The trio of boys raced toward them from the direction of the shop, Murphy pumping hard to bring up the rear. Immediately, the dogs—sans Tyrone—ran to surround them.
“Mom’s coming,” Harry announced. “We’re thirsty.”
“She’s going to get us drinks. Can we have Specials? Can we, Gran?”
Justine flipped at the brim of Liam’s ball cap. She’d started stocking jugs of V-8 Splash, and her Special was a tiny dollop of ginger ale added to the cup. “Okay by me. Take this one with you.” She motioned toward the pug. “And see he doesn’t poop on my floor.”
“Okay!”
Murphy wrapped his arms around Hope’s legs, looked up with a face shining with joy. “We got lots of dogs. We got more dogs than anybody else in the universe.”
“So I see.”
“Wait! Wait for me!” he shouted when his brothers ran off.
“Seems like it was just me and my two dogs for a while,” Justine said, carting her weeds to her composter. “Though the boys were always thinking up reasons to come by and check on me. Now I’ve got those three and a wolf pack.”
“And you love it.”
“Every second. Clare!” Justine fisted a hand on her hip as Clare walked down the slope from the shop. “I’d’ve gotten those boys drinks.”
“I can use the exercise and an indoor seat. I didn’t hear you drive up,” she said to Hope. “It’s noisy back there.”
“It’s going to be noisy inside, too,” Justine pointed out.
“That I’m used to. They kicked me out of the shop anyway. They’re going to start staining and varnishing something, and didn’t want me around the fumes.”
“I didn’t raise idiots. Go on inside. I’m nearly done here so I’ll be along to help you ride herd. Hope, why don’t you go out there to the shop, get a gauge on when they’re going to take a break.”
“All right.”
She walked toward the shop, and the dogs came tearing after her. Finch was wild-eyed, with a ratty, slobbery ball in his mouth. “I’m not touching that,” she told him.
He dropped it at her feet. “Still not touching it.”
He repeated the process every few steps, all the way to the shop with its covered porch crowded with old chairs, tables, window frames, and various salvage she couldn’t identify. Music banged out the open windows along with male voices raised in what might have been a discussion, debate, or argument.
She poked her head in the door and saw men, a lot of toothy tools, piles of lumber, stacks of paint, shelves jammed with cans and jars, and God knew what else.
Finch hustled right in, dropped the ball at Ryder’s feet. Ryder barely glanced down before he kicked the ball through the window.
The dog soared through after it. There was a crash, a thud. As Hope scrambled back to make sure the dog was all right, Finch rolled with the ball clamped in his teeth, raced back into the shop.
“For heaven’s sake,” she murmured. She walked back, this time going in. And had just enough time to lift her hands in defense and catch the ball before it hit her in the face.
“Good reflexes,” Ryder commented.
“Yuck.” She heaved the ball outside. A deliriously joyful Finch flew after it.
“And not a bad arm.”
“You might look where you’re kicking that disgusting thing.”
“It would’ve gone out the window if you hadn’t blocked it.” He pulled a bandana out of his pocket.
She only eyed it when he offered it, and instead reached in her purse for a mini bottle of antibacterial gel. “No, thanks.”
“Hope! Look at my bar.” Avery, in cargo shorts, hiking boots, and a wildly green bandana tied around her hair looked more like one of the trekkers who came off the Appalachian Trail than a restaurateur. She negotiated the maze of power tools and lumber to grab Hope’s hand and pull her through. “These are the panels that go on the bar. Aren’t they gorgeous?”
Hope didn’t know much about carpentry, but she thought she saw potential in the unfinished wood, the cleanly defined details.
“All of those? It’s going to be bigger than I realized.”
“Belly up!” Avery wiggled her butt. “I’ve nearly decided on what I want for the top. I keep going back and forth. We’re going to start staining some of the panels today so I can see how they look.”
“There’s no
“But I—”
“Do I mess around in your kitchen?”
“No, but—”
“Why?”
Avery rolled her eyes. “Because you’re too fussy and picky about having everything lining up like soldiers, and won’t experiment.”
“And you’re not. Makes you a good cook. Fussy and picky make me a good carpenter.”
He did something Hope never expected to see the fussy and picky Owen do. He licked his thumb, rubbed it on the unstained wood. “Nice,” he said as the dampness brought out the deep, rich tone. “Go cook something.”
When she bared her teeth at him, he laughed and grabbed her in for a hard kiss and a butt squeeze.
Beckett came in from another area carrying a couple of large cans. “I told you I knew where it was. Hi, Hope.”
“If you’d leave it where I put it, you wouldn’t have to look for it,” Owen began.
“It was in the way, and I knew where it was.”
“It’s not in the way if it’s in the paint, stain, and varnish area.”
“Ladies.”
Hope turned to Ryder when he spoke. “Not you. I’m talking to them. Open the damn cans,” he told his brothers. “I’d like to get these pieces stained sometime this century.”
“Let me do just a little of it.” Avery put on her best smile. “Just one little corner of one little panel. Then I can say I had a hand in it. Loosen up, Owen.”
“Yeah,” Beckett agreed. “Loosen up, Owen.”
That started another round of arguing.
“Is it always like this?” Hope asked Ryder.
He took a long swig from a bottle of Gatorade. “Like what?”
Before she could answer, Finch came back with the ball. She barely managed to jump back so it didn’t plop wet and filthy on her shoe. Ryder just booted it out the window again so the happily crazed dog could leap after it.
“High school football,” he said when Hope frowned at him.
“Aren’t you afraid he’ll hurt himself?”
“He hasn’t so far. Do us a favor and get Little Red out of here. Everything takes three times as long with women around.”
“Oh really?”
“Unless she picks up some tools and knows how to use them, yeah. If you want to get to your ghost talk before nightfall, move her along.”
“If you know Avery, you know she won’t leave until she does her corner. When she does, I’ll get her out.”
“Fine.” He picked up a glue gun, ran a bead along an edge of what looked to be some sort of counter with shelves above it.
“What’s that going to be?”
“Built-in for the waitress station. If you’re just going to be standing there, hand me that clamp.”
She looked around on a table scattered with screws, tools, rags, glue tubes and located a clamp. And felt something just above her hair.
“Did you just sniff me?”
“You smell good. If you go to the trouble of smelling good, you should expect to get sniffed.” Their eyes met
