The Perfect Hope

CHAPTER FOUR

RYDER 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.”

As he spoke, Beckett came in with Murphy.

“I built a wall! Look. Me and Ryder built a wall.”

Liam frowned at it. “How’s it a wall when you can walk through. See.” He demonstrated.

“It’s a stud wall,” Harry said importantly.

Instantly, Liam’s face shifted into mutinous lines. “I wanna build a stud wall.”

“Next time.” Beckett collared him. “Watch yourself. Construction site rules.”

“I builded a platform. You can stand on it,” Murphy explained. “Now it’s lunch break, and we get pizza.”

He’d lost track of time, Ryder realized.

“I’m going to get them cleaned up,” Beckett said.

“And we get to play video games first. I got three dollars.” Liam waved the bills in the air.

“Yeah, yeah.” Ryder reached for his wallet at Harry’s quiet look. “You earned it.”

“Thanks! Are you going to have lunch with us?”

“I’ll be over in a while. I’ve got a couple things to finish up.”

“Owen’s over at the new restaurant, running some things with Avery. He said twenty.”

“That works.”

“Okay, troops, let’s go clean up.”

Hope caught sight of them from the kitchen window, Beckett and his little men. Sweet, she thought. Heading to Vesta for lunch, she imagined.

She should probably grab something soon herself, she decided, before her guests came back and she didn’t have a chance. She’d already done her room checks, gathering up glasses and cups and other assorted debris. And she needed to order more coasters, and guest towels for The Lobby restroom. More mugs, she reminded herself, as guests tended to walk off with them.

But right now, the inn was quiet and empty, with all the women off getting pampered and Carolee off with Justine looking at tiles and flooring—and whatever else they thought of—for the fitness center.

The cleaning crew would be along in an hour to turn and clean the guest rooms. Then she’d do her recheck. So she’d just finish making this pitcher of iced tea, restock the refrigerator with water and soft drinks. Then take a quick break before doing her orders and filing.

But even as she set the pitcher on the island beside a bowl of fat purple grapes, the Reception bell rang.

No deliveries on the schedule, she thought, but occasionally a guest forgot their key—or someone came by hoping they could wander through.

She started around, her innkeeper’s smile in place.

It faded completely when she saw the man through the glass of the door.

He wore a suit, of course, pearl gray for summer. The tie, with its perfect Windsor knot echoed the exact same shade and a contrasting stripe in rich crimson.

He was bronzed and gold, tall and lean, classically, glossily handsome.

And completely unwelcome.

With reluctance, Hope unlocked the door, opened it. “Jonathan. This is unexpected.”

“Hope.” He smiled at her, all easy charm—as if hardly more than a year before he hadn’t dumped her like last year’s fashion. “You look wonderful. A new hairstyle, and it suits you.”

He reached out, as if to embrace her. She stepped back in firm rejection.

“What are you doing here?”

“At the moment, wondering why you don’t ask me in. It’s odd to find the door locked on a hotel in the middle of the day.”

“It’s policy, and we’re a B&B. Our guests enjoy their privacy.”

“Of course. It looks like a charming place. I’d like to see more of it.” He waited a beat, then pumped up the smile. “Professional courtesy?”

Slamming the door in his face would be satisfying, but childish. In any case he might interpret it to mean he mattered.

“Most of our guest rooms are occupied, but I can show you the common areas if you’re interested.”

“I am. Very.”

She couldn’t see why. “Again, Jonathan, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you. My parents send you their best.”

“And you can take mine back to them.” She took a breath. All right, she thought, what the hell. “This is our reception area.”

“On the small side, but it’s cozy and has character.”

“Yes, we think so.”

“Is that the original brick?”

She glanced toward the long, exposed brick wall. “Yes, and those are old photographs showing the inn and Main Street.”

“Mmm-hmm. The fireplace must be welcome in the winter.”

She struggled with the resentment of having him here, having him make observations about her place.

“Yes, it’s a favorite spot. We have an open kitchen,” Hope began, leading the way—and wishing she’d had five minutes to freshen her makeup and hair. Just on pride points. “Guests are free to help themselves.”

He scanned the bold iron lights, the stainless steel appliances, the rich granite counter. “Honor system?”

“We don’t charge. All food and drink is included. We want our guests to feel at home. The central lobby is this way.”

He paused at her office, gave her that smile again. “As tidy and efficient as always. You’re missed, Hope.”

“Am I?”

“Very much.”

She considered various responses, but none qualified as polite. And she was determined to be.

“We’re especially proud of the tile work throughout the inn. Here you can see the details of the tile rug under the main table. The flowers are done by our local florist to reflect and celebrate not only the season, but the style and tone of the room.”

“Lovely, and yes, beautiful details. I—”

“As is the woodwork.” She plowed right over him. Politely. “The framing of the old archways. The Montgomery family designed, rehabbed, and decorated the inn. It’s the oldest stone building in Boonsboro, and was originally an inn. The Lounge, just down here, was once the carriageway.

“Hope.” He trailed a fingertip down her arm before she could shift away. “Let me take you to lunch after the tour. It’s been much too long.”

Not long enough. “Jonathan, I’m working.”

“Your employers must give you a reasonable lunch break. Where would you recommend?”

She didn’t have to dig for the cold. Her tone simply reflected every sensibility. He expected her to agree, she realized. More, he expected her to be delighted, flattered, maybe a little flustered.

She was happy to disappoint him on all counts.

“If you’re hungry, you can try Vesta, right across the street. But I’m not interested in having lunch with you. You might want to see The Courtyard before the rest of the main floor.” She opened The Lobby doors, stepped out. “It’s a lovely place, especially in good weather, to sit and have a drink.”

“The view’s lacking,” he commented, looking over the pretty garden wall and across the lot to the green building.

“It won’t be. That building’s currently being rehabbed by the Montgomery family.”

“A busy bunch. At least sit down for a moment. I wouldn’t mind that drink.”

Hospitality, Hope reminded herself. No matter who. “All right. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She walked back inside, deliberately unclenched her jaw. He could send business to the inn, she reminded herself. Guests and clients looking for an out-of-the-way place, well-run, beautifully appointed.

Whatever her personal feelings, she couldn’t deny Jonathan knew the hospitality business.

She’d do her job and be gracious.

She poured him tea over ice, added a small plate of cookies. And because it was gracious, poured a glass for herself.

He was seated at one of the umbrella tables when she carried the tray out.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring your wife. I hope she’s well.” There, Hope congratulated herself. That didn’t choke her.

“Very, thanks. She had a committee meeting today, and some shopping to do. You must miss Georgetown—the shops, the nightlife. You can’t find that here.”

“Actually, I’m very at home here. Very happy here.”

He gave her a smile, with just a hint of sympathy. One that said clearly he believed she lied to save face.

She imagined herself flicking her fingers in his face to erase it. But that wouldn’t be gracious.

“It’s hard to believe, a woman with your drive, your tastes, settling into a little country town. And running a little B&B, however charming, after managing the Wickham. I assume you live right here, on the property.”

“Yes, I have an apartment on the third floor.”

“When I think of your beautiful town house …” He shook his head, and there was that trace of sympathy again. “I feel partially responsible for all these changes you’ve been through. Looking back, I realize I could have—and should have—handled things better than I did.”

Graciousness had its limits. She’d reached hers. “Do you mean sleeping with me, allowing me to believe we were in a long-term monogamous relationship, then announcing your engagement to someone else? Oh, and telling me of that someone else just after we’d had sex?” She took a sip of tea. “Yes, you should have handled that better.”

“If we’re honest, I never made promises.”

“No, you implied them, so that interpretation is on me. I accept it.” Under the shade of the umbrella, she studied him. Yes, he looked the same. Smooth, polished, confident. His confidence had once been so appealing to her. Now it struck as arrogance and appealed not at all.

“Is this why you came here, Jonathan? To settle accounts with me?”

“To, I hope, make it right.” Sincerity lived in his eyes as he laid a hand over hers. “We parted at odds, Hope, and that bothers me, a lot.”

“Don’t give it a thought.”

“I do, and I’m here to bridge that gap between us. And to offer you your position back. My father’s prepared to make you a very generous offer. As I said, Hope, you’re missed.”

Eyes level, she slid her hand away. “I have a position.”

“A very generous offer,” Jonathan repeated. “Back where we all know you belong. We’d like to schedule a meeting with you, at your convenience, to work out the details. You could come back, Hope, to Georgetown, to the Wickham, to your life. And, to me.”

He put his hand over hers again when she said nothing. “My marriage is what it is, and will continue to be. But you and I … I miss what we had. We can have it again. I’d take very good care of you.”

“You’d take care of me.” Each word dropped from her lips like a stone.

“You wouldn’t want for anything.”

He continued, oh, that confidence—proving he didn’t know her at all. And never had.

“You’d have the work that fulfills you, a home of your choosing. There’s a charming property on Q Street I know you’d love. I think we should take a short holiday before you resume your position so we can get reacquainted, so to speak.” He leaned toward her, intimately. “It’s been a long year, Hope, for both of us. I’ll take you anywhere you like. How about a week in Paris?”

“A week in Paris, a home in Georgetown. I’m assuming some spending money to furnish it, and to outfit myself, of course, for my return to the Wickham—and you.”

He lifted her hand to his lips—a habit she’d once loved—smiled at her over it. “As I said, I’ll take care of you.”

“And what does your wife think about your generous offer?”

“Don’t worry about Sheridan. We’ll be discreet, and she’ll adjust.” She watched him shrug marriage, vows, fidelity away in a smooth and careless gesture. “You can’t be happy here, Hope. I’ll make sure you’re happy.”

She took a moment, almost surprised she had room for the enormity of the insult. Then equally surprised her voice stayed calm and level when the insult clawed at her to shriek.

“Let me explain something to you. I’m responsible for my own happiness. I don’t need you, or your incredibly insulting—to me and your wife—offer. I don’t need your father or the Wickham. I have a life. Do you think I put that life on hold because you used me and discarded me?”

“I think you’re settling for less than you can have, less than you deserve. I apologize, sincerely, for hurting you, but—”

“Hurting me? You freed me.” She shoved to her feet. Calm and level were done. “You gave me a hell of a rude shove, you bastard, but you pushed me hard enough to make me reevaluate. I was settling, for you. Now this is my home.” She threw a hand up toward the porches—thought for a moment she saw a shadow of a woman. “A home I love, can be proud of. I have a community I enjoy, friends I treasure. Come back to you? To you when I have—”

She couldn’t say what made her do it. Impulse, unspeakable fury, pride. But she saw Ryder crossing the lot, and went with it.

“Him. Ryder!” She dashed through the arch of wisteria when he stopped, frowned at her. She imagined the smile on her face showed edges of insanity. She didn’t care.

“Go with me on this,” she muttered as she rushed to him, “and I’ll owe you big.”

“What—”

She threw her arms around him, pressed her lips to his as D.A. wagged and tried to nose between them to get in on the action. “Go with me,” she said against him mouth. “Please!”

She didn’t leave him a lot of room for otherwise as she was plastered against him like a second skin. So he went with her. He fisted his hand in her hair, and went.

She lost track of the point for a moment. He smelled of sawdust, tasted like candy. Hot, melted candy. A little unsteady on her feet, she pulled back.

“Just follow my lead.”

“Wasn’t I?”

“Ryder.” She took his hand in hers, squeezed it as she turned. “Ryder Montgomery, I’d like you to meet Jonathan Wickham. Jonathan’s family owns the hotel in Georgetown where I used to work.”

“Oh, yeah.” Okay, now he got it. Sure, he could play the part, no problem. He slid an arm around Hope’s waist, felt her tremble. “How’s it going?”

“Well, thank you.” Jonathan gave the dog a single cautious glance. “Hope was showing me around your inn.”

“It’s as much hers as ours. Your loss, right? Our gain.”

“Apparently.” His gaze skimmed over Ryder’s work clothes. “I take it you do the construction work yourself.”

“That’s right. We’re hands-on.” He grinned when he said it, tugged Hope a little closer. “Looking for a room?”

“No.” Annoyance sparked in Jonathan’s eyes even as he smiled—tightly. “Just visiting an old friend. It’s good to see you again, Hope. If you change your mind about the offer, you know how to reach me.”

“I won’t. My best to your parents, and your wife.”

“Montgomery,” he said with a nod, and walked to his Mercedes.

Hope kept the smile on her face until he’d pulled out, driven away.

“Oh God. Oh God.” She broke away, strode back into The Courtyard, circled around it. “Oh my God.”

Ryder thought of Vesta—homey smells, happy kids, no problems, no drama. He cast his eyes at the sky and followed her into The Courtyard.