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second baseman fielded a line drive, and the side retired.
“I’ve got to hit concessions,” he told her. “I’ll buy you a beer.”
“Sounds good. So much going on with you. I’m dying to see that inn of yours. I saw the article in the paper last winter, and it looks awesome. And Beckett having twins, Owen getting married—and to Avery!”
She chatted all the way. He’d never minded that about her because she was so damn happy to babble, and never cared if he didn’t respond. Or listen all that close.
They’d known each other since high school, had dated on and off—more off than on, since she’d gotten married at one point. Divorced at another. They’d stayed friends—friendly—with nothing more serious than occasional sex when it worked out for both of them.
It was pretty damn obvious it would’ve worked out for her now.
He bought her beer, Owen’s, his own, nachos for the runt, then set them down at one of the high tables while he tried to work out how to handle it.
“I almost didn’t come tonight. I’ve been swamped with work, too. I’m glad I let Cherie and Angie talk me into it. You remember Cherie.”
“Yeah.” Probably.
“She got divorced about a year ago. It was a rough time for her.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“She’s dating one of the players. The center fielder, so we came to keep her company for the game.”
“Nice.”
“Listen, what are you up to this weekend? I could come down. You could give me a tour of the inn.” She offered her sparkly-eyed smile. “Maybe we could book a room.”
“I’m seeing somebody.” He didn’t know the words were there until they fell out of his mouth.
“Well, that’s not news, you’re always … Oh.” Those sparkly eyes widened. “You mean seeing seeing. Wow. Did you and your brothers all drink from the same bottle?”
“I’m not—we’re not—I’m just seeing somebody.”
“Good for you, and her. So who is she? Tell me all. Do I know her?”
“No. I don’t think so. She’s the innkeeper.”
“Really? Now I have to get down there and see the place.”
“Come on, Jen.”
“Come on, Ry,” she tossed back at him. “How long have we known each other? I’d never mess you up.”
“No.” He let out a breath. “You wouldn’t.”
“And I’m happy for you. A little sorry for myself,” she admitted, “but happy for you. I’ve been having shit-all luck with men lately.”
“Then the men you’re looking at are stupid.”
“There’s a lot of that going around. I’m still coming down, catching up with Avery, taking a look at what you’ve got going on.”
“That’d be good.”
“I’d better get back before my friends send out a search party. Thanks for the beer.”
“Anytime.”
“What’s her name?”
“Hope.”
“Nice. Is she pretty?”
“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” And again, he hadn’t known the words were there.
“Aw.” Jen leaned forward, kissed his cheek. “Good luck, sweetie.”
“Yeah. The same.”
And that, Ryder thought as he gathered up the food, had been just plain weird. He started back, paused, balancing nachos and beer to watch the Sun’s batter knock a solid left field double, bringing in a run, and putting men at second and third.
Looking up, he decided, and worked his way back.
“Did you see?” Harry demanded.
“Yeah, nice hit.” Ryder dumped the tray of nachos in Murphy’s lap, passed Owen the beer.
“So?” Owen said.
“So what?”
“So what did you tell Jen?”
“That I was seeing somebody. Jesus, Owen, I don’t mess with women that way.”
“He doesn’t mess with women that way,” Murphy echoed soberly. “Jesus, Owen.”
As Ryder roared with laughter, Beckett winced. And the Suns knocked in the tying run.
RYDER FULLY INTENDED to go home and stay there, work out for an hour—considering dogs, nachos, beer—then maybe stretch out with his dog and watch another game on TV.
Fifteen minutes after Beckett dropped him off, he walked back out of the house with his dog. Annoyed with himself, he climbed in his truck and drove into Boonsboro.
They’d just straighten this deal out, he thought. Cards on the table. He didn’t like weird situations. He didn’t like situations period, so they’d deal with it, get it done.
He noted the two cars in the lot with Hope’s. He’d known she had guests. No big, he decided. He’d just go up and wait for her, then they’d deal.
And that would give him time to figure out how to deal.
The exterior lights gleamed in the dark, turned The Courtyard into an elegant dream stirred with the fragrance of roses madly blooming above the stone wall.
Beckett had called that, he remembered. The wall, the flowers, the center weeping redbud. It made such an appealing space he wondered why none of the current guests were taking advantage of it.
He went up the outside steps to the third floor, let himself in. Quiet lay comfortably over the inn so he deduced the guests had settled into The Lounge with a movie or a hot game of Scrabble.
He unlocked Hope’s apartment, walked in with D.A. At home, he got a Coke out of the fridge and considered how the hell to pass the time until she came up.
He should probably let her know he was here, but damned if he wanted to go all the way down, then up again. He’d just text her after he stretched out on her bed with the ball game.
He stepped into her bedroom, and there she was, sitting cross-legged on the bed in sleep shorts and a tank, earbuds connecting her to her iPod as she studied the screen of her laptop.
She stopped his heart. It was humiliating the way she could do that without even trying. Without even knowing.
A delighted D.A. trotted right over, planted his front paws on the side of the bed.
She screamed as if someone plunged a knife in her belly.
“Hey, hey.” He moved forward as she lunged up to her knees, clamped a hand over her heart.
“You scared the hell out of me.” Dragging her fingers through her hair, she dropped back on her heels. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
“Yeah, well … I figured you were downstairs with people. I’d’ve knocked.”
“Both sets of guests settled in fairly early.” She rubbed at her heart again, then laughed. “God, I live with a ghost. You wouldn’t think I’d scare that easy. Did I scare you back?” she purred to the dog, scrubbing at his head. “I was taking advantage of the downtime, looking into all these documents and letters for Lizzy.”
“Getting anywhere?”
“I’m not sure. But I’m getting to know her a little better. I know her father ruled with an iron fist, and her mother often took to her bed with ‘the headache,’ which I’m interpreting at this point as a way of evading conflict more than suffering from migraines. Her father was wealthy and had considerable social standing, political influence, and—”
“I’m not sleeping with anybody else. Right now,” he added belatedly.
She stared at him for a moment. “That’s … good to know.”
“If you’re thinking about seeing or sleeping with somebody else, I want to know about it.”
“That’s fair. I’m not. Right now.”
“Okay.” Ryder glanced over, saw that D.A. had already settled into the bed Hope had bought him, with his paws over the squeaky hamburger she’d added as a toy. “We can get out of your way if you want to keep going with that.”
“I think I’d rather you stay and tell me what brought this on.”
“There’s no this. Just avoiding this—avoiding a situation.”
“I see.”
What was it with some women? he wondered. The ones, like his mother, who
could use silence as effectively as a veteran cop sweating a witness. “I just ran into a friend at the ball game. That’s all.”
“Oh?” She kept her voice casual, absolutely pleasant. “And how was the game?”
“Good. Suns pulled it out, took it four to three. Liam caught a foul ball.”
“He did!” She smiled, added quick applause. “He must be thrilled.”
“Yeah, it’ll stay with him awhile.”
