“How many son-of-a-bitching layers of this shit is on here?” Beckett shouted.

“It’s a miracle the whole goddamn thing didn’t fall in last winter.” As he broke up another section with a roof cutter, Ryder looked over and grinned. “She’s going now.”

“If she doesn’t kill us first. What are you grinning at?”

“I like the view.”

Beckett paused, swiping at sweat and looked out. The copper roof of the inn gleamed and glinted in the sun. He could see The Square, and the traffic passing, people walking into Vesta’s for lunch, and shifting, he looked down Main to Turn The Page.

“I’d rather look at the view from a shady porch, with a beer in one hand and my woman in the other.”

“Use your imagination.” Ryder stripped off his saturated mask, glugged down water. Since he couldn’t waste the jug, he imagined pouring that cold water over his head.

As he took a moment to roll his aching shoulders, he saw Hope come out onto the second-floor porch. She paused a moment, looking over and up, studying the work and workers. He knew the instant her gaze reached him; he’d have sworn he felt it like an arrow to the loins.

She stood for a beat, as he did, then unlocked the door to J&R and disappeared inside.

“Must have someone coming in,” Beckett commented.

“Huh?”

“Caught ya looking.”

Ryder picked up a fresh mask. “No law against it.”

“Not yet. Why don’t you ask her out?”

“Why don’t you put that shovel to work?”

“A little dinner, some conversation. Hell, she baked you a pie.”

“You had as much of it as I did. You take her to dinner and talk to her.”

“I have. Or Clare and I’ve had her over. You need a buffer, bro? We can have the two of you over, smooth the way.”

“Blow me,” Ryder suggested, and hacked away.


IT DIDN’T HURT to look, Hope told herself. She went inside, unlocked Eve and Roarke. There she could open the blinds, just enough to see through, and across to the roof. Or what she imagined was left of it.

She’d had no idea how they’d intended to remove it. It seemed to involve a lot of sharp-bladed shovels, heavy bars, and some sort of saw. Along with a great deal of noise.

She imagined it miserable work, but it provided her with an interesting perspective.

Most of the men had stripped off their shirts. She hoped they’d made liberal and repeated use of sunscreen or they’d be hurting tonight.

She debated with herself a moment, thought, what the hell?

She hurried up to her apartment, grabbed her opera glasses, and jogged down again.

Definitely miserable work, she concluded as she brought that perspective close through the glasses. And oh my, my, the man was seriously built.

She’d seen it, when he had a shirt on, felt it the few times she’d been pressed against him. But … there was nothing quite like a full-on view of a sweaty man with muscles rippling.

No woman alive could deny a little buzz, even if the sweaty, ripplymuscle sort wasn’t her usual type.

She saw him glance over, pull down the mask to call out something to one of the other men. He had a damn good face, too—a little scruffy and unshaven over those strong bones, but damn good. And when he laughed, as he did now, another buzz zipped along inside her.

She made a little humming sound.

“Hope? I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do with …”

Hope turned. She nearly whipped the opera glasses behind her back, but she wasn’t quite that bad off. Instead she grinned, maybe a little sheepishly, as Carolee stopped at the door.

“I’m spying on the neighbors.”

“Really?” Wiggling her eyebrows, Carolee walked over. “What’s—Oh, the roof. God, they have to be hot and sweaty and—” She broke off, laughed. “And that’s the whole point. Let me have a look.”

She took the glasses, peered out through the slats of the blinds. “They are pretty, aren’t they? I only see two of the boys—Justine’s boys. Owen must’ve figured a way out. Horrible work. We should make them some lemonade.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know if—”

“Absolutely.” Beaming, Carolee handed the glasses back to Hope. “We’ll fill a couple of coolers, an ice bucket, take some plastic glasses. We have that folding table downstairs. It’s a good deed.”

“And I should pay for the show?”

Carolee gave her a little pat. “I wouldn’t say that. Come on, it won’t take much time. We’ve got a couple hours before check-in.”

She couldn’t say no to Carolee, especially since she’d been caught ogling the woman’s nephew. So together they made vats of lemonade. They carted out the folding table, coolers, ice, cups. Carolee called one of the men by name, hailed him over. That started a rotation of men from the roof, from inside.

She got a lot of “thanks, Hope,” or in a few cases “Miss Hope.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Beckett downed a cup, winked at his aunt.

“You be careful up there.”

“You bet. We’re almost done. We’re cutting through to the damn rubber now. Your timing’s good. We’re going to break for lunch, finish it up after.”

“Sweep that area over there for nails,” Ryder ordered someone, then grabbed a cup, gulped down the contents. “Thanks.”

“I’m going to call in the lunch order,” Beckett announced, and stepped away with his phone.

“Here, Ryder, have another. Your mama’s coming by later.”

“What for?”

“Because I told her you were tearing off that roof, and she wants to see. I’m going to make another batch so y’all can have more with lunch.”

“And she’s going to want to see the restaurant, and the bakery,” Ryder muttered. “Where the hell is Owen?”

“Here.” Hope poured him another cup herself. “Cool off.”

“There isn’t enough lemonade in the world.” But he drank it. “We’ll have gotten that bitch off before it gets too hot, so that’s something.”

Hearing his master’s voice, D.A. wandered out, rubbed up against Ryder’s legs. Hope took a dog biscuit out of her pocket.

“He’s going to start expecting a cookie every time he sees you.”

“You got lemonade.”

“He hasn’t been ripping off a tar-and-gravel roof and sweating off ten pounds.”

She bent to pet the dog, tipped her face up so her eyes glinted through a dark curtain of hair. “Maybe I should get my garden hose.”

“I might just use it at the end of the day.” He hesitated. “Have you got people coming in?”

“Yes. Three rooms, one staying through the weekend.”

“Okay.”

“Any particular reason you asked?”

“No.”

Back to one-word responses, she thought, and tried another avenue. “I hear you shared your pie on Man Night.”

“The kids were like vultures. I underestimated them.”

“I’ve got half of one left. You can have it.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Pick it up before you leave. I have to get back to work.”

“We’ll bring the table and stuff back. We appreciate it.”

“All right. Oh, and I’m sure I can make time if you want me to hose you off.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow in speculation before she turned and walked away.

Hope considered herself a pretty good judge, and in her judgment she and Ryder Montgomery were having a serious flirtation.

They’d see where it went from there.


OWEN SHOWED UP as Ryder climbed down from the roof for the last time of the day. He could’ve bitched, but he noted Owen showed some sweat and dirt, and still wore his tool belt.

But what the hell, a little bitching between brothers was just another sign of affection.

“Figured you’d show up when the hard work was over.”

“Somebody had to run the other crew since you got a wild hair to go off schedule. Those fugly tiles are gone over there, and wasn’t that fun?”

Anything but, Ryder thought, and couldn’t help but be glad he didn’t have to do it.

“If you get material in here tomorrow, we can start the new roof.”

“It’ll be here at eight.” Owen gave Ryder an up-and-down study. “Looks like you’ve earned a beer.”

“I earned a fucking six-pack.”

“Avery’s closing tonight, so I’m going to go over, hang awhile. It’s Beckett’s turn to buy.”

“Beckett’s going home,” Beckett announced. “And taking a five-hour shower. I may eat and sleep in the shower.”

“Looks like you and me, Ry.”

“Looks like you,” Ryder corrected. “I’m doing what Beckett’s doing, and so’s my dog.”

“Fair enough, considering how the two of you smell. We’ll rain check it until tomorrow. We need to go over some things, both sites. We can do it before the crew gets here in the morning, or after we knock off.”

“After,” Ryder said, definitely.

“Friday night?” Beckett arched his brows. “No hot date?”

“My hot dates don’t start that early, they go until early.” But he didn’t have one, and hadn’t thought about it. Maybe after he’d showered off three or four inches of grime, he’d give it more thought.

“See you tomorrow then.” As Owen strolled off, Beckett looked back at the building. He and Ryder stood together like a couple of refugees from hell. “Flip you for who does the final check and locks up.”

Mostly because he remembered early-morning coffee in the kitchen with Clare, Ryder shrugged. “Go on home to the wife and kids. I’ll do it.”

“I’m already gone.”

Ryder went back in, grabbed his clipboard. He wanted to note a couple things down, after he could stand to be around himself again. He checked the door facing St. Paul, got his cooler.

Thought of lemonade.

No time for that, he told himself. And though he wouldn’t mind the pie, he wasn’t going into the inn in his current state. He’d have to rain check that, too.

He started out just as a truck pulled in.

Willy B’s, he noted, with his mother riding shotgun. He tried not to think of the fact that Avery’s father was sleeping with his mother. He’d rather just continue to think of Willy B as he always had: an old family friend—a hell of a nice guy who’d been Tommy Montgomery’s best pal since childhood.