He certainly bragged about money often enough.
“Congratulations, and thanks for the offer. But dinner at the club doesn’t work for me.”
“You’ll love it. I’ve got the best table in the house.”
Always the best, she thought. The biggest, the most expensive. He never changed. “And I’ll be at my kitchen table, convincing my three boys to eat their broccoli.”
“What you need is an au pair. My mother could help you with that.”
“I imagine she could, if I were interested, which I’m not. Now, I need to—”
“I’ve got some time now. We’ll go have a champagne lunch.”
“I don’t—” The bell jangled on the front door. “Have time. Obviously. Excuse me.”
Rather than moving past him, she went out the other doorway to the main room, ready to kiss whoever had interrupted Sam’s annoying campaign.
“Justine! I was just over at the inn this morning. Carolee. It’s so nice to see you both.”
Justine pulled off her red-framed sunglasses, waved a hand in front of her face. “We walked up from Bast. God, the heat! And you look cool and fresh as ice cream—no, lime sherbet—in that dress.”
Carolee dropped into one of the chairs at the little table by the windows. “God, I could use some lime sherbet. We’re going to treat ourselves to one of your fancy iced coffees.”
“Our special this week is Cookie Dough Jo—it’s sinful.”
“Make it two.” Justine dumped her purse on the table, then swung toward the stack. “I didn’t know this was out yet.” She grabbed a book. “Is this as good as the last one she did?”
“Actually, I think it’s even better.”
“Well, this stop-by’s going to cost me more than the price of sinful coffee.” Justine arched her brows at the sound of the back door slamming.
“Sam Freemont, expressing his annoyance. And the coffee’s on the house, in gratitude for you bringing the end to his pestering me to go to dinner at the club.”
“Sam Freemont’s a little prick who grew up to be a bigger one.” Carolee’s pretty hazel eyes turned hard. “Remember, Justine, how he spread rumors about my Darla? He was after her to go to the prom, and when ‘no’ didn’t work, she finally told him to get lost.”
“Or words to that effect,” Justine added, and made her sister smile fiercely.
“That’s my girl. So, he spread it around she was pregnant, and didn’t know who the father was.”
“And Ryder kicked his ass. Not that he’d ever admit it,” Justine continued, “and my other boys kept the brothers’ vow of silence. But I knew, and I bought him this CD player he’d been saving up for. So he knew I knew.”
“They’ve got Riley blood, and Rileys take care of their own. Montgomerys, too.” Carolee jabbed a finger in the air. “It’s how that Freemont boy was raised. Spoiled rotten. His mother’s the worst—never could stand that woman—but his father’s just as bad for going along. Anything he wanted, anytime he wanted. And he just lorded it over everybody.”
“She got what she deserved, didn’t she?” Justine shrugged. “A big prick for a son.”
Clare smiled as she started the grinder. Justine Montgomery was exactly what Clare wanted to be when she grew up. Smart, strong, self-aware, an excellent and beloved mother to her sons. An attractive woman with her dark hair scooped up in a sassy tail, the body she kept in excellent shape clad in casual but stylish capris and a thin white shirt.
Carolee, who had stood up to browse with her sister, was pale gold, nearly as tall, delicate in build.
They were bonded like glue, Clare knew.
Justine walked over, set two books on the counter. “You know, honey, Ryder—any of them—would warn Sam off if you said the word.”
“Thanks, really, but I can handle him.”
“Just keep that in your back pocket. So Owen tells me you and Avery may have a prospect for innkeeper now that Karen’s buying baby booties.”
“Hope would be amazing. I think the place deserves someone as talented as she is. I only really got the sense of one room—Beckett filled us in on Titania and Oberon this morning. But oh, I’m in love. I can really picture it.”
“You and Avery both have good heads on your shoulders, so your recommendation’s something I take seriously. That place.” She stepped over to look out the glass in the front door. “It’s got my heart now. Ours—doesn’t it, Carolee?”
“I’ve never had so much fun in my life. Helping to pick out everything from four-poster beds to soap dishes. We’re going to have a smell contest next week.”
Clare paused as she added whipped cream to the iced coffee. “Sorry?”
“Scents,” Justine explained with a laugh. “You put us on to Joanie—Cedar Ridge Soaps.”
“Oh, she’s great, isn’t she? She did tell me she was going to do your amenities, all locally made. I think that’s such a wonderful idea.”
“With each room having its own signature scent.”
“Now that’s a fabulous idea. Soaps, shampoos, lotion. Have you thought of doing diffusers?”
Justine narrowed her eyes. “Not until right this minute. Can she do those?”
“She can. I use them at home.”
“Carolee—”
“I’m writing it down.”
“That does look sinful.” Justine took both cups, carried one to her sister. Have you got a minute, Clare?”
“Of course.”
“I wanted to talk to you about The Library. We’re going to hit the used bookstore for the bulk, I think, but I want to mix in some new. I want romance novels, thrillers, mysteries. The kind of thing somebody might like to read on a rainy day, or curled up in front of the fire on a cold night. Can you put a list together, things you’d recommend?”
“Of course.”
“Mix of paperbacks and hardcovers. And some of the local books. Nonfiction on the area. Nobody’s got a better spread of those than you. You can put some together now, some closer to the first of the year. Add that to the books for each room. And Beckett said you can get DVDs.”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, I want DVDs of all the room books, and I’m going to make you a list of what I want us to have on hand for guests. You can add any ideas you have on those, too, if you think of any.”
“I will.” She grinned at Carolee. “It is fun. I’m going back over later, to get a better sense. Beckett asked if I’d help write the brochure copy.”
“Did he?”
“If that’s all right.”
“It’s just fine with me.” Justine smiled as she licked whipped cream from her fingertip.
Chapter Four
Armed with a notebook she’d already organized and divided, Clare crossed Main Street. Helping out with room descriptions wouldn’t take much time or trouble, but it made her feel a part of the project. In a minor role. Plus, she’d help select and supply some of the books and DVDs.
She wondered what the inn’s library would look like. Would there be a fireplace? Oh, she hoped there’d be a fireplace. Maybe, if she inched her way in, they’d let her help set it up.
She stepped in through the back, into the bangs, buzzes, and echoes. She heard a voice say “fuck yourself, Mike” in easy, casual tones—and the answering “I would, but your sister did such a good job of it last night.”
Laughter rolled out just ahead of Beckett.
He stopped, stared at her, then blew out a breath. “Lady in the house,” he called out. “Sorry.”
“No problem. I thought there were already ladies in the house.”
“Mom and Carolee are checking out the third floor. And they’re used to it anyway. So, okay. Ah . . .”
He looked distracted, she realized, and busy. And just a little confused.
“If this isn’t a good time, I can—”
“No, just shifting gears. We can start right here.”
Relieved she wouldn’t have to bottle her excitement for later, she turned a circle.
“Where is here?”
“You’re standing in The Lobby—double glass doors where you came in—they’ll look out on The Courtyard. Tile floor, nice pattern, with a tile rug centered to highlight the big round table under the chandelier. The light’s kind of contemporary and cool, and organic. Looks like white glass pieces that melted. Mom wants big, showy flowers on the table. Couple of slipper chairs there.”