my refusals and disinterest seriously. I guess if I do this, he might.”
“Good, and I have a feeling he’ll take me more seriously.”
“I knew it.” She jabbed a finger at him. “You’ve just got to go confront him. Make it an issue.”
“Clare, for Christ’s sake.”
The tone, a kind of weary patience she often heard in her own voice when her children behaved like morons, might have amused her under any other circumstances.
“It is an issue. You think I’m going to go call him out? Beat him up?”
“Aren’t you?” she demanded.
“It would be satisfying, and I admit it was my own knee-jerk response. But no, that’s not what I’m going to do. What I am going to do is talk to him, make it clear if he bothers you again, there’ll be consequences.”
“So if he bothers me again, then you’ll beat him up?”
He had to smile. “That’s possible to likely. We’re involved, you and me. You matter. I’m telling you what I’m going to do because I figure when people are involved, when they matter, they tell each other.”
Something in what he said struck a chord with her, and opened a void. Think about it later, she told herself. Deal with now. “I don’t see how picking a fight with him is an answer.”
“Clare.” Firmly, he covered her hands with his. “I didn’t pick the fight. Neither did you. Now you do what you have to do. Make the call. I’ll do what I have to do. Then, if Sam’s got any common sense, or sense of self-preservation, he’ll leave you alone.” He gave her hands a light squeeze before releasing them.
“You can be pissed at me for a while,” he told her. “I’m still a little pissed at you. We’ll get over it.”
“You know what I’ve always noticed about you and your brothers? The hard heads, and the unassailable certainty that you always know the answer.”
“When you know the answer, it’s not being hardheaded. It’s just being right.” He went to the door, opened it. “You’re the woman in my life,” he said. “Another thing about me and my brothers? We look after the women in our lives. We don’t know any other way.”
He went out, stuck his hands in his pockets, crossed the street. He was more than a little pissed off, he admitted. At her, at fucking Sam Freemont, at the whole screwed-up situation.
He knew how to put on the calm when he had to. Knew how to exert some self-control even when he didn’t want to.
He went through the inn, looking for one or both of his brothers. His pleasure at the sight and smell of paint, of men busy at work, couldn’t quite cut through the fury still balled in his gut.
He caught the scent of honeysuckle as he topped the second floor—and heard the porch door swing open in E&D.
“Not now,” he muttered, and kept going up to three. He found Ryder in the innkeeper’s kitchen setting the first of the cabinets.
“Good, give me a hand.”
“I’m heading up to Hagerstown.”
“Give me a hand anyway. Let’s get this first one up. How’d it go with Clare?”
“You don’t know people till you know them. Isn’t that what Dad always said?” He braced the cabinet on the marks while Ryder got the drill. “She’s got a bigger stubborn streak than I ever noticed.”
“Let me ask you a question. How many women have you known who didn’t have a stubborn streak?”
Beckett thought it over. “Good point. But she’s calling the cops. She doesn’t want to, and she’s pissed I found the right lever to push her to do it.”
Ryder drilled the first screw home. “You used the kids, didn’t you?”
“That’s her weak point, so yeah. Plus, I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. And she’s pissed I’m going up to talk to Freemont.”
“Told you not to tell her.”
“That’s not how I work things. That’s not how you build a relationship.”
“Build a relationship.” Ryder snorted as he sent the drill whirling. “You’ve been reading again.”
“Blow me.” He glanced around as Owen came in.
“Guys downstairs said you blew right through, so I figure you’d talked to Clare.”
“Yeah, I talked to her. I’m heading up to talk to Sam.”
“Good. Are you sure you don’t want backup?”
“I can handle Freemont.”
“He practiced fighting with Clare first,” Ryder said as he checked the level of the cabinet.
“Well,” Owen shrugged, “she’s wrong.”
“I don’t know how you guys missed the memo, but it doesn’t mean dick when a woman’s wrong. Flowers,” Ryder told Beckett.