“I want five minutes alone with your son, and for your daughter-in-law to spend thirty days in a cell. But I’ll settle for neither of them coming near Hope or our place, neither one of them contacting her in any way, for any reason. And if I hear they’re spreading lies that damage her reputation, I’ll do a lot worse to theirs, and by proxy yours and your hotel. Make that happen, and we’re square.”

“You have my word.” He turned back, face grim, and Ryder saw the kindling of disgust in his eyes. “Neither my son nor his wife will trouble Hope again, in any way. I regret, deeply, they’ve already done so.”

“All right. I’ll trust your word; you’ll trust mine. But I’m going to warn you, Mr. Wickham, if they don’t keep your word, I’m going to cause them a whole shitload of trouble.”

“I understand.” He picked up a card from the desk, wrote something on the back. “If you would contact me—this is my private line—should either of them break the word I’m giving you. Trust me, Mr. Montgomery, I can and will cause them both more trouble than you. And I will.”

“Fair enough.” Ryder pocketed the card.

“I’ll have Jerald show you out.”

“I know the way. Let’s hope we don’t speak again.”

RYDER FOUGHT THE miserable traffic toward home, and felt some of the tension dissolve when he caught his first sight of the mountains as he traveled north.

He’d done what seemed right—not as personally satisfying as kicking in Jonathan Wickham’s balls—but it wasn’t about personal satisfaction.

He trusted Wickham would make good on his word. God knew what kind of wrath and pressure he’d bring to bear, but Ryder imagined it would be fierce and plentiful.

It hadn’t just been anger and embarrassment he’d seen on Wickham’s face at the end. There’d been regret, too.

He turned off the highway, took the winding, blissfully familiar road that wound through those mountains, into and out of Middletown, and straight into Boonsboro.

He turned at The Square, spotted Beckett’s truck—but not his dog as he pulled in beside it.

He did catch a glimpse of Hope in one of her floaty dresses, serving drinks to some guests in The Courtyard.

He needed to check on what had been done at Fit in his absence, and at MacT’s, needed to find his dog and an ice-cold beer.

But even as he climbed out of the truck, Hope stepped around The Courtyard wall.

He didn’t see any signs of tears—thank Christ—and didn’t think she’d let guests see any.

“How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. I’d like to speak with you. Privately.”

“Okay.”

“In there.” She pointed to the fitness center. “Carolee’s here.”