the straw-colored chairs against the exposed brick wall.
And then some, he thought again, and headed through the arch toward The Dining Room, and the voices.
He found Ryder and Beckett setting the huge, carved buffet in place under the window of exposed stone while his mother and Hope shifted the pretty wood tables around the space.
Dumbass lounged in the far corner, but lifted his head, thumped his tail when he saw Owen.
Idly Owen wondered if the dog saw him as a man-sized donut.
“Where the hell have you been?” Ryder demanded.
“I had some things. It looks great.”
“It does.” Justine beamed as she set a chair by the table. “We’re going to put the big mirror right there. You know, the antique. And we realized we’re going to need another server. It can go up there, under that window. I’ll measure the space and run down to Bast, see if they have something that works.”
“You have that piece you got at the fancy French place in Frederick,” Ryder reminder her.
“It’s warped.” Instantly, Justine’s face went stony. “One leg’s shorter than the other three. I should never have bought anything there.”
“I told you I shortened the other legs. You put enough stuff on it, you won’t see the warping.”
“They were rude,” Hope put in. “Any business that doesn’t make good on an obviously defective piece shouldn’t
“It’s paid for, I fixed it. Get over it.”
“It was bought for The Lobby,” Hope insisted. “We’ve already found another piece at Bast for that space.”
“And if you hadn’t had a stick up your butt, I’d’ve fixed it for The Lobby.”
Justine aimed a hard stare. “Just whose butt are you referring to, Ryder, as I’m the one who told you to take the defective piece down to the basement?”
“Where I fixed it,” he muttered. “I’m going to get it. Give me a hand,” he said to Beckett.
More than willing to get out of the line of fire, Beckett aimed for the basement.
“If it doesn’t work there, if you don’t like it, we’ll haul it out,” Owen promised. “It’s a good-looking piece.”
“Defective, and not worth what I paid for it. I got caught up,” Justine admitted, and rubbed the dog’s ears when he walked over to lean on her. “Well, we’ll see. Hope, that must be Carolee bringing in more kitchen things,” she added when she heard the footsteps on the main stairs. “Maybe the two of you can get the chafing dishes, the coffee urn. Let’s see how it all looks.”
“Sure.”
Owen opened his mouth, but a look from his mother cut off his offer to help. Justine held her tongue until Hope’s footsteps retreated. “I wanted her out of the room for a few minutes.” Then she folded her arms as Ryder and Beckett carried in the repaired server.
“Ryder Thomas Montgomery.”
Owen knew that tone, that look. Though it wasn’t aimed at him—this time—he felt his own balls shrink a little.
Head bowed, tail tucked, Dumbass slunk back over to his corner.
“Ma’am.”
“I didn’t raise you to be rude to people, to snarl at women, or to snap at employees. I expect you to be polite to Hope, whether or not you agree with her.”
He set down the server. “Okay. But—”
“But?” The single syllable rang with warning and challenge.
Standing hip-shot now, Ryder put on his most agreeable expression. “Well, you said we were to treat her like family. So, do you want me to be polite to her, or treat her like family?”
Justine said nothing for a long, simmering moment. Beckett edged away from his brother as she started forward. She reached up, grabbed both Ryder’s ears.
“Think you’re clever?”
“Yes’m. I take after my mama.”
She laughed, shook his head from side to side. “Your father’s son is what you are.” And poked him in the belly. “Watch your tone.”
“Okay.”
Nodding, Justine stepped back, fisted her hands on her hips. “That top’s warped, Ry.”
“Some, yeah. It’s poorly made and overpriced, but it works—and it’s pretty enough. Better when you put those big copper things on it.”
“Maybe, yeah. Galls me. My mistake.”
“Yeah, it was.” Ryder shrugged. “You outfitted a nine-thousand-square-foot B&B from p-traps to four- posters, and this is your mistake? That’s not shabby, Mom.”
She slid him a glance. “You are clever. Maybe you do take after me.”
She turned as Hope came in with a huge box, followed by Carolee with another.
“Let me take that.” Ryder stepped over, took the box from Hope. “I’m being polite.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Not yet. Might be sore later.”
Beckett took the box from Carolee, and Owen stood back a moment, watched them. Unpacking boxes, pulling out the big coffee urn, the chafing dishes, the racks, shoving aside boxes and packing material—he’d haul it out later.
Carolee talking about washing wineglasses, his mother adjusting her hair tie. Beckett and Ryder making noises about hauling the mirror in so they could get next door and join the crew.
He waited while the three women studied the result on the piece in question.
“It doesn’t show, but I’ll know it’s warped.” Hope pushed at her hair. “That just irritates me.” She shifted her gaze to Ryder. “I’ll get over it.”
“Good. Let’s get that mirror in place and get out of here before they find something else for us to haul around.”
“I need a minute first. Quick meeting,” Owen announced.
“After we knock off,” Ryder began.
“It’s got to be now.” Deliberately Owen put a sour look on his face. “It’s about the U and O.”
“Christ, don’t tell me they’re giving us a hassle with Use and Occupancy. The inspector signed off.”
Owen gave Ryder a sigh, a slow shake of the head. “Yeah. I went up to Hagerstown to see if I could move this along. And . . . I got it.”
Beckett pointed at him. “You got the U and O.”
Grinning, Owen pointed back. “I got the U and O.”
“Oh my God. Oh my
Owen punched Ryder in the shoulder, then grinned at Hope. “Are you ready to move in? We can haul the rest of your stuff over. You can stay here tonight.”
“I’m so ready. Owen!” Laughing she threw her arms around him, kissed him on the mouth. “I’m moving in.” After the jump and squeal with his mother, with his aunt, Hope jumped at Beckett, kissed him noisily.
Then stopped short at Ryder.
“What do I get? A hearty handshake?”
She laughed again, shook her head, and gave him a very prim, very chaste peck on the cheek.
“Same thing,” he complained.
But he threw an arm around Owen’s shoulders, the other around Beckett’s. “Son of a bitch. We did it.”
Justine’s eyes filled, spilled over. “My boys,” she murmured. She spread her arms wide to embrace all three of her sons. She held tight there a moment, just held as Dumbass tried to nose into the hug.
“All right.” Stepping back, she nodded as she brushed tears away. “Lunch, here. On me. Beckett, see if Clare can come over. Owen, call Avery, order us up some food, have her bring it over—and join us if she can. Hope, break out one—no two—of the bottles of champagne we’re stocking for guests.”
“Oh, you bet.”
