The Perfect Hope (5 page)

SHE MANAGED TO
avoid him for the better part of a week. She saw him—not that she was looking—but it was hard to miss Ryder Montgomery swaggering from one job site to another in a town the size of Boonsboro.

Into MacT’s, down to the bakery, around to Fit. She’d catch sight of him chatting with Dick the barber outside of Sherry’s, or stopping for a word with one of the Crawfords.

Here, there, everywhere, she thought with some resentment. And to avoid running into him she’d all but put herself under house arrest.

It was ridiculous.

Not that she hadn’t been busy. The inn proved popular for its first summer. She’d tended to two out-of-town authors Clare hosted for a book signing. Then there’d been the sweet couple who’d come into the area for their fiftieth high school reunion—and the young couple who’d gotten engaged in Titania and Oberon, and already talked of spending their wedding night in the same room.

So far she’d had charming guests, strange guests, demanding guests, and delightful guests. Probably everything in between, she mused as she hauled out the hose to water the flowers and shrubs.

At the moment she had six rooms booked—two sisters, their mother, and the three daughters they had between them. They’d had a fun—and rowdy—time the night before. She expected they’d sleep in before they headed out for their facials and massages.

She’d definitely plan a Girls’ Night of her own. Clare and Avery, Justine and Carolee, Clare’s mom, Carolee’s daughter. She’d have her own mother and sister come down from Philadelphia.

Some fun food, some wine, plenty of wedding and baby talk.

Just what she needed.

She soaked the mulch, pleased the Knock-Out Roses bloomed and the arching wisteria showed so prettily green. Its flowers had sweetened the air in May—and she imagined them blooming for Avery’s wedding the next spring.

She hummed to herself, soothed by the homey task, ignoring the banging and sawing from the building across the lot. In her mind she flipped through her list of morning chores, into the afternoon, the evening, and ended her day’s plans with a little research on Billy.

Perfect.

The sound behind her made her jump, spin around.

“Hey!” was all Ryder managed before reflex had her jerking the spray of water up from his crotch. She hit him square in the face.

“Oh God.” She shot the spray to the side, fumbled it off.

Slowly, very slowly, he pulled off his sunglasses. He stood, hair and clothes dripping, eyes steaming.

D.A. obligingly lapped at the pool of water on the pavers.

“What the fuck?”

“Shh!” Instinctively, she glanced up at the porch. “I have guests. A lot of female guests.”

“So you’re hosing down any male who comes on the property?”

“I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry. So sorry. You startled me, and I just . . .”

“You think it’s funny?” he demanded as a choked laugh snuck out of her throat.

“No. Yes. Yes, it’s funny, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry. Really sorry,” she added, whipping the hose behind her back as he stepped forward. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a woman with a loaded hose.”

“I wasn’t sneaking anywhere. I was walking.” He shoved the dripping hair out of his face. “Let me see that hose.”

“Absolutely not. It was an accident. What you’d do with it would be deliberate. If you wait here I’ll get you a towel.”

“I don’t want a towel. I want some damn coffee, which was why I was walking—like a normal person—from the job site there, to the kitchen there.”

“I’ll get you coffee, and a towel.” Wary, she gave him a wide berth—turned off the hose at the source—then dashed inside.

She giggled, snickered, chuckled her way to the laundry room, grabbed a towel from the shelf, hurried back to the kitchen to pour coffee into a go-cup. Added the two sugars she knew he used, fit on the top.

She put a chocolate chip muffin in a napkin to sweeten the deal, and dug out a dog biscuit from her supply.

She dashed back through The Lobby, but paused to look out, make certain he wasn’t armed. She had a brother, knew how it worked.

Composed, with her features in contrite lines, she stepped out.

And tried not to notice the man looked damn good wet.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, you said.” Still watching her, he took the towel, scrubbed it roughly over his dark, wet, unruly hair.

Because she wanted, badly, to laugh again, she pumped a little more contrite into her voice. “I brought you a muffin.”

He eyed it, the towel slung over his shoulder. “What kind of muffin?”

“Chocolate chip.”

“Okay.” He took it, and the coffee while she gave the dog his treat. “Is there a reason you’re watering that stuff, and me, at seven thirty in the morning?”

“It hasn’t rained in a few days, and I have guests so I need to start breakfast soon. They’re family, and they were up late, so they’ll sleep in a bit. I had some time, so—” She broke off, wondering why she felt compelled to explain everything. “Is there a reason you’re coming here for coffee at seven thirty in the morning?”

“I forgot Owen wasn’t coming in till later. He gets the coffee. I figured Carolee was dealing with the kitchen stuff. I need her key so I can get into her place and check her kitchen sink. It’s not draining right.”

She couldn’t claim he wasn’t a good nephew—or son, or brother. “She’ll be here by eight. You can wait if you want. I could . . . throw your clothes in the dryer.”

“Your female guests wouldn’t have a problem with a naked man hanging around?”

With this group? she thought. Probably not. “They might consider it a nice perk, but no one’s in M&P. You could wait in there.”

Naked, she thought. Surly and naked and built.

Oh, the desert was so damn dry.

“I haven’t got time to wait around. I’ve got work.” He took an enormous bite of muffin. “Not bad.” D.A.’s tail thumped. He fielded the piece Ryder broke off and tossed without moving anything but his head.

“Thank you very much.”

He studied her over the next bite. “Any more trouble with the lights?”

“No. But I had a couple in two nights ago. He proposed to her in T&O. They thanked me for scattering rose petals over their bed. I didn’t.”

She glanced toward the inn. “It was a nice touch. I wish I had thought of it.”

“I guess you’ve got an assistant.”

“I guess I do. Is it a problem if I go by Avery’s new place later, see how it’s looking?”

He kept his eyes on her face—a long, steady stare—then shielded them with his sunglasses. “Why would it be a problem?”

“All right.” Out of pique, she supposed, she denied herself that little pleasure. And had no one to blame but herself. “If you’re done with the towel . . .”

“Yeah.” He passed it to her. “Thanks for the coffee. And the shower.”

Unsure, she manfully swallowed the laugh. “You’re welcome.”

He walked off. D.A. gave her his happy doggy grin before he trotted after his master.

“Who was that?”

The voice from above made Hope jolt again. She thought it was a damn good thing she didn’t still have the hose. She looked up, saw the woman in the bathrobe leaning lazily on the rail of the second- story porch. Hope flipped through her mental files.

Courtney, middle sister.

“Good morning. That was one of the owners.”

“Yummy.” She smiled sleepily down at Hope. “My ex is tall, dark, and handsome. I guess I’ve got a weakness for the type.”

Hope smiled back. “Who doesn’t?”

“You’ve got that right. Is it okay if I come downstairs in the robe? I don’t think I’ve been this relaxed in six months, and I don’t want it to end.”

“Absolutely. There’s fresh coffee in the kitchen. I’ll be right in to start breakfast.”

Courtney heaved a dreamy sigh. “I love this place.”

So do I, Hope thought as she walked over to put away the hose.

And I feel a lot more relaxed myself, she realized. She’d had an actual conversation with Ryder without either one of them snapping at each other.

All she’d had to do was soak him to the skin first.

Laughing, she walked back into the inn to see to her guest.

CHAPTER FOUR

R
YDER GRABBED A DRY, AND REASONABLY CLEAN, T-SHIRT
out of his truck, dug out his emergency jeans. He thought getting blasted with a garden hose qualified.

He carted them over to MacT’s.

“Women,” was all he said, and D.A. gave him a look that might be interpreted as male solidarity. They walked into the job music—country on the radio, as he hadn’t been there to switch it to rock—the whirl of drills, the
whoosh, thud
of nail guns.

He walked through the restaurant, past plumbers working in the restrooms, and into the kitchen.

Beckett stood at a prep counter consulting his plans.

“Hey. I thought since we were going down to a single door in here, we should . . .” Beckett glanced up, lifted his brows as Ryder tossed clothes beside the big grill. “Run into a sudden storm?”

With a grunt Ryder bent to unlace his boots. “Innkeeper with a garden hose.”

Beckett’s laugh blasted out as Ryder fought, cursing, with sodden boot laces. “Dude. She hosed you down.”

“Shut up, Beck.”

“What did you do, make another grab?”

“No. I never made a grab in the first place.” Straightening, Ryder pulled off his shirt, tossed it down with a sodden splat.

Standing hip-shot, Beckett grinned. “That’s not what I heard.”

Ryder sent his brother a fulminating stare as he whipped off his belt. “I already told you there wasn’t any grabbing, and it was her idea. Shut up.”

“Man, she
soaked
you. What did you do, chase her around The Courtyard?”

She’d soaked him, all right, right through to the boxers. Since he didn’t carry an extra pair in his truck, he’d go commando.

He stripped down to the skin while Beckett grinned at him.

“If your wife wasn’t pregnant I’d kick your ass.”

“Looks like your ass is the one with the target on it.”

“I don’t need a target to boot yours.” Cautious, Ryder tucked his sensitive parts away before he zipped. “She’s out watering the damn flowers, not watching what she’s doing. Plus, she’s jumpy.”

“Maybe because you jumped her.”

Keeping his eyes on Beckett, Ryder slid on his belt, one slow loop at a time. “Finished yet?”

“I can probably think of more. Put away wet, that sort of thing.”

Ryder shot up both middle fingers as he dragged on his shirt.

“Maybe next time she’ll give you a shave with the shower. Okay, that should do it for now.”

“I set Chad up in the apartments over the bakery, finishing up the lock sets, the switch plates because Owen wants it all pretty before he shows them today. Carolee’s sink’s acting up, so she asks if I can take a look. I’m just walking over from the bakery to the inn to get the key and some goddamn coffee, and she whips around and blasts me. Hits the crotch first, sure, then all the way up.”

“Did she do it on purpose? ’Cause we can wait for Owen. The three of us should be able to take her.”

“Funny.” Ryder gave his wet clothes a kick. “I got coffee and a muffin out of it.”

“What kind of muffin?”

“Mine. I’m putting the painters up on the manlift. It’s supposed to stay dry the next couple days, so they can start the next exterior coat.”

“Good. We’ve already had a morning shower. What am I supposed to do?” Beckett spread his hands as his eyes danced with humor. “It’s right there.”

“Next time there’s a call from the inn, I’m sending Deke to handle it. He can kiss her.”

Beckett thought of the laborer—good worker, sunny disposition. And a face only a myopic mother could love. “Harsh, man.”

“If your ghost wants to play games, she can play them with somebody else.”

“She’s not my ghost. And I doubt Lizzy’s interested in hooking Hope up with Deke.”

“Nobody hooks me up, and if I wanted to be hooked up with the perfect Hope, I would be.”

“If you say so.”

They heard young voices carry back, and the scramble of feet. Ryder watched his brother’s face light up as three boys piled into the big kitchen.

Murphy, the youngest at six, scooted around his brothers and zeroed in on Beckett. He held up a decapitated Captain America action figure. “His head came off. You can fix it. Okay? ’Cause he needs it.”

“Let’s see.” Beckett crouched down. “How’d this happen?”

“I was checking if he could see behind his back, ’cause bad guys sneak up behind you. And his head came off.” He offered the head to Beckett. “But you can fix him.”

“We can bury him.” Liam, the middle boy, grinned. “We have the coffins you made. You can make another, just for his head.” He turned that wicked grin up to Ryder. “If your head comes off, you’re dead.”

“You ever see a chicken after its head’s cut off? The rest of it keeps running around, like it’s looking for it.”

“No way!” The eldest, Harry, cackled and his voice pitched with disgusted delight as Liam gaped.

“Oh, way, young Jedi. In fact, it’s—Hey, it’s Clare the fair.”

“Sorry. We had checkups—all good. They really wanted to stop by and see everything before we go to the bookstore.”

“I can stay and work.” Harry shot Beckett a pleading look. “I can help.”

“If Harry gets to stay, me, too.” Liam tugged on Ryder’s jeans. “Me, too.”

“Me, too,” Murphy echoed, and lifted his arms to Beckett. “Okay?”

“We had a deal,” Clare began.

“We’re just asking.” Knowing his targets, Harry changed the pleading look to one of innocent reason. “They can say no.”

“We could use some slaves,” Ryder considered, and was gifted with Harry’s angel smile.

“Ryder, I don’t want to saddle you with—”

“This one’s a little stringy.” He lifted Liam’s arm, pinched the biceps. “But he’s got potential.”

“We’ll need to split them up.” Beckett handed Murphy the repaired superhero.

“I knew you could fix it.” After giving Beckett a fierce hug, Murphy smiled at his mother. “Please, can we be slaves?”

“Who am I against five handsome men? I promised them Vesta for lunch, but—”

“We’ll meet you there.” Setting Murphy down, Beckett crossed to her. He brushed a hand over her cheek, then his lips over hers. “Around noon?”

“That’s fine. Call if you need reinforcements. Boys.” Maternal warning vibrated in the single word. “Do what you’re told. I’ll know if you misbehave—even if they don’t tell me. I’m right down the street,” she said to Beckett.

“How come she knows even when she’s not there?” Murphy demanded when Clare left. “’Cause she does.”

“The mysterious power of mother,” Beckett told him.

“Anyway, if you screw around we’ll just drill you to the wall by your shoes. Upside down,” Ryder added. “You got the runt?”

“Yeah.” Beckett laid a hand on Murphy’s head.

“I’ll take pb and j over to the apartments. He can help with lock set.”

“How come I’m pb and j?” Liam demanded.

“Because you’re the middle.”

“I won’t be the middle when the babies come. Murphy will.”

“He did the math,” Beckett said, stupidly proud.

“Another math geek? We’ll set Owen up as his keeper when he gets here. I’ll take this one.” He put Harry in a headlock that thrilled the boy to his toes. “He’s not as short as the others. We’ll head over to the gym. I’ll dump the temporary middle over the bakery on the way.”

“Great. Thanks.” As Ryder left with two boys in tow, Beckett turned to Murphy. “We’d better get our tools.”

Murphy smiled, angel sweet. “Our tools.”

Since both men working in the apartment had kids, Ryder figured they wouldn’t let Liam do anything overly stupid. Still, he hung around several minutes, setting the boy up with light switch covers, a small screwdriver.

The kid was about eight, he thought, and had good hands. He also—maybe that middle child thing—had the most devious mind of the three, and the quickest temper.

“You get a buck an hour if you don’t screw up. Screw up,” Ryder told him, “you get zilch.”

“How much is zilch?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t want zilch,” Liam protested.

“Nobody does, so don’t screw up. He gives you grief,” Ryder told his men, “take him to Beck. Let’s go, Harry Caray.”

“I should get more than Liam, because I’m older.”

“A buck an hour,” Ryder repeated as they went down the outside steps. “That’s the deal across the board.”

“I could get a bonus.”

Amused, and a little fascinated, Ryder studied Harry as they walked. “What the hell do you know?”

“Mom gives people bonuses at Christmas because they work hard.”

“Okay, talk to me at Christmas.”

“Am I going to get to use one of those guns that shoots nails?”

“Sure. In about five years.”

“Gran says you’re making a place where people come to exercise and have fun getting healthy.”

“That’s the plan.”

“We have to eat broccoli ’cause it’s healthy, except when we have Man Night, and we don’t.”

“The beauty of Man Night is broccoli is never on the menu.”

“Am I going to measure stuff? I have a tape measure at home Beckett gave me, but I didn’t bring it.”

“We’ve got some spares.”

When they stepped in, Harry stood, all eyes.

With demo complete, they had exterior walls, a crap roof, and a space big as a barn. Saws buzzed, hammers banged, nail guns thwacked as the crew worked.

“It’s big,” Harry said. “I didn’t think it was big, but it is. How come there’s nothing in it?”

Ryder answered simply. “Because what was here was no good. We’ll build what is.”

“You just build it? The whole thing? How do you know?”

Realizing the kid meant it literally, Ryder walked him over to the plans.

“Beckett made them. I saw him. The roof part doesn’t look like that.”

Okay, Ryder thought, the kid not only had a lot of questions—which struck him as sensible—but he paid attention. Maybe they were making the next generation of contractors.

“It will. We’re going to take the old roof off.”

“What if it rains?”

“We’ll get wet.”

Harry grinned up at him. “Can I build something?”

“Yeah. Let’s get you a hammer.”

HE ENJOYED HIMSELF.
The kid was bright and eager, with that willingness to do anything that came from never doing it before. And funny, often deliberately. Ryder had helped wrangle the kids and tools a few times when they’d finished Beckett’s house, so he knew Harry was reasonably careful. He liked to learn; he liked to build.

And teaching the boy a few basics took Ryder back to his own childhood where he’d learned his craft from his father.

There would be no Montgomery Family Contractors if Tom Montgomery hadn’t had the skills, the drive, and the patience to build—and hadn’t married a woman with vision and energy.

Ryder found he missed his father more at the beginning of a job, like this one, where the potential rolled out like an endless carpet.

He’d have gotten a kick out of this, Ryder thought as he guided Harry into measuring and marking the next stud. The big, empty space echoing with noise, the smell of sweat and sawdust.

And he’d have loved the boy, have loved the potential of the boy, too. Nine, closing in on ten, Ryder remembered. Gangling frame and sharp elbows and feet too big for the rest of him.

And now two more on the way. Yeah, his father would’ve gotten one hell of a large charge out of the Brewster/Montgomery brood.

The kid engaged the crew. He fetched and carried tirelessly. That wouldn’t last, Ryder calculated, but the novelty of the day equaled that slave labor—and made the boy feel like a man. Like part of the team.

He stepped back, took a swig of Gatorade from the bottle. Harry mimicked him, and stood, as Ryder did, studying the work.

“Well, kid, you built your first wall. Here.” He pulled a carpenter’s pencil from his belt. “Write your name on it.”

“Really?”

“Sure. It’ll be covered up with insulation, drywall, and paint, but you’ll know it’s there.”

Delighted, Harry took the pencil, and on the raw stud wrote his name in careful cursive.

He glanced over at the sound of whoops, watched Liam scramble in.

“They kick you out?” Ryder called.

“Nuh-uh! I did a million switch plates, and I did a doorknob, too. Chad showed me how. Then Beckett came to get me so we can have pizza.”