“I’ve known her since high school.”

Hope merely angled her head, said nothing.

“Look. Hell. We hook up sometimes. Nothing serious. Christ, what’s your problem?” he demanded when she remained silent.

“I don’t have a problem. I’m waiting for you to finish.”

“Fine. I ran into her, that’s all, and she talked about getting together. Seeing the inn, and, you know, maybe we could rent a room.”

“Oh.” Hope folded her hands neatly. “That must have been awkward, as you’re currently sleeping with the innkeeper.”

With his scowl, his eyes held a fulminating green. “Awkward’s a stupid word. It’s a girl word. It was weird. I had to tell her I was seeing somebody because I didn’t want it to be weird.”

“Was she angry?”

“No. She’s not like that. We’re friends.”

All reason, Hope nodded. “It’s good, even commendable, you can stay friends with someone you’ve slept with. It says something about you.”

“It’s not about that.” Something about her calm, goddamn reasonable responses put his back up. “It’s about being clear. I’m not sleeping with anyone else, so you’re not sleeping with anyone else. That’s clear.”

“It absolutely is.”

“I’m not like that asshole you were tangled up with.”

“You’re nothing like that asshole,” she agreed. “And, just as important to me, I’m not the same person I was when I was tangled up with that asshole. Isn’t it handy we are who we are, and maybe better, can be who we are with each other?”

“I guess it is.” He hissed out a breath, and finally most of the frustration. “You throw me off,” he admitted.

“How?”

“You don’t ask questions.”

“I ask plenty of questions. Otherwise I wouldn’t know you got that scar on your butt taking a tumble sledding when you were eight. Or you lost your virginity in the tree house your father built you—fortunately some years later. Or—”

“About where we’re going,” he interrupted. “Women always ask where we’re going.”

“I’m enjoying where we are so I don’t need to know where we might be. I like being here. I’m happy being with you, and that’s enough.”

Relieved, he sat on the side of the bed, shifted to face her. “I’ve never known anybody like you. And I can’t figure you out.”

She lifted a hand to his cheek. “It’s the same for me. I like that you’d come here tonight, to tell me all this. That it bothered you enough you’d need to tell me.”

“Some women can’t handle a guy being friends with another woman, or having a conversation with one he’s had sex with.”

“I’m not the jealous type. Maybe if I had been, if I’d been less trusting, I wouldn’t have been betrayed, but I’m not made that way. If I can’t trust the man I’m with, I shouldn’t be with him. I trusted Jonathan, and I was wrong. I trust you, and I know I’m right. You don’t lie, and that matters to me. I won’t lie to you, and we’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got more friends.”

Laughing, she linked her hands around his neck. “I bet you do.” She kissed him lightly, then lingered over it. “Are you going to stay?”

“Might as well.”

“Good. Let me put this work away.”


HE PUT EXTRA time in most evenings, sometimes alone, sometimes with one brother or with both. If she didn’t have guests, they had dinner together, or went out somewhere, then stayed at his place.

She never left anything at his house, which he found strange. Women were always leaving little bits of themselves behind. But not Hope.

So maybe he picked up a bottle of the shower gel stuff she used to keep at his place. Hell, he liked the way she smelled, didn’t he? And he sprang for a couple new towels since his were heading toward ratty.

It wasn’t like he’d filled his place with flowers and smelly candles.

She stocked his beer, he stocked her shower stuff, and yeah, the wine she liked. No big deal. She didn’t make an issue out of it.

She didn’t bitch about the dog, and he’d been primed for that one. But she didn’t—hell, she’d bought Dumbass a bed and a toy so he’d be at home when they stayed over in her apartment.

He thought about that more than he should—more than he liked—that she didn’t do what he assumed she would.

The constant surprise of her kept him off-balance in a way he’d come to appreciate.

And he sure as hell appreciated she wasn’t the type who whined when work kept him tied up, as it did now.

He glanced around the bar side of MacT’s, pleased with the lay of the land, the gleam of the hardwood, the symmetry of the lights.

“When we get this bastard done,” he began as he and his brothers worked to finish the bar, “I want a Warrior’s Pizza. It’s Beckett’s turn to buy.”

“Can’t do it.” Beckett paused, swiped at his sweaty face. “I need to get home, give Clare a hand. She’s so freaking tired by the end of the day.”

“It’s Ry’s turn anyway,” Owen said. “And I could eat. Avery’s closing tonight, so it works out.”

“How’d it get to be my turn?”

“That’s how turns work. God, this bitch is big. And beautiful.”

With the last piece in place, they stepped back, admired the dark, lush gleam of mahogany, the detail of the panels they’d built and installed.

It still lacked the rail, the top—and the taps—but Ryder saw it as damn good work.

Owen ran his fingers over the side. “The way this is moving, we’ll have this place punched out in a week, week and a half, tops. It’s handy Ry’s stuck on the innkeeper and has to keep himself busy right here.”

“It’s looking good,” Beckett agreed. “Only downside is between all this work, and Ry keeping Hope so damn busy, we haven’t gotten as far on finding Billy as we thought we would.”

“It’s a lot to get through,” Owen reminded him. “We’re getting there. Lizzy’s old man managed to expunge a hell of a lot from official records. There are gaps. Jesus, what kind of father basically tries to erase his own kid?”

“The kind kids run away from,” Ryder said. “Like she did.”

“Owen? Are you in here? I saw the lights when …” Avery walked through the opening from restaurant to bar side, stopped dead. “Oh! Oh! The bar. You finished the bar. You made my bar! You didn’t tell me.”

“If you hadn’t been so nosy you’d have been surprised tomorrow. The top’s going on tomorrow. The counter guys are scheduled to do the insert in the morning.”

“It’s beautiful. Just beautiful.” She rushed in, ran her hands over it. “It feels beautiful.” Then she spun around, grabbed Owen, danced, spun to Beckett, then to Ryder. “Thank you, thank you! I have to see the back.”

She scurried around, made happy noises. “As beautiful from this side as the front. Oh, I wish Clare and Hope could see, right now! I can text Hope, tell her to come over.”

“She’s got people,” Ryder told her.

“It’ll only take a minute. I need a girl here. I can’t believe you got this done in here without me knowing,” she continued as she pulled out her phone.

“It wasn’t easy,” Owen admitted.

“But it was really sweet. She says she’ll be right here. It’s really happening. I have so much to do. Let me take a picture of the three of you in front of the bar.”

“I’ll take one of you and Owen in front of it,” Ryder said.

“The three of you first, you built it. Then one of me and Owen.”

They obliged her, with Owen going behind the bar as if tending.

“One more,” she murmured, and snapped.

“Now you, Red Hots.” Ryder picked her up, sat her on the front lip. “Don’t lean back or you’ll fall in.”

“I won’t.” In fact she leaned forward, resting an elbow on Owen’s shoulder as he came out to stand beside her.

“I’m going to put these up on Facebook right away. I want everybody to see—Owen.”

She held out her arms, wrapping around him as he helped her down.

“Jesus, if you need a room there’s a few of them right across the street.”

Ryder glanced over just as Hope lifted a hand to knock.

“I was about to come over before Avery texted me,” she began when he let her in. “I’ve got—Oh. You’ve finished the bar.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Avery stroked its side as she might a beloved pet. “My boyfriend and his brothers built it for me.”

“It’s a piece of art. Really. It’s wonderful. It’s wonderful in here. I love the colors, Avery, and the lights. The floor. Everything. You’re going to have an enormous hit.”

She stepped up, stood in the opening to study the restaurant side. “And you got the waitress station in. I couldn’t really visualize, but—”

“It’s in! I didn’t even see.” Avery leaped up, dashed through.

“You made her night,” Hope told Ryder.

“You’re revved about something else,” Ryder observed.

“It shows? I am revved. I found something in one of Catherine’s letters to a cousin. It was long, and full of family chat, comments about the war, a book she’d read that she’d hid from her father. And mixed in, I found this passage about Eliza.”

“Something new?” Owen asked.

“It talks about being worried because their father was arranging for Eliza to marry the son of a state senator. And Eliza was bucking him. It’s clear bucking wasn’t something her father tolerated. More, it talks about Eliza sneaking out at night to meet one of the stonemasons their father hired to build walls on the property.”

“A stonemason,” Owen considered. “Beneath her station, right? Daddy wouldn’t approve.”

“Catherine writes she’s afraid of what will happen if Eliza’s caught, but she won’t listen. She claims she’s in love.”

“Is there a name? Did she write his name?” Beckett demanded.

“No, at least I haven’t found it yet. But this has to be Billy. It has to be. She was in love, risking her father’s considerable wrath. They both were. The letter was written in May of 1862, just months before Lizzy came here. Months before Antietam. If we could just find some records of who worked on the estate, or find the names of stonemasons from this area …”