"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-"

"d.a.m.n 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 h.e.l.l away for a few minutes so they could finish this deal.

Better yet, they could go the h.e.l.l 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.

Hope came back through with a man wearing what Ryder thought of as dad jeans-though his own had never worn them. He had a beer in each hand while Hope carried two gla.s.ses of red wine.

"Got yourself a walk-in, Hope." The man grinned, all affability. "Better make up a cot."

"Ryder. Ah, Bob Mackie, this is Ryder Montgomery. His family owns the inn."

"Sure, sure, you told us about that." Bob hooked the necks of the beer in the fingers of one hand, stuck out the other for an enthusiastic shake. "Pleased to meet you. You did a h.e.l.l of a job here, h.e.l.l of a job. My wife and I haven't left yet, and we're already talking about coming back."

"Glad you like it."

"The bathrooms alone," Bob said with another grin. "And the history of the place. I love the old photos you've got back there. I'm into the Civil War. Connie and I spent the day at Antietam. Beautiful place. Just beautiful."

"It is."

"How 'bout a beer?"

"I was just-"

"Come on, a man's always got time for a beer. You gotta meet Connie. And Mike and Deb, and Jake and Casey. They're good people." He thrust a beer into Ryder's hand. "Say, we're in Jane and Rochester. I bet that copper tub was a pain in the a.s.s to get up there."

He all but herded Ryder toward The Lounge like a border collie with a reluctant sheep.

Hope took a moment to compose herself. Ryder, not the most sociable of men in her experience, was about to be Civil War Bobbed.

HE TRIED TO get away. It wasn't that he didn't like the guy; Bob Mackie was as likeable as a puppy. He made an excuse, citing his dog in The Courtyard, but all that accomplished was the unified insistence he bring D.A. inside.

Where his dog was petted and made over like a visiting prince.

Mike, from Baltimore, wanted to talk carpentry. He ended up taking them all around, showing them some of the details, explaining how they'd been done, why, when. They had a million questions. Before he'd finished, four more people came back, and had a million more.

Hope didn't help, not one d.a.m.n bit. She just smiled, tidied up behind them, or worse, offered another avenue of discussion.

By the time he managed to get out, it was full dark, and his brain felt soft. Not from the beer; he'd been careful there. From the conversation.

He hadn't gotten across The Courtyard when The Lobby door opened. He relaxed, a little, when he recognized the click of Hope's heels.

"How do you do that?" he demanded. "All the time?"

"Do what?"

"Talk to total strangers."

"I like it."

"I worry about you."

"They're a very nice group, except for the ones who came in and went straight up to their room. You had a lucky break there. She'd have probably asked you to remodel something in the room on the spot. I call her The Pill-in my head." She smiled, touched a hand to his arm. "You were very polite, even friendly. It has to be gratifying when people-total strangers-so admire your work."

"Yeah, but I don't want to talk to them."

She laughed. "You enjoyed Bob."

"He's okay. But next time I'll know to steer clear when you've got a houseful. Tuesday, right? n.o.body."

"Just me. And Lizzy."

"I can handle you and Lizzy," he replied and pulled her in before she could evade.

In the moonlight, with the scent of roses. In the shadows of the inn with stars dazzling above. She wasn't looking for romance, but when it dropped in your lap, what could you do?

She locked her arms around him and took it. The heat, the promise, the quiet splendor of the night.

She fit against him as if she'd been made to. And the scent of her mixed with the perfume of roses. A man could get drunk just on the scent of her.

Better not.

He drew away. "Tuesday. Do you want dinner or not?"

"We'll order in."

His grin flashed. "That works for me. Come on, Dumba.s.s, let's go home."

She wouldn't watch him cross the parking lot, she told herself. That was silly, and not at all what this-whatever this was-was about. But she did glance back once, just once, as she walked back to the inn.

She walked back in, to the voices, the energy, the peals of laughter. Smiling-a woman with a hot little secret-she went into the kitchen to make a plate of cookies for her guests.