The Perfect Hope, Page 20

  second baseman fielded a line drive, and the side retired.

  “I’ve got to hit concessions,” he told her. “I’ll buy you a beer.”

  “Sounds good. So much going on with you. I’m dying to see that inn of yours. I saw the article in the paper last winter, and it looks awesome. And Beckett having twins, Owen getting married—and to Avery!”

  She chatted all the way. He’d never minded that about her because she was so damn happy to babble, and never cared if he didn’t respond. Or listen all that close.

  They’d known each other since high school, had dated on and off—more off than on, since she’d gotten married at one point. Divorced at another. They’d stayed friends—friendly—with nothing more serious than occasional sex when it worked out for both of them.

  It was pretty damn obvious it would’ve worked out for her now.

  He bought her beer, Owen’s, his own, nachos for the runt, then set them down at one of the high tables while he tried to work out how to handle it.

  “I almost didn’t come tonight. I’ve been swamped with work, too. I’m glad I let Cherie and Angie talk me into it. You remember Cherie.”

  “Yeah.” Probably.

  “She got divorced about a year ago. It was a rough time for her.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “She’s dating one of the players. The center fielder, so we came to keep her company for the game.”

  “Nice.”

  “Listen, what are you up to this weekend? I could come down. You could give me a tour of the inn.” She offered her sparkly-eyed smile. “Maybe we could book a room.”

  “I’m seeing somebody.” He didn’t know the words were there until they fell out of his mouth.

  “Well, that’s not news, you’re always … Oh.” Those sparkly eyes widened. “You mean seeing seeing. Wow. Did you and your brothers all drink from the same bottle?”

  “I’m not—we’re not—I’m just seeing somebody.”

  “Good for you, and her. So who is she? Tell me all. Do I know her?”

  “No. I don’t think so. She’s the innkeeper.”

  “Really? Now I have to get down there and see the place.”

  “Come on, Jen.”

  “Come on, Ry,” she tossed back at him. “How long have we known each other? I’d never mess you up.”

  “No.” He let out a breath. “You wouldn’t.”

  “And I’m happy for you. A little sorry for myself,” she admitted, “but happy for you. I’ve been having shit-all luck with men lately.”

  “Then the men you’re looking at are stupid.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around. I’m still coming down, catching up with Avery, taking a look at what you’ve got going on.”

  “That’d be good.”

  “I’d better get back before my friends send out a search party. Thanks for the beer.”

  “Anytime.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Hope.”

  “Nice. Is she pretty?”

  “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” And again, he hadn’t known the words were there.

  “Aw.” Jen leaned forward, kissed his cheek. “Good luck, sweetie.”

  “Yeah. The same.”

  And that, Ryder thought as he gathered up the food, had been just plain weird. He started back, paused, balancing nachos and beer to watch the Sun’s batter knock a solid left field double, bringing in a run, and putting men at second and third.

  Looking up, he decided, and worked his way back.

  “Did you see?” Harry demanded.

  “Yeah, nice hit.” Ryder dumped the tray of nachos in Murphy’s lap, passed Owen the beer.

  “So?” Owen said.

  “So what?”

  “So what did you tell Jen?”

  “That I was seeing somebody. Jesus, Owen, I don’t mess with women that way.”

  “He doesn’t mess with women that way,” Murphy echoed soberly. “Jesus, Owen.”

  As Ryder roared with laughter, Beckett winced. And the Suns knocked in the tying run.

  RYDER FULLY INTENDED to go home and stay there, work out for an hour—considering dogs, nachos, beer—then maybe stretch out with his dog and watch another game on TV.

  Fifteen minutes after Beckett dropped him off, he walked back out of the house with his dog. Annoyed with himself, he climbed in his truck and drove into Boonsboro.

  They’d just straighten this deal out, he thought. Cards on the table. He didn’t like weird situations. He didn’t like situations period, so they’d deal with it, get it done.

  He noted the two cars in the lot with Hope’s. He’d known she had guests. No big, he decided. He’d just go up and wait for her, then they’d deal.

  And that would give him time to figure out how to deal.

  The exterior lights gleamed in the dark, turned The Courtyard into an elegant dream stirred with the fragrance of roses madly blooming above the stone wall.

  Beckett had called that, he remembered. The wall, the flowers, the center weeping redbud. It made such an appealing space he wondered why none of the current guests were taking advantage of it.

  He went up the outside steps to the third floor, let himself in. Quiet lay comfortably over the inn so he deduced the guests had settled into The Lounge with a movie or a hot game of Scrabble.

  He unlocked Hope’s apartment, walked in with D.A. At home, he got a Coke out of the fridge and considered how the hell to pass the time until she came up.

  He should probably let her know he was here, but damned if he wanted to go all the way down, then up again. He’d just text her after he stretched out on her bed with the ball game.

  He stepped into her bedroom, and there she was, sitting cross-legged on the bed in sleep shorts and a tank, earbuds connecting her to her iPod as she studied the screen of her laptop.

  She stopped his heart. It was humiliating the way she could do that without even trying. Without even knowing.

  A delighted D.A. trotted right over, planted his front paws on the side of the bed.

  She screamed as if someone plunged a knife in her belly.

  “Hey, hey.” He moved forward as she lunged up to her knees, clamped a hand over her heart.

  “You scared the hell out of me.” Dragging her fingers through her hair, she dropped back on her heels. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

  “Yeah, well … I figured you were downstairs with people. I’d’ve knocked.”

  “Both sets of guests settled in fairly early.” She rubbed at her heart again, then laughed. “God, I live with a ghost. You wouldn’t think I’d scare that easy. Did I scare you back?” she purred to the dog, scrubbing at his head. “I was taking advantage of the downtime, looking into all these documents and letters for Lizzy.”

  “Getting anywhere?”

  “I’m not sure. But I’m getting to know her a little better. I know her father ruled with an iron fist, and her mother often took to her bed with ‘the headache,’ which I’m interpreting at this point as a way of evading conflict more than suffering from migraines. Her father was wealthy and had considerable social standing, political influence, and—”

  “I’m not sleeping with anybody else. Right now,” he added belatedly.

  She stared at him for a moment. “That’s … good to know.”

  “If you’re thinking about seeing or sleeping with somebody else, I want to know about it.”

  “That’s fair. I’m not. Right now.”

  “Okay.” Ryder glanced over, saw that D.A. had already settled into the bed Hope had bought him, with his paws over the squeaky hamburger she’d added as a toy. “We can get out of your way if you want to keep going with that.”

  “I think I’d rather you stay and tell me what brought this on.”

  “There’s no this. Just avoiding this—avoiding a situation.”

  “I see.”

  What was it with some women? he wondered. The ones, like his mother, who
could use silence as effectively as a veteran cop sweating a witness. “I just ran into a friend at the ball game. That’s all.”

  “Oh?” She kept her voice casual, absolutely pleasant. “And how was the game?”

  “Good. Suns pulled it out, took it four to three. Liam caught a foul ball.”

  “He did!” She smiled, added quick applause. “He must be thrilled.”

  “Yeah, it’ll stay with him awhile.”

  “It’s great the boys had a night out with all of you.” With her eyes direct, she let silence hang.

  “I’ve known her since high school.”

  Hope merely angled her head, said nothing.

  “Look. Hell. We hook up sometimes. Nothing serious. Christ, what’s your problem?” he demanded when she remained silent.

  “I don’t have a problem. I’m waiting for you to finish.”

  “Fine. I ran into her, that’s all, and she talked about getting together. Seeing the inn, and, you know, maybe we could rent a room.”

  “Oh.” Hope folded her hands neatly. “That must have been awkward, as you’re currently sleeping with the innkeeper.”

  With his scowl, his eyes held a fulminating green. “Awkward’s a stupid word. It’s a girl word. It was weird. I had to tell her I was seeing somebody because I didn’t want it to be weird.”

  “Was she angry?”

  “No. She’s not like that. We’re friends.”

  All reason, Hope nodded. “It’s good, even commendable, you can stay friends with someone you’ve slept with. It says something about you.”

  “It’s not about that.” Something about her calm, goddamn reasonable responses put his back up. “It’s about being clear. I’m not sleeping with anyone else, so you’re not sleeping with anyone else. That’s clear.”

  “It absolutely is.”

  “I’m not like that asshole you were tangled up with.”

  “You’re nothing like that asshole,” she agreed. “And, just as important to me, I’m not the same person I was when I was tangled up with that asshole. Isn’t it handy we are who we are, and maybe better, can be who we are with each other?”

  “I guess it is.” He hissed out a breath, and finally most of the frustration. “You throw me off,” he admitted.

  “How?”

  “You don’t ask questions.”

  “I ask plenty of questions. Otherwise I wouldn’t know you got that scar on your butt taking a tumble sledding when you were eight. Or you lost your virginity in the tree house your father built you—fortunately some years later. Or—”

  “About where we’re going,” he interrupted. “Women always ask where we’re going.”

  “I’m enjoying where we are so I don’t need to know where we might be. I like being here. I’m happy being with you, and that’s enough.”

  Relieved, he sat on the side of the bed, shifted to face her. “I’ve never known anybody like you. And I can’t figure you out.”

  She lifted a hand to his cheek. “It’s the same for me. I like that you’d come here tonight, to tell me all this. That it bothered you enough you’d need to tell me.”

  “Some women can’t handle a guy being friends with another woman, or having a conversation with one he’s had sex with.”

  “I’m not the jealous type. Maybe if I had been, if I’d been less trusting, I wouldn’t have been betrayed, but I’m not made that way. If I can’t trust the man I’m with, I shouldn’t be with him. I trusted Jonathan, and I was wrong. I trust you, and I know I’m right. You don’t lie, and that matters to me. I won’t lie to you, and we’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve got more friends.”

  Laughing, she linked her hands around his neck. “I bet you do.” She kissed him lightly, then lingered over it. “Are you going to stay?”

  “Might as well.”

  “Good. Let me put this work away.”

  HE PUT EXTRA time in most evenings, sometimes alone, sometimes with one brother or with both. If she didn’t have guests, they had dinner together, or went out somewhere, then stayed at his place.

  She never left anything at his house, which he found strange. Women were always leaving little bits of themselves behind. But not Hope.

  So maybe he picked up a bottle of the shower gel stuff she used to keep at his place. Hell, he liked the way she smelled, didn’t he? And he sprang for a couple new towels since his were heading toward ratty.

  It wasn’t like he’d filled his place with flowers and smelly candles.

  She stocked his beer, he stocked her shower stuff, and yeah, the wine she liked. No big deal. She didn’t make an issue out of it.

  She didn’t bitch about the dog, and he’d been primed for that one. But she didn’t—hell, she’d bought Dumbass a bed and a toy so he’d be at home when they stayed over in her apartment.

  He thought about that more than he should—more than he liked—that she didn’t do what he assumed she would.

  The constant surprise of her kept him off-balance in a way he’d come to appreciate.

  And he sure as hell appreciated she wasn’t the type who whined when work kept him tied up, as it did now.

  He glanced around the bar side of MacT’s, pleased with the lay of the land, the gleam of the hardwood, the symmetry of the lights.

  “When we get this bastard done,” he began as he and his brothers worked to finish the bar, “I want a Warrior’s Pizza. It’s Beckett’s turn to buy.”

  “Can’t do it.” Beckett paused, swiped at his sweaty face. “I need to get home, give Clare a hand. She’s so freaking tired by the end of the day.”

  “It’s Ry’s turn anyway,” Owen said. “And I could eat. Avery’s closing tonight, so it works out.”

  “How’d it get to be my turn?”

  “That’s how turns work. God, this bitch is big. And beautiful.”

  With the last piece in place, they stepped back, admired the dark, lush gleam of mahogany, the detail of the panels they’d built and installed.

  It still lacked the rail, the top—and the taps—but Ryder saw it as damn good work.

  Owen ran his fingers over the side. “The way this is moving, we’ll have this place punched out in a week, week and a half, tops. It’s handy Ry’s stuck on the innkeeper and has to keep himself busy right here.”

  “It’s looking good,” Beckett agreed. “Only downside is between all this work, and Ry keeping Hope so damn busy, we haven’t gotten as far on finding Billy as we thought we would.”

  “It’s a lot to get through,” Owen reminded him. “We’re getting there. Lizzy’s old man managed to expunge a hell of a lot from official records. There are gaps. Jesus, what kind of father basically tries to erase his own kid?”

  “The kind kids run away from,” Ryder said. “Like she did.”

  “Owen? Are you in here? I saw the lights when …” Avery walked through the opening from restaurant to bar side, stopped dead. “Oh! Oh! The bar. You finished the bar. You made my bar! You didn’t tell me.”

  “If you hadn’t been so nosy you’d have been surprised tomorrow. The top’s going on tomorrow. The counter guys are scheduled to do the insert in the morning.”

  “It’s beautiful. Just beautiful.” She rushed in, ran her hands over it. “It feels beautiful.” Then she spun around, grabbed Owen, danced, spun to Beckett, then to Ryder. “Thank you, thank you! I have to see the back.”

  She scurried around, made happy noises. “As beautiful from this side as the front. Oh, I wish Clare and Hope could see, right now! I can text Hope, tell her to come over.”

  “She’s got people,” Ryder told her.

  “It’ll only take a minute. I need a girl here. I can’t believe you got this done in here without me knowing,” she continued as she pulled out her phone.

  “It wasn’t easy,” Owen admitted.

  “But it was really sweet. She says she’ll be right here. It’s really happening. I have so much to do. Let me take a picture of the three of you in front of the bar.”


  “I’ll take one of you and Owen in front of it,” Ryder said.

  “The three of you first, you built it. Then one of me and Owen.”

  They obliged her, with Owen going behind the bar as if tending.

  “One more,” she murmured, and snapped.

  “Now you, Red Hots.” Ryder picked her up, sat her on the front lip. “Don’t lean back or you’ll fall in.”

  “I won’t.” In fact she leaned forward, resting an elbow on Owen’s shoulder as he came out to stand beside her.

  “I’m going to put these up on Facebook right away. I want everybody to see—Owen.”

  She held out her arms, wrapping around him as he helped her down.

  “Jesus, if you need a room there’s a few of them right across the street.”

  Ryder glanced over just as Hope lifted a hand to knock.

  “I was about to come over before Avery texted me,” she began when he let her in. “I’ve got—Oh. You’ve finished the bar.”

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Avery stroked its side as she might a beloved pet. “My boyfriend and his brothers built it for me.”

  “It’s a piece of art. Really. It’s wonderful. It’s wonderful in here. I love the colors, Avery, and the lights. The floor. Everything. You’re going to have an enormous hit.”

  She stepped up, stood in the opening to study the restaurant side. “And you got the waitress station in. I couldn’t really visualize, but—”

  “It’s in! I didn’t even see.” Avery leaped up, dashed through.

  “You made her night,” Hope told Ryder.

  “You’re revved about something else,” Ryder observed.

  “It shows? I am revved. I found something in one of Catherine’s letters to a cousin. It was long, and full of family chat, comments about the war, a book she’d read that she’d hid from her father. And mixed in, I found this passage about Eliza.”

  “Something new?” Owen asked.

  “It talks about being worried because their father was arranging for Eliza to marry the son of a state senator. And Eliza was bucking him. It’s clear bucking wasn’t something her father tolerated. More, it talks about Eliza sneaking out at night to meet one of the stonemasons their father hired to build walls on the property.”