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“I wish she’d tell us—one of us—more. The last name, something. She spoke to Owen. I keep waiting for her to speak to him again.”
“Who knows what barriers there are between her plane and ours? I like to think she’ll tell you what she can, when she can.”
“Me?”
“You’re with her more than any of us, and she’s your ancestor,” Justine pointed out. “Have any of the guests mentioned anything?”
“I had one woman who said she heard music in the middle of the night, and thought she smelled honeysuckle. She woke up not feeling well, couldn’t get back to sleep. So she went to The Library for a book. And when she was in there reading, she heard music.”
“Interesting.”
“She thought she’d dozed off, dreamed it. I’m not sure she didn’t, as music hasn’t been part of Lizzy’s repertoire before.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if she branched out. I need to get out of your way. You get me those dates, and I’ll mark them down in indelible ink.”
“I will.”
Hope rose with her, walked her to the door. They stood a moment, watching the men work across the lot.
“The first time I saw Tommy Montgomery he was up a ladder working, his shirt off. I was starting my brand-new job, and I wanted to be so professional, so dignified. And I saw him, and thought: Oh my God.” Laughing a little, Justine laid a hand on her heart. “That was the end and the beginning for me.”
“I wish I’d had a chance to meet him. Everyone who speaks of him speaks so well.”
“He was a good man. Had his flaws, like any. Made me crazy some of the time, and made me laugh a lot. I wouldn’t have had him any different. Not one bit.” She put an arm around Hope’s shoulder for a hug. “If Ryder doesn’t make you laugh, you toss him back. Sex isn’t worth it if he doesn’t make you laugh. I think I’ll go interrupt his day before I go nag at Clare.”
Hope watched her walk across the lot in her red sneakers, hailing Ryder as she went. And he straightened, shook his head, and grinned down at his mother.
Who wouldn’t want to be Justine when they grew up? Hope thought, and slipped back inside.
SHE DIDN’T HAVE time to think about potential lovers or ghosts, or anything else once the Friday arrivals began to roll in. Hope walked—or jogged—up and down the steps too many times to count. She figured until the fitness center opened, she got plenty of cardio right on the job. She showed guests to their rooms, answered questions, accepted compliments on the decor in the name of her boss, served refreshments, offered advice on dining and shopping.
When her Civil War couple returned, she set them up with wine—on request—in The Courtyard.
Some guests, she knew from experience, wanted a private little getaway where the innkeeper was nearly as invisible as Lizzy. Others wanted her to be a part of their experience, wanted to share with her the adventures of their day.
She listened and chatted when it was called for, vanished when it wasn’t. And like Justine with the town, Hope kept her ear to the ground of Inn BoonsBoro.
By five, with a full house, she had guests scattered around The Courtyard and in The Lounge.
“I can stay,” Carolee told her. “And that woman in E&D has you running your tail off. She assumed we’d have a wine list,” Carolee said, trying for a snooty accent. “And she certainly hopes we have Greek yogurt. It’s not that I minded running out to get it, but she could’ve asked nice—or better, in advance.”
“I know, I know. She’s a pill.” Hope poured out another bowl of bar mix. “It’s only two days,” she said like a mantra. “It’s only two days. And maybe she’ll be less of a pill as it goes on.”
“That type was born being a pill. She snapped her fingers at you.”
She had, Hope remembered, but for some reason it made her laugh. “Oh, girl, girl—because I’m much too important to be expected to remember or use your name—do you at least have water crackers available? I’d like to give her a water cracker.”
Now Carolee laughed. “Oh well, everybody else seems really nice, and ready to relax and enjoy. I can stay,” she repeated.
“No, you go home. You have to be back bright and early to help me make breakfast for this crowd. Civil War Bob’s bound to keep everybody entertained again.”
“He couldn’t entertain that one if he juggled fireballs naked. You call me if you want me to come back. I can even bunk in your spare room if you need me.”
“You’re the best.” Because she was, Hope drew her into a hug. “I’m on it. Don’t worry.”
She carried out more bar mix, another bottle of wine, and smiled easily when The Pill asked her for cocktail olives. Since she had some, she put them into a pretty bowl, carted them out. She chatted with those who wanted to chat, went back in to check on the guests in The Lounge.
And made the rounds until she could take a breath and offer up a prayer of thanks when The Pill and her husband went out to dinner.
Civil War Bob—bless him—talked his wife and two of the other couples into pizza delivery and games in The Lounge. She heard the good, satisfying sound of laughter and knew there would be no finger-snapping from that quarter.
She could get a little dinner herself, maybe do a little research while she ate—with that ear to the ground in case she was needed.
But first, she’d do a sweep of The Courtyard to gather up any dishes or napkins.
She stepped out into the balmy evening. Such pretty light, she thought, and quiet now that the Fit crew had knocked off. Next empty night, she’d treat herself to dinner in The Courtyard. She might even fix something fussy, just for herself, have a couple glasses of champagne. A little innkeeper indulgence, she thought as she gathered empty bottles for recycling.
Maybe he’d gotten noisier, or she more attuned, but she looked over just as Ryder stepped under the arch of wisteria.
“Some party,” he commented.
“We’ve got a full house, and some
of them took advantage of the nice evening. You’re in town late.”
“Had some things. Meeting at Vesta.”
“All those irons in the fire require meetings.”
“So Owen claims.”
“He’s right.” She gestured toward the building under construction. “The roof’s looking good. I think I can imagine that part finished. It’s going to look so much bigger, and so much better.”
He took the tub she used for the bottles. “I’ll get it.”
“I’ve got it.”
“I’ll get it,” he repeated, muscling it away. He carried it to the shed, dumped them in the recycling bin. Before she could pick up the bag of trash she’d finished filling, he took that as well.
“Thank you.”
He shut the shed door, turned to study her.
“Is there something—”
“Yes.”
After silence followed she lifted her eyebrows. “All right, what?”
“Yes,” he repeated. “I’m considering the idea.”
“You—Oh.” Not a conversation she’d expected to have with an inn full of people playing gin rummy.
“That’s not accurate. I’ve finished considering the idea.”
“I see. And what’s your conclusion?”
He gave her that look—that not exactly a smile, a sneer, a smirk. “What do you think?”
“I’m going to take a leap and say you’ve concluded in favor.”
“Good leap.” He reached out; she stepped back.
“I have people inside. Guests inside. I wouldn’t call this an optimum time to move forward with that conclusion.”
“I wasn’t figuring on wrestling you to the ground here and now.” But he put his hands in his pockets as the image of doing just that had considerable appeal. “So, what would you call the optimal—Christ, now I’m talking like you. When’s good for you?”
“I—”
He pulled his hands free, waved it away. He had smoother moves than that, for God’s sake. She just threw him off-stride. “You want dinner or something? That’s fine. You’ve got a night off sometime, or a night without bookings. I can work with that.” When she hesitated, he shrugged. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“No.” Simple, she reminded herself. Straightforward, no frills. That’s what she wanted. Wasn’t it? “I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Okay, then. You’ve got the schedule in that spreadsheet in your head. I’ve got a brother who has the same kind of brain.”
“Tuesday’s good.”
“Tuesday works. We can—”
“Damn it. Sorry.” She spotted someone crossing The Lobby toward the kitchen. “I’ve just got to check on the guests.”
When she dashed inside, Ryder looked down at his dog. “Wait here. You know how she is about you coming in when people are inside.”
D.A. sighed, plopped down, gave his sad look before his face nestled on his paws.
Ryder went in. A burst of laugher exploded from the direction of The Lounge, with a lot of voices in its wake. Another rumble of it rolled out from the direction of the kitchen.
Lively place, he decided. He’d never actually been in it when she had paying customers. It didn’t hurt his feelings to know that when she did, they enjoyed themselves. He just wished they’d all go the hell away for a few minutes so they could finish this deal.
Better yet, they could go the hell away for a couple hours, then they’d just seal the deal. He caught the scent of honeysuckle, rolled his eyes. “Stay out of it, sister,” he muttered.
