Page 13 of Sunny Skies Ahead (Watford Sweethearts #2)

Chapter eight

Kameron

A fter Imogen had left the farmhouse last night, I’d cleared the table, put the dishes in the dishwasher, and walked upstairs without saying a word to Lucas.

His sour attitude had spoiled what had been a really nice meal with Imogen.

And yes, perhaps he had been right about the romantic tilt to the evening.

But truthfully, I’d been happy to listen to her talk about her plans for Winding Road.

Winding Road was my pride and joy. The work we did with veterans and first responders was my life’s passion in every sense. Knowing that Imogen could see the vision I had for this place meant something to me.

It meant everything to me.

As I walked downstairs the next morning, I fired off a quick text to Imogen.

Me

I’ve got coffee and eggs ready, if you’re hungry.

Imogen Phillips

You’re a saint, I’m walking up no w

I smiled and tucked my phone back in my pocket before grabbing another coffee cup and pulling out a plate. Imogen came in the door a few minutes later, wearing a green sundress that had me swallowing my tongue.

“Good morning,” Imogen said, smiling when I extended the full plate to her. She sat down at the kitchen table, and the sight of her, shoulders relaxed and well-rested, made any residual misgivings about our arrangement fade entirely. She took a bite of her eggs and considered for a moment.

“Good?” I said, sitting in the chair across from her.

“The eggs from my chickens taste better.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh.

“What are their names?”

“Pam, Jim, and Michael Scott,” Imogen said smugly.

“Let me guess, someone named all of them after characters from The Office ?”

“How did you guess?” Imogen said, ever the deadpan humorist. “Do you have a themed name for your chickens, too?”

“Oh yes,” I said, scooping some more eggs onto my fork. “I think Old Gram and Rambo would take issue with your claim that your eggs are better, though.”

Imogen threw her head back in a full body laugh that made my skin break out in goosebumps. Beautiful. The word was on a constant loop in my head every time she was around.

“You did not name one of your hens Rambo . You wouldn’t torture her like that.”

“Guilty as charged. If it makes you feel better, she barely tolerates my crap. She much prefers Lucas. ”

Imogen laughed again, and I scrambled for something else to say to make her laugh again.

But, naturally, Lucas decided that was the perfect moment to make his grand entrance downstairs. He looked like crap, as if he’d spent the entire night tossing and turning.

“There’s eggs on the stove, and some potato hash.”

“Thanks,” Lucas said without his usual tone or humor. Imogen frowned and walked over to the stove.

The two of them talked in hushed whispers, and I only caught every other word.

The words “ex” and “wife” came up often enough that I assumed yet another roadblock had come up during Lucas’s attempt to divorce his ex-wife.

Imogen was the one person he confided to about his marriage.

They seemed to have common ground there.

I trusted that when the two of them were ready to share more with me, they would.

Even if it was hard to wait it out. I wouldn’t consider myself a nosy person by default, but when the two of them did things like this—talk in hushed tones when other people were still in the room—it made things awkward.

Imogen ended the conversation by hugging Lucas before coming back to the table.

“Today I thought I could show you around the farm,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “Give you the lay of the land, so you can go wherever you want as ideas come up for you.”

“That would be great,” Imogen said, her smile bright as she pulled her tablet and pencil out from her bag.

“Before we go, will you sign into your email? I use an app that aggregates everything for me so I only have to check one inbox, but if you’re not comfortable with that, I can do things a different way. ”

“Nope,” I said, gesturing for her to hand me the tablet. “Email is the bane of my existence. Do whatever you need to do to make things easy for you.”

Imogen smiled and handed it to me. I quickly signed into both the nonprofit and farm email and handed it back to hear with an overdramatic sigh.

“I feel lighter already.”

Imogen just shook her head and smiled.

After breakfast, I tugged on my boots and grabbed my keys. Lucas was frowning over some documents at the kitchen table.

“Do you need anything?”

Lucas met my eyes, his expression tired.

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks though.”

“I know better than to ask if everything’s alright, so instead I’ll just say that you don’t have to do this on your own. Whatever you’re carrying, Connor and I can help. We all can.”

Lucas gave me a stunted smile.

“Thank you, Kam. I really appreciate it. I promise I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”

I nodded once before heading out the door. Imogen was already at the bottom of the stairs, staring out at the sprawling farm before us. A gentle breeze blew by, rustling the grasses of the pasture and kicking up dirt along the gravel road.

“Ready to go?”

“Yes,” Imogen said. “If I had a view like this, I don’t think I’d ever leave my house. It’s stunning. ”

I gestured to our left, where a gently sloping path led down past the venue barn towards the back of the horse pasture. Imogen came to walk beside me, and we set off down the path.

“You have a pretty similar view out the kitchen window of the farmhouse.”

Imogen shrugged and readjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

“I suppose so. I guess it’s different for me, since I practically grew up in that house. My Grandma would stand at the kitchen counter all day, cooking and preparing meals, teaching me about the most random topics.”

“She sounds wonderful,” I said.

Imogen smiled fondly.

“She was. Growing up biracial in a small town, even one like Watford, is hard. My relationship with my family is complicated, but my relationship with my Nana was unshakeable.”

Imogen shook her head. “I miss her a lot. Living in her house the last few years has hit me harder than I expected. Everywhere I look, I see her. And in some ways, it’s a reminder that I really haven’t done much up to this point in my life.”

I pressed my lips together to hold back a frown.

“I get not being where you want to be. I think you and I are similar in that way. We want to achieve all our goals and we’re not willing to make as many concessions as other people are. But you have done things, Imogen.”

I stopped in front of the horse pasture, hopping up onto the first wooden rung of the fence and whistling for Memphis to come over.

Reckless was grazing further back in the pasture, but he rarely came when called anyway.

Chesty was an old soul who liked to hang out near the barn.

Memphis, on the other hand, loved himself some pets. The horse trotted over to us.

“You’re right,” Imogen said, dropping her bag and hopping up on the fence next to me. “I’m just at a weird point right now. If I’m melancholic or distant, don’t take it personally.”

Imogen sighed, regarding Memphis as he pressed his head against my chest. I responded in kind, stroking his neck.

“I think maybe I don’t know the person I am right now. I’m a stranger to myself. And that scares me.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I get that.”

Imogen reached out, and Memphis nuzzled her palm with his nose, snorting in approval. Imogen’s soft smile undid something in me.

“You know who you are, don’t you?” Imogen said, stroking Memphis’s mane. “Maybe you can help me figure out who I’m supposed to be.”

Memphis merely pressed his forehead to hers. Imogen gasped softly, but didn’t pull away. She continued to stroke his mane, and I stood there, transfixed by the beauty of the moment.

I’d seen this interaction so many times, but seeing that connection with Imogen truly stole the breath from my lungs.

Horses had a way of connecting with us on a primal level.

Horses saw us as more than the sum of our past experiences and trauma.

They had a way of showing love and care, even to those who felt undeserving of such love.

I’d seen Memphis and Reckless march right up to grown men who felt like they would never be whole again, and watched as they held these horses and sobbed, clinging to them as if the world would disappear beneath them.

For many, this moment was a bridge to the next part of their life. It was an opportunity to break from the past and step into a new future.

“Thank you,” Imogen whispered, pressing the softest of kisses to Memphis’s muzzle. The horse snorted softly before trotting away, back to the middle of the pasture where he’d been grazing earlier.

I didn’t say a word as we stepped down from the fence. Imogen grabbed her bag, wiping swiftly at her eyes before I continued down the path.

“We can walk around the far side of the pasture, and I’ll show you the orchard and the crop fields.”

I looked back to see that Imogen was still standing near the fence, looking out at the pasture. I walked back towards her, and she gave me an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I know I came here with the purpose of learning more about Winding Road, but. . .”

“You can be honest with me,” I said, offering her a small smile.

“You can tell me that interaction with Memphis brought up a lot for you, and you’d much rather go back to the tiny house where you can have a cup of tea and curl up with a book and take a few hours for yourself before you get on the road. ”

Imogen looked at me, pure shock written on her face.

“There’s no way you’ve deduced all that in a matter of hours. ”

“We’ve known each other for months,” I reminded her gently. “You can keep your secrets, Imogen Phillips. But that won’t stop me from trying to untangle them.”

Imogen gave me a coy smile.

“As much as a day in that gorgeous tiny house sounds enticing, I do need to head back to Watford tonight, so unfortunately that relaxing staycation will have to wait until this weekend.”

I tried not to perk up at the promise in her statement.

“Glad to know I haven’t run you off entirely, if you’re already making plans to come back.”

Imogen simply brushed past me, looking back at me over her shoulder. I saw it then, the moment she slipped back behind that mask she wore. It was the mask I’d put on myself after a vulnerable moment, where I wasn’t sure how to act or what to say to the people who’d seen me unguarded.

“You coming, cowboy?”

I rolled my eyes, even as heat flared beneath my skin.

Two could play at this game.