And teaching the boy a few basics took Ryder back to his own childhood where he'd learned his craft from his father.

There would be no Montgomery Family Contractors if Tom Montgomery hadn't had the skills, the drive, and the patience to build-and hadn't married a woman with vision and energy.

Ryder found he missed his father more at the beginning of a job, like this one, where the potential rolled out like an endless carpet.

He'd have gotten a kick out of this, Ryder thought as he guided Harry into measuring and marking the next stud. The big, empty s.p.a.ce echoing with noise, the smell of sweat and sawdust.

And he'd have loved the boy, have loved the potential of the boy, too. Nine, closing in on ten, Ryder remembered. Gangling frame and sharp elbows and feet too big for the rest of him.

And now two more on the way. Yeah, his father would've gotten one h.e.l.l of a large charge out of the Brewster/Montgomery brood.

The kid engaged the crew. He fetched and carried tirelessly. That wouldn't last, Ryder calculated, but the novelty of the day equaled that slave labor-and made the boy feel like a man. Like part of the team.

He stepped back, took a swig of Gatorade from the bottle. Harry mimicked him, and stood, as Ryder did, studying the work.

"Well, kid, you built your first wall. Here." He pulled a carpenter's pencil from his belt. "Write your name on it."

"Really?"

"Sure. It'll be covered up with insulation, drywall, and paint, but you'll know it's there."

Delighted, Harry took the pencil, and on the raw stud wrote his name in careful cursive.

He glanced over at the sound of whoops, watched Liam scramble in.

"They kick you out?" Ryder called.

"Nuh-uh! I did a million switch plates, and I did a doork.n.o.b, too. Chad showed me how. Then Beckett came to get me so we can have pizza."

As he spoke, Beckett came in with Murphy.

"I built a wall! Look. Me and Ryder built a wall."

Liam frowned at it. "How's it a wall when you can walk through. See." He demonstrated.

"It's a stud wall," Harry said importantly.

Instantly, Liam's face shifted into mutinous lines. "I wanna build a stud wall."

"Next time." Beckett collared him. "Watch yourself. Construction site rules."

"I builded a platform. You can stand on it," Murphy explained. "Now it's lunch break, and we get pizza."

He'd lost track of time, Ryder realized.

"I'm going to get them cleaned up," Beckett said.

"And we get to play video games first. I got three dollars." Liam waved the bills in the air.

"Yeah, yeah." Ryder reached for his wallet at Harry's quiet look. "You earned it."

"Thanks! Are you going to have lunch with us?"

"I'll be over in a while. I've got a couple things to finish up."

"Owen's over at the new restaurant, running some things with Avery. He said twenty."

"That works."

"Okay, troops, let's go clean up."

Hope caught sight of them from the kitchen window, Beckett and his little men. Sweet, she thought. Heading to Vesta for lunch, she imagined.

She should probably grab something soon herself, she decided, before her guests came back and she didn't have a chance. She'd already done her room checks, gathering up gla.s.ses and cups and other a.s.sorted debris. And she needed to order more coasters, and guest towels for The Lobby restroom. More mugs, she reminded herself, as guests tended to walk off with them.

But right now, the inn was quiet and empty, with all the women off getting pampered and Carolee off with Justine looking at tiles and flooring-and whatever else they thought of-for the fitness center.

The cleaning crew would be along in an hour to turn and clean the guest rooms. Then she'd do her recheck. So she'd just finish making this pitcher of iced tea, restock the refrigerator with water and soft drinks. Then take a quick break before doing her orders and filing.

But even as she set the pitcher on the island beside a bowl of fat purple grapes, the Reception bell rang.

No deliveries on the schedule, she thought, but occasionally a guest forgot their key-or someone came by hoping they could wander through.

She started around, her innkeeper's smile in place.

It faded completely when she saw the man through the gla.s.s of the door.

He wore a suit, of course, pearl gray for summer. The tie, with its perfect Windsor knot echoed the exact same shade and a contrasting stripe in rich crimson.

He was bronzed and gold, tall and lean, cla.s.sically, glossily handsome.

And completely unwelcome.

With reluctance, Hope unlocked the door, opened it. "Jonathan. This is unexpected."

"Hope." He smiled at her, all easy charm-as if hardly more than a year before he hadn't dumped her like last year's fashion. "You look wonderful. A new hairstyle, and it suits you."

He reached out, as if to embrace her. She stepped back in firm rejection.

"What are you doing here?"

"At the moment, wondering why you don't ask me in. It's odd to find the door locked on a hotel in the middle of the day."

"It's policy, and we're a B&B. Our guests enjoy their privacy."

"Of course. It looks like a charming place. I'd like to see more of it." He waited a beat, then pumped up the smile. "Professional courtesy?"

Slamming the door in his face would be satisfying, but childish. In any case he might interpret it to mean he mattered.