But it suited him fine.

Plus the casual, crowded circumstance would keep everybody from speculating. He didn’t mind town gossip; hell, it was part of the fuel that ran the engine. He’d just as soon not have his personal life discussed over breakfast at Crawford’s or scooped up like a banana split at The Creamery.

He and his brothers put business on hold until Clare packed her kids up.

“One more game. Please!” Liam, the designated negotiator, put on his best begging face. “Just one more, Mom. We’re not tired.”

“I’m tired. And I’m out of quarters, plus you have to pay off your current debt cleaning your room tomorrow.”

She watched his eyes slide toward the Montgomerys and narrowed her own. “Don’t you even think about tapping that source again.”

“Sorry, pal.” Beckett lifted his hands. “Nobody bucks a mom.”

“Aw, come on,” Liam began before his mother’s eyes narrowed a bit more.

“I think you meant to say something else to Beckett, and to Ryder and Owen, and Avery.”

He sighed, hugely. “Thanks for the quarters and the pizza and stuff.”

“I’ll take you down in Space Crusader next time around, shortie,” Ryder told him, and Liam brightened with the challenge.

“No way! I’m taking you down.”

“Come on, troops.” Avery pushed to her feet. “I’ll walk out with you.”

After a chorus of ’byes and thanks, and some foot dragging, Clare wrangled the boys to the stairwell door.

When the noise level dropped, Owen reached for his briefcase, where he’d stashed the files again.

“Hold on,” Ryder told him. “Let’s take this up to Beck’s. God knows who else might drop by and challenge us to a few rounds of Monster Bash.”

“Good idea.” Owen rose, pointed at Beckett. “Go pay the tab.”

“Hey.”

“I called it first. We’ll meet you up there.”

By the time he made it up, his brothers—both had keys—had raided his kitchen for beer and chips before making themselves comfortable in his living room.

D.A. lounged on the floor enjoying leftover pizza.

Ryder sent Beckett a slow smile. “So, you’re hitting on Clare the Fair.”

“I’m not hitting on her. I’m exploring the possibility of seeing her on social terms.”

“He’s hitting on her,” Owen said around a mouthful of chips. “You’ve still got that thing you had for her back in high school. Are you still writing bad song lyrics about heartbreak?”

“Suck me. And they weren’t that bad.”

“Yeah, they were,” Ryder disagreed. “But at least now we don’t have to listen to you playing your keyboard and howling them out down the hall. You have noticed she comes with three additions.”

“It’s come to my attention. So what?”

“Just checking. I like them. They’re not brats or robots.”

Beckett dropped down in a chair, picked up the beer his brothers had set out for him. “I’m taking her out next week. I figure dinner and maybe a movie.”

“Old school,” was Ryder’s opinion. “Predictable.”

“Maybe, but I think old school and predictable may be what’s called for. I get the feeling she hasn’t dated much since she came back to Boonsboro.”

“Ask Avery. They’re tight as spandex.”

Beckett gave Owen a considering nod. “Maybe I will.”

“I’d skip the movie and just go for dinner, the kind of place where they’re not looking to turn your table in an hour. More face time.”

“Might be better,” Beckett agreed.

“Now that we’ve helped launch Beck’s love life, can we get down to it?”

In response to Ryder, Owen pulled out the files on Hope again. “You can check her out whenever, get a little background before we meet with her. If she lives up to the hype, she’d be a real asset. Next deal.” He tossed out brochures. “We have to settle on the gas logs for Reception, and the gas fireplaces for J&R, W&B and The Library. Thompson’s is going to come in, take another look, and we’ll talk about where to bury the tank, how to run the lines. That’s set for Monday. We’re going to meet about The Courtyard—the pavers, the design, and how to deal with accessing the tank, the fencing, the plantings, the whole shot. That’s for Tuesday.”

“I’ve been working on that some,” Beckett said.

“Which is why you need to be there. Tuesday, four o’clock. Mom and Carolee are in on that, too.”

“We’ve got to deal with some practicalities,” Ryder put in. “Like how we’re going to set all the HVAC units, and getting them in, set, inspected, and passed before cold weather sets in.”

“Yeah, we do. And that’s why you need to meet with Mike at Care Services next week. We’ve got down-the-line details to start. And I’ll be meeting with Luther about the railings. But we have to settle on the design and the finish. Then there’s the design for the entrance doors,” Owen continued.

They divvied up work areas, merged some. Then got into a long, protracted argument over mechanics, which required shifting to Beckett’s office and studying blueprints.

By the time Beckett booted his brothers out the door, he figured he could re-create the blueprints—structural and mechanical—in his sleep.

And really, for one night, all he wanted to do was think about Clare.

He’d kissed her. Something he’d wanted to do for nearly fifteen years. Now, in about a week, he’d have her all to himself for an evening. A nice, quiet dinner, Owen had that right. A little wine, some conversation.

What did two people who’d known each other most of their lives talk about?

Then again, there was a lot about her he didn’t know.

He stood at his window looking out at the dark, shrouded inn and wondered what he’d find out. And what would happen next.

Work-related headaches dominated the next day, starting with a visit from the building inspector who, according to Ryder, arbitrarily reinterpreted codes, requiring a change in exterior doors already installed.

After spending half the day in Hagerstown straightening it out, Beckett came back to the site only to learn the tile supplier had mis-ordered the flooring in one of the guest room baths, and apparently—oops—forgotten to order the entire supply of another pattern. And now claimed their installer couldn’t begin the job for six weeks.

He’d have booted that nightmare to Owen, but his brother already had his hands full in a meeting with the mechanics about the building’s sprinkler system.

He retreated to his home office, and spent the next hour giving the salesman who’d screwed up a bigger headache than his own.

In that, at least, rode some satisfaction.

When he finished, he grabbed a Coke, swallowed some aspirin, then headed back across the street. He caught Owen in the parking lot.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“I’m going to put in some time in the shop. Look, Ry told me about the tile screwup. I’ll kick some ass in the morning.”

“Already kicked. Emergency meeting. Where’s Ry?”

“Third floor, last I checked. Hey, I’d better tell you about the gallery space next to the bookstore, and Mom’s latest brainstorm.”

“Not yet. Let’s go.”

They found Ryder on the third floor, installing one of the custom panels in the window well. “Fits like a glove,” he said, “and looks fan-fucking-tastic.”

D.A. thumped his tail in agreement, and probably hoped someone had food on them.

“That’s one thing that’s gone right today.”

“Tell me about it.” He glanced over at his brothers. “Did Owen tell you?”

“I’m telling Owen, and you. First, don’t get into a pissing contest with the building inspector even if he’s being a dick.”

“Hey, listen—”

“No. You were right, but you cross cocks with County, it can just bog up the whole project. The exterior doors meet code, were approved and signed off on previously. They stay. But let Owen or me handle the dirty work, if it looks like it’s going dirty. Next—”

Ryder set down his nail gun. “Give me that Coke.” He snagged it out of Beckett’s hand. “If you’re going to lecture me, I deserve a nice little treat.”

At the word treat, D.A.’s tail thumped harder.