on two. Luther’s moving on the rails and banisters.”
“So I saw. I’ve got some notes.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I’ll have more, I expect, when I finish going over two, and head up to three.”
“Why wait?” Ryder grabbed a second doughnut, started out. He tossed another chunk without bothering to glance at the dog who trotted with him.
Dumbass fielded it with Golden Glove precision.
“Beckett’s not here.”
“Dude’s got a woman,” Ryder pointed out, “and three kids. School morning. He’ll be here when he is, and can catch up.”
“There’s some paint needs touching up down here,” Owen began.
“I got eyes, too.”
“I’m going to have them come in, install the blinds throughout. If three gets punched-out today, I can have them start on the window treatments by early next week.”
“The men cleaned up, but it’s construction clean. It needs a real cleaning, a polish. You need to get the innkeeper on that.”
“I’ll be talking to Hope this morning. I’m going to talk County into letting us start load-in.”
Ryder slanted a look at his brother. “We’ve got another two weeks, easy, and that’s not counting the holidays.”
But Owen, as usual, had a plan. “We can get three done, Ry, start working our way down. You think Mom and Carolee—not to mention Hope—aren’t going to be running around buying more stuff once we get things in place?”
“I do figure it. We don’t need them underfoot any more than they already are.”
They heard a door open from below as they rounded up to the third floor.
“On three,” Owen called down. “Coffee’s in the kitchen.”
“Thank you, Jesus.”
“Jesus didn’t buy the coffee.” Owen brushed his fingers over the oval oil-rubbed bronzed plaque with the word Innkeeper engraved on it. “Classy touch.”
“The place is full of them.” Ryder gulped more coffee as they stepped inside.
“It looks good.” Owen nodded as he toured through, in and out of the little kitchen, the bath, circling the two bedrooms. “It’s a nice, comfortable space. Pretty and efficient—like our innkeeper.”
“She’s damn near as pain-in-the-ass fussy as you are.”
“Remember who keeps you in doughnuts, bro.”
At the word doughnut, D.A. wagged his entire body. “You’re done, pal,” Ryder told him, and with a doggie sigh, D.A. sprawled on the floor.
Owen glanced over as Beckett came up the stairs.
He’d shaved, Owen noted, and looked bright-eyed. Maybe a little wild-eyed, as he imagined most men did with three kids under the age of ten and the school morning chaos that created.
He remembered his own school mornings well enough, and wondered how his parents had resisted doing major drugs.
“One of the dogs puked in Murphy’s bed,” Beckett announced. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Works for me. Owen’s talking about window treatments and loading in.”
Beckett paused as he gave Dumbass a quick head rub. “We’ve still got trim to run, painting, punch-out.”
“Not up here.” Owen crossed to the first of their two suites, The Penthouse. “This is what I’m talking about.” He moved through, saw muted colored crystal lights, creamy trim, and the big splashy bath with its stunning tile work. He paused at the floating wall, nodded at the long counter and double vessel sinks, stepped over, scanned the large glass shower, the generous rain head, the body jets, turned toward the wide white tub.
“We could outfit this suite. Hope could move her stuff in across the hall. How about the Westley and Buttercup room?”
“It’s done. We hung the bathroom mirror and lights yesterday.”
“Then I’ll tell Hope to break out the mop, get this level shined up.” Though he trusted Ryder, he’d check the room himself. “She’s got the list of what goes where, so she can run down to Bast, tell them what to deliver up here.”
He made notes on his clipboard—shipment of towels and linens, purchase of light bulbs and so on. Behind his back, Beckett and Ryder exchanged looks.
“I guess we’re loading in.”
“I don’t know who we is,” Ryder corrected. “It’s not me or the crew. We’ve got to finish the damn place.”
“Don’t bitch at me.” Beckett held up his hands. “I’ve got to make the changes to the bakery project next door if we’re going to shift the crew from here to there without much of a lag.”
“I could use a lag,” Ryder muttered, but headed down behind Owen.
Owen paused at Elizabeth and Darcy, gave the propped-open door a study. “Beckett, you might want to talk to your pal, Lizzy. Make sure she keeps this door open and the terrace doors shut.”