It was no way to act, no way to treat him. Montgomery’s doing, he decided. She was just too soft, too accommodating to tell that interfering bastard to mind his own business.

He’d take care of that. Take care of her.

He knew what she needed. A man of means, of style, of stature. One who could put those kids in a good boarding school so she didn’t have to work so hard. A man who could take her places, show her off.

She’d see. He’d make her see.

He settled in, watching the routine of lights going off, going on.

He sat for nearly an hour, watching her lighted bedroom windows, and longer still after the windows went dark.

When he drove away, he had a plan.

Since most of the men were busy, Beckett helped muscle the first tub to the second floor. In any case, he wanted to see how Lizzy liked it. Once they’d set the white slipper tub in place, he lingered. Light, warm colors, he thought, studying the tile work, a more traditional feel than some of the rooms. A nice contrast, he decided, with the deep tone of the old rubbed-bronze fixtures, and the charm of the telephone-style floor faucet for the tub.

He waited, but apparently Lizzy was withholding judgment until the plumber finished it off.

He went down—and up again countless times, hauling tubs, toilets, faucets, shower systems. All meticulously labeled, he noted, by either his brother or Hope.

On what he prayed was nearly the last trip, he saw Hope outside the on-site storage unit with a clipboard.

“Didn’t know you were here.”

“I’ve been down at the other storage. We finally have room in there. I’m checking off here, then I’m going to go through, make sure all the fixtures are in the right rooms.”

“They’re marked,” he reminded her. “We’re putting them in the right rooms.”

“So you say.” She grinned at him. “I have to see for myself. There are a lot of pieces to each pie. Shower system, sink faucets, bath faucets, towel warmers, P-traps, vanity mirrors, robe hooks.” She lifted one elegant eyebrow. “Should I continue?”

“No, because I’ve muled that and more in and up.”

“It’ll be worth it.” She lowered her clipboard, adjusted her intricately tied scarf. “Besides, you’ll be able to relax on your hot date tonight.”

“Where am I going?”

She laughed. “For me to know and you to find out. Oh, I had this idea.” She opened a purse the size of a small planet, pulled out what looked like a little diary or journal, with stylized fairies on the cover. “I’m going to run this past your mother, but I thought we could put a journal in each room—themed to it. I got this on loan from TTP. Guests could write comments in them.”

“Fine with me.”

“Good. And I thought we could get a nice registration book. I know we’re not doing that sort of thing, but if we could find a classy one, put it on the desk in The Library, it’s another way for guests to write something. And I got this sample today.”

She reached inside the planet again, pulled out a cream-colored folder. “For the rooms—we put a nice welcome note in here on the stationery—from the staff, the list of art when we get that worked out, a menu from Avery’s, other information.”

“You’re having entirely too much fun with this.”

“I really am, and just wait until I start buying office supplies. Oh, and while I’ve got one of you, I thought of a few things last night.”

She reached in again, pulled out an enormous notebook.

“Beckett!” Ryder yelled down from the second-floor porch. “Are you going to stand around making time with the innkeeper all day, or get any actual work done?”

“Kiss my ass,” Beckett called back pleasantly.

“I’ll let you go.” Hope stuck the notebook back in her bag. “Tell me something first. Is he ever going to call me by name, or am I always going to be ‘the innkeeper’?”

“The only time you have to worry is when he calls you that damn innkeeper.”

“I suppose so.”

She glanced up again, cool stare in place, but wasted it as Ryder had already gone back in.

For the first time in months, Beckett considered demoing his apartment bathroom and installing a hot tub. He might not have been a gym rat, but he considered himself in pretty damn good shape. Or had, until the day of hauling tubs and toilets, sinks, vanities, and Christ knew what up a couple flights of stairs—multiple times—had done him in.

Everything ached.

A hot tub, he thought as he stripped and dropped sweaty, filthy clothes on the bathroom floor. Maybe a new shower system with body jets like they were putting in the inn.

An in-house masseuse would be a nice touch.

One thing, he told himself as he got into his all-too-pedestrian shower, he’d be modifying his house plans and adding some well-deserved perks to the master bath.

Of course, the way he was going, he’d be an AARP member before he built the damn place. Really had to get on that.

But right at the moment, building anything, including the doghouse he’d promised the kids they’d start next week, seemed like the seventh level of hell.

One of these fine days he’d stick with his drawing board, his CAD, his slide rule, and blueprints, and just tell other people where to hammer, saw, and haul.

“Yeah, that’s going to happen,” he mumbled and tried to imagine hot jets swirling and pulsing around tired muscles. His imagination didn’t quite make the grade.

He remembered to pick up the clothes, ditch the towel in the hamper when he considered Clare might use the bathroom when she came to pick him up.

His back snarled at him—he snarled back.

Since he didn’t know where they were going, he considered wardrobe choices. Probably not jeans, though jeans and a sweatshirt seemed like the perfect choice for his overworked body.

He settled on black pants and a casual shirt with tiny blue and green checks. If absolutely necessary, he could dress it up with a tie and—please God, don’t make me—a jacket.

If she hadn’t already made plans, whatever they were, he’d have nudged her toward a quiet evening in, with delivery and DVDs.

But a woman who worked all week, at home and at business, deserved a fun evening out on a Saturday night.

If she wanted to go dancing, he might break down in tears.

He glanced around the apartment, deemed it reasonably clean, mostly because he hadn’t spent enough time in it recently to mess it up. Between Clare, work, family meetings, dogs, kids, time for sprawling out with beer, chips, and ESPN had dwindled down to next to never.