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“I interviewed her for damn near an hour today, not including the phone call from the other day. I read her resume, checked it out.” The more Ryder objected, the more Owen sided with their mother. “She’s smart, and she knows the business. She brought up details we haven’t even thought of yet, and had suggestions.”
“Suggestions are easy. Making them work’s different. What’s going to happen the first time somebody spills their coffee on the floor? Is she going to call housekeeping? We don’t have housekeeping.”
“Did you even read her resume?” Owen shot back. “She’s been working since she was sixteen. She waited tables when she was in high school.”
“Big fucking deal. That’s high school. This is now. What happened to discussing key elements of this place and voting?”
“Ask Mom,” Owen suggested. “But if it came down to a vote, I’d add mine to Mom’s.” The argument solidified his stand.
“That’s just great. What about you?” Ryder stabbed a finger at Beckett.
“Yes, Beckett,” Justine said from the doorway, “what about you?”
Everybody froze, including Clare, who’d come up with Justine. Even as she tried to step back and make herself scarce, Justine clamped a hand on Clare’s arm. “No, that’s fine. This won’t take long. Ryder has objections to my choice of innkeeper, apparently. I take it Owen doesn’t.”
“I maybe would’ve . . . Not really,” Owen decided. Wisely.
“Beckett?”
Stuck, Beckett looked from his mother to Clare, and back again. “I really only talked to her for a second. It’s a key position, like Ry said. It’s the key position. But I did read her resume, and I agree with Owen that she’s more than qualified. She obviously made a strong impression on you or you wouldn’t have hired her. So . . . I guess we’ve got an innkeeper.”
“Then that’s settled. Now, before I take Clare out to see W&B, I’m going to tell the three of you morons you’re damn lucky Hope didn’t come back up with me. She might have changed her mind about working for a trio of rude, bitchy men. And you.” She pointed at Ryder. “I’ll give you six weeks after she’s worked here to apologize for questioning my judgment.”
“Mom—”
“That’s all I have to say.” She cut him off with another point of the finger. “Come on, Clare.”
After one apologetic glance, Clare followed in Justine’s steaming wake.
“Great,” Beckett muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face. “That was just great.”
“ ‘I guess we’ve got an innkeeper,’ ” Ryder mimicked. “You only went along like that because you want to get lucky with Clare.”
“Jesus, shut up. And it has nothing to do with Clare.” Or hardly. “She’s qualified; Mom likes her. That’s that.”
“We don’t even know her.”
Though he was fairly steamed himself at this point, Beckett nodded. “So we’ll get to know her. We’ve got that apartment across St. Paul. It’s vacant right now. We put her up there, have her work with Mom and Owen for a while. Ordering supplies, organizing the inventory, whatever. She gets a taste of small-town living, and we get a better sense of her.”
Ryder opened his mouth to protest on principle, then rethought. “That’s actually a pretty good idea. If she bails, or is just a screwup, we’ll know before it’s too late.”
“And if I could toss some of the phone calls, the lists, the grunt work to her, I’d have more time here and in the shop. We give her the apartment and a small hourly wage.” Owen nodded. “This could work. If she’ll agree.”
“Tell Mom,” Ryder suggested. “She’ll get her to agree.”
“I’ll go run it by her. My idea,” Beckett added, and took off.
He caught them at the base of the outside steps. “Hey! Hold on a minute. Did you get the full tour this time?” he asked Clare as he came down.
“Yes. It’s going to be wonderful. I’ve got more ideas.” She tapped her notebook. “Justine and I are going to talk about them once I get them in some sort of order. Thanks for taking me through. I really need to get going.”
“Can you wait a minute—you could weigh in on this. Mom, how about asking Hope if she’d move up here now, or as soon as she can? We could give her the apartment across the street. It would give her time to acclimate to the town, get to know the area. And she could help you and Owen with the stuff you and Owen do.”
Justine tipped down her sunglasses, eyed him over the top. “Whose idea is this?”
“Well, mine, but Ry and Owen—”
“It’s a good one. You are, temporarily at least, my favorite son. I’ll talk to her about it over lunch. We’ll talk soon, Clare. Just email me some of the copy whenever you think you’re ready.”
“I will.”
“I’m going to call Carolee.” Justine pulled out her phone as she walked away.
“Sorry about the family drama.”
“We have plenty of our own. Does Ryder really not want Hope?”
“He’s just pissed Mom didn’t consult him.” Beckett left out issues like city, suits, and five-inch spikes. “Listen, I thought maybe I’d swing by later, give you a hand with the yard work.”
“The yard work?”
“Get the grass mowed for you. I miss mowing grass.”
“Oh, that’s sweet of you, but I mowed this morning.”
“This morning? It’s still morning.”
“The kids never sleep in on Saturdays, especially summer Saturdays. The advantage is, I can get a lot done before noon. Which is good as Saturdays are my get-it-all-done day, with Sunday for what didn’t. But thanks.”
“Anytime. Really.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I have to go, pick up the kids from my mother’s, hit the grocery store. I’m so glad you hired Hope. She’s going to be perfect for the inn, and the inn’s going to be perfect for her. Well, I’ll see you.”
“Yeah. Come here.” He pulled her around the steps, under the side porch roof. “I missed doing this yesterday.”
He closed his mouth over hers, nice and easy. Lingered a moment longer when her free hand curled up around his shoulder.
“That’s nicer than help with the yard work,” she murmured.
“You can have both, anytime.”
She thought both would take some time to get used to.
“I guess I’ll see you Monday.”
He ran a hand down the sunny tail of her hair. “I’ll call you later.”
“All right.”
It would all take time to get used to, she thought as she got into her car. Phone calls and kisses and Friday night dates. It was almost like being in high school again—well, except for the kids, the grocery store, the laundry waiting to be folded, and the checkbook that needed balancing.
She gave the inn a last glance as she drove away. The place had been there for over two centuries, she mused. And somehow it was changing everything.
CHAPTER EIGHT
S
INCE YARD WORK WASN’T ON THE WEEKEND AGENDA, AND he couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse to drop by Clare’s, Beckett put some extra time in at the family shop. With the dogs and his iPod for company, he set to work building the wood frame that would cap in the stone arch leading from The Lobby to the entrance hallway.
He didn’t do as much fine carpentry or cabinetmaking as his brothers, but enjoyed it when he did. And for the moment, he liked having the shop to himself.
He remembered his father teaching him how to use the saws, the lathe, the planer. Thomas Montgomery had been patient, but expected precision.
No point in doing something if you’re going to do it half-assed.
A motto to live by, Beckett thought now.
God, his dad would’ve loved this project. Everything about it would have appealed to him, challenged him. He’d loved the town, the old buildings, its rhythm, its colors and tones. Its politics.
He could sit at the counter at Crawford’s over bacon, eggs, and hash browns and bullshit with the best of them.
He’d never missed a parade or the fireworks for the Fourth in Shafer Park, not in Beckett’s memory. He’d sponsored a Little League team, and the family business still did. He’d even coached for a few years.
In his way, Beckett supposed, without the bullshit or posturing, he’d taught his sons what it was to be a part of a community. And how to value it.
Yeah, he’d love this project, for the work, for the building, and for the community.
For that reason alone, nothing about it would be half-assed.
Beckett took out his tape measure, the one that had been his father’s. Their mother had made sure each of them kept a specific tool. He measured and marked the next piece.
He straightened when his mother came in.
“Putting in some overtime, I see.”
“I got into it. Since I’m the one who wanted the archways framed in, I thought I should start the build.”
“It’s going to look fine, too. Look at the bookcases.” She laid a hand on her heart. “That’s damn pretty work you boys are doing there. Your dad would be so proud.”
“I was just thinking about him. It’s hard not to in here. I was thinking how much he’d love working on the inn, bringing it back.”
“Rolling his eyes at me behind my back when I came up with some new idea. And don’t think I don’t know you do the same.”
“Just carrying on the tradition.”
“You do a good job of that, the three of you.”
“Are you still mad?”
She angled her head. “Do I look mad?”
