The Perfect Hope

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

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.”