Нора Робертс - The Last Boyfriend

“Not bad. Pulled in about twenty-five.” Instinctively he reached out to button her coat. “Just tell me Franny and Dave are back.”

“Dave, yes, or he will be right about now. Franny, no. She’s better, but I want her to take another day. I just had my eyes dazzled by The Penthouse. Jesus, Owen, it rocks.”

“I haven’t gotten up there.” He glanced up. “What’s in?”

“All of it. Parlor, bedroom. They’re bringing in W&B now, or soon. I’m coming over later, getting in on the action. Are you going to be around?”

“It’s looking like one or all of us will be around pretty much round the clock until it’s done.”

“Then I’ll see you.” But she backed up with him when the furniture truck turned in. “Oh, I want to stay. Damn needing to make a living wage.”

“You can’t stand here in the cold anyway.” He took her hands, rubbed them. “Where are your gloves?”

“In my pocket.”

“I think they work better if you wear them.”

“Maybe, but then I wouldn’t get a hand rub.” Boosting onto her toes, she gave him a loud kiss on the cheek. “Gotta go, be back later,” she said and zipped away at a lope.

She moved fast, he thought. Then again, she always had. He’d always wondered why she hadn’t run track instead of cheering. When he’d asked, as he recalled, she’d rolled her eyes at him. Cuter uniforms.

He had to admit she’d looked damn cute in her cheerleading gear.

He wondered if she still had it.

He wondered if he should be thinking about Avery in her cheerleader uniform.

Then he wondered why the hell he was standing out in the cold wondering about anything.

He went inside, and work took over.

The hours flew and by the time the crew knocked off, Owen was ready for a beer.

But his mother wasn’t.

Instead of hoisting a cold one, he hoisted boxes full of books up the steps of the inn.

Justine stood at the top of the steps, a rag in one of the hands fisted on her hips. “Take those right into The Library. The girls are in there, polishing up the bookshelves. Carolee and I are back in Nick and Nora.”

“Yes’m.” Puffing some, he trudged up, Ryder behind him with another load, Beckett bringing up the rear.

“Lot of damn books,” Ryder muttered when his mother was out of earshot.

“Lot of damn shelves to fill,” Owen commented.

The Library smelled of polish and perfume. Avery stood on a step stool at the far end, shining up the top shelves of one of the bookcases that flanked the hearth and mantel.

He and his brothers had built all of it in the family shop.

He remembered the work that had gone into it, the cutting, the sanding, the gluing, the staining. A lot of effort, he thought now, and a lot of satisfaction.

More satisfaction now seeing that wood gleam under the polishing rags.

“Looking fine, ladies,” Beckett said as he set down his load. He wrapped his arms around Clare, pulled her back against him to nuzzle her neck. “Hi, there.”

“Which one are you?” She turned her head, laughed. “Oh yeah. Mine.”

“No making out till we’re finished.” Ryder jerked a thumb back toward the doorway. “We’ve got another load.”

“There are two boxes in J&R.” Crouched, Hope polished the doors below the shelves. “They’re marked ‘Library Shelves.’”

“I’m done with my section.” Avery hopped off the stool. “I’ll get one of them. Give me a hand?” she asked Owen.

“Sure.”

When they reached the room, Avery noted that the stacks of boxes had diminished, and it looked as though they’d been reorganized.

“You’re cutting it down. Did you restack what’s left?”

“It’s easier to find things that way.”

“You should come organize my apartment. Maybe then I’d find the purple scarf I bought at Gifts last month.”

“It might help if you unpacked first.”

“I mostly have.”

He reserved comment. “Library’s over here.”

He moved around stacks to a corner by the bath.

“What are you going to do with your time when this place is finished?” she asked him.

“You mean other than working on the bakery building, Beck’s house, maintaining the rentals, starting the kitchen rehab for Lynn Barney?”

“Lynn Barney’s redoing her kitchen? I didn’t know that.”

“You don’t know everything.”

“I know most things. People talk over pizza and pasta.” She reached down for a box marked “Library Shelves” in Hope’s clear, bold print.

“That’s too heavy. Take this one.”

“What about the space under Hope’s apartment? Her temporary apartment.”

“We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

“Sometimes I like taking lots of steps at a time.”

“That’s how you trip.” He shifted his box, propped open the door with his hip.

“But you get where you’re going faster.”

“Not if you trip.” He shut the door behind them.

“I’ve got good balance. It’s a great space,” she added as he went through the same procedure with the porch door.

“Bakery and Beck first. The building’s not going anywhere.”

She wanted to argue. Why have an empty space on Main if you could fill it? But she tracked her eyes toward Nick and Nora and Justine’s voice. Probably better to go straight to the top on this one, she decided.

In The Library she sorted through boxes with Hope and Clare, arranging books and trinkets on the shelves. Romances, mysteries, local history, classics. A collection of old bottles, an old model car that had been Owen’s father’s—iron candle stands made by her father.

“I thought we had tons,” Hope commented. “I wondered if we had too much. But we need more.”

“I’ve got some things at the bookstore, and there’s always something at Gifts.”

“We’re going to put the tray with a whiskey decanter and glasses there, on that bottom shelf.” Standing back, Hope surveyed. “But yes, a few more little things. We’re good on books. You did a great job on them, Clare.”

“It was a fun assignment for me.”

“You know what it needs?” Avery leaned against the far wall. “We should have the crew out on the front porch, take a picture. Frame it, set it in here. The Inn BoonsBoro crew.”

“Perfect. Fabulous idea. And when we get the furniture, the art.” Hope glanced around. “The desk there in front of the window with a laptop for guests. The big leather guest book. The amazing leather sofa, the chairs, the lamps.”

“I’ll get Justine and Carolee,” Clare began, “see what they think.”

But as she started out, war whoops echoed up the stairs. “Sounds like my boys have invaded. I told Alva Ridenour I’d come get them, bring them in for pizza. Looks like she decided to bring them to me.”

What sounded like a herd of stampeding buffalo thundered up the stairs. The women walked out in time to see Clare’s three sons charge down the hall.

“Mom! Mrs. Ridenour said she and her husband wanted pizza, too. We got to come see the hotel.” Harry, her eldest, flung himself at her for a hug, then started to race by.

“Hold it, hold it.” Clare grabbed his hand, managed to wrap an arm around her middle child as Liam hugged her legs. After giving Harry’s hand a squeeze, she hefted Murphy, her youngest, onto her hip.

“Hi!” Murphy gave his mother a wet kiss. “We did homework and had a snack and played Bendominoes and fed Ben and Yoda and Mr. Ridenour said we can each have two dollars to play Megatouch ’cause we behaved.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“We wanna see the hotel.” Liam tipped his head up. “So does Mrs. Ridenour and Mr. Ridenour. Can we go, Mom? Can we go see?”