you, Owen?”
“Ah . . . sure.”
“Coward,” Beckett muttered as their mother walked back to study the closet-sized powder room.
“Bet your ass, bro.”
“Pretty little wall-hung sink, a new toilet, nice little mirror and light—done. Paint and pretty lights out here and upstairs. Oh, new exterior paint. We’ll go with what complements what we’re doing on the inn.”
“Mom, even if we could split some of the crew, get this done, you have to get somebody to run it, stock it and—”
“Already there. Don’t you worry about any of that. I’ve talked to Madeline—from our book club. You know Madeline Cramer,” Justine continued in her cheerful steamroll over objections. “She used to manage an art gallery in Hagerstown.”
“Yeah, sure, but—”
“She knows all sorts of local artists and craftsmen. We’re going to do all local art and crafts, showcase what we have, who we are.” Sunglasses perched on her head, paint fan at the ready, Justine beamed at the space. “It’ll be wonderful.”
He couldn’t argue with that. He couldn’t argue at all, Beckett realized. He was outgunned. “We’re only going to be able to send somebody over to work when we can clear them from the inn job.”
“Well, of course, sweetie. Ry, do you have time to help me figure out the wall there?”
“Sure.”
“Won’t this be fun?” She turned that cheerful beam on all of them. “We’ll add a fresh, new business to town, give local artists a wonderful venue, and have a nice little lead-in to the inn before it’s done and open.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Any of you have dates tonight?”
“Who has time?” Owen muttered. “No, ma’am, not me.”
She got shakes of the head from the other two, sighed loud and long before bending to address Dumbass. “How am I going to get girls and grandchildren unless they start hunting them up? Well, why don’t you all come to dinner? I’ll pick up some fresh corn on the way home, make you a feast.”
And rope them into refining details on her latest brainstorm, Beckett thought. But what the hell.
“I’m in.” He glanced around as Clare poked her head in the door.
“Hi. Family meeting?”
“Just adjourned,” Justine told her.
“Oh, it looks so sad in here now. I’m sorry to see The Gallery go, but I know she’ll love having a bigger space over in Shepherdstown.”
“It won’t look sad for long. You’re just what I need.” Justine held the paint strip up again. “Tell me what you think of this color for the walls.”
“I love it. Sunny. Warm, but not overbright. Do you have a new tenant already?”
“We’re the new tenant. I guess you haven’t talked to Madeline recently.”
“Not since our last book club meeting.”
While his mother filled Clare in—surely satisfied with Clare’s enthusiastic delight—Beckett walked outside, then sat on the steps leading up to the bookstore porch.
They’d figure it out, he decided. The scheduling of crew and work, the materials. He could eke some time out if it needed a bit of redesigning. No need for permits if they didn’t change anything structurally, and since it would remain a retail space.
Owen would deal with the business license, the paperwork, and the rest.
But, Jesus, the timing. Crap timing at the end of a crap day.
At least he’d get a home-cooked meal out of it.
His mother came out with Clare, repeated the process, this time holding a new strip up to the exterior wall before she frowned over at Beckett.
“You look beat, baby.”
“Hard day at the ranch. Ironed out,” he added before she pecked at him. “We’ll fill you in later.”
“See that you do. For now, why don’t you go ahead and run Clare home.”
“Oh no, I’m fine. It’s a nice walk.”
“Why are you walking?” Beckett asked her. “It’s nearly a mile.”
“Hardly more than a half mile, and I like to walk. My sitter’s car was acting up, so I left her mine in case. I don’t want her to have to pile the boys in and come get me.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“Really, you don’t have to bother.”
“You can argue with me,” he said as he pushed up. “But there’s no point in arguing with her.” He stepped over, kissed his mother’s cheek. “Remind Ry and Owen they’ve got the tile installer coming.”
“Will do.”
“See you later, slave driver.”
Chapter Six
“I appreciate the lift,” Clare began as they walked to his truck. “Especially since you look tired.”
“Not tired. It’s just been a pisser of a day.”
“Problems with the hotel?”
“Irritations equaling a day I’d rather have been swinging a hammer than talking on the phone. It better be worth it in the long run,” he added with a glance toward the inn.
“It will be. And now the gift shop. That’s exciting.”
“It’ll be more exciting six months from now.” He opened the passenger door of the truck, took a clipboard, a fat notebook, and an old, dirty towel off the seat.
“It’s mostly just painting, isn’t it?”
He turned, gave her a long look.
“What?”
“First, it’s never just painting, not with Mom. Second, you smell really great.”
A horn tooted. Glancing over, Beckett spotted one of his carpenters driving by, waved. Clare boosted into the truck.
“Are we still on for Friday night?”
“Alva’s free to watch the kids.”
“Good.” He stood there a minute, just enjoying the fact that Clare sat in his truck, and they were making plans for Friday night. “Does seven work for you?”
“Yeah, seven’s fine.”
“Good,” Beckett repeated, then closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. “So, are the kids up about school starting?”
“Liam’s all about it. Murphy’s thrilled—especially with his Power Rangers lunch box. And Harry’s still pretending not to be.”
Beckett pulled out of the lot, caught the light, made the left. “How about you?”
“We’ve got new shoes, backpacks, lunch boxes, crayons, pencils, notebooks. The Mad Mall Safari is now over, and that’s a relief. With Murphy in school full-time, a lot of the child-care issues go away, and that makes life easier.”
“I hear the
“But . . . my baby’s going to kindergarten. Five minutes ago I had him in a backpack, now he’ll be carrying one to school. Harry’s moving halfway through elementary school. It doesn’t seem possible. So, I’ll drop them off Monday morning, go home, have a good cry. And that’ll be that.”
“I always figured my mom did a happy dance the minute we walked down the lane to the school bus.”
“The happy dance comes after the good cry.”
“Got it.” He pulled into her short gravel drive behind her minivan.
