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“I’m sorry,” Hope repeated, couldn’t seem to say anything else. “I need to …”
She shook free, rushed for the door, past a stunned Carolee, and straight up to her apartment.
“Ryder, you go after her.”
“No. No, ma’am.”
Justine whirled on him, eyes hot, hands fisted on hips. “You go after her right this minute. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“She’s crying. I don’t do that. You do that. You go. Come on, Mom, you go.”
“Christ on a broken crutch.” Justine rapped one of those fists on his chest. “What kind of man did I raise who won’t go see to his woman when she’s crying?”
“My kind. Please. I’ll talk to her when she stops. You’ll know what to say to her, what to do.”
Justine huffed out a furious breath. “Fine then. You do what you do and go buy her some goddamn fucking flowers.” After giving him a second, harder rap, Justine turned on her heel and marched inside.
Wincing, Ryder rubbed his chest, pulled out his phone to call the local florist.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JUSTINE CONSIDERED GETTING THE SPARE KEY TO THE innkeeper’s apartment, but thought Hope’s privacy had been compromised enough for one day. Instead she climbed up to the third floor, her mind brewing dark thoughts about foolish women who blamed other people for a bad marriage, and men who couldn’t strap on the balls to deal with tears.
She raised her hand to knock on Hope’s apartment door. And it opened, quickly, smoothly.
Hope instantly sprang up from where she sat weeping on the couch.
“I didn’t open it.” Justine lifted her hands to show them empty. “Someone’s looking out for you.”
“I just need a few minutes to settle down.”
“What you need is a shoulder, and if it weren’t so early in the day, a good three fingers of whiskey. We’ll settle for the shoulder and the tea I’m going to make—in a minute.”
She walked straight over, put her arms around Hope, and pulled her in tight.
“Oh God. God!” Hope managed, helpless against the unquestioning support. “It was horrible.”
Soothing, soothing, Justine rocked a little from side to side. “Well, on a scale of one to ten, one being a paper cut and ten being, say, slicing your hand off with a machete, it only ranked about three. But that’s bad enough.”
“I’m so—”
“Don’t you apologize to me again for someone else’s bad behavior.” Though her voice was stern and brisk, Justine rubbed a comforting hand up and down Hope’s back.
“I wasn’t with Jonathan because of my career. And Ryder… Please don’t think that.”
“Let’s sit down here while I explain to you why those are unnecessary things to say to me. Honey …” Justine’s lips tightened when she studied the red streak still marring Hope’s cheek. “Let me get that ice for you first.”
“It’s all right.” Instinctively Hope lifted a hand to the dull but steady throbbing. “I’m all right.”
“Caught you right on the cheekbone. You’ve got such good ones, but it makes an easy target. Now, you sit.”
Justine walked into the little kitchen, poked in the freezer. “No frozen peas. I always kept frozen peas when the boys were around—still do. God knows they’re always banging themselves up.” She found baggies, filled one with ice. “This’ll do. You hold that on your cheek for a few minutes,” she ordered and passed the makeshift ice pack to Hope.
“Where was I?”
“Justine—”
“Oh, that’s right. You and that worthless prick Jonathan Dickham.”
The deliberate mispronunciation surprised a half laugh out of Hope.
“Every woman’s entitled to a mistake. I had my own worthless prick when I was sixteen and crazy about Mike Truman. He cheated on me with a majorette with big boobs. He’s been divorced twice, and is looking like he’s heading into his third. Goes to show you.”
She babbled, they both knew, to give Hope time to settle.
“What happened to the majorette?” Hope asked her.
“She got fat. It’s petty of me to be smug and superior about that, but every woman’s entitled to a little petty here and there.”
Hope couldn’t defeat the sigh—part upset, part humor. “Oh, Justine.”
“Sweetheart, you just put your faith and your emotions into the wrong hands, and he didn’t respect either. Apparently he’s not respecting his wife’s, but that shouldn’t be your problem. That stupid woman—with fabulous shoes and desperate eyes—wants to make it your problem so she can blame you for the obvious fact that her husband’s now her worthless prick.”
“I know it. I know it, but, Justine, it’s such an awful ugly mess.”
“Hers, not yours. You could have told her he’d come here and proposed you and he have an affair.”
“I didn’t see the point. She wouldn’t have believed me.”
“Oh, some part of her would have. Some part of her already knows how it stands.” As she spoke, Justine rose, found tissues. When she sat again, she dabbed at Hope’s cheeks herself.
“Pisses her off, embarrasses her. So she embarrassed you. That’s the part I’m sorry about. As for Ryder, why would I think you’re with him for some kind of career advantage? You’re already the innkeeper, and I don’t plan on opening a chain of them. Added to that, Ry has his flaws, God knows, but he’s a good man. He’s a pleasure to look at, and I expect he knows what to do and how to do it, and well, in bed.”
“Oh God.”
“That embarrasses you, but, sweetie, if you and Ry aren’t having a hell of a good time in bed at this point in your relationship, that would be a damn shame. That aside, you’ve got integrity and pride. If you didn’t, you’d be with the worthless prick when he snuck out on that stupid woman, and use sex as a lever to get what you wanted out of him.”
“Why won’t they just stay away from me? I’ve left them alone.”
“You’re going to be a hook in her craw as long as she’s with him. Which I predict won’t be more than a year—two at the outside. And you’re always going to be one in his. You walked away,” Justine said simply. “He’ll never understand that, and never comprehend he has himself to blame. I don’t think either of them will be back or bother you again. But if they do, I want to know about it. I want you to tell me. That’s not negotiable.”
“All right.”
“Here, let me see that now.” Justine took the ice bag, gave Hope’s cheek a study. “That ought to do it.”
“It’s fine. Really. It was just such a shock. And I just stood there. You’d have slapped her back.”
“Oh, honey, I’d have knocked her on her skinny ass. But that’s me. You’re made differ
ent. I’m going to make that tea now.”
“Thank you.”
“Part of the package.” Back in the kitchen she put the kettle on, poked around until she found Hope’s collection of tea. She chose jasmine, a personal favorite.
“Now I’m going to apologize.”
“You?” Hope swiped at a few lingering tears. “Why?”
“For my son. He should have been the one to come up here, give you a shoulder, listen, lecture, and make you tea.”
The smile came as a welcome relief. “He’d have hated it.”
“So what? Women have men leaving the toilet seat up, or not watching their aim after one too many beers. We deal with it. He retreats from tears, and always has. The other two handle them okay, but not Ry. If you slice your finger off, he’s your man. But cry about it, he’s gone.”
“I don’t hold it against him.”
“Me, I like a man who’ll sop up a few tears, as long as the woman doesn’t blubber every time she gets that paper cut. I’m not going to ask if you want my advice. You’d say yes even though nobody really wants advice. So I’m just going to give it to you. See that he listens to you. Feelings need to be expressed, Hope. They aren’t always understood the way people like to assume.”
She poured hot water over the tea bag in the cup. “He’s a good man, like I said. A clever one. Smart, hardworking, and he tells the truth whether you like it or not. If he’s not going to tell the truth, he doesn’t say anything. He’s got a sweet side that doesn’t always show, and a surly one that too often does.”
She brought the tea to Hope, angled her head. “And he’s never been serious about a woman in his life. He respects them, enjoys them, appreciates them, and he’s always been careful to keep his feet right under him. He’s slipping some with you, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“No, I’m not … Do you think so?”
“I do. He’s going to send you flowers, and he’s going to hope the storm’s passed by the time he comes around.” She bent down, kissed the top of Hope’s head. “Don’t let him get away with it. Now you drink that tea, take a little time for yourself.”
“Thanks. Thank you, Justine.”
“All in a day’s work. I’m going to go see what my boys have been up to. You call me if you need to.”
“I will.”
As Justine started for the door, it opened. She let out a baffled laugh. “It’s hard to get used to. Well, it looks like she’ll keep you company awhile.”
WHILE HIS MOTHER sat with Hope, Ryder tried to work off his mad. The more he worked, the madder he got.
Subcontractors surrounded him, crisscrossing each other, full of noise and questions. Getting in his damn way, and he was fucking sick of it. Sick of needing to know the answers, sick of making decisions, sick of finishing up every goddamn day covered with sweat and dirt.
The next son of a bitch who got in his face was going to—
