by Nora Roberts
“You always did boss me.”
“You always needed it.”
Amused, Hope left them to it, went out to get the last of the supplies from Carolee’s car.
As she did, a red BMW Roadster pulled into the lot. She didn’t recognize the car—that was new—but she recognized the woman behind the wheel.
Her jaw tightened; her shoulders tensed. She didn’t bother to fake a smile as Sheridan Massey Wickham slid out of the car and onto gorgeous—damn it—Louboutin stiletto sandals.
Her hair fell in such perfect, shiny waves Hope was certain Sheridan had stopped five minutes down the road to freshen it and her makeup. She wore a watercolor-print sheath—Akris, Hope guessed—drop earrings of platinum, and a sparkling wedding set that could have put someone’s eye out.
Just my luck, Hope thought, when I’m sweaty, wearing weed-the-garden clothes and haven’t freshened my lip gloss since I put it on this morning.
Just perfect.
“Sheridan.” She left the greeting at that.
Sheridan whipped off sunglasses, tossed them into her candy pink leather purse. “I’m going to give you one warning, and that’s all you’ll get. Stay away from Jonathan.”
Hope recognized fury when it shot into her face, but couldn’t judge the cause. “I don’t see him anywhere in the vicinity.”
“You’re going to lie to my face now? I know he’s been here, don’t deny it. I know he’s been with you. I know exactly what you’re trying to pull.”
“I don’t intend to lie to your face or behind your back, nor have I got anything worth lying about. You can consider your unnecessary warning received. Now, I’m working, so have a nice drive back.”
“Listen to me, you bitch!” Sheridan grabbed Hope’s arm, clamped her fingers tight. “I know he was here. He stopped for gas. I saw the receipt. I’m not an idiot.”
Yes, Hope thought, jealous types would paw through receipts, emails, search pockets. What a sad way to live.
“You should be talking to him about this. But I’ll tell you he was here, once, earlier this summer to tell me his father wanted to make me an offer to come back to work at the Wickham.”
“You’re a liar, and a slut.”
“I’m neither.” Hope wrenched her arm away.
“If his father wanted you back, I’d know about it. And you’d have jumped at the chance.”
“Obviously you’re wrong on both counts.”
Only more furious, Sheridan pitched her voice to a shout. “You won’t get away with the games you played before. I’m his wife now. I’m his wife, and you’re nothing.”
Hope resisted the urge to rub her arm. Sheridan had used her nails as well as her fingers in the grip. “I never played any games.”
“You slept your way up to manager, and you tried to sleep your way into marriage. And I know you’re trying it again. You think I don’t know who he’s sneaking off to see when he says he has a business trip, or a late meeting.”
Hope might have felt pity if her own temper left room for it. Instead she used every ounce of control to keep from shouting back. “Sheridan, get this into your head. I couldn’t be less interested in Jonathan. If you think I’d give him the time of day much less sex after what he pulled on me, you are an idiot.”
“Lying bitch!”
The crack of Sheridan’s hand across her face stunned her, and came forcefully enough to knock her back a full step.
“You tell me the truth! I want the truth right now, or—”
“You’re going to want to back off.” Ryder pulled Sheridan back. “And a long way off.”
“You take your hands off me or I’ll call the police.”
“Do that. In fact, I can call them for you.”
“Ryder—”
“Go inside, Hope.”
“Yes, go run away.” With a toss of that beautiful hair, Sheridan sneered. “The way you did when Jonathan told you he was through with you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, but I suggest you do.”
“I’ll go. I’ll go straight to your employer. You’d better start looking for another place to land because you’re going to be done here when I tell him what you’re up to.”
“Why don’t you tell me now?” Justine suggested as she stepped forward. “This is my place. Hope’s my innkeeper. So make it good. Otherwise I’m going to tell my son to go right ahead and call the police so they can escort you off my property.”
“She’s just using you, the way she uses everyone. Jonathan told me how she called him, begging him to come here to talk to her, and how she begged him to take her back.”
“Girl, if you’ve got problems like this so early in your marriage, you’re in trouble. Coming here and going after Hope isn’t going to fix them.”
“I’ve seen Jonathan once since I left D.C.,” Hope began. “I’ve never called him. I’ve never slept with him. I don’t want him, Sheridan. And right now, I wonder why you do.”
As Sheridan lunged forward, Ryder merely shifted to stand between her and Hope. “Put your hands on her again, I can promise you’ll regret it.”
Sheridan’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s it. Reverting to type, Hope? Sleeping with the boss’s son. How pathetic.”
“Lady, there’s a dozen men over there who saw you give Hope that bitch slap. Every one of them will go to court and say so when she has you charged with assault.”
“I—”
“Shut up, Hope.” He snapped it out at her interruption. “You get in your car and you get the hell out of here. You don’t come back. If I hear you do, and in a small town word gets around, I’ll have you arrested. I bet the Wickhams will love having their name smeared all over the Washington Post.”
“She’s just using you.” But there were tears in Sheridan’s eyes now, and the quaver of them in her voice. “She’s using you and trying to wreck my marriage. You’re the one who’ll be sorry when she tosses you away for a bigger catch.”
“Sheridan?” Justine spoke with surprising gentleness. “You’re making a fool out of yourself now. Go on home.”
“I’m going. It’s impossible to try to reason with a couple of hicks anyway.”
Justine’s grin spread wide as Sheridan swung back to her car. “Yee-haw.” As the BMW peeled out, Justine put her arm around Hope’s shoulders. “Oh, honey, don’t let that pitiful fool upset you so.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Ryder turned back—he’d wanted to be sure the Roadster kept going. And saw tears spilled down Hope’s cheeks. “Cut that out. Just stop it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. Come on inside,” Justine urged. “We’ll put some ice on that cheek. She really clocked you one, didn’t she?”
“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 enoug
h 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 different. 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—
“Hey, Ry, I need you to—”
He whirled on an unsuspecting Beckett. “Fuck off.”
“If something’s crawled up your butt, you’d better clench. I’ve got—”
“I don’t give a shit what you’ve got. I said fuck off. I’m busy.”
Several members of the crew slid a safe distance away.
“So am I, so suck it up.” Beckett’s eyes narrowed, fired as hot as his brother’s. “If you swing at me, bro, I’m swinging back, but at least I won’t walk off the job.” He turned, pitched his voice to a shout. “Take lunch. Now. Everybody.”
“I run the crew. I say when they break.”
“You want to do this with an audience? Fine by me.”
Ryder ground his teeth. “Lunch. Now. Clear out. Whatever’s going on at MacT’s,” he told Beckett, “deal with it yourself. I’m up to my ass here.”
“I don’t give a single happy fuck what you’re up to. Knock off. Go the hell home. Go beat hell out of your speed bag or whatever.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“And I don’t take shit from you. If you’ve got a problem with the work, or you had some fight with Hope, just suck it, Ry. Yelling at me in front of the men makes you look like a dick.”
“I don’t have a problem. I didn’t have a fight with Hope, for fuck’s sake. Get off my back.”
Beckett walked over to the cooler, flipped up the lid. He took out a bottle of water, threw it at his brother. “Cool off,” he suggested when Ryder snagged it an inch from his face.
Ryder considered heaving it back, then stewed as he twisted the top, gulped water. “Stupid blond bitch comes shoving her way up here, piling on Hope. Slapped her.”
“Say what? Who? Hope slapped some blonde?”