The Perfect Hope (18 page)

“I got the bowl.”

“That and a fork then.”

She went to work, smooth and quick, and looked nothing like a woman who’d fogged his brain only minutes before. He left her to throw the steaks on. When he stepped back in, she was tossing the salad. “I couldn’t find your salad set.”

“I don’t have one. I use forks.”

“Well then.” She angled the forks she’d used in the bowl.

“I thought we’d eat out on the deck.”

“Perfect.” She carried out the salad, went back for plates, flatware. By the time he pulled the steaks off the grill, she’d set the table—with the flowers—topped off their wine. She’d managed to find his butter, sour cream, salt, pepper. And plated the potatoes.

He had to admit, the table looked just a little classier than it would have left to him. “What was your talent in that beauty pageant? Magic tricks?”

She only smiled as he slid her steak on her plate. “This looks great.”

She served his salad, then served herself before lifting her glass, tapping it to his. “To long summer nights. My favorite.”

“I’m a fan. What was your talent?” he repeated. “That’s part of the deal, right? I bet you tossed flaming batons.”

“You’d be wrong.”

She sipped her wine, picked up her fork.

“Give it up, princess. I’ll just get Owen to find out. He’s better at searching the Internet than I am.”

“I sang.”

“You can sing?”

She lifted her shoulders as she ate. “I didn’t win the talent portion.”

“You can’t sing.”

“I can sing,” she countered with some force. “I can also play the piano, and tap. But I wanted to focus on one element.” She smiled as she ate her salad. “And the girl who tapped while tossing flaming batons won the talent.”

“You’re making that up.”

“You could search the Internet for it.”

“How’d you win if you lost the talent?”

“By sweeping the rest. I
killed
the interview.”

“I bet you killed the swimsuit deal.”

She smiled again, that slow, sultry look. “You could say so. Anyway, long time ago.”

“I bet you still have the crown.”

“My mother has it. More important, I got the scholarship. That was the goal. I didn’t like the idea of putting myself and my parents into debt. They already had two children going to college, and moving to grad school. Winning made a big difference, and I earned it. Those pageants are brutal. Still, I earned and I learned.”

“Sing something.”

“No.” Flustered and amused, she shook her head. “I’m eating. The steak’s perfect, by the way. Hey!” she made a grab, but he was fast, and pulled her plate up and out of reach.

“Sing for your supper.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I want to hear you, judge for myself.”

“Fine, fine.” She thought a moment, then gave him a couple bars of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” since it had played in her car on the drive over.

Throaty, sexy, rich. He wondered why he was surprised. “You can sing. Keep going.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I don’t have a piano.” He set her plate in front of her again. “But you’re definitely going to tap-dance after dinner.”

Her eyes narrowed when he tossed a bite of steak to the dog. “Your mother taught you better than that.”

“She’s not here. What else can you do?”

Hope shook her head again. “No. Your turn. What can you do besides what I already know?”

“I can kick.”

“I saw you kick for your mother’s dog.”

“That’s nothing. I kicked the game-winning field goal my senior year—championship win.” Long time ago, too, he thought, but still. “Sixty-three yards.”

“I’m guessing that’s impressive. The yardage.”

“Sugar, as far as I know, the longest ever kicked in high school ball’s seventy yards.”

“I’m impressed then. Did you keep it up in college?”

“The scholarship helped. There were three of us, too. College wasn’t my thing, but I gave it a shot.”

“Did you ever consider going pro?”

“No.” No passion for it, he thought now. No gut-deep drive. “It was a game. I liked it. But I wanted what I’ve got.”

“It’s nice when that works out. When you get what you want. We’re both lucky there.”

“So far.”

The light softened toward dusk as they finished the meal, lingered over wine. She rose to clear as the first fireflies winked in the green shadows.

“I’ll get them in the morning,” he told her.

“I’ll get them now. I can’t relax if things like dishes aren’t done.”

“Maybe you need therapy.”

“When things are in their place, the world’s in balance. When they’re done, you can take me to the movies. What are we watching?”

“We’ll find something.” For now he liked just watching her. “You want popcorn?”

“There’s that balance again,” she said as she loaded the dishwasher. “Movies. Popcorn. One without the other is just wrong.”

“Butter and salt?”

She started to refuse, then gave in. “What the hell. It’s my night off. And I’m going to have a fitness center in my backyard before too much longer.”

“Do you have any of those little outfits?”

She slanted him a look from under her long, spiky bangs. “I do. But the opening will give me an excuse to buy new. Right now nobody sees them but me when I find time to put on a workout DVD.”

He put the bag of popcorn in the microwave, glanced at her. “You’re going to want the corn in a bowl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. And a plate for the brookies.”

“Just more dishes to deal with.”

“It’s a process, Ryder. Maybe I should check in with Carolee before we settle into movies and popcorn.”

“Does she know where you are?”

“Yes, of course.”

“She’s got the number if she needs anything. Put it away.”

“I’ve been doing that very well. I just had a tiny relapse.”

He smiled at her. “You’re good for the inn.”

“Thanks. You didn’t think I would be.”

“I didn’t know you.”

Her eyebrows arched under the bangs. “You thought, city girl in a fancy suit with fancy city ideas.”

His mouth opened, shut again.

“You did!” She poked at him. “Snob.”

“I figured you for the snob.”

“You figured wrong.”

“It happens.” He ran a hand over her hair, surprising both of them. “I like the hair,” he said and barely resisted stuffing the hand in his pocket. “Shorter than mine.”

“You need a haircut.”

“I haven’t had time.”

“I could cut it for you.”

He laughed. “No, you fucking won’t.”

“I’m good at it.”

He pulled the popcorn out, dumped it in a bowl. “Let’s go watch a movie.”

“I even have the right tools.”

“No. Do you want more wine? I’ve got another bottle.”

“I’ve got to drive, so no. I’ll switch to water.”

“Grab those chocolate things. Big-ass TV’s downstairs.”

She followed him down, gaped, grinned.

“This is wonderful!”

“I like it.”

She supposed he thought of it as a man cave, but there was nothing cavelike here. Glass doors opened to the outside, giving it a sense of more space. He’d used color again, sharply, nothing soft, nothing pale, mated it with dark glossy wood, a lot of leather.

Delighted, she wandered, studied the alcove where he kept weights, an old-fashioned water bubbler, the punching bag boxers used—what was it? Speed bag, she remembered.

She peeked around and into the small, Deco-inspired black and white bath.

He had games—the Montgomery brothers seemed to love them. Pinball machine, an Xbox, even one of those touch-screen games Avery had at Vesta.

But the best was the bar—carved and compact, and the retro refrigerator, the glass shelves with old bottles.

“Is this a reproduction or the real thing?” she asked.

“It’s the real thing. I like old things.” He opened the old Frigidaire, gave her a bottle of water.

“It’s like the fifties meet the now. It’s great.” She admired the antique poker table, the old-style pinball machine.

“You must have great parties.”

“That’s Owen’s deal more than mine.”

“I should say you
could
have great parties.” Her party-planning brain already organized themes, menus, decorations. “And that is, without question, the biggest TV I’ve ever seen.”

“Might as well have big. That cabinet’s for the DVDs. You can pick what you want to see.”

“I get to pick? That’s very considerate.”

“There’s nothing in there I won’t watch, so you can pick.”

She laughed and, before she did, walked over, wrapped her arms around his waist. “See, you didn’t have to say that. I’d’ve believed you were considerate.”

“It is what it is.”

“I like what it is.”

“So do I. Ah, what’s that thing called before the movie?”

“Previews?”

“No, the old-fashioned thing. Before they played the movie.”

“The overture?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” He scooped her off her feet. “It’s time for the overture.”

She laughed as he rolled them both onto his black leather couch.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

W
HEN THE WOMAN YOU HOOKED UP WITH WORKED
long, weird hours, you started living that way. He didn’t mind. It freed up his own off-time, left him choices. Work, TV sports, a long easy spell over a beer. He could mooch dinner off his mother or one of his brothers.

Or, like tonight, he could enjoy a night at the ballpark with his brothers and nephews.

Nothing hit the bell, to Ryder’s way of thinking, like minor league baseball. Sure, a trip to Camden Yards to watch the O’s play in the colorful cathedral of ball equaled a hell of an experience.

But minor league offered the intimacy, the drama and the simplicity of what the summer game was about. And when you added three young boys to the mix, it genuinely kicked ass.

He sat, munching a loaded dog, drinking a cold beer—since he and Owen had voted Beckett the designated driver—and enjoying the hell out of himself.

The crowd booed, cheered, catcalled the pitchers—including their own. The Hagerstown Suns, down two runs in the fifth, took the field. The mid-July heat that had steamed through the afternoon calmed with the hint of a breeze as the sun dropped west.

Ryder watched the pitcher fan the first batter, glanced over where Harry devoured the action, elbows on his knees, body tipped forward, face intent the way only a devout baseball fan could understand.

“Picking up some pointers, Houdini?”

Harry grinned over as the next batter stepped up to the plate. “I’m pitching Saturday, Coach said.”

“I heard.” He’d make time to be there, to watch the kid strut his stuff.

“I’m practicing my curveball. Beckett showed me how.”

“He’s got a pretty good one.”

Ryder settled back to watch the next pitch. At the crack of the bat, he moved instinctively, hauling Liam up, shooting the boy’s gloved hand in the air. He angled, and felt, as Liam did, the ball smack the sweet spot of the glove.

“I caught it!” Dumbfounded, thrilled beyond measure, Liam gaped down at the ball in his glove. “I caught the ball.”

“Nice.” Beckett sent Liam and his brother a mile-wide smile. “Pretty damn nice.”

“Mr. Hoover sucks it up. Let’s see it,” Owen demanded, and six males examined the ball as miners might a vein of gold.

“I want to catch one.” Murphy held out his glove. “Can you help me catch one?”

“They have to hit it this way. We had a high-flying foul that time.” Ryder knew better than to add they’d gotten lucky. “Keep your eyes peeled and your glove hot.”

“Ry! I thought that was you.”

The pretty blonde owned a sexy river of hair and generous curves snugged into tiny shorts and a tight T-shirt. She squeezed in beside him.

Hooking her arms around his neck she gave him a loud, cheerful kiss.

“Jen. How’s it going?”

“It’s going great. I hear the buzz about what you’re all doing in Boonsboro. I keep meaning to get down your way, see for myself. Hey, Owen, Beck. Who you got here?” She smiled at the boys.

“Beck’s and Clare’s,” Ryder told her. “Harry, Liam, Murphy.”

“Well, hi! I heard you and Clare got married. How’s she doing?”

“She’s good. It’s nice to see you, Jen,” Beckett said.

“My mom’s got two more brothers in her tummy,” Murphy announced.

“Two—seriously? Well, wow! Congratulations. And didn’t I hear you and Avery got engaged, Owen?”

“Yeah, we did.”

“I’ve really got to catch up with her, get into her place, grab some pizza. And I’m going to check out her new place when it’s open. Lot of buzz there. Two out of three of the Montgomery boys off the market,” she continued, as Harry shifted to see around her. “You’re prime real estate now, Ry.” She let out her quick, up-the-scale and down again laugh. “Hey, I’m just here with a couple of friends. Why don’t you drive me home after the game, we can catch up?”

“I’m kind of . . .” He spread his hands to encompass his group.

“Oh, sure. Well, call me! I’ll get down to Boonsboro and you can buy me a pizza at Vesta. You tell Avery I’m coming down to see her, Owen.”

“Will do.”

“I’m going to get on back.” She gave Ryder another squeeze, whispered, “Call me,” in his ear.

As she walked away both his brothers slid their gazes in his direction.

“Cut it out,” he muttered. After an uncomfortable internal debate, he pushed up. “Be right back.”

“Get me a beer,” Owen called out.

“Can I get nachos?” Murphy demanded. “Can I?”

Ryder just waved his hands and kept walking. He caught up with Jen as the 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.”