushes whenever she comes into the café.”

  She smiled, charmed by the idea of two people in that season of their life being flustered by each other. Brendan hadn’t specifically mentioned that Katherine returned Dermot’s feelings, but she must. Lucy had always liked Katherine Thorne and considered her to be a woman of good sense. What other choice would she have but to care for someone as wonderful as Dermot?

  “Oh, they’re perfect together! Don’t you agree?”

  She realized she was still smiling when Brendan didn’t answer, only continued staring at her mouth with an odd expression that made her feel suddenly hot and restless.

  “You don’t like the idea?”

  He blinked a few times, and she remembered the poor man was exhausted and probably didn’t like much of anything right now. Especially her.

  “What idea?”

  “Your pop and Katherine. But it doesn’t matter right now. I should go. I hope you’ll be able to rest for a few hours. Good night, Brendan. Thanks for giving me the chance to be with Carter and Faith tonight. We had a marvelous time.”

  She picked up her umbrella and headed for the front door. He followed along just a few feet behind, and at the door, he opened a closet to grab his jacket.