husband went out to dinner.
Civil War Bob—bless him—talked his wife and two of the other couples into pizza delivery and games in The Lounge. She heard the good, satisfying sound of laughter and knew there would be no finger-snapping from that quarter.
She could get a little dinner herself, maybe do a little research while she ate—with that ear to the ground in case she was needed.
But first, she’d do a sweep of The Courtyard to gather up any dishes or napkins.
She stepped out into the balmy evening. Such pretty light, she thought, and quiet now that the Fit crew had knocked off. Next empty night, she’d treat herself to dinner in The Courtyard. She might even fix something fussy, just for herself, have a couple glasses of champagne. A little innkeeper indulgence, she thought as she gathered empty bottles for recycling.
Maybe he’d gotten noisier, or she more attuned, but she looked over just as Ryder stepped under the arch of wisteria.
“Some party,” he commented.
“We’ve got a full house, and some of them took advantage of the nice evening. You’re in town late.”
“Had some things. Meeting at Vesta.”
“All those irons in the fire require meetings.”
“So Owen claims.”
“He’s right.” She gestured toward the building under construction. “The roof’s looking good. I think I can imagine that part finished. It’s going to look so much bigger, and so much better.”
He took the tub she used for the bottles. “I’ll get it.”
“I’ve got it.”
“I’ll get it,” he repeated, muscling it away. He carried it to the shed, dumped them in the recycling bin. Before she could pick up the bag of trash she’d finished filling, he took that as well.
“Thank you.”
He shut the shed door, turned to study her.
“Is there something—”
“Yes.”
After silence followed she lifted her eyebrows. “All right, what?”
“Yes,” he repeated. “I’m considering the idea.”
“You—Oh.” Not a conversation she’d expected to have with an inn full of people playing gin rummy.
“That’s not accurate. I’ve finished considering the idea.”
“I see. And what’s your conclusion?”
He gave her that look—that not exactly a smile, a sneer, a smirk. “What do you think?”
“I’m going to take a leap and say you’ve concluded in favor.”
“Good leap.” He reached out; she stepped back.
“I have people inside. Guests inside. I wouldn’t call this an optimum time to move forward with that conclusion.”
“I wasn’t figuring on wrestling you to the ground here and now.” But he put his hands in his pockets as the image of doing just that had considerable appeal. “So, what would you call the optimal—Christ, now I’m talking like you. When’s good for you?”
“I—”
He pulled his hands free, waved it away. He had smoother moves than that, for God’s sake. She just threw him off-stride. “You want dinner or something? That’s fine. You’ve got a night off sometime, or a night without bookings. I can work with that.” When she hesitated, he shrugged. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“No.” Simple, she reminded herself. Straightforward, no frills. That’s what she wanted. Wasn’t it? “I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Okay, then. You’ve got the schedule in that spreadsheet in your head. I’ve got a brother who has the same kind of brain.”
“Tuesday’s good.”
“Tuesday works. We can—”
“Damn it. Sorry.” She spotted someone crossing The Lobby toward the kitchen. “I’ve just got to check on the guests.”
When she dashed inside, Ryder looked down at his dog. “Wait here. You know how she is about you coming in when people are inside.”
D.A. sighed, plopped down, gave his sad look before his face nestled on his paws.
Ryder went in. A burst of laugher exploded from the direction of The Lounge, with a lot of voices in its wake. Another rumble of it rolled out from the direction of the kitchen.
Lively place, he decided. He’d never actually been in it when she had paying customers. It didn’t hurt his feelings to know that when she did, they enjoyed themselves. He just wished they’d all go the hell away for a few minutes so they could finish this deal.
Better yet, they could go the hell away for a couple hours, then they’d just seal the deal. He caught the scent of honeysuckle, rolled his eyes. “Stay out of it, sister,” he muttered.
Hope came back through with a man wearing what Ryder thought of as dad jeans—though his own had never worn them. He had a beer in each hand while Hope carried two glasses of red wine.
“Got yourself a walk-in, Hope.” The man grinned, all affability. “Better make up a cot.”
“Ryder. Ah, Bob Mackie, this is Ryder Montgomery. His family owns the inn.”
“Sure, sure, you told us about that.” Bob hooked the necks of the beer in the fingers of one hand, stuck out the other for an enthusiastic shake. “Pleased to meet you. You did a hell of a job here, hell of a job. My wife and I haven’t left yet, and we’re already talking about coming back.”
“Glad you like it.”
“The bathrooms alone,” Bob said with another grin. “And the history of the place. I love the old photos you’ve got back there. I’m into the Civil War. Connie and I spent the day at Antietam. Beautiful place. Just beautiful.”
“It is.”
“How ’bout a beer?”
“I was just—”
“Come on, a man’s always got time for a beer. You gotta meet Connie. And Mike and Deb, and Jake and Casey. They’re good people.” He thrust a beer into Ryder’s hand. “Say, we’re in Jane and Rochester. I bet that copper tub was a pain in the ass to get up there.”
He all but herded Ryder toward The Lounge like a border collie with a reluctant sheep.
Hope took a moment to compose herself. Ryder, not the most sociable of men in her experience, was about to be Civil War Bobbed.
HE TRIED TO get away. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy; Bob Mackie was as likeable as a puppy. He made an excuse, citing his dog in The Courtyard, but all that accomplished was the unified insistence he bring D.A. inside.
Where his dog was petted and made over like a visiting prince.
Mike, from Baltimore, wanted to talk carpentry. He ended up taking them all around, showing them some of the details, explaining how they’d been done, why, when. They had a million questions. Before he’d finished, four more people came back, and had a million more.
Hope didn’t help, not one damn bit. She just smiled, tidied up behind them, or worse, offered another avenue of discussion.
By the time he managed to get out, it was full dark, and his brain felt soft. Not from the beer; he’d been careful there. From the
He hadn’t gotten across The Courtyard when The Lobby door opened. He relaxed, a little, when he recognized the click of Hope’s heels.
“How do you do that?” he demanded. “All the time?”
“Do what?”
“Talk to total strangers.”
