Нора Робертс - The Perfect Hope

“It’s a good plan.” He levered up enough to pull up his shorts, his jeans. “And maybe next time I’ll manage to get my boots off before you jump me.”

She wiggled back into her dress, smiled. “No promises.”

RYDER COULDN’T QUITE DEFINE THE SITUATION WITH Hope. They weren’t exactly dating. They weren’t exactly friends. They weren’t exactly what his aunt Carolee called An Item.

But however he angled to consider the situation, he liked it.

Maybe it included a few elements of strange, the way he parked his truck behind Vesta or over by the fitness center job site rather than right behind the inn.

It wasn’t as if someone couldn’t figure out what was going on if they paid attention. Someone always paid attention. Still, it didn’t sit right with him to be blatant about it.

And maybe it added more strange the way he went up The Courtyard stairs to the third floor, and into the building that way.

Some evenings he heard voices from below, and just let himself and D.A. into her place until she knocked off for the night.

And maybe he found himself taking more of an interest in the workings of the inn than he’d expected to, but he was in it more than he’d imagined, so that followed.

And those workings struck him as pretty well oiled. No surprise, since in a lot of ways she was Owen in a skirt.

She emailed herself, doing room checks with her phone, using the phone to email herself notes she turned into lists on her office desktop. Fresh batteries for the remote in N&N, more TP in W&B, fresh room packets or menus or lightbulbs wherever. Saved steps, he imagined, as she’d be up and down countless times a day—stocking the coffee supply in The Library, hauling up wine, sodas, water from the basement storage.

She lived and died by lists, to his way of thinking. And, again like his brother, by the sticky note.

He’d invariably find a few whenever he’d go into her place while she handled guests. Beer in the fridge—stuck on the fridge door as if he couldn’t open it and see for himself. Leftover pasta on warm if you’re hungry—stuck on the oven, as if ditto.

But he had to admit it was nice to have her bother.

He supposed he’d figured she’d be rigid—live and die by the schedule as much as her lists and sticky notes. But she flexed, and plenty, when things called for it, giving here, adjusting there, shoring up or letting go.

He could admit he’d expected her to start laying down rules or making demands about their … situation. Instead she rolled with it—and rolled plenty with him, he thought as he set the next replacement window in the fitness center.

Even as he thought of her she came out, helping the laundry service haul away a load of linens and towels.

She looked so damn fresh and pretty. He’d seen her mussed now—and done the mussing up himself—but she still managed to grab a man by the throat and the balls.

She turned as someone came out of The Lobby doors. She had a houseful, he knew, for the July Fourth weekend. He couldn’t hear her, but he could see her laugh and engage fully with the three women who came out.

“Problem with the window?”

“Huh?” He glanced around as Beckett came up behind him.

“Oh yeah, nice view. Clare said she’s got sixteen people in there, through the weekend.”

“It’s a holiday,” Ryder said and went back to installing the window.

“Yeah, the boys can’t wait to hit the park tomorrow. We’re going early so they can eat and run off some steam before the fireworks. And we can claim enough territory for everybody. It’s too bad Hope can’t make it.”

“She’ll be able to see the fireworks from the top porch of the inn.” But it was a pisser, he admitted. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d hung out on the Fourth without a date. Not that he couldn’t ask somebody else—technically.

“Don’t you have something to do?” Ryder asked him.

“I’ve been doing it. You’re on the last windows. Roofers are on the shingles; looking good, too. Owen texted from MacT’s. The steel’s on its way here. Looks like we’re getting those beams up today.”

“Place’ll be full of subs next week.” Finished, Ryder stepped back from the window. “You sit on Mom until she picks out the style and finish of the rails for this place.”

“Why do I have to sit on her?”

“Because I thought of it first.” He checked the time. Close enough to lunch to take the break, but he didn’t want to leave the site if the steel was en route.

“And you can go get us some lunch.”

“I can?”

“I’ve got too much going on to leave, and I want to go over a couple things on the plans with you.”

Beckett’s jaw set. “Changes, you mean.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, sweetheart. Just some adjustments, some clarification. If we’re going to have the bones of this place in, I want to nail down the lighting.”

“We’ll do it now. I’ll call in an order. What do you want?”

“Food.” When one of the men hailed him, Ryder left Beckett to figure it out.

They used a back corner, what would eventually be the circuit-training area, to bargain over the plans. Ryder always wanted changes, Beckett knew, just as Ryder knew Beckett only held the line against them if they messed with the vision or didn’t make architectural sense.

“I’m making Mom a list,” Beckett began. “Number of lights, types, areas. She knows the look she wants.”

“Don’t let her order until you check the wattage.”

“It’s not my first rodeo, Ry.” He pulled out his phone as it signaled. “Owen’s in The Courtyard with food.”

“What’s he doing over there?”

“You want to eat, let’s find out.”

He did want to eat, and he’d be within sight if the steel arrived. And since the plans were burned in his brain, he didn’t need the blueprints to bug Beckett about them.

“About the bamboo floors,” he began as they started out.

“Mom’s set on bamboo; so am I for that matter. Don’t even go there.”

“It would save time and money, and look fine if we ran the padded gym flooring throughout.”

“It’d look boring and pedestrian. Bamboo’s got a nice give to it for the classroom, the interior steps and hallways.”

“The steps are going to be a pain in my ass if we use wood.”

“Not budging on it,” Beckett told him. “And you can bet your ass, pain or not, Mom’s not either.”

They stepped into The Courtyard where Owen sat under a cheerful umbrella with three take-out containers and a stack of papers.

“Hope caught me as I was going by and said to eat out here. Nice.”

“What’d I get?” Ryder flipped back the lid of the container, nodded at the panini and fries. “That works.”

“I’ve been going over the paint system for the exterior of the fitness center. It’s a lot of steps, a big process, to get those cinder blocks looking like anything but cinder blocks.”

“Don’t you start,” Beckett warned, and grabbed his own panini. “No way we’re just slapping on some paint and calling it a day. It’ll still be ugly.”

“It’s already less ugly,” Ryder pointed out. “But I’m on your side of this one.”

“Who said I’m not?” Owen stretched out his legs, circled his tired neck. “I’m saying we could do it, but we should go ahead and hire a sub who knows how to do it. It’d take us too long, and there’s too much room for screwups.”

Before Ryder could argue about that, Hope came out with a tray. A big pitcher, glasses, and a plate of cookies.

“Iced tea,” she announced. “And there’s more where that came from. I swear, the calendar turned over to July, and the furnace revved up. They’re calling for triple digits by Sunday.”

“Thanks. You didn’t have to bother,” Owen told her. “Avery said you’re slammed this weekend.”

“Boy, are we. All the guests are off doing something right now, so I’ve got a minute. There’s a lot of interest in the fitness center and the new restaurant. Everybody wants opening dates.”

“Everybody’s going to have to wait,” Ryder muttered.

“I’m telling them to watch Facebook and the web pages. Let me know if you want anything else.”

Ryder downed half a glass of tea when she went inside. “Be right back,” he said, and followed her.

“Does he know he’s hooked?” Owen wondered.

“Ry? Hell no.”

“That was a rhetorical question. Mid-August for MacT’s,” Owen added with his mouth full. “It’s moving good, and I know how Ry is about deadlines, but it’s not going to be a problem. I figure it’ll take about the same time for him to realize he’s hooked.”

Hope started to turn into her office when she heard the door open and close. Walking back toward the kitchen, she smiled as she saw Ryder.

“I told Owen you could eat inside where it’s cool. If you want I can—”

He grabbed—he always seemed to be grabbing her as if she might get away. And the kiss was hot as July.

“Just wanted to get that done,” he told her. “Now, I won’t be so distracted.”

“Funny, it works just the opposite on me.”

“Well, everybody’s out, so—”

“No.” She laughed, nudged him back. “Appealing, but no. I’m swamped.”

“Carolee—”

“Is getting a root canal.”

His wince was knee-jerk and heartfelt. “I didn’t hear about that.”

“She just went in this morning because I nagged her. She was going to pump Advil and tough it out until Monday. Laurie from the bookstore’s going to come over and give me a hand later.”

“You need any help until? I can spare Beck.”

“No, I should be fine.”

He had an idea now just what went into her day—and a weekend with sixteen guests meant that day would be jam-packed. “You could probably use a vacation, a long weekend. Something.”

“I think I’ll have a couple days clear in September. I intend to be a sloth.”

“Block it out. Mom would be okay with it.”

“I’ll think about that.” She gestured back as her office phone rang. “But we’re a popular place.”

“Block it out,” he repeated, and left her to work.

Ryder dropped back into his chair, picked up his sandwich. “Carolee’s getting a root canal, and we’re overworking the innkeeper.”

“You can call her Hope,” Owen pointed out. “You’re sleeping with her.”

“Root canal?” As his brother had, Beckett winced. “Does she need more help? Hope?”

“I don’t know. Not my area. But when she doesn’t have people in there, she’s doing stuff to get ready for having people in there, or that marketing crap. Whatever. She needs some time off.”

“There wouldn’t be any self-interest wound through there?” Owen suggested.

“Sex isn’t the problem. If she runs herself into the ground, we’re in trouble.”

“Okay, that’s a point. Plus, none of us wants her overworked. So—”

Owen broke off as she burst out the door. “I’ve got documents,” she announced. “My cousin came through. There’s a load of them. I don’t know when I’m going to get to them, but—”

“Forward them to me,” Owen told her. “I’ll start combing through.”

“I will, and I’ll carve out time to do the same. It feels like progress.” Unconsciously, she laid a hand on Ryder’s shoulder as she spoke. “I have to believe we’ll find something.”

“Why don’t you sit down a minute?” Before she could respond, Ryder just pulled her down on his lap. When she tried to push away, he grinned at his brothers and tightened his hold. “Screws with her dignity.”

“My dignity remains unbowed. You’re sweaty.”

“It’s hot. Eat some fries.”

“I just had a yogurt, so—”

“Then you definitely need some fries.”

She knew full well he’d keep her pinned in his lap until she did. She plucked one out of his container. “There. Now—”

“Wash it down.” He picked up his glass, put it in her hand.

“Fine, fine.” She drank, put the glass down again.

“Ry was saying you could use more help,” Owen began.

Her back went stiff as a two-by-four. “Have there been complaints?”

“No, but—”

“Have I complained? No,” she answered for herself. “I know what I can handle and what I can’t. Keep that in mind,” she told Ryder, poking her elbow into his gut and pushing to her feet. “I need to get back to work.”

“You’ve got a big fucking mouth, Owen.”

“You just said she—”

“A big fucking mouth. There’s the steel.” He took his sandwich with him as he walked away.

“Definitely hooked,” Beckett observed.

“He’s the one who said she was overworked.”

“Yeah, ’cause he’s the one who’s hooked.”

HE SENT HER flowers. Ryder’s working theory had always been if a woman was pissed off, no matter the cause or the blame, a guy sent flowers. Mostly that smoothed things out again. Then he forgot it in the sweat and effort of work until he was locking up for the night and she walked over.