“Find your balls, and let’s go get it done.”

IT WASN’T AS bad as Beckett remembered. It was worse.

Slathered in sweat and sunscreen, he huffed through his breathing mask as he hacked with the tear-off shovel. His muscles burned as if covered with simmering hot coals. Laborers hauled away the waste in wheelbarrows and carts, or hauled up replacement coolers of ice water.

They drank like camels, and never quite kept up with the thirst as every ounce of fluid poured out in more sweat.

“How many son-of-a-bitching layers of this shit is on here?” Beckett shouted.

“It’s a miracle the whole goddamn thing didn’t fall in last winter.” As he broke up another section with a roof cutter, Ryder looked over and grinned. “She’s going now.”

“If she doesn’t kill us first. What are you grinning at?”

“I like the view.”

Beckett paused, swiping at sweat and looked out. The copper roof of the inn gleamed and glinted in the sun. He could see The Square, and the traffic passing, people walking into Vesta’s for lunch, and shifting, he looked down Main to Turn The Page.

“I’d rather look at the view from a shady porch, with a beer in one hand and my woman in the other.”

“Use your imagination.” Ryder stripped off his saturated mask, glugged down water. Since he couldn’t waste the jug, he imagined pouring that cold water over his head.

As he took a moment to roll his aching shoulders, he saw Hope come out onto the second-floor porch. She paused a moment, looking over and up, studying the work and workers. He knew the instant her gaze reached him; he’d have sworn he felt it like an arrow to the loins.

She stood for a beat, as he did, then unlocked the door to J&R and disappeared inside.

“Must have someone coming in,” Beckett commented.

“Huh?”

“Caught ya looking.”

Ryder picked up a fresh mask. “No law against it.”

“Not yet. Why don’t you ask her out?”

“Why don’t you put that shovel to work?”

“A little dinner, some conversation. Hell, she baked you a pie.”

“You had as much of it as I did. You take her to dinner and talk to her.”

“I have. Or Clare and I’ve had her over. You need a buffer, bro? We can have the two of you over, smooth the way.”

“Blow me,” Ryder suggested, and hacked away.

IT DIDN’T HURT to look, Hope told herself. She went inside, unlocked Eve and Roarke. There she could open the blinds, just enough to see through, and across to the roof. Or what she imagined was left of it.

She’d had no idea how they’d intended to remove it. It seemed to involve a lot of sharp-bladed shovels, heavy bars, and some sort of saw. Along with a great deal of noise.