“Well, thank you.” Jonathan gave the dog a single cautious glance. “Hope was showing me around your inn.”

“It’s as much hers as ours. Your loss, right? Our gain.”

“Apparently.” His gaze skimmed over Ryder’s work clothes. “I take it you do the construction work yourself.”

“That’s right. We’re hands-on.” He grinned when he said it, tugged Hope a little closer. “Looking for a room?”

“No.” Annoyance sparked in Jonathan’s eyes even as he smiled—tightly. “Just visiting an old friend. It’s good to see you again, Hope. If you change your mind about the offer, you know how to reach me.”

“I won’t. My best to your parents, and your wife.”

“Montgomery,” he said with a nod, and walked to his Mercedes.

Hope kept the smile on her face until he’d pulled out, driven away.

“Oh God. Oh God.” She broke away, strode back into The Courtyard, circled around it. “Oh my God.”

Ryder thought of Vesta—homey smells, happy kids, no problems, no drama. He cast his eyes at the sky and followed her into The Courtyard.

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

HE KNEW BETTER THAN TO TELL HER TO SIT DOWN OR calm down. No man really understood women, but he thought he had a reasonable handle on the species.

So he sat, figuring it might take a while while she circled the pavers. Since she wore one of those thin summer dresses, he couldn’t fault the view.

And he sat while his dog crawled under the table as if seeking cover from the fallout. But it was freaking hot, and added to it she had enough steam pumping off her to boil a bucket of lobsters.

Might as well get her started on it, Ryder decided.

“Okay, what’s the deal?”

“The deal?”

When she swung around, the skirt of the dress floated up and around long, bare legs.

No, he couldn’t fault the view.

“The deal?” she repeated, with those dark chocolate eyes of hers shooting out bullets of fury. “Oh, he wanted to make me a deal all right, the slimy bastard.”

Ryder eyed the glasses of iced tea. He wouldn’t mind some, but he wasn’t sure whose glass was whose, and didn’t particularly want to drink after a slimy bastard.

“That”—she waved a hand toward the parking lot—“was Jonathan.”

“Yeah, we met.”

“We used to be—” What? she wondered. Just what did it used to be?

“I got that. You were hooked up, and he flipped on you for somebody else.” He shrugged when she stopped walking off the mad long enough to look at him. “Word gets around.”