The Perfect Hope

Hope did just that, starting with Jonathan’s appearance at the door.

“He’s wrong, and he’s stupid,” Clare interrupted. “Saying you can’t be happy here. You are happy here.”

“I am, but you know what? Having him say that made me understand just how happy. I’m exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I want to do. And bonus. I have both of you.”

“Smarmy sleaze,” Avery muttered. “He’s a smeaze.”

“He’s a smeaze,” Hope agreed, then continued. When she got to Jonathan’s “offer,” Avery sprang up, shook her fists. “He thinks he can call you a whore—because that’s just what he did. He needs to be punished. He needs to pay.”

“He needs to be ignored,” Hope corrected. “He’ll suffer more. But I gave him what Ryder called a kick in the balls.”

“I wish you meant literally,” Clare murmured.

“Pregnancy makes her violent,” Hope told Avery. “I was telling him what I thought of his offer—as in ‘stuff it’—when I saw Ryder coming across the lot. I just went with impulse. I called him and went over and laid a hot one on him.”

“On Ryder?” Clare qualified. “You kissed Ryder?”

“In front of Jonathan—I get it.” Folding her arms, Avery nodded in approval. “It’s ‘up yours, asshole. Look at this sexy bite of man candy I’ve got now.’”

“Exactly. I asked Ryder to go along, and he got it, and he did. Jonathan looked like he’d swallowed a whole lemon—a whole rotten lemon. It was very satisfying. Then.” She flicked her fingers. “He left. Done.”

“Are you sure?” Clare gripped her hands in her lap. “He could come back. He could try something. I thought Sam was just a nuisance, but—”

“Honey. Honey,” Hope repeated and moved to the couch to flank Clare, take her hand. “It’s not like that. Sam’s a sick, obsessed man. He stalked you, and you were never involved with him. You never gave him reason. I was involved with Jonathan. He’s arrogant, his morals are skewed, and he’s a major asshole, but it’s not like that at all. He’s too full of pride and vanity to come back. He’ll assume I’ll change my mind, and when I don’t, he’ll move on to someone else.”

“You need to be careful. You have to promise me.”

“I will, I do. I know him. He thought I’d jump at the offer to come back to work, come back to him. He’d see it as legitimate, no problem. I made my opinion clear. I don’t mean enough to him for him to try anything. I know now I never really did.”

“I’m sorry. I’m glad, but I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. My pride’s still a little tender, but I’m not sorry. He showed me I’d wasted myself on him, and what he did ended up bringing me here. Exactly where I want to be.”

“I’d’ve liked it better if Ryder had pounded on him,” Avery said. “I’m not pregnant, just naturally violent.”

“Speaking of Ryder, he was very considerate, and he listened to me rant about it after Jonathan left. He waited until I’d calmed down. Actually,” she corrected, “he helped me calm down.”

“He can do that,” Avery confirmed. “It’s not his usual mode, but he’s patted my head—metaphorically—a few times over the years.”

“I didn’t expect that from him. I didn’t expect him to listen, much less say the right things. Say things I needed to hear. I guess I’ve made a habit of misjudging certain men. I told him I owed him, and you know what he wanted in payment?”

“Hot damn, this is getting good.” Avery poured more wine.

“A pie.”

“Is that code?”

“No, it’s a pie.”

“He’s sweeter than you know, under it,” Clare told her.

“I don’t know about sweet, but he was kind, and levelheaded, and funny. I made him a pie, which brings us to the latest. We had another actual conversation. We’ve broken records here. We walked out of the fitness center together, and when we got to his truck, he grabbed me. And he laid a hot one on me.”

“It is getting good.” Delighted, Avery tapped her glass to Hope’s. “What happened then?”

“Then I came back here, and he went over to Vesta.”

“Come on!”

“No, it was exactly right. Enough.” Content, Hope lifted her glass, sipped. “I don’t know if I want to take it anywhere else or not. Tempting, but as I explained before, the desert is dry. Not as dry with all these hot ones, but still … It’s an interesting possibility. Complicated, but interesting.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Clare protested.

“I think he’s a complicated man to begin with, and our situation is complicated. I work for his mother.”

“So?” Avery demanded.

“The so is what I need to work out and resolve. I thought the two of you could tell me a little more about him, just give me a clearer picture.”

“We can, but can we do that while we eat dinner?” Clare rubbed her swollen belly. “I could eat a side of beef.”

“How about a field green salad, lasagna, garlic bread?”

“And cherry pie,” Hope added to Avery’s rundown.

“I say bring it on.” Clare levered herself up. “All of it.”





CHAPTER SIX





MAN NIGHT. RYDER HADN’T INTENDED TO GET ROPEdinto spending the evening with kids and dogs. It just sort of happened.

Plus, Beckett sprang for the manly meal of spaghetti and meatballs, apparently a Man Night tradition.

Anyway, the kids were appealing, and along with Yoda and Ben, their young Lab mixes, generated enough energy to power the whole damn county.

Dumbass was in dog heaven.

Ryder didn’t know what rules applied when the lady of the house was in residence, but Man Night equaled a free-for-all. The kids ran around like demons, ate like wolves, fought like mortal enemies, and laughed like loons.

It reminded him of his own childhood.

The house was made for kids and dogs, he mused. Big, sprawling, open, colorful. He knew Beckett had added on to the plans for the then-unfinished house once he and Clare got together, and had redesigned it with their family at the center. Now the kids had a big boy-style playroom with built-in shelves and cabinets for kid debris. He knew because he’d helped build it, and because Murphy dragged him up to see it.

Then proceeded to haul down every action figure known to man.

Ryder had a collection of his own boxed away. Some things were sacred to a man.

“Yoda ate Green Goblin.”

“Kid, they’re not even in the same universe.”

“Not the real Yoda. Our Yoda. He chewed him up, but he was just a puppy. He doesn’t eat action figures anymore. And Santa brought me a new Green Goblin for Christmas. He left it in my stocking. And he brought me Gambit.”

“You’ve got Gambit?”

“Uh-huh.” Delighted with the interest, Murphy dug into the colorful bodies, pulled it out. “Sometimes he and Wolverine fight, but mostly they fight the bad guys together.”

Ryder had always had a soft spot for Gambit.

“We should have a war now. See, we can use the Bat Cave and the Millennium Falcon for bases, and the Green Goblin and Magneto and the Joker, and like that they are planning the attack in the garage. See, you can put cars in it, but bad guys, too.”

What the hell, Ryder decided, and helped the kid set it up.

The war proved vicious, bloody, and, like all wars, involved cowardice, heroism, and numerous casualties. Collateral damage included a one-legged T-Rex, three Storm Troopers, and a ratty teddy bear.

“Teddy took it in the gut!” Murphy shouted.

“War’s hell, kid.”

“War’s hell,” Murphy repeated since it was Man Night, and giggled insanely.

Owen walked in as the allied Avengers, X-Men, and Power Rangers blew up the enemy base.

“We defeated them.” Murphy leaped up to do his victory dance and exchange high fives with Ryder. “But Iron Man’s wounded bad. He’s in the hospital.”

“He’s Iron Man,” Owen said. “He’ll pull through. You’ve got to take Harry on in Wii Boxing,” he told Ryder. “He beat the crap out of me.”

“Let Beckett fight him.”

“He beat the crap out of Beckett, too. And Liam. You’re our last hope.”

“Fine. You’ve got to help the runt clean this up.”

“I wasn’t in the war,” Owen protested. “I was Sweden.”

Ryder considered. The room resembled a battlefield—that had been hit by a tornado. Bribery worked. “I’ve got pie in the truck.”

“Where’d you get pie?”

“Cherry pie. You want any, help the runt. I’m going to take the other kid down.”

“I like cherry pie.” Murphy hit Ryder with his beautiful angel smile.

“Clean it up, and you’ll get some.”

Pretty good deal, Ryder decided as he headed toward the family room. Skate out of cleanup, and prevent himself from eating a whole pie—which he would have, and no doubt he’d have felt sick after.

He walked in, rolled his shoulders, did a little boxer’s dance in place. “You’re going down, Harry Caray. Down and out.”

Harry raised his arms over his head. “Undefeated. World Champ. I knocked Owen out! He had X’s in his eyes.”

“Glass-Jaw Owen,” Ryder scoffed, tapped his own jaw with his fist. “Big whoop.” He went to the fridge under the bar, got a beer. “Say your prayers.”

“I’ll say some for you,” Beckett offered his brother. “The kid’s merciless.”

“Save ’em. I’ve got a cherry pie out in the bed of the truck. Why don’t you go get it?”

“Pie?” Liam jumped up from the floor where he’d been rolling with the dogs. “I want pie.”

“Then pie you shall have, grasshopper.” Beckett shoved out of the big leather chair.

“Okay, current and soon-to-be ass-kicked champ. Set it up.”

Harry brought up Ryder’s Mii—dark hair, eerily green eyes, scowling face—offered the controller.

The crowd went wild.

The kid beat the crap out of him.

He dropped down with his beer while Harry circled the room, pumping fists in the air.

“What do you do, play this twenty-four/seven?”

“I’ve got natural talent.”

“My butt.”

“Granddad said so. I beat him, too. But he’s kind of old.”

“I want to play!” Murphy came tearing in.

“It’s my turn.” Liam braced to defend his rights. “Beckett said we could do PlayStation next, and I got to pick. WWF.”

First boxing, Ryder thought, now wrestling. Beckett must sleep like the dead every night.

“I’m going for pie.” Ryder pushed up. Young desire turned on a dime as they stampeded into the kitchen.





NOT A CRUMB of pie remained, a fact Ryder regretted a little. They wrestled, chased thieves, outwitted assassins. Liam was the first to give it up, passing out in the pile of dogs. Beckett plucked him up, carted him up to bed.

By the time he got back, Harry was sprawled facedown on the sofa. While Beckett repeated the process, Murphy sat cross-legged and wide awake on the floor, guiding Owen through some Mario Brothers game.

“Doesn’t he ever conk?” Ryder asked, jerking a thumb at Murphy.

“Kid’s like a vampire. He’d stay up till sunrise if you let him. Time to call it, Murph.”

“But I’m not tired. There’s no school. I wanna—”

“You can watch a movie up in my bed.”

“Okay! Can I watch two movies?”

“Let’s start with one.” Beckett hauled him up, tossed Murphy over his shoulder to make the boy laugh.

As Beckett carried Murphy out, Owen stretched out on the couch. “Two more?”

“Yeah. But Beck seems to have the dad thing down. Plus, he’ll have his own basketball team, if the runt ever gets some inches on him.”

“Avery and I figure on two.”

“Nice even number.” Absently, Ryder dug a hand into a partially mangled bag of barbecue potato chips. “Have you got the date of conception, birth, college graduation mapped out?”

Used to it, Owen merely shrugged.

“Jesus, you do.”

“Just ballparking. Anyway, we’re starting with dogs.”

“I’m not sure a pug is a dog. They’re more cat-sized.”

“They’re dogs, and they’re good with kids. Gotta think ahead. When we started researching breeds—”

“When you started researching.”

“Anyway, Avery fell pretty hard for the pug idea. Then she talked to Mom, and Mom put her onto the rescue idea. So we’re getting a year-old pug named Tyrone who’s deaf in one ear.”

“A half dog—not the deaf part, the size. He’s half a dog, so you’ll have a dog and a half with the Lab.”

“Bingo.” Owen shook his head. “What kind of sadist names a dog Bingo? He’s only four months old, so we’ll change that. Give him some dignity.”

Beckett came back in, went straight for a beer. “Jesus. I’ve been at this, more or less, for almost a year, and sometimes I still wonder how Clare did it all on her own.”

He shoved Owen’s legs off the couch, dropped down. “It’s the first time she’s been away all night. It’s kind of weird.”

“You’ve already knocked her up,” Ryder pointed out. “She can use the rest.”

“She wants to start fooling with the nursery. She’s talking bassinets and changing tables.”

“Nervous?”

“Maybe, but mostly it’s bassinets. It sounds girly.”

“What the hell is it?” Ryder wondered.

“It’s like a basket on a stand.”

“You’re going to put your kids in a basket.”

“A fancy baby basket. The one she showed me has this frilly white skirt with blue bows on it.” Needing support, Beckett gave his brothers a pleading look. “You can’t put a boy in a basket with a frilly white skirt. It’s not right.”

“So put on your pants and man up,” Ryder suggested.

“She’s pregnant.”

“Which is why you’re sitting there talking about frilly white skirts. It’s embarrassing.”

“Eat me.” Beckett looked down the couch at Owen. “I’m thinking we could build something. Well, two somethings. A kind of cradle, but raised on a stand so you don’t have to bend down to get the kid. A little fancy work to make Clare happy, and enough so she won’t want to cover it up with a damn skirt.”

“We could do that. Make them so they’d rock.”

“Carve their names into them.”

Intrigued, Beckett looked back at Ryder. “Their names.”

“Makes them unique, and it’ll keep you from mixing them up. Better come up with something for the three you’ve already got so they don’t get their noses out of joint.”

“I’m going to build them a tree house. I haven’t gotten past the design stage yet. Too much going on.”

“Nothing like a tree house,” Owen said. “Man, we spent hours in ours. Stockpiled candy, comic books. Remember,” he said to Ryder, “you bought that skin mag off Denny. I saw my first porn in that tree house. Good times.”

“I got laid the first time up there. Tiffany Carvell. Excellent times.”

“Christ.” Beckett closed his eyes. “Don’t mention porn or getting laid to Clare. She’ll never let me build it.”

“Pussy.”

Beckett sneered right back at Ryder. “Say that to me again when you’re married.”

“The two of you can drive that train for a while. The women of the world need at least one Montgomery brother free and clear.”

“I’m going to like being married,” Owen commented.

“You might as well be already.”

“Yeah. And I like it. I like knowing she’ll be there when I get home, or she’ll be coming home. And it is weird,” he said to Beckett, “that she won’t be tonight.”

“They must be having a good time. Clare only called in once to check on the boys. And she said Hope needed some girl time. Speaking of which, what’s the deal with this Wickham guy? Clare didn’t have the whole story.”

“He thought he could poach her.”

“Fucker.”

“Fucker in a five-thousand-dollar suit.”

“He dumped her, right?” Owen lazily sipped at his beer. “For some blonde. Pretty hot blonde if you like the type. Avery showed me her picture in the Style section of the Post.”

“The Style section?” Ryder snorted. “Seriously?”

“Kiss ass. Avery found it, showed me. So, he dumps her for the blonde, has his big, splashy society wedding, then he comes up here to our place and tries to poach our innkeeper? Makes you want to kick his ass and mess up his five-thousand-dollar suit.”

“He added a perk. She’d hook back up with him and he’d set her up.”

Owen sat up now. “What the fuck did you say?”

“You heard me. He’d set her up as his side piece. Buy her a house, toss in some spending money and a trip to Paris or some shit.”

“And yet he lives,” Beckett murmured. “Why didn’t you beat the shit out of him?”

“Because I didn’t know about it until he’d left. Besides, she handled it, handled him. She was telling him to stick it when I walked by. And check this.” He dug for more chips. “She sashays right up, tells me to go with it, and plants a long, steamy one on me.”

“I didn’t hear about that.” Owen looked from one brother to the other. “Why didn’t I hear about that? I hear about everything.”

“It was just yesterday, and we’ve been busy since. Word’s probably inching along the grapevine now, which I figure she didn’t think about at the time.”