All That Sparkles: The Texan Quartet (21 page)

Imogen was sanding when Mr. Barker arrived carrying a rolled-up tube of paper.

“Imogen, I wanted to show you my design for your garden.” He gestured her over to the table.

Imogen couldn’t believe he’d done anything. She’d only given him a vague idea of what she wanted yesterday.

He spread out the plans. “This is the front yard.” He took her through the details, including paving the driveway and building a garage on the side of the house that would match the architecture.

It was a simple design and one that would be easy to manage. “Looks wonderful. Send me the invoice for all of this work next week and I’ll pay it straight away.”

He smiled at her and placed the other design on top. “This is the backyard.”

The first thing Imogen noticed was the words
secret garden
. She examined the drawing as Mr. Barker explained his vision. It was everything Imogen wanted.

When he was finished, she flung her arms around the man and hugged him tightly. “It’s perfect.”

When she let go, his face had gone beet red. “Well, ah, if you like it I could go to the nursery and get the plants for the front yard today. The back will need some structural work before it’s ready for planting.”

“Yes, please.” She wanted to go with him but she couldn’t abandon the house. “Call me when you’ve got everything and I’ll give them my credit card number.”

“It’d be better if you came with me,” Mr. Barker said.

Ingrid was standing nearby and must have overheard. “Go on, honey. Buying plants is one of the most fun parts. We’ve got everything under control.”

“I can’t leave when everyone’s working so hard for me.”

“Of course you can. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t want to help.”

When Imogen still hesitated Ingrid added, “Do you want me to get Grandma to tell you?”

Imogen smiled. Her grandmother would tell her in no uncertain terms to go. “All right. Thank you. I’ll take my cell in case you need me.”

“We won’t.” It was said with a smile.

After telling Christian where she was headed, she joined Mr. Barker in the car.

At the nursery Imogen was enthralled by the number of plants and colors available.

“If you find anything you like, we can always change the plant selection,” Mr. Barker said.

“Thank you, Mr. Barker.”

The man smiled at her. “I think you’re old enough to call me Ethan,” he said.

“All right. Thank you, Ethan.” That was going to take some getting used to.

They wandered through the nursery filling the cart. A few times Imogen spotted something she loved and added it. Ethan smiled and made adjustments to his notes.

When they arrived back at the house it was mid-morning. The roof of her sewing room had been repaired and people were mostly sanding or scraping floors, window and door frames to prepare them for painting and sealing. The amount of work that had been done was amazing. As soon as the bathrooms and kitchen were finished she could move in.

Feeling guilty for going shopping, Imogen got straight to work planting. It was fabulous to get her hands dirty, dig through the soil and help her garden come to life.

By midday her front yard was complete, with the exception of the lawn.

Christian walked down the front steps of her porch and over to her. “Everyone’s breaking for lunch.”

Imogen turned to him and wrapped her arms around him. “It’s amazing. How am I going to thank everyone for their work?”

“Come with me.” Christian took her hand and led her out to the front pavement. They stood next to each other and looked back at her house.

The picket fence was freshly painted white, the garden was full of color and the front of the house, though needing a coat of paint, was well on its way to looking its best.

Imogen’s neighbor Natalie came out of her house and walked over to them. “I can’t believe the work you’ve done in a weekend,” she said.

Imogen introduced her to Christian and then said, “I’ve had a lot of help.”

“I’ll say. Mrs. Smithers would be thrilled. When are you moving in?”

“As soon as I can. The bathrooms and kitchen need replacing first.”

“Well good luck to you. I’m sure you’ll both be very happy here. It will be nice to have a family there again.” Natalie said goodbye and walked back to her house.

Imogen didn’t comment on Natalie’s assumption she and Christian would both be moving in.

She glanced up at him. She loved him, wanted him to be part of her life, but she had no idea how he felt about her.

His expression was thoughtful. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to be thinking so hard about them, so she grabbed his hand. “Let’s get something to eat.”

He let her lead him around the back to where the others were gathered for food.

Grandma had outdone herself again and there was plenty to eat. Imogen piled a plate full and went to talk to Hank.

“How do you think we’re going?” she asked.

“By the time we’re finished this afternoon all there will be left is a little bit of sanding inside and the rest of the outside. I’ve got the kitchen and bathroom people booked to come next week. You should be ready to move in by mid next month.”

Excitement fluttered in Imogen’s stomach. She’d never imagined it would be so soon.

“One thing I would suggest is you pay someone to paint the outside of the house. Everyone’s done a great job prepping the areas they can reach but you really should get some scaffolding up and the professionals in.”

“Can you recommend someone?”

“Yeah. I’ll email you the details tomorrow. He’s a little bit pricey but he’s the best.”

Imogen had no idea how she could express her thanks to all of these people. They had done it for nothing, had worked extraordinarily hard on their days off to help her. Her father would have thrown money at the house but this way felt right for Imogen. She wanted to rebuild the home she’d bought, wanted to put her own sweat into it and make it shine. It was amazing.

The thought of her father made some of the fluttering stop. She’d not heard from him since they fought. Imogen needed to fix their relationship if she could. She wanted her father to be part of her life still. She wasn’t going to let her father’s resentment fester as it had with the Ryder family. Perhaps she’d invite him around to her house next week so he could see what she’d done with it.

“Right people, break’s over. Time to get back to work,” Hank called as he put his plate down on the table and moved back inside.

There were a few light-hearted groans but everyone did as he asked.

Imogen was putting her plate on the table when Grandma stopped her.

“You haven’t eaten enough,” she said with a frown. “Finish what’s on your plate and then you can get back to work.”

Imogen didn’t bother arguing. She picked up the plate and took a mouthful of the food.

“What’s bothering you, lamb?” Grandma asked.

“Nothing.” Imogen could hardly tell her grandmother she was upset her father wasn’t there. It would seem selfish and ungrateful.

“Of course there is. Your mother got the very same expression on her face when something was bothering her.”

Surprise flooded Imogen. “Really?”

Grandma nodded. “You’re very like her.” She patted Imogen’s shoulder. “So what’s wrong?”

“I was wondering what Papa was up to.” That was the truth, though perhaps not the whole truth.

“Piper said he was busy with a show.”

“Piper spoke to him?”

Grandma nodded. “She called to invite him to come.”

Imogen didn’t need to know what he’d said. The answer was as clear as his absence.

So he had known about the weekend. There was a lot that needed to be said between them but Imogen was determined to fix it. She wasn’t going to spend almost thirty years estranged from her father because of their argument. They needed to come to an understanding.

She put down her empty plate. “I’d better get back to work.” She gave her grandmother a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for everything.”

Her grandmother smiled and replied, “Off you go then.”

*

Imogen spent the rest of the afternoon scraping and sanding the bedrooms. They were the most neglected rooms because the previous owner hadn’t been able to get upstairs to tend them. Still, by the end of the day, all that was required up there was a new bathroom, a good clean and then the painting. She debated whether she could move in now. The toilet was working so the only thing really lacking was a bathroom to wash in. She considered washing using the hose in the backyard. A few cold showers wouldn’t be so bad, would it? She could have breakfast when she got to work and she usually lived on take-away food anyway so that didn’t have to change. If she moved in now, she wouldn’t be a burden on Piper.

“You’re deep in thought.”

Christian’s voice right behind her made her jump back from the window she’d been standing at.

“I was debating whether I could move in now,” she said.

He frowned. “Why? The place is a mess and you don’t have a bathroom.”

Imogen sighed. “Piper’s place isn’t really big enough for the two of us and I hate relying on her.”

“Why don’t you move in with me?” Christian looked as surprised by his suggestion as Imogen felt.

She opened her mouth to say something but no words came out. Did that mean he loved her? Did he mean it only as a temporary measure – a friend helping out a friend? Did he actually want to live with her?

“I’ve got plenty of room and with work, I’m hardly ever there anyway. This way we can see each other at night even if I have to work.”

Imogen’s heart went splat.

He was suggesting the move as a convenience to himself. He wouldn’t have to make the effort to arrange to see her: she’d be waiting for him at his place like a good little woman.

And what would it mean for her to move out from under the control of one man and be at the mercy of another man’s goodwill?

She forced a smile. “Thanks for the offer, but no.” She loved him but she would go into the relationship on equal terms.

Christian gaped at her.

“My place is almost ready, so it doesn’t make sense to move everything twice.” Not if he didn’t actually care for her the way she loved him. God, her heart was aching as much as her body was.

Christian frowned. “Why not? It makes sense.”

“Not to me.” She kept her tone light though her thoughts were dark.

“Isn’t my apartment as good as if not better than Piper’s?” His tone was confused, bordering on offended.

“It’s not that. I want to spend some time living by myself. I don’t want to go from living under my father’s watch, to living with someone else.”

“You think I’d be like your father?” He was incredulous. “I am nothing like the man. He’s a selfish, egotistical, controlling bastard with no thought for anyone else’s feelings but his own.”

Imogen’s breath caught in her throat. The dislike in Christian’s voice couldn’t be hidden. She had learned some hard things about her father of late, but he was still the person who’d loved and cared for her her whole life. She still loved him.

The only two men she’d loved in her life hated each other.

Before Imogen had the chance to respond, Christian said, “I guess we don’t really know each other at all.”

He walked out of the room.

Imogen stared after him, her chest seizing painfully. Was he leaving? Was this it? He was going to dump her for not wanting to move in with him?

Her first instinct was to go after him but she stopped herself when she reached the door of the room. Christian had already gone down the stairs and out the front. What was she going to say to him anyway? Was she planning on giving in, moving in with him, just to make him happy?

Was she going to behave exactly the way she had with her father? Giving in to keep the peace?

No.

The determination came out of nowhere. She wasn’t going to rush after him and placate him. She’d give him a day to cool down and then talk to him, try to make him understand how she felt, try to figure out how he felt about her.

Not once had either of them mentioned the L word, but love him she did.

“Imogen, do you need a lift?” Piper’s voice called from downstairs.

If Christian had left, she would need one.

She slowly walked downstairs, her hand running over the dusty banister. The dirt reminded her this wasn’t an ending, no matter what happened with Christian.

She had a new job, a new house and new family. She didn’t
need
any men in her life.

And the two that she
wanted
didn’t want her.

Chris backed out of the driveway, his thoughts going a million miles an hour.

Imogen didn’t want him. He felt the same tearing pain in his chest as he had the day Remy had given him Imogen’s letter. The same confusion, disbelief and shock. He was a teenager again, being told he didn’t measure up.

He wasn’t good enough for her.

What more did he have to do to prove his love to her? He’d organized the demolition weekend so she could finish her house faster and he’d not freaked out when Remy had found them in bed together.

He shook his head. How could she think he would be controlling like her father? She didn’t understand him at all.

He didn’t realize something like that could hurt so much.

He drove on autopilot, his mind racing. It was Remy’s fault. He’d given Imogen the ultimatum, kicked her out of her house and her job, all because she dared to choose her own path. Because of the way he treated her, she was determined to prove she could make it on her own.

The implication of the thought pounded down on him. He slowed the car.

Imogen not wanting to move in with him had nothing to do with him. She wanted time to prove to herself she could succeed without her papa. And he’d been so hurt, so defensive that he’d lashed out, said things to protect himself.

He’d hurt Imogen.

He was as cruel as Remy.

He had to figure out how to make it up to her.

*

Imogen didn’t want to go to work. When the alarm screamed at her in the morning, her entire body ached and her brain was cotton candy.

She’d barely slept despite her physical exhaustion, but she couldn’t let Chantelle down. Imogen rolled out of bed and shuffled to the shower. The hot water soothed the ache out of some of her muscles but the steam crept into her head and made it even foggier.

When she was dressed, she went out to the kitchen where Piper was having breakfast.

“Here.” Her friend passed her a mug of coffee. “I figured you could use one of these.”

“Thanks.”

“You look shattered,” she commented.

Imogen scowled at her, annoyed at how well dressed and perky Piper was today. “Don’t your muscles feel like they’re made of lead?”

“A bit. I go to the gym, remember? My muscles are used to the work out.” She took a sip of her drink. “So are you going to tell me what really happened between you and Chris yesterday?”

Imogen choked on her coffee. When she’d finished coughing she said, “What do you mean?”

Piper gave her the look. “You can’t lie to save yourself.”

So she hadn’t bought the work emergency excuse Imogen had given her. “He asked me to move in with him, and I said no. He didn’t take it too well.”

Piper sat back. “Well I wasn’t expecting that. Why did you say no?”

Imogen sighed. “Two reasons. I realized I wanted to discover the independent Imogen.”

Piper nodded in understanding.

“And he said he was hardly at home anyway, so my moving in wouldn’t affect him, and we could still see each other if he had to work late.”

Piper stared at her in disbelief. “A convenience invite?”

Imogen nodded.

“Did he say how he felt about you?”

“Nope.”

Piper sighed. “I gave him more credit than he was due. Idiot.”

“He was right?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you go thinking this was your fault.”

“I could have explained it better.” If he’d given her the chance.

“So what are you going to do now?”

“I’ll call him tonight.”

“He should be calling you.”

Imogen shrugged. It didn’t really matter. She would clear the air and wait for his response. She wasn’t going to hold a grudge when she knew how damaging they could be. If he was still angry she would have to get on with her life without him. She wasn’t going to be involved with someone who tried to control her. Not again.

But damn, the thought of it was a knife to her heart.

Piper checked the clock. “I’ve got to go. Call me if you need to chat.”

Imogen nodded and waved goodbye.

Finishing her coffee, she got up and went to work.

*

After work Imogen debated going over to her house. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t keep away. She drove around to find Hank’s truck still in the driveway. She called out as she entered the house.

“In the kitchen,” Hank called back.

Imogen walked down the corridor to the back of the house where her kitchen had been.

Where her kitchen was.

She stared around at cabinets neatly in place, exactly where she’d wanted them.

“What do you think?” Hank sat at a trestle table doing some paperwork.

“This is amazing. I can’t believe it’s been done so quickly.”

“They had a last-minute cancellation so they slotted you in. I’ve come over to lock up.”

The cabinets didn’t have doors or a bench top yet, but she could visualize the final result. It was how she’d pictured it.

“They’ve started the bathrooms as well. Go and check it out.”

Imogen didn’t need any urging. She wandered into the downstairs bathroom, and ran her hand over the vanity. “Do the taps work?” Imogen called to Hank.

“Yeah. They’re connected. Turn them on.”

Imogen turned on the taps and water came gushing out. She laughed. Maybe she could move in. She could have a couple of days of sponge baths. Though she should probably organize a new hot water system too.

Turning off the taps she surveyed the rest of the room.

There was bright blue paint around the shower area, which she guessed was some kind of waterproofing. All that was left to be done was the tiling and the shower screen.

Upstairs was a similar story. It was the bigger bathroom and it had the vanity in place and blue waterproofing on the walls.

Hank looked up as she returned. “It’s all working?”

“Yeah. What’s next?”

He took her through the project plan for the week, which included electricians, plumbers and tilers all coming through on different days.

She was so glad she’d hired him to project manage the renovation. There was so much she wouldn’t have thought of. She’d definitely give him a bonus at the end; she knew he was making time for her.

“Were you planning on doing any work tonight?”

“I’ve borrowed Piper’s vacuum and was going to clean up some of the dust.”

“Good idea. It’ll take a few passes before you get rid of it all. There’s no more demolition to be done and there shouldn’t be a lot of dust with what’s left. Start upstairs away from the bathroom and you should be right.” He stood up. “I’m going to head home.”

Imogen hugged him. “Thank you, Hank. I couldn’t have done this without your help. It means a lot to me that you’re putting so much into it.”

Hank hugged her back. “It’s my pleasure. This house is a gem and if you hadn’t bought it, I would have. I’ve wanted a different project for a while now.”

She walked him out the front and waved goodbye. As she was turning to go back inside, a car pulled into her drive.

It was her father.

Surprise washed over her. What was he doing here?

Imogen hesitated on the front porch, wanting to run down to him, but unsure what his reaction would be.

He got out of the car and she realized he was as uncertain as she was.

Giving in to her instincts, she waved and trotted down the steps. “Hi, Papa. Do you want to come inside?”

His posture relaxed only a minuscule amount but it was enough for Imogen to realize he had been expecting a different reaction from her. “It’s old.”

She laughed. “It is. You should have seen it last week. We’ve done the garden, the fence, and fixed the porch as well.” She took his hand and rattled on, pointing out the things they had changed.

“You did all of this?” he asked.

Imogen hesitated. “I had help.” Would he ask who and walk out?

“It is very kind of people to help.”

“Yes.” She opened the front door and led him inside.

He sneezed.

“There’s a lot of dust still. I was going to clean it this evening.”

Her father said nothing but followed her upstairs, where she took him for a tour, explaining the work they’d done and what she was going to use the rooms for. He made minor comments but he was obviously thinking. Imogen wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not, so she kept talking, showing him downstairs and to the new kitchen.

“You have no sewing room,” her father said when she was finished.

“It’s outside,” she said. She flicked on the yard lights and took him over to the outside building. “I haven’t done anything here yet but I’m planning on installing cupboards and getting a big table.”

“It’s a good space. I started Tour de Force in a space smaller than this.”

Imogen wasn’t sure how to take his comments. Did they mean he was encouraging her to set up her own label, or was he just making conversation?

“I didn’t know that.”

“There is a lot you don’t know about me,
ma bichette
.” He took her hand. “We should talk. Is there somewhere we can sit?”

Unease washed over her. Her father did not talk like this. Something was wrong. She led him to the back steps and sat. “What’s wrong, Papa?”

He shook his head. “The question should be who is wrong, and the answer would be me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have spent years telling myself everything I did was for you, that I was protecting you, caring for you, making sure the world was not as cruel to you as it had been to me. But I realize now, I was punishing people for being cruel to me.”

“Grandma is so sorry for what she said.”

“No. It was before that.” He patted her hand. “I have always told you I was an orphan. It is not true. I was a foster child. My parents did not want me and neither did anyone else.”

Imogen put an arm around his shoulder and he leaned into her, showing vulnerability she never knew he had. Her father had always seemed like Superman to her. She had certainly never imagined him as a small, unwanted child.

“I ran away from the last foster home when I was sixteen. I changed my name, moved to Paris and found a job in the fashion industry.”

Imogen didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think. She stood up, walked a few steps away and turned back. “Why?”

“I wanted to leave my past behind. I had no happy memories of Nancy, where I grew up, and I didn’t want anyone to find me.”

“Did Mama know?”

He nodded. “She was the only person I ever told. She was the ray of sunlight in my world and I would have done anything for her, including moving to America.”

Imogen couldn’t quite work out what was going on.

“When Frances died and her family accused me of killing her, it was like being a child all over again, not being accepted or loved. I would have left America altogether if not for Chateau Fontaine. So much of her went into that house that I feel she is still with me when I’m there.”

So much of her father’s behavior was starting to make sense. “You didn’t want me to experience the same hurts as you,” she said.

He nodded. “But I was also very selfish, wanting you all to myself. I did not realize how much I had done until you stood up to me.”

“Does that mean you forgive me for meeting Mama’s family?”

He nodded.

She walked over and hugged him. “Thank you, Papa.”

He hugged her back and then pushed her gently away. “You are far too forgiving,
ma bichette
. I have more to say. I must apologize to you.”

Imogen opened her mouth to speak but he held up a hand.

“I did not listen to you when you wanted to design your own clothing. I did not want to consider you leaving Tour de Force. I did not want your wonderful designs going out to people who would not appreciate them. I wanted to keep you all to myself.”

Imogen’s breath caught. He thought her designs were wonderful?

“By trying to keep you by my side I have pushed you away. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course.” She was certain she wanted her father in her life, but she had to make a few things clear. “But I’m not moving back home.”

He glanced around. “I can see.”

“I’m going to continue seeing Mama’s family.”

“I would like to talk to them myself.”

Imogen stared at him. “Really?”

“Yes. I have been foolish. It is time we buried the past.”

“They would like that.” She took a breath as she said the hardest part. “I’m not coming back to Tour de Force either.”

He closed his eyes and sighed before opening them again. “Would you reconsider if we did a new label for you?”

Imogen hesitated. Not long ago she would have said yes, but now … “I’m working for Chantelle. I can’t let her down when she helped me out.” Plus she wanted to find out if she could do it herself. It was a challenge, not unlike her house, and she needed to know she could do it.

“You are a good person and I’m a foolish old man. It is my own fault for losing you.”

Imogen sighed. “You’re not losing me. I’m exerting my independence. Most kids do it as teenagers – call me a late bloomer.” She hugged him. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting cold.”

They walked in and Imogen locked the door behind them.

“You’ve done a lot of work. You are looking tired.”

“It’s been hard work, but it’s almost done. Hank has organized the bathroom and kitchen people and I’ve got to clean the house.”

“I will hire someone. You should not be on your hands and knees cleaning.”

Imogen tried for patience. He always had to interfere. “Papa, I want to do it. It’s my house.”

“And I am not allowed to contribute? You have all these people helping you for two days and I can’t give a little bit of money?”

Buying things was his way of showing he cared. Remy wouldn’t necessarily pick up a hammer, but he could help by paying for things. He’d had the kind of childhood she could barely imagine – could she blame him for trying to spare her? She swallowed down her instinct to say no. “That would be wonderful, Papa. I’ll ask Hank if he can recommend a cleaning agency.”

They walked out the front of the house and Remy looked up at the outside as Imogen locked the door.